Just Gratitude

My grandmother gave birth to my dad, her eighth child, in a dugout with a dirt floor. Once I said to her, "Living like that must have been terribly difficult," as I tried to coax her story of a hardscrabble existence. She responded, "Oh, no! It wasn't hard at all. We had the most wonderful neighbors." Then she turned the story to acts of kindness she had experienced from those who lived nearby.

Grandmother always had a grateful, peaceful state of mind. It seemed to be innate.

I, on the other hand, have to work at it. For many years my emotions were shut down, as I stressfully plowed my way through degrees and career advances. When I began to change, the first feelings that poured out were grief and anger.

Then I learned to express gratitude. My first experience was so simple, as I got into my car one morning and realized I had enough gasoline for the day. I felt truly grateful--maybe for the first time in my life--for that gasoline.

Since that day, gratitude has come more easily.

As I sit here in a half-empty house, making preparation for our move to Sedona, I could slip into sadness or overwhelm. In fact, when that happened a couple of days ago, I called a friend to express my feelings. She asked, "What are you grateful for?" As I focused on what I'm grateful for, I felt my gloom lift until there was no darkness at all.

Just gratitude.

Step into the Dream

In a few weeks my friend will receive a doctorate from the University of Texas at Austin. This is a significant accomplishment for anyone, but even moreso for my friend, who is dyslexic. Academic achievement hasn't come easily for him, yet for years he has chipped unresentfully away at it, happily and doggedly in pursuit of his dream.

When he graduates, he'll wear a robe. As he crosses the stage to receive his diploma, a university official will place a hood around his neck in the color of his academic discipline. From that moment on, his life will be forever changed.

My neighbor told me last night of her fascination in watching lady bugs being born on her vinca plants. First she sees eggs on the leaves. About a week later, they are larva. Almost a month later comes the pupa stage. Finally, a ladybug crawls out. At first, she is solid red. Later, the black spots appear and she steps into the fullness of her life.

It's inspiring to watch man and nature step into a dream.

You write it:  What dream are you stepping into?

Leaving

As I look out my bedroom window toward the canyon in the gray morning mist, I know it's time to leave.

The oak tree that was just a sapling when we moved here has grown so tall that, slowly and inexorably, it's taken the center of the canyon view. In winter, when the leaves are gone, the view emerges through the bare branches. But now that it's spring again, the full green leaves prevail.

I chose this house for that view. I liked its other qualities, as well, but it was the view I most loved.

Over the years, as we terraced and planted the part of the canyon slope that is ours, we pulled the view into our own back yard until now, we're immersed in the beauty of exquisite nature.

It feels complete and whole. Gently and lovingly, I give thanks and release.

Lull

In between intense periods of frenetic activity, last Friday afternoon came a lull.

Lull is the space between two pauses. It's calmer than a pause. Quieter.

In a lull, there is nothing to be done. No one to contact. No list to check. No worry. No thought.

Lull opens the door for rest--nothingness--the quiet joy of being.

You write it: Describe your last lull.

Leaving Isn't Leaving

As I've thought about leaving the city that has been my home for 24 years, I've thought mostly about the friends I won't see as often. But I haven't felt sad, and I've wondered what's going on with me that I'm not sad.

I believe we exchange energy with people as we come and go. With friends, that is the energy of love and good will. Even when we are no longer in that person's presence, the energy we experienced with them lives on within us, ready to come to life again through memory. So I'm not really leaving the friendships. Granted, I will have physical contact less frequently and less opportunity to make new memories. Even so, the love I have for these dear ones is not diminished.

One of the many gifts that Austin has given me is widening my circle of friends and teaching me how to be a better friend. For this, I am profoundly grateful.

Someday, after we have mastered the winds, the waves, and gravity, makind will harness for God the energy of love. Then, for the second time in the history of the world, we will have discovered fire. Teilhard de Chardin

Lesson from a Ceiling Fan

When it comes to cleaning, I love telling other people what I want and then going for a pedicure while they do it.

But with so much to do to get our house ready to sell, I've recently found myself with a dust cloth in my hand. I even sponge-mopped the deck with a cleaner that brings out the gold highlights in the wood. I love seeing that dry, dusty wood quench its thirst and glow.

But the ceiling fan on the deck--that's a different story. I pretend I don't see the dust, even though I know it's there. I asked the cleaning lady to clean it, which she happily agreed to do. Then she forgot. By the time I remembered to check it, she was gone.

For two days I did nothing. Then our realtor scheduled someone to see the house. All I could think about was that dirty ceiling fan.

So early in the morning on the day of the showing, I climbed onto the stepladder to reach the dreaded fan. To my surprise, the dirt lifted easily. In a very few minutes, I had a clean ceiling fan.

More importantly, I had faced a dread and completed a simple task. For the rest of the day, I had a sense of accomplishment.

Then I went for a manicure.

You write it: What are you dreading?

How Do I Feel?

What are the words that describe my feelings as I prepare to leave Austin, where I've lived for 24 years? Here I started two new careers. Here I met and married my husband. Here I've loved living as I've worked with many people to find emotional and spiritual health.

One of those people emailed me last week, expressing her feelings about my leaving. Her words evoked sadness, and what immediately came to my mind were the lyrics from Neil Diamond, "And wept when it was all done, for being done too soon." I shed some tears, but it didn't feel right to grieve. There hasn't been a death.

Then I ran across these words from Rabindranath Tagore:  "When old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders."

Our move is more arrival than departure, and my true feeling is deep gratitude for the relationships and opportunities Austin has so generously given, mixed with joyful anticipation of what the future holds in Sedona.

You write it:  Right now, how do you feel?

The Energy of Things

As the dust settles in our home, boxes of things and excess furniture have been moved into storage. Space is clearing, and a new energy is being born. Even though disarray prevails, I'm feeling lighter with less stuff around me.

Unaware, through the years I've added this piece here and that piece there. Each one evokes the memory of where I was and who I was with when I bought it. Each piece was another bite that added weight.

Now, feeling freer, I'm vowing to keep this state of mind in our new home in Sedona. My promise to myself might mean that every painting doesn't go on a wall. Every piece of furniture won't make the move. Even some of my beloved china might find a new home.

What remains when these things are gone is space--blessed space.

This rising energy within me convinces me that less truly is more, and I'll make the next leg of my journey lighter.

You write it:  Look around you. What's weighing you down?

From Chaos to Peace

Our recent decision to sell our house in Austin and move to Sedona has thrown my surroundings into a jumble as, daily, workers swarm in to prepare the house to sell. Furniture that belongs in this room has been moved to that room for staging purposes. Boxes of framed family photos and other familiar items from shelves are packed and stored. I won't see them again for months. Furnishings are clustered in the center of rooms.

Turmoil is the best way to describe what's going on with me, and I'm laughing at myself as I realize the one who teachers others to find their calm center and live from there is having difficulty practicing what she teaches. Instead, the reverse has happened. My inner peace has been disturbed by my jumbled surroundings.

To make it through, in addition to morning meditation, I've increased my conscious awareness. Do I need a drink of water? How about a walk? A short nap? Reading just for enjoyment?

As I pull in to myself and meet my own needs, the external disarray becomes less significant, and I begin to find peace again.

Last night I simply shampooed my hair and as I awoke this morning, I felt simple pleasure in the sensation of clean hair.

You write it: When chaos surrounds you, what do you do?

Solution for Overwhelm

In the state of overwhelm is where I've been for the last two weeks. We're moving from a house we've lived in for 19 years, so we're weeding and packing while finishing a remodel and preparing the house for sale.

In the last two weeks we've talked to a realtor, contractor, paint consultant, and stager, each of whom gave us a long list of things to do. I was relieved when I realized we had heard from everyone we needed to hear from.

The state of overwhelm is full of confusion and chaos. In it, I feel rudderless and out of control. I can't stay there for very long.

So yesterday my husband and I got a stack of index cards and wrote only one task to be completed on each card. We also wrote who is responsible for completing that task. Then we arranged the cards in the best sequence. Working together, yesterday we actually moved two cards to the "completed" stack.

Today I have a plan and a system for doing everything that needs to be done.The work has moved from contemplation to action. Our house will be in chaos for the next 2-3 weeks, but I am at peace.

You write it:  What do you do when you're overwhelmed?

Equanimity at the Car Wash

I strive for equanimity. It’s the ability to stay even-keeled, regardless of what’s happening. To be kind, even when others around you are exploding. To be calm and clear-headed, even in the face of danger. To be true to yourself when it might be tempting to conform.

I’ve made some progress towards equanimity, but yesterday I lost it. When my husband and I returned home from a month away, a remodeling project that should have been finished had taken over our home. When I realized I couldn’t sleep in my own bed and had nowhere to hang my clothes, I lost equanimity. First I exploded at my innocent husband and then at the unsuspecting contractor.

The next day I drove my construction-dust-covered car through a quick car wash. I guided the car to the conveyor track and, as instructed, put it in neutral, took my hands off the wheel, and my foot off the brake.

Then I put my head back and closed my eyes. I heard the water pelting the car, but I was dry. I heard the softer sound of soap. Then the brushes went to work. Water again. Finally a long blast of drying air as my car completed its gentle movement through the process.

 The cleaning had happened around me as I simply sat at rest, protected, eyes closed.

I realized I lose equanimity when I’m displeased by my surroundings. But when I enclose myself within a safe space, put my gear in neutral, take my hands off the wheel and my foot off the brake, peace rules.

Equanimity. 

Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.

Helen Keller

You write it: What steals you from equanimity? What keeps you in it?

Transition

My husband and I are buying a wonderful home in Sedona, AZ, and we'll be moving there the first of May. In our new home we have the hills, the red rocks, the sky, and the earth--and a few stray golf balls. 

Every month or so, Harlan will return to the Austin/Houston area to work with his valued clients, and I'll continue to write blogs and books from Sedona, as well as work with a few coaching clients by phone.

When we decided to spend January in Sedona for the sake of my allergies, we had no idea we would make it our home. But as the days went by, we realized we wanted to live there. It was a gradual, gentle decision.

As we made our lists of pro's and con's, we realized the hardest part of the decision is leaving friends and neighbors. Of course, the friendships endure, but, as one put it, "We can't call and say, 'Meet us at the movies.' Or 'Let's have lunch.'" We won't be able to wave to you as we pick up the mail or walk the dogs.

But we'll find new ways to nurture old friendships, even as we welcome new friends.

You write it: What have you learned or gained from the transitions in your life?

Disappointment

By intention and design, I live a happy, peaceful life. Not having expectations and enjoying life one moment at a time is how I try to live.

But yesterday I was living the sentiment expressed in these lines from Emily Dickinson:  "A great hope fell. You heard no noise. The ruin was within."

My husband and I made an offer on a house that had been on the market for almost a year--a house with some issues due to its age, but redeemed by a fabulous, panoramic view. We went for it. Unfortunately, on the same day, someone else submitted a bid with a higher number than ours, and of course the owner accepted the higher offer. A great hope fell.

When we heard the news, I went silent. So did my husband. Finally, I was able to say, "I'm sad."

There was a day when I would have brushed my feelings aside, said, "Oh, well," and pushed ahead, refusing to feel. But today I have come to understand that it's better for me to feel the feeling and move through it. Perhaps the truest statement I made was to our realtor. I said, "We're heartbroken. Give us some time and we'll try again."

Today is a new day, and I'm grateful for the experience my husband and I had together as we went through the process of making the offer. I choose to believe there's another house for us that will meet all of our needs, one where we can live happily. And that's the most important thing.

You write it:  How do you handle disappointment?

Transformation

Growing up, my daughter was quiet and shy. She relied on other people to speak for her in social situations. As she grew older, she had difficulty maturing into adulthood.

Recently I spent a few days with the independent, strong woman she has become. What created the transformation? You'll have to ask her; that's her story.

As her mother, my observation is that she moved to a city she loves, far away from everyone she knew. She bought a house in the section of that city that perfectly fits the lifestyle she wants. She kept changing jobs until she found one that suits her innate abilities, unique skills, and educational preparation. For many years she has been in a relationship with someone who loves, supports, appreciates, and takes pride in her. They live with two entertaining cats whom they adore, and they live within their means. They treasure their friends and neighbors.

In short, today she is confident and happy. What more could a mother want for her child?

You write it:  What gives you confidence, strength, happiness, and contentment?

From Mushiness to Clarity

About a year ago I made a career change. Instead of being a coach who also writes, I decided to be a writer who also coaches.

But I didn't phrase it in such a clear way. Instead, I said, "I'm going to see fewer clients in order to focus on my writing."

Writing has always come easily for me. It's fun, effortless. I even love revision. It doesn't seem like work.

Work has always driven me. It's been the pressure at my back, the weight on my shoulders. So to say writing is work seems strange. It's a new, light sensation. For the last year, I've felt adrift.

I think I'll stop using the word W O R K. When people ask what I do, I'll say, with a light heart, "I'm a writer who also coaches a few people with life and work issues."

This is how change goes for me, from mushiness to clarity. Once I'm clear, the change manifests.

You write it:  What are you being mushy about? By your mushiness, what change are you delaying? Are you ready to be clear?