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Why had I decided to go to my 40th high school reunion? To fulfill a homework assignment?

In the wee hours of the morning, I found myself second guessing my decision and looking for ways out. But during the daylight hours, I sensed my inner wisdom was right. And based on what I have regularly told my coaching clients, I was confident there would be a gift waiting for me if I only pushed through my self-doubt and fear.

I had been listening to Byron Katie lately and decided this would be an excellent application for, “The Work.” How I love Katie’s four powerful questions! So, here’s what happened. I focused intently on who I was in high school. Awkward. Misfit. Unsure. Afraid. Uncomfortable. Vulnerable. And then I asked myself the questions.

Question #1: Is it true? Answer: Well, sure. I was there. I should know! I remember very clearly being all those things.

Question #2: Can you know with certainty that it is true? Answer: With certainty? Hmmmm. I felt awkward. I clearly remember that part. But was I really awkward? Would a reasonable, objective observer find me awkward? When you put it that way, maybe . . . just maybe . . . it might not be completely true after all. With that admission, I felt my thinking begin to shift. I was ready for the next question.

Question #3: How do you feel when you think those thoughts? Answer: Well, that’s easy. I feel like crap! Next question!

Question #4: Who would you be without those thoughts? Answer: Oh, my! It’s hard to say. I’ve had those thoughts for 40+ years. Who would I be without all that judgment, condemnation, and self-pity? I suppose without thoughts of “awkward misfit,” I might be free to just be myself, my own unique brand of me. No shame. No apologies. Who else could I be, anyway?

I allowed the shift to percolate, and within a few days, I found myself wanting to know more about what a reasonable, objective observer might notice about who I had been at 17. That’s when an idea struck with such power, I couldn’t do anything else until I acted on it. I needed to read my diary. But not just read it. I would become that reasonable, objective observer. I would pretend I was reading a book written by someone else. I would approach the book with curiosity, setting aside everything I thought I knew about this young woman. And I would let her talk to me.

Diary
Okay, Barbara Schmitt . . . tell me about your life. I sat down with my diary and did not get up again until I had read every single entry from the first day of my senior year in high school until the day I graduated. (To be continued . . . .)

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The Reunion

It started with an Outlook Reminder. I must have created it years ago in a fit of nostalgia: “40th High School Reunion This Year! . . . Do you want to go?”

At first I did.

But then I didn’t.

Weeks later I e-mailed my sophomore year locker mate, who teaches English at our old high school. She had been involved in organizing previous reunions.

Will there be a reunion this year?

Yes! You must come!

Oh, good! I want to go.

But then I didn’t want to go.

Later I got curious. Who do you suppose would be there? I pulled out my old yearbooks, looked at the pictures, read some articles.

Yes, I want to go!

Then I started reading all the things that people wrote in my yearbooks, and I changed my mind. I didn’t want to go.

Later I remembered how much fun it had been to connect on FaceBook with a few people from high school.

Yea, I think I want to go.

What was this ambivalence?

1972
Plain and simple, I just didn’t like remembering who I was or what I was like in high school. Awkward. Misfit. Unsure. Afraid. Uncomfortable. Vulnerable. Yuck! I didn’t want to be reminded! I didn’t want to admit to ever being THAT!

And then I got “the Nudge”—that quiet voice of my inner wisdom: “Go to the Reunion! Go and Grow!”
What is it about my inner wisdom and alliteration? It’s always saying things like “Go and Grow!” all perky and excited and happy, like it was a trip to the beach.

As Divine Perfection often manifests (i.e., “as fate would have it”), that very week I was taking a class that focused on Divine Guidance. Homework involved listening for and then following our inner wisdom. Well, if it would meet the homework requirement for the week, why not? So I took a DEEP breath, booked a flight, a room, and a rental car. That was easy.

But it didn’t take long for my insecurities to begin waking me up in the middle of the night. That’s when the fun part started . . . . (To be continued)

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I’ve been thinking for a while now about giving up something for Lent. As a child, I usually gave up candy. As I got older, I started doing something for Lent. Meditation. Spiritual readings. Daily entries in a Gratitude Journal.

This year I’m reverting to the early years and giving up something. It’s something dear to my heart, one of my Ego’s Favorite Things.

Advice Giving.

It comes in many guises. Sometimes it’s cloaked in concern; other times it shows up as mere opinion. Usually, I’m just trying to help. Most of the advice I administer is unsolicited. Occasionally I am polite enough to ask, “May I offer some advice?” But few refuse; I know that. I understand this sort of thing will have to go. I’m giving it all up for the next 6 weeks.

Why? Just to stretch myself, to observe what happens when I take off my know-it-all hat and keep my mouth shut.

Oh, wait! My Ego has a question: “What about when someone comes and legitimately asks for my advice? As in ‘Would you give me some advice?’”

Ego truly loves it when that happens. Why, just last night my son said, “I’m looking for some advice, Mom.” And he was looking to me! Yes, that’s my favorite: Motherly Advice.

But this is serious business: Lent and Spiritual Growth. So, Ego, here’s my decision: We’re giving up giving advice in our personal life. However, there are those who pay us to advise them, and we shall continue to do so professionally.

Am I prepared for this challenge? I’m not so sure. When I told my husband, he laughed uproariously.

As for you, my friends, family, and colleagues: no fair taunting me with, “A penny for your thoughts!” (My advice is worth at least a dime!)

I’ve been thinking for a while now about giving up something for Lent. As a child, I usually gave up candy. As I got older, I started doing something for Lent. Meditation. Spiritual readings. Daily entries in a Gratitude Journal.
This year I’m reverting to the early years and giving up something. It’s something dear to my heart, one of my Ego’s Favorite Things.
Advice Giving.
It comes in many guises. Sometimes it’s cloaked in concern; other times it shows up as mere opinion. Usually, I’m just trying to help. Most of the advice I administer is unsolicited. Occasionally I am polite enough to ask, “May I offer some advice?” But few refuse; I know that. I understand this sort of thing will have to go. I’m giving it all up for the next 6 weeks.
Why? Just to stretch myself, to observe what happens when I take off my know-it-all hat and keep my mouth shut.
Oh, wait! My Ego has a question: “What about when someone comes and legitimately asks for my advice? As in ‘Would you give me some advice?’”
Ego truly loves it when that happens. Why, just last night my son said, “I’m looking for some advice, Mom.” And he was looking to me! Yes, that’s my favorite: Motherly Advice.
Lent and Spiritual Growth are serious business. So, Ego, here’s my decision: We’re giving up giving advice in all aspects of personal life. However, there are those who pay me to advise them, and I shall continue to do so professionally.
Am I prepared for this challenge? We’ll see. I admit, it will be quite a challenge. So, no fair taunting me with: “A penny for your thoughts!” (My advice is worth at least a dime!)

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I ran across a quote this morning: “How We Do Money Is How We Do Our Lives,” Maria Nemeth, PhD., author of  The Energy of Money.

It made me stop and think, Just how DO I “do money”?

When it comes to money, I’ve always been careful and cautious. I don’t like to take risks with money. I plan for the unexpected by keeping a “rainy day” fund. I am responsible with money. I always reconcile my checkbook, pay my bills on time, and meticulously track my income and expenses. I use money to get all of what I need, some of what I want, and a taste of frivolity every now and then. I feel like I am in control of my money. And yet, I worry that somehow something unforeseen will happen, and I will end up regretting some of my conservative choices.

And, yes, that also describes how I do life: careful, cautious, not taking many risks, in control, and yet sometimes worrying that I’m missing out.

I wonder what it would take for me to loosen up a bit.  Certainly awareness and intention are key ingredients. What about a new budget line item: Frivolity.  I wonder what it would be like to regularly and intentionally use some of my money for things that “don’t make sense.” I wonder how that would show up in my life.

What about you? Are you willing to take a look at how you “do money”? If so, write down your patterns with money, or ask someone close to you how they see you “doing money.” Notice the parallels between “money” and “life.” Notice if there’s something you’d like to experiment with, something you’d like to change.

And then set an intention and share that intention with at least one other person who’s willing to ask you how it’s going.

If you don’t have all the money and all the life you want, make a new choice today.

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