Posted on Jan 14, 2011
There are times in our lives when we allow things to get more complicated than they need to be. I speak from experience. Not only am I pack rat (“but I may need that some day!”), I have this knack for taking on other people’s problems as my responsibility. Maybe you can relate.
I call this ‘learning to separate my stuff from other people’s stuff.’ To help with this separation of stuff, it is important to start sorting—much like cleaning out the closets. What needs fixing? What needs storing for future use or kept for posterity? What needs to be let go of? What needs to be left in someone else’s box? Whose box am I sorting through anyway? Having this in mind will help when someone is looking to hand out ‘their stuff.’
Using the closet comparison, here are some options: 1) Share their burden (hold it/store it); 2) Take it on as something that I need to take care of (try to fix it); 3) Distance myself, either physically or mentally (leave it alone). Or maybe I try to do it all. Sometimes it’s hard to find that fine line between being supportive and getting involved. To find that boundary, it is sometimes helpful to acknowledge what the other person is going through at the same time as noting to self ‘this is not mine to fix.’
Often in our attempts to comfort another, we take on our friend’s (or partner’s, or roommate’s) stuff as our own. We mull over it—consider what can be done about it, what should be done, etc—only to find out our friend or companion has no interest in making any changes. We have now wasted precious time and energy on someone else’s stuff. The challenge: to help them out as best we can, then let go of it. Ultimately, it’s their stuff to deal with. And sometimes we do need to let our friends and companions know when we have reached our holding capacity; and they need to find another container for their stuff—your closet is full.
Help, hold, or hunker down—then let it go. Are there boxes of stuff in your internal closet that have someone else’s name on them? Time to do some sorting. If it’s not yours to attend to, throw it out! You are not throwing out the person with the box—just the stuff that you have taken on as your own. You can still be a friend, companion, partner without absorbing their problems as yours to deal with.
If the shoe were on the other foot, it might be nice for someone to take on my stuff as their own; but in reality, the problem still exists even if I let someone else pack it in their closet. Or if I am constantly being rescued by someone else, it hardly helps me to learn to stand on my own two feet, face the music, learn to fly, and all those other idioms for taking ownership of one’s life and making something of it.
Do we need help every now and then? Absolutely. Is it important to help and support other people? Again, absolutely. But when is it too much? One can have too much of a good thing, after all. Stories abound of eating too much good food at times of celebration. In the moment, it’s great; but later we pay for it with digestive discomfort. Helping in the right doses keeps us in healthy relationships. Too little help, and we isolate ourselves; too much help, and we grow anemic—unable to care for ourselves or others.
Part of finding that healthy helping role is figuring out what you are responsible for, what’s realistic given everyone’s capabilities, and if you are rescuing somebody from taking care of their own business. We take on other people’s stuff for a variety of reasons: false sense of guilt, blurry boundaries of who is responsible for what, unrealistic expectations, unreasonable demands, beliefs about who we are and what we are meant to do in life, rescuing tendencies, etc. We give other people our stuff for much the same reasons.
So what’s in your closet? Any bones—or boxes—need shaking up?
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Posted on Dec 15, 2010
Winter dies into the spring, to be born again in the autumn.
~ Marche Blumenberg
Ah, winter. I am one of the few who actually enjoys this time of year—given a period of adjustment, of course. I do not impatiently await the arrival of snow. In fact, I am quite put out if it arrives too early—such as in October.
October is the time of fallen leaves and transition from the vibrancy of autumn colours to the starkness of naked trees. Given this time of nakedness, the snow is a welcome covering for the dreary greyness. The world is once again a beautiful place awash in sparkling white. And when the wind howls and the temperature drops, there is no cozier place than home.
Without the vicissitudes of winter, spring cannot come in all its glory. Nor would there be a season for comfy sweaters, hot chocolate, snowmen, sleigh rides, brilliant starry skies, and all manner of winter fun.
There is a rhythm to the seasons that generates a sense of wonder throughout the year—and conversation topic. I hear in other parts of the world, weather is not a conversation starter as it is here in Canada. And from the weather, there flows a plethora of personal stories—of surviving the elements, adventures, activities, and connections with friends and family.
We grow accustomed to transitioning through the seasons and making the most of each one. Our lives develop a flow and rhythm that corresponds with nature and its seasons. Sometimes we lose touch with this connection to nature. We take things for granted (such as a warm house) or become disenchanted by the inconveniences and interruptions of leaky roofs; snow removal; the unwieldy concoction of snow, sand, and salt; snow storms; icy roads; and all the ways humanity and nature collide.
We dance with nature through the seasons negotiating the steps with smoothness, agility, and appreciation coupled with having our toes stepped on or tripping up when we miss a beat. Nature’s rhythm, after all, doesn’t fit with everyone’s groove.
Much of life itself is negotiating transitions. Job changes. Address changes. Partner changes. Status changes. Family changes. Season changes. Some anticipated; others unexpected. We are constantly maneuvering through these changes and the seasons of life. All in time to a rhythm as natural as our heartbeat.
As we transition into the holiday season in the midst of winter, how will you connect with nature and the rhythms of your life? Pause on an evening walk, bundled against the cold, look up and enjoy the night sky? Join friends on a sleigh ride over sparkling fields of snow? Catch your breath while the wind kisses your tingling face as you ski or toboggan in a winter wonderland? Curl up next to a roaring fire with a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a good book in the other? Bake up a storm for family and friends to enjoy? Admire the colourful, twinkling lights beaming out into the dark night?
Whatever you do during this month of festivities, may you be surrounded by the warmth of friends and family. Cozy in the knowledge that, wherever you are in the seasons of your life, you are part of the Great Cosmos—a participant in the rhythmic Dance of Life.
Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter’s evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day.
~Virginia Woolf
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Posted on Nov 15, 2010
Words are powerful. We all know this regardless of what we were taught as children. Sticks and stones do break our bones and words do hurt us. Words can break our hearts, our spirits. They can confuse us, misdirect us, deceive us. Not all words, of course. Words also have the power to heal and uplift, to encourage and motivate, to soothe and nurture.
Words are powerful. They also carry different meanings for different people. The same words spoken to three people can be encouraging to one, mean little to another, and devastating to the third.
This came home for me awhile back when a number of people attempted to encourage me but their words had the opposite effect.
Now this is where it gets tricky as it involves two words that I believe don’t belong together: God and control. This is also dangerous territory because people have very strong beliefs about God, and about control, and about God being in control.
However, for me, that last thought is not comforting. It just raises all sorts of questions; and life ceases to make sense. I appreciate how Robert Fulghum (1991, p. 140) addresses this quandary:
In my childhood I was told that God was all-powerful and lived far, far away. And that I could not see him until after I died. When I asked why, if God was so powerful, there were children starving in Mexico, I was told it was the will of God and that I should not worry about it. Instead, I should be concerned about making sure I didn’t attend the upcoming high school prom, because dancing was a sin and I should try not to sin. Now I am older. And I know that God is everywhere and in all things. There is nowhere that God is not, even in me. I also know that starving comes from not having enough food, and that is a human problem about which something can be done. I know now that dancing comes from having much joy. And when everyone has enough to eat, everyone will dance, especially Howard [insert your name for God].
Hmmm…separating the stuff human’s are responsible from what God is all about. Not easy. We tend to get it all mixed up together sometimes. We expect God to deal with stuff that is really our stuff. Or we may have a view of God that expects the Higher Being to be the Great Fixer or Wish Granter. I am just sorting through that stuff for myself.
Something I am learning to do is invite God into the chaos that is my life. And just waiting—for God to show up. No expectations. Just an open curiosity. I like this approach better. Leaves more room for mystery—and pleasant surprises. And I no longer hold God responsible for all the bad stuff that happens in life. Rather, Life Happens. And God is already there as it happens.
Life happens. I can make demands and petitions to the Power(s) that Be, the Cosmos, Great Spirit, Higher Power, Transcendent Being, Immanent Being, God; but regardless, life happens. The good, the bad, the ugly. And the surprising, and the beautiful, and the amazing. In the midst of all that, if I pay attention or look closely, God shows up. God is already Present.
May you experience pleasant surprises in the coming days that only the Great Mystery can give—and not worry about who is in control, but embrace life as it happens knowing the Presence is already with you—it may just take a second (or third) look to see it.
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Posted on Oct 15, 2010
The last months have brought grief, anger, and intentional rest. My encounters with anger were surprising, frustrating, and educational.
Some of the craziness of life can spill over and affect seemingly unrelated areas. At one point, I realized that if I did not deal with my anger it would consume me. The clue or red flag that my anger required my attention: it felt like poison coursing through my veins. Not a good sign—nor a good feeling.
So I had some inner work to do. This anger wasn’t going anywhere; and the longer I nursed it, the more consuming it became and started to affect my relationships with other people. What to do? For one, I had to acknowledge it. It was a very real part of my life. It didn’t help putting a lid on it—the steam built up pressure sure to cause an explosion. It also didn’t help to spew it all over those around me.
But I did need to figure out a way to direct it. I call this using anger for good rather than evil. While most of us would hardly consider ourselves evil nor our actions, it is a concise statement to help us focus our energies. I had to find a way to channel my anger into positive change. And then I had let go of it.
While it still angers me to remember what transpired, it no longer consumes me—and I can make the choice to ‘not go there’ when thoughts traipse through my mind. However, I did have to do something to address the problem in a tactful manner. To resort to violence or passive aggression generates more pain and suffering rather than alleviates it. It takes a bit more effort to control emotions while expressing them and address the underlying issue. In addressing the issue and my anger, my goal is to do so with self-respect as well as respect for the others involved. Keeping this in my mind helps curb the temper tantrum temptation.
Our anger can stem from a lot of different things: disappointment, frustration, blocked goals, unmet expectations, being hurt, wronged in some manner, wrongfully accused, violated, broken trust, unfairness, righteous indignation, global concerns, local issues, backlog of unaddressed emotions, and the list goes on. Some matters are more easily addressed than others. But regardless of the precipitating event to our anger, each of us is responsible for our own responses, actions, and repercussions.
So my point? We can deal with our anger in ways that cause further damage, or we can find alternative solutions that produce positive change. This often requires some thought, patience, courage, and being mindful of our own needs as well as of those around us. Anger is an effective indicator that something requires attention. It may take some digging to unearth the real, underlying cause; but in doing so, we free ourselves to move on to other things—especially if we take the time to direct our angry energy into positive change.
My challenge to you this month is to join me in my attempts to use anger for good, as a motivator to make positive change. What changes are in store for you if you attend to what makes you angry?
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Posted on Sep 14, 2010
“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time”
~John Lubbock
Life can be very draining—as well as uplifting and energizing. However, at this moment in time, I am intimately acquainted with the former.
With all that has been going on lately, I have become increasingly aware of the importance of rest. Not just physical rest, but emotional and mental rest. While both forms of rest have their challenges—like getting to bed at a decent hour—the emotional and mental strains wear a person down differently and can be harder to address. When coupled together (physical and psychological fatigue), it becomes a train wreck waiting to happen.
This of course reminds me of my journey metaphor for life. It is for good reason that certain trails in various communities and hiking systems have benches placed strategically along the way. Sometimes these benches offer a great view, other times they are placed at the top (or even midway) of a strenuous incline. They can come in all shapes and sizes. Some rustic, others ornate, often influenced by their location. A few are even au natural—such as a fallen tree that is perfectly situated as a rest spot.
Life’s journey can be like that. Our rest spots can be rustic, ornate, or au natural. Sometimes we have to work hard at finding and/or making time for rest. Other times a tree falls in our way demanding that we stop for a minute and reassess where we are going.
Times of rejuvenation and refreshment can be ornate, like a tropical cruise, or as simple as a walk in a nearby park but away from the regular demands for our time and attention. And there are times when just a diversion will do—whether that be participating in the thrills at an amusement park, or losing oneself and one’s cares in a good book, television program, or movie.
Lately, I’ve come to realize that 5 minute rest breaks are also good for the soul—such as listening undistracted to a favourite song, watching the sun set (or rise), sip a cup of tea while watching the birds outside the window. Restful moments can be created anywhere, anytime. Takes a little practice—kind of like mindfulness—but once they are part of the routine, they can slow down an out-of-control day.
So my question to you is, what settles your spirit? What do you do to catch your breath? If you are running downhill or straining to make it uphill, what kind of bench would you like built into the pathways of your journey?
May you find the rest your spirit yearns for as you continue on.
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Posted on Aug 15, 2010
Grieving losses. Not something our society, our culture, is particularly good at. We have time, and place, and space—format—for grieving death—particularly of people, not always of animals/pets. But is that sufficient? What about the void left after the dust has settled?
Generally speaking, we are not well-equipped for dealing with loss. By loss, I broaden the scope of grieving to more than loved ones. We grieve (or not) for loss of jobs, hopes, dreams, plans, relationships, marriages, health, mobility, freedom, security, stability, ability, wealth, community, home, purpose—the list is endless.
However, we are often at a loss as to how to grieve these losses. In our ignorance, we push these losses aside, try to move forward, to get on with life. Yet to be mindful, to live soulfully, requires we pay attention to these losses. Give them their space; their due. Express our sadness, cry if we need to, accept the sadness as legitimate, hold a ceremony, mark the moment. Attend. In all forms of that verb.
Attend—as in show up, be present, pay attention, listen, concentrate, focus.
What if we observed the loss of job as well as celebrated the job promotion? To note the end of things (i.e. funerals, divorces, foreclosures) as well as the beginnings (births, weddings, house warmings). What would it look like to mark the passing of one chapter of our lives and usher in a new one? We are often good at celebrating. What about mourning?
And what would be the benefit? Most of us just want the bad stuff to go away and only welcome the good. If the disappointments and passings in our lives were given more attention, would they be more manageable—contrary to our self-preservation urges to ignore or minimize? Is it possible to give space for grief without it overwhelming us? Is that what we are afraid of—that the so-called negative emotions will overtake us, consume us? That we will never be able to feel positive emotions again if we give way to the ‘dark side’?
Perchance, if we were to attend to—be mindful of—our inner lives, our outer troubles may gain new perspective. It’s worth a try. An experiment in being. What would that look like? To live in each moment—whether it be a space of joy or sorrow.
May your life be fuller by living in the moment—whatever that particular moment brings.
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