Posted on Jul 18, 2012
The middle of July caught me quite unawares. Here it is a few days past, and I hadn’t given any thought to writing a blog entry. Normally there are numerous thoughts tumbling around in the agitator of my mind, but today I find myself wondering what it is I wish to write about.
Like last month, there would appear to be an obvious choice: our new dog—which could explain why blogging was the furthest thing from my mind. We brought home a 2 year old mutt (mainly a crossbreed of German Shepherd and Heeler—aka Australian Cattle dog) on July 2nd. Life has definitely been an adventure ever since.
A few things come to mind as I consider what to say about life with a new dog. Overall, she is well-behaved and already well-trained. She knows her basic commands and learned her new name, Elsa, very quickly. Being very affectionate, she is a joy to have around. Being very energetic, she requires plenty of exercise and stimulation. And as anyone familiar with canine behaviour knows, one must establish being pack leader to ensure life with a dog is a pleasurable experience. As renowned Dog Whisperer, Caesar Milan, notes: a dog needs exercise, discipline, then love to be balanced. I know a thing or two about being unbalanced myself!
So I am once again on a journey to find and assert my inner Alpha. Our previous rescue dog had similar issues to our new one, so pack leader status was hard-earned in that instance also. Hard to believe what we had all forgotten from our early years with Gracie. We are once again reminded daily of what it takes to be a pack leader—but with the knowledge that a beautiful, long-lasting relationship is the reward.
This need to establish Alpha coincides with my own personal journey to be strong and be my own person. Maybe it’s not a coincidence after all. There is a part of me that believes Elsa is meant to be a part of this small family. While it would be easy for me to stay in my familiar, unassertive ways, Elsa requires me to find within the calm assertiveness to be pack leader. Not an easy task.
There are many times my inner anxieties surface—which only fuel Elsa’s. She then believes she must take care of me. Of course, the irony is I am anxious about Elsa’s behaviour around other dogs whereas she only knows the anxiety, and thinks it is an external threat and not herself that I worry about. I must first convince myself that I can handle the situation before I can convince Elsa she also can be well-behaved around other dogs. Elsa is, in a way, forcing me to deal with my anxieties—discover their root sources, triggers, and eventually an antidote!
Some days I wonder what I have gotten myself into—especially with health concerns that are exacerbated by the physical and mental energy required to contain an excited dog. I remind myself that everyday there are improvements in the balance of home and dog—she is a very quick learner. There is also the reminder of the rich reward of relationship that we experienced with our previous dog. And hopefully there will also be the personal reward of tapping into my calm and assertive self.
It also helps to have understanding neighbours who walk past our place with their own dogs. Maybe in the very near future, I will be able to write about the success of our attempts to socialize this very excitable dog. In the meantime, I will have to discover ways to replenish my depleted energy resources—both mentally and physically—as well as manage those anxieties that surface.
May your day have moments of resurgence to counter the drains on your own inner resources.
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Posted on Jun 14, 2012
Well, here we are in the middle of another month. There are a couple of options twirling around in my mind for what to write about. One might think it would be an obvious choice considering I have recently returned from a 2-week holiday in Iceland.
“Iceland?” you ask. Yes, Iceland. Canada’s Yukon claims to be the place of Magic & Mystery; but I think Iceland could just as well adopt that as their tag line. It is indeed a very magical place with plenty of mystery. And in all fairness, there were parts of Iceland that did remind us of locales in the Yukon and North West Territories.
As for why Iceland, well it is a bit of a convoluted story without really a beginning but rather layers. Iceland has been on our ‘someday’ list since we saw travel programs about the country on TV. Another layer has been that my husband and I talked of taking a ‘real’ trip (vs. a road trip) once our dog passed away. This, of course, was supposed to be a couple years away yet. We talked of a trip to Europe in that offhand way you do when it seems to be a far off dream.
The next layer was attending the Calgary Outdoor Trade Show the weekend after our beloved pet passed away. We stopped at the Tourism Iceland booth more out of curiosity than intent. After chatting with the lovely Icelandic lady (now a resident of Seattle), we inquired into prices (again thinking of our someday list). Turns out there was an affordable seat sale until the end of May (their off season). A bit more research when we got home, and it was decided. This would be our ‘real’ trip to commemorate a life well lived. Gracie would have loved it.
We thought of her often—especially since we essentially did a road trip in Iceland without her. Felt a little strange at times. We didn’t even change our road trip routine that much (other than we were not camping). Although we now had the freedom to check out indoor attractions, we still found ourselves principally sticking with outdoor ones of which there was an unending supply in that beautiful country. Sensory overload. For people who enjoy natural serenity, Iceland is paradise. However, the wind was a bit of a distraction some days.
When I think of my time in Iceland, the words calming and soothing come to mind. There was something truly magical and mysterious about that place. From the volcanic landscape, the folklore of trolls and elves, and charming people, to the natural beauty of craters, waterfalls, sparse but determined vegetation, rocky to sandy shorelines, majestic mountains, and pasture land dotted with sheep, dairy cows, and the quintessential Icelandic horse.
Life is not hurried on that small island. Centuries of a living in a harsh environment must have taught them that. While hard working, they take the time to enjoy what they do and appreciate the end results. And nothing matches their culinary results! The Icelanders know how to prepare food—even though much of it is imported contributing to the expense of it.
Somehow that country has found a way to marry tradition with technology. They keep up-to-date yet honour their rich history. They are proud of how far they have come since the first century—and rightly so. Maybe that is part of the magic and the mystery. Honoring the past while embracing the future. And a clear understanding of how their environment is key to their survival held in tension with the reality that it is also the source of their greatest challenge. Their respect for their homeland is admirable.
Maybe that’s part of why the place was so calming and soothing—not just the landscape and being close to nature—but also being in an unhurried culture that respects where they live and the continuity of life.
As you face another day in your own environment, your own culture, may you find a calming and soothing moment that embraces the essence of life—it’s connectedness and continuity.
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Posted on May 16, 2012
Not so long ago I had the pleasure of watching the movie Rango. And was struck by the need for a sense of community in order to thrive.
It used to be that families (and large extended families) provided that place of purpose, of belonging, where you fit in. In our current Western culture, families have become fragmented rather than cohesive. Now our sense of community tends to come from circles of friends, church, sports teams, hobby groups, work associations. While sometimes we are fortunate and truly do have a sense of community–of belonging–in these places, often times they are simply activities that fill up our days and weeks—not necessarily ourselves.
In the movie, the character Rango doesn’t ‘come into his own’ until he saves the day for the community of which he has become a part. Come to think of it, the plot very much follows the ‘hero’s quest’ formula. The hero has a personal struggle to overcome to see what he is really made of. Only then can a difference be made for the whole group as well as the individuals.
With my own learning experience regarding ‘being there,’ this sense of community has come back to roost in my mind a few times. Those of us who have been hurt during our formative years sometimes have a harder time engaging with other people. We have come to understand in the core of our being that this is just not safe. Interacting with people invariably leads to pain of some sort. How sad that this is true for so many.
I have recently embarked on a journey of my own to seek out community—a place of belonging. While there are many factors at play—including my introverted personality—it has been a stretching (and dare I say it, healing) experience for me. It has also been agonizing. Yes, pain has also been a part of this journey. Sometimes I wonder how things would be different if I hadn’t stepped out of my comfort zone of introversion and isolation a time or two. Would I feel safer? Less exposed? Less pain? Likely yes to all of those. But I also would not have known the beauty of others ‘being there’ for me. Comforting me in my sorrow. Sharing in my confusion. Commiserating with my suffering.
I have a ways to go yet. Some days are definitely more difficult than others. Some are more isolating than others. Will I morph into an extrovert who wants to be around people all the time? Hardly. I still need my solitude to recharge and regroup. However, I am learning that sometimes it is worth taking risks. Usually an agonizing decision process to take the risk, but in the end, no critical harm has befallen me so far. Some mental anguish maybe, but that is usually of my own doing, my own thought processes messing with me.
Have I found my community—my place of belonging? No yet. But as I search—and keep myself open to engaging with other people—I have hope that maybe one day I will. In the meantime, I have cultivated some amazing friendships and gotten to know people better I otherwise would have let pass by. And that would be a crying shame. There are wonderful people out there. Just takes a bit of savvy as well as openness to find them.
May your heart and mind be open to connections that might otherwise be missed, expanding your sense of belonging, so that you can truly flourish.
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Posted on Apr 15, 2012
Grief is one of those desert places where our hearts are broken wide open
and tears flow across the parched places in our souls.
~ Christine Valters Paintner
Hard to believe it is nearly a month since my dog passed away. It feels like forever and like it happened yesterday—all at the same time. There is a big gaping hole where she used to be. The time of her illness went by so quickly. In some respects, it feels like I have passed through a time warp, a worm hole, of some sort. And, of course, when we encounter a loss of a loved one, other losses come flooding back. We are reminded of other gaping holes. Some that have closed over, others with just a thin covering. These lost attachments are grieved once again along with the latest loss.
I was particularly touched by the quote above while reading about using the Celtic elements of water, wind, earth, and fire in meditation. In the book, it is in the context of the fire of purification that grief is addressed. While I don’t necessarily feel purified at the moment, I certainly can relate to feeling parched. And broken wide open. So I can attest that yes, being broken wide open exposes the parched, desert places. If we follow through with this analogy, does that mean that the tears will eventually generate fertile soil?
There’s an exercise. Look back over past grieving experiences to discover the fertile places that have begun producing lush vegetation. In my retrospection, it appears some of my vegetation is more scraggly than verdant; but I do have to acknowledge that past losses do not feel like parched, desert places forever. Even if the vegetation is sparse in the aftermath, it is still evidence of growth. Granted some of those desert places have been there a long time. If left unattended, does the desert take over? Or, as in some microclimates, does the vegetation? Sadly, I have more evidence of the former.
I suspect it has something to do with my reticence to be broken open—and allow the tears—or comfort of any kind—to flow over the parched places. It would be an interesting study to consider the times I hold back the tears and the times I allow myself an ‘ugly cry.’ Does healing truly come when we open ourselves to the torrential downpour of grief? When our anguish floods the parched plains? Sometimes it feels so dry, the moisture evaporates as soon as it escapes. What then? Are we bound to be parched forever?
That’s a miserable thought. I certainly do not want to be parched forever. Hence, if I am to glean anything from these musings, it would appear I need to be broken open for healing to have an opportunity. Now that’s a scary thought. Being broken open can mean any number of things. I guess that is a risk I am going to have to take if I want to give healing a fighting chance at flooding my parched places.
Maybe in time, when I look back at this time of grieving, I will be able to see growth where once was an arid vacuum. I wonder what kind of growth I will see? And will it be scraggly, hanging on for dear life; or will it be lush, taking over the desert places?
May your times of parched places be flooded with comfort and healing in order to generate fertile soil for growth and renewal.
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Posted on Mar 13, 2012
My dog is dying of cancer. That is not normally how I would open a blog entry, but it is uppermost on my mind these days. This may be her last week. Someday, maybe I will be able to share all that I have learned through this experience. For now, one key lesson it was important for me to be taught is that it takes a team of people to ‘be there’ for a person. No single person can ever completely ‘be there’ for another—it is physically impossible.
I learned this the hard way when one vet simply could not always be there when my dog had a crisis. It took more than one vet to address her needs—and mine. It also took a very kind team of support staff to deal with me both before and after vet visits. If it were not for all these people working together, it would have been a totally different experience.
I imagine it would have been much more isolating. As it happened, it was a connective experience instead. Which had its own challenges given my tendency to withdraw or shut down when overwhelmed. This connective experience broadens once I include the network of kind and caring people surrounding me—some whom I hardly knew, others that became even stronger friendships, and others tried and true at supporting me.
Sometimes the support came in physical form—hugs and personal presence. Other times it was virtual through the web of social media (Facebook and email). Either way, words of compassion were expressed and received. As these last days with my dog approach, I am confident in the knowledge that I will not go through it alone. The webbing of support already around me will hold me up when I least expect it. I am finding, even sharing this with you now, to be a release of sorts. Eventually the grief will lesson, life will return to a routine—albeit a different one—and the days will gradually find a rhythm to soothe the dull ache.
I am even hopeful that the cavernous hole left behind will eventually close over. It has been exposed and raw for a while now, but I know from experience it will not stay that way forever. It may not close over the way I would like; but if I do not allow it to, it will consume me—preventing me from experiencing rays of hope and those little surprises that make life special. I will also have to make a conscious effort to allow others into that cavernous hole if I am ever to find healing. That in itself is terrifying, but something tells me it will be worth the risk.
If there is a second key lesson I have learned, it is that people can ‘shine’ when you least expect it. Opening one’s heart to receive care and compassion is terrifying to those who have been burned in the past. However, if we paint all people with the same brush, we miss out on the healing experience of connecting with other people who are also familiar with pain. To allow people to be with me in my pain is a new and frightening experience. It will take baby steps—and only a special few will be allowed a peek into my cavernous hole, but I’m already seeing that being open has its benefits as well as its risks. With great pain can come great joy. I’ll let you know when my joy returns.
In the meantime, I hope I can ‘be there’ for the people that cross my path—professionally or personally—as well as the vast team of people have ‘been there’ for me these past two and half months. That alone has had a profound effect upon openness—knowing it takes a team. If one person can’t ‘be there’, I know there are others waiting in the wings.
May you experience the presence of another ‘being there’ for you that you in turn can ‘be there’ for others. And if the one you expect to ‘be there’ is unable to, look around—there may be someone just waiting for the opportunity to shine for you.
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Posted on Feb 15, 2012
This year has begun with challenges from a variety of sources creating an inner (and outer) sense of chaos for me. I’ve recently realized this has been complicated by an interruption in routine for me—those daily events we count on to give a sense of normalcy in our lives.
It is these very routines that can get us through crises of varying intensities—from the death of a loved one to minor irritations at work. When we follow through with what we know, what we can count on, it provides us with a retreat of sorts from those situations that are exhausting our resources at coping. We can be replenished in a way by doing those mundane tasks that have to get done regardless of what else is happening in our lives. We must get up in the morning, brush our teeth, get dressed, walk pets, prepare meals, consume food and beverages, perform required tasks at work or home, commute, chauffeur family members around, and the list goes on.
We get into a daily, weekly, monthly, yearly rhythm that gives shape and meaning to our lives. We know what is expected of us, what must be done at any given moment in the day. When this rhythm is interrupted, it can throw off our sense of equilibrium (that all is right with the world). Toss in an unexpected crisis or two, and the threat to our equilibrium, our sense of balance, is intensified. If the crisis itself affects our routine, the crisis may seem insurmountable. The coping skills we normally rely on may be insufficient to the task. Sleep may elude us. Nourishment depleted due to a diminished appetite. Hobbies and activities may not hold our attention long enough to distract us, even briefly. Our concentration may be broken. Even basic tasks can seem overwhelming. In the midst of this chaos, how do we manage?
The old adage, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, may be of use. Help might be found in tightening our focus to those tasks, those routines that are not interrupted. There are always things that have to be done. Such as getting out of bed, performing morning ablutions, getting dressed, literally putting one foot in front of the other, consuming food and beverages. If an injury has interrupted even these basic tasks, adjustments have to be made to get back into routine—reclaim a sense of normalcy. If the absence of a family member due to death or departure has impacted these routines, refocusing efforts and re-establishing basic routines will help to regain one’s sense of balance—albeit shaky at first.
And it could be worth our while to spend some time considering what all surfaces for us while in that state of chaos—of disequilibrium. Are there internalized messages that need review? Do we need to pay attention to some long submerged emotion or belief? Does our range of coping strategies need a tune up—finding healthier ones to replace harmful ones? Would it be better to engage rather than withdraw? Or spend time alone rather than be distracted by caring for others?
Of course, there are always risks to trying out new thoughts and behaviours. Some of our attempts may be met with disappointment, disapproval, or discomfort. It may take a few tries before we make the adjustment with the most benefits. But isn’t that what life is about? The Chinese symbol for crisis, after all, encompasses both danger and opportunity.
What routines do you rely on to get through tough times? What risks are you willing to take to move forward through chaos? You never know what lies just around the next corner.
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