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Posts Tagged ‘coaching’

White Kitty

As I closed the cottage door behind me this morning, I heard a noise inside. When I looked, I was stunned. Oh, no! White Kitty on the floor in a hundred pieces!

A very young part of me began to cry. The three-year-old who had received it as a gift from her Daddy, was in shock and overwhelmed with raw grief.

As I swept the floor, I remembered the many shelves upon which White Kitty had been displayed over the decades. Never packed away for safe keeping, she went from my childhood dresser, to my teenage desk, to my newlywed hutch. She watched over Baby Britain from the changing table, spent several years on the living room fireplace mantle, and did a stint in Mom’s sick room.

After Mom passed, I took White Kitty to the cottage to join several other memory-filled treasures. The grown-up part of me knows nothing lasts forever. She is sad but ready to move on. The three-year-old, though, is really struggling.

So I allowed that part of me to dig through the trash and put White Kitty’s head and the tip of her tail back on the shelf. Later, I got the urge to retrieve the rest of the big pieces and put them in a box. It just didn’t seem right to throw Kitty away like that. She needed to be honored, to be acknowledged for the 56 years of faithful service. A nice box, a few words, and a friend or two to help say goodbye.

Good grief! The three-year-old wants a funeral! I want to say, “Get real, girl! It’s just a ceramic figure!” But I would never say that to an actual three-year-old in pain. So, I am choosing not to say it to myself either. The fragile part of me deserves compassion, understanding, and most of all, some time to let go of a lifelong treasure.

So, I’ll leave the head on the shelf for a while and the rest of the pieces in the box. Showing compassion, tenderness, and love toward myself is a new practice for me. I’m not sure how this will unfold, but I do know, there’s no hurry. I will trust my heart to lead the way.

White Kitty's Head

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manuscropt pages

This blog was composed the old-fashioned way … handwritten on a legal pad.

Yesterday I read an article that claimed one in three Americans hadn’t used a pen in six months for anything but a signature. Could that be true? Have keyboards, tablets, and smart phones caused us to stop writing? Could be. I heard recently that schools are seriously considering no longer teaching “cursive” writing. It seems inconceivable that my multitude of handwritten journals will one day be totally illegible to most people. Like hieroglyphs.

The article went on to say that “handwriting switches on a cluster of brain cells, the reticular activating system, that engages the brain more deeply than typing.” It cited several studies that found handwriting stimulated creative ideas and improved memory. Seems we have a lot to lose by not writing.

I’ll admit, most of my composition (blogs, correspondence, emails, and even to-do lists) happens at the keyboard. Texting has replaced written notes. Facebook and emails have replaced letter writing. Nonetheless, I use my pens every single day. I own over a hundred writing instruments. My favorite for journaling is the Uniball Vision Elite (.5 mm, extra fine, blue, black, red, green, or purple). In the office, I prefer a .7 mm Uniball Vision (fine, in pink, blue or purple). And for my signature, I always use a Pentel Signature Pen: Bold and Blue.

I can attest to the therapeutic benefits of journaling. It causes me to focus my thoughts and drill down to the most important ideas, feelings, and concerns. I enjoy written conversation with myself, posing questions and providing thoughtful answers.

Around ten years ago I was engaged in that sort of exercise when I found myself admitting, “I don’t trust you! You say nasty things to me. You treat me like scum. Why should I cooperate with you? Why should I answer even one of your stupid questions?”

What emerged was a dialog of apology, accusation, and an intense exchange that ended in forgiveness and a written promise to myself that I have never broken. Sometimes I’ve considered breaking it, but I never have. I always remember the written promise, serious proof of my commitment to myself.

If there are things you need to tell yourself–promises, apologies, or thank you’s–consider putting it in writing and see if it makes a difference. Better yet, mail yourself a handwritten letter. When’s the last time you received one of those?!?

Signature

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Oil painting - Path

“The Path to the Cottage” – oil on canvas by Barbie Dallmann

My brain is full. There are no more expansion slots available. I have a gigabyte brain in a terabyte world.

When I was little, my grandma’s phone number was four digits, which I still clearly remember: 2980. And my beloved twin cousin’s phone number was 8-2548. It was common knowledge then that human memories just couldn’t easily handle more than five numbers. Wow, has that ever changed!

This morning it was raining, and so I turned to my XBox 360 Kinect to fill my exercise requirements. Oh, but it needed to download a software update, and I was asked to enter my XBox Live Account information. I couldn’t remember it. Just how many user ID’s and passwords do I have? Two hundred and twenty-nine (yup, I counted!) Everything from on-line bill pay, credit cards, and bank accounts to Netflix, iTunes, and Amazon. I have so many accounts that I keep track of them in an old-fashioned address book, the kind I formerly used to keep track of my friends. Now I need one just to keep track of myself! What about everyone else? I leave that to my Smartphone and computer. 8-2548 has been replaced by a home phone, cell phone, email address, Facebook, Flickr, blog site, and Pintrest. I think there’s probably more.

Is it any wonder, I can’t seem to concentrate? At any given moment, I feel as though a dozen or more things need my attention. How does anyone NOT have ADD in this age of overload? My things-to-do list just hit #16, and that’s just for today. Actually, that’s just for the next 8 hours.

As the rain pours down outside, I have the urge to go back to bed, pull the covers over my head, and pretend someone else will finish the chores on my list.

That’s how it starts, isn’t it? You forget a user ID and password, and the next thing you know, you’re headed down the road to ruin. I think I’ll take a detour around this time-wasting side trip and find the path to some simple compassion.

Yes, it’s a complicated, fast-paced, information filled world. And, yes, it can feel overwhelming at times. But with a few deep breaths, a touch of self-awareness, and a desire for alignment with inner peace, I can easily come back to myself, back to what really matters. In this moment I have the power to choose my next thought, and as it says in A Course in Miracles, “I can choose peace instead of this.”

Oh, the XBox download is complete. Time to exercise!

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Painting on tile

Summer Beauty (Acrylic on Tile by Barbie Dallmann)

I know I’m supposed to be an enlightened, got-it-all-together coach type person, but this morning when my iPod wouldn’t turn on, an enraged control-freak grabbed the reins and took over.

“Piece of s**t iPod! I’m the boss of you, and I say, WORK!”

She Googled “dead iPod” and followed the directions for a reset. Nothing. She plugged it into a wall socket and tried again. Nada. She cajoled, caressed, lightly pressed buttons, and then slammed it on the sink. Still nothing but a trashed iPod.

“So, now I can’t go for my morning run!” declared this stubborn, irritated, acting-like-a-child part of me.

From somewhere deep inside Coach Barbie whispered in that irritatingly calm voice of hers, “Is that true? You can’t run without an iPod?”

A heavy sigh accompanied a defiant response, “No, it’s not true. I can run without an iPod … but I don’t want to!

“Is that  true?” she asked again. “You don’t want to run? You’re all dressed and ready to go. You love morning runs. Is it true you don’t want to run?”

“No . . . but still . . . ,” she whined, losing bravado. And then she left the house, and as I gained my stride, the resistant, negative, stubborn part of me began to dissolve, and I allowed myself to compassionately observe what had just happened.

Something didn’t go my way, and I resisted. I made it wrong. I fought reality with everything I could muster. I was looking for everything that was wrong about the situation … the money, the time, the inconvenience, the lost activity records … not to mention that I have no clue where I left off in the audio book I was listening to.

Before I had the tools to process this sort of thing, I would have been caught in a negative spiral for hours, maybe days. But with the simple question, “What’s right about this?” I was able to use my entire run this morning to find the good.

And the best thing I found was a memory of my 12-year-old self on vacation with my family. There was no room for me in the cab, so I rode alone in the camper on the back of the pick-up. From Nebraska through Wyoming, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, and home again. For a month, I rode alone with no iPod, no video games, no laptop, no cell phone. Just me, a few books, and my endless imagination. I lost myself in the scenery and entertained myself with stories of what my life would be like when I was grown up and on my own. I imagined going to work, buying a car, marrying my sweetheart, moving into a house, and giving birth to a baby. I day-dreamed a happy life for myself, full of freedom and beauty and travel.

One very good thing about not having an iPod (especially when you’re 12) is it gives you lots of time to work on manifesting a life worth living.

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