Is the Grass Greener or Not?

This past Thanksgiving weekend had me thinking quite a bit about the idea of gratitude. I know—my propensity for original thought is astounding.

But in particular, I was considering the idea of being grateful for what I currently have versus the always wanting of more. It seems that so many of us are perpetually pushing ourselves to reach that next level, only to arrive at the desired position or to have acquired the dream object, and find immediately that we are ready for the next rung on the ladder to appear. It seems, therefore, that it is hard for us to be grateful for what we have now, without tying some element of what we want next into the equation.

And is this devotion/obsession with the next best thing a positive motivator or a hindering debilitating factor? Is it an assurance that we will always strive for more and thus be on a constant trajectory of a better version of ourselves, or does it merely mean that no matter how far we go, how much we achieve, we will always feel inadequate as we stare greedily at the next, as yet unachieved, goal?

For the sake of full disclosure, I am definitely someone who is always thinking about the next step, about the future—about the destination as opposed to the journey, if you will. It is a struggle for me to live in the moment, although I am trying very hard to do so—every day.

Of course, like you may be as well, I am very much a product of a society that does not necessarily endorse living in the now, but has conditioned its members to be very “future focused.” As you know, recent buzz words of the past several years have sought to undo some of that mentality and there have been many infiltrations of the more Eastern philosophy of living in the moment. Hence the existence of a yoga studio in innumerable strip malls all over the country.

So, as I pondered this concept of gratitude and how it relates to my (affliction?) of being “future focused,” I was trying to discern what the difference actually was between having a “grass is always greener” attitude, which I feel is detrimental and damaging, and simply having a consistent urge for self-betterment and improvement, which I feel is healthy and necessary to lead a happy life.

Now, having graduated from my undergraduate institution with a bachelor’s degree in English Literature, I fancy myself to be quite adept with a little trope called the analogy. In fact, I am able to draw analogies between even the most unrelated of circumstances or situations—thanks in large part to the English departments at Middlesex School and at Colby College.

In consideration of the subtle, yet vast difference between building a broader and better life versus always wanting more, different, and new, I came up with an analogy. Did it initially seem unrelated? Absolutely. Does it somehow work in my oddball mind of drawing correlations between farfetched circumstances? Indeed.

Here you have it: growing up, I was a rather avid gymnast. The flat, water-ski type appendages that are attached to my ankles, in conjunction with my towering-for-a-gymnast height of five-foot six-inches, cut my career unceremoniously short.

Incidentally, my “quitting” coincided with my coach implementing mandatory practices on Friday night. I do not know about you, but in 8th grade, my rather paltry social life consisted of hanging out at the movie theater or the bowl-a-drome with some rather dreamy young gentlemen. These activities dubbed compulsory by myself and my peers, happened to occur on Friday nights. Frankly, I was darned if I was going to put precious time and energy into being a mediocre gymnast when I could be putting far more precious time and energy into having a decidedly mediocre social life.

Priorities, you know.

In any case, during practice in gymnastics, it was almost a certainty that you were trying to learn a new trick/ridiculous body contortion. I now recall these movements with a sense of wonder and confusion. As in: I flipped my body around with ease on a four-inch wide, four-foot high, cloth-covered saw horse? Really?

It seems that a mere week after I perfected a back handspring, my coach was pushing me to learn a back tuck (basic difference is that the former involves springing back onto your hands and then onto your feet, and the latter is just a hurling of your body backwards through the air with no hands touching the ground—I know: wonder and confusion). Personally, I wanted some time to appreciate my new skill, without tumbling (literally) into another realm of the unknown.

Yet the whole point of gymnastics is to learn a skill so that it will immediately act as the foundation for the next skill.

Wow. Is that not the whole point of life?

It is not an abandonment of the skill achieved, for something newer or better, but rather an appreciation of what has just been realized because it is that skill that enables the next one to even be conceivable, let alone achievable.

In case you are missing the point through my convoluted diatribe: it is the idea of building blocks. It is not as though I learned a back handspring and then felt an immediate urge to conquer the butterfly in a swim meet, or to paint a mural on a bus or something. It was the idea that I was working on a steady and consistent trajectory upwards—or forwards if that direction appeals to you more.

By contrast, if I accomplished something only to abandon it in favor of wanting whatever shiny object caught my eye, then I would be guilty of having a grass is always greener complex. And now I see the difference between such detrimental “want it, need it, have to have it” attitude, and the basic evolution of a person to being a better and better version of herself. Or himself, as I suppose it works for you men too.

So as I was thinking about gratitude and Thanksgiving, I was feeling guilty about the fact that I do always want more, I am always excited about the next thing. I was worried that I was not “living in the now” and fully expressing my appreciation for what I have. But now I realize that even having the dreams of the bigger, the better, the next rung on the ladder is exactly that: a trust and appreciation in the foundation I have built up to this point.

It is an amazing thing: perception. Not quite as amazing as the fact that I used to hurl my body through the air with nary a hesitation, but amazing nonetheless.

Thanksgiving Thoughts

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

These words, spoken by Plato, just seem especially apt on a holiday such as today. It just rings very true that every single person you come across, no matter how charmed his/her life may superficially appear, is undoubtedly struggling in one way or another. When you frame this notion in this manner, I think it makes it easier to be forgiving of the transgressions of others. We are all doing the best we can.

Although, I realize the focus of a day like today is not on our "problems" but rather on all of our good fortune.

And we all have a lot of good fortune. I know we all have many things to be grateful for--just as surely as I know we all have struggles in our lives.

But this idea of everyone fighting a hard batttle was especially visceral for me yesterday, and inspired me to write this entry.

I work part-time for a consulting firm. Many of our clients are non-profit organizations that are in need of some business guidance, and we often partner with these groups in order to increase their fundraising capacities. Yesterday, I spent most of the morning at the offices of one such client.

This particular organization is a homeless shelter and soup kitchen. I had never been there before. My time yesterday was spent in the sequestered quarters of the administration offices working with a few of the team members and my boss.

Just before noon, I announced my departure; I had to get to the grocery store to pick up our turkey and a few other last minute food items for our Thanksgiving dinner.

I exited the back of the building to find myself amidst hordes of homeless people who were lining up for lunch at the soup kitchen door.

Do you have moments in your life when you just feel like a complete and utter ignoramus?

This was one such moment for me.

I was hurrying away from a homeless shelter, where people were anxiously awaiting what might be their one hot meal of the day, to pick up a turkey that was far larger than the needs of my family, in order to cook a grandiose and elaborate meal. I had been so excited about the holiday, and yet I wondered suddenly at my frivolity, ignorance, and hypocrisy.

As I walked towards my car I felt guilty, I felt a little fearful, and I felt very confused.

I felt guilty because I lead a comfortable and privileged life, by most accounts. I have never had to wonder where I might be sleeping at night or how I will pay for lunch. But I am also just a human being, just like these homeless people, and yet my struggles seem far less drastic or sad somehow. Why is that?

My brother might say it is because we are all handed specific hardships in our life because they are the ones we did not master in our last life. I like this concept because it neatly ties up the issue, but I am not sure I buy it. And, in any case, such a notion did little to assuage my feelings of guilt.

I felt fearful because I was clearly not one of them. I walked to my own car, dressed in my work clothes of skirt and heels, a diamond glistening on both hands, and immediately thought that they might want something from me. I feared, as a woman and as an outsider, that these poor hungry people might want to harm me for having what they do not have. All that being said, perhaps it is obvious that this fear was also tied up with guilt.

Finally, I felt confused because I still wanted to go pick up my turkey. And I did. Was that wrong? Would a better person have taken the money used for the turkey and the other groceries and donated it to the shelter, and then made do with what was at home for the Thanksgiving dinner? Would a better person not have carried on with her day as normal, after being faced with poverty?

Of course this confusion was tied up in both guilt and fear. The guilt as in: "How could I walk away and not DO something?" and the fear that perhaps I am really not that good, or evolved, of a person after all.

So as these feelings tumbled around in my head, I looked up and smiled at a few people in the line. I said hello and was greeted in return with vacant stares, subtle nods, and several kind smiles. When I was getting into my car, I made eye contact with one final homeless man. He looked at me, obviously knowing that I had emerged from the building that was about to serve him lunch, and he spoke to me.

He smiled broadly and said "thank you."

He had no idea what I may or may not have done in that building. And as it turns out, my role was hardly one that impacted his lunch yesterday, but hopefully will impact the longevity and viability of the shelter in the future.

But that is not really the point.

The point is that this man is clearly one who is fighting a hard battle, to go back to Plato's words. He is doing so in a more obvious way than most of us--I think it is safe to say that many people reading this blog do not face the sames kinds of hardships that this man faces. Yet he looked at me with kindness and seemed genuinely happy to be able to express his gratitude.

So today, on this day designated to give thanks, I cannot help but feel grateful for my encounter with this homeless man. He was not judging my position or resenting my rushing off just as lunch hour was getting going. Instead, he wanted to say thank you because he knew that whatever happens in that building has helped his life: I came out of the building and therefore I deserved a thank you.

The logic is simple, and yet I so often become tied up in specifics.

Now did I deserve a thank you? Arguable. But I took it.

I took it because I think he needed to say it. And in my haze of feeling guilty, fearful, and confused, I needed, more than anything at that moment, to hear it.

However "small" my problems may be, I think that man saw me yesterday and recognized my hard battle in that moment and I am beyond grateful that a homeless man demonstrated to me the power of giving thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Values--What a Juicy Topic!

I talk a lot about my desire to let go of my judging of others, and of my unhappiness when I feel others are judging me. The former seems to be a particular challenge because it has become a habit and (let’s face it), a bit of a hobby as well. The latter is more complicated because it has to do both with my own fear of letting people down, and also with the giving up of the idea that I have any control over how others perceive me.

What has just come to light for me is that at the root of these judgment issues is the question of values.

This realization came about during a wonderfully insightful conversation I had yesterday with my friend Kristine. Kristine, by the way, is an amazing life and professional coach (www.kismet-consulting.com), and she is consistently brilliant in her understanding of human relationships and interpersonal dynamics. I was telling her about some of the fears I have with regards to judgment—my own and those of others. It was she who framed my mental predicament with the word that rang so true: values.

By way of background, it is difficult for many people (and women in particular I think), to let go of the idea that it is our responsibility to make other people happy. Just in case you are taking notes, jot this one down: it is not your responsibility to make anyone happy, except for yourself.

That sounds selfish, but it is actually the opposite. It is tremendously selfless because if you can make yourself happy, you will inevitably be exuding and imparting happiness to those around you.

Think about it: you know how some people can just walk into a room and the whole energy in the room feels lighter, fresher, happier somehow. This happens, as I understand it, because these are people who have no need to take from the energy of others. They are whole, complete, and filled, and this state of being likely came about because they understand the importance of making themselves happy.

This is an incredible phenomenon to me. If you take care to make yourself happy, you will find you are not looking for others to fill the voids of your life. When you are drawn to another person it is in the vein of “You complement me, and I complement you.” Rather than, “I need this from you or I need that from you.” When we have holes in our life, we inevitably suck energy from others in order to fill those holes. If you understood the idea of how a person can make the energy feel lighter, then you also understand, probably all too well, its opposite.

So make yourself happy. There is your golden nugget for the day.

Of course, like so many things: easier said than done.

However, working to achieve your own happiness is also a far easier approach, and one with a much greater return on investment, than the current tactic so many people seem to employ. You know, the one where we try to make everyone else happy at all and any cost to our own selves. This approach sounds selfless and heroic. But it is really just like chasing your tail: unproductive and tiresome.

If you want to, come over to my house sometime and watch my dog, Bruce, chase his tail. He does it with some regularity, and he has never caught it. It is even a pretty long tail, all things considered. I am sure you can read between the lines.

And one final thought on this happiness situation before we get into the meat and potatoes of values. If someone else is looking for you to make them happy, then here is what you do: run. Seriously. You will never live up to what they want and the void they seek to fill will remain vast and unfathomable. We can fill our own voids, but we will never come close to filling those of others. You can add to or complement another. You cannot be their raison d’etre.

Unless this other creature is a dog, but that is an entirely different dynamic to be explored in an entirely different blog entry.

So now we tie this all back to values. A big struggle I have is when I tell people in my life that I am happy for them, that I am proud of them, and/or that I think what they are doing with their life is wonderful.

I often say these things to people in my life because I can be rather cheesy (my brother did not get all those genes in the family) and because I often feel them. The many ways people choose to spend their time and realize their dreams is exciting and interesting to me.

The snafu comes in when they then ask me why I am not doing the same thing, or when it is I will be jumping on board with their program.

Now there is a difference between being excited and happy for someone else’s life and in wanting that life for yourself. It is hard, at times, for people to understand that someone can be utterly approving of their decisions and goals, and yet feel to implement those same goals in their own life would be wrong, and perhaps disastrous.

As human beings we care a lot about external validation. To have someone say, “I think your choices are amazing, I am so happy for you to be doing X.” And then to say, “Me too, I am so happy. When will you be doing X?”

And then, if you are me having one of these conversations, there is an awkward silence. Silence is followed by a red-faced, mumbling, bumbling: “Well it is not the right thing for me.”

Everyone involved in the conversation suddenly has their shackles up, so to speak. On one hand the person handing out the support suddenly feels guilty, hypocritical, and is perhaps sweating profusely due to the awkwardness of it all. The person receiving the encouraging commentary wonders how much said might have been disingenuous, and has mentally demoted the conversation partner to their "D" list.

But if I choose not to follow that path that is working so well for you, it does not mean that I disapprove of your way. It does not mean that when I say I am happy for you and inspired by you, that I am not being truthful. It just means that another way is a better way for me.

It just means we differ on what we value.

I forget sometimes, that other people may not have the same values as me. I am eager to approve of other’s paths and to have them approve of mine, but I am not immune from thoughts like: “This is best for me, therefore this is best for everyone in my life.”

This reminds me of when I adopted my first dog. I would rhapsodize about how wonderful and fullfilling it was to have a dog, and was a bit perplexed when every person with whom I communicated did not run to the local shelter. It did not mean their support and enthusiasm (and patience for that matter--I would really go on and on) was insincere. It just meant that adopting a dog was not for them at that moment. Or maybe ever.

And the truth is that what I value are the “right” things to value, because they are what will make me happy. What others value are the “right” things for them because they are what will make them happy. I have to remember that my idea of happiness looks quite different from other’s ideas of happiness—even people with whom I identify greatly.

I have to remember that it is not for me to judge how another lives and it is not up to me to control how, if, when, where, or why others perceive or judge me. All I can do is try to make myself happy and thus positively impact those in my life.

A way for me to do so is to remember this idea of values. When I feel that oh-so-familiar urge to judge, or when I feel disgruntled at what I take to be the face of judgment on another, I can try to remind myself that no one is right or wrong, we just have different values.

Moochachkas

I am often disdained and yet not entirely surprised to find out about the endless manners in which people out there are being misled. Hoodwinked, if you will. Personally, I do not strive to enter into any kind of relationship with anyone whosoever where they would ever have reason to feel I had mislead them or misrepresented myself.

Now, I am not disillusioned. I know I am far from perfect. But I will not swindle you. Glad-handling and schmoozing are aspects of life I can easily do without. I feel demeaned and resentful when others try to pull such maneuvers out of their greasy little top-hats.

And, as someone who works quite hard at being authentic and speaking my truth--and in encouraging others to do the same--I find I am becoming sort of allergic to hypocrisy.

All that considered, it is now perhaps needless to say that there are times when the world in general just sort of bums me out.

One example: I just took a teleclass entitled “Simple Steps to Monetize your Blog.” The name of the class led me to believe that what would be entailed would be simple and would pertain to my blog. Such an assumption sounds very reasonable, even in retrospect when things that often seemed initially reasonable, no longer do.

Well, the class did not live up to its, rather straightforward, name. Instead, the advice was convoluted and multi-layered and pertained primarily to websites as opposed to blogs. If/when I am asked for feedback, I might suggest re-naming the class. In keeping with the straightforward sounding title, my suggestion is: “Complicated Ways to Clutter your Website with Advertisements for Junk that No One Actually Needs.”

I felt icky being a part of a conversation about web-advertising. At least, I dislike when I am visiting a place—be it a store, a magazine article, or a website--and find out that at least 50% of why I have been lured there is for my potential as a cash cow. It bugs me.

Sort of like when I read a magazine, say on “Healthy Living” or some other similar topic and they tout all this seemingly viable advice and information in congruence with their central theme, only to also have six pages of advertisements about “DietFuel” or some other heart-attack inducing, unhealthy drug du jour that I can purchase for a low monthly installment. Is it just me, or is the hypocrisy blatant?

I do not like having my intelligence questioned.

It is not even like a special sale where the customer is respectfully targeted because he or she is actually in need/want of the product being peddled. Ideally, I like to believe there is potential for a long-lasting and mutually beneficial relationship, a la the barter system. A good sales relationship, to me, involves a friendship where holiday cards are exchanged. What I really disdain is the current sales model of: “You got $4.60? Great. Let me charge your debit and push you on your way. Thanks for the buck, customer 4011.”

I mean how would you feel, as my devoted reader, when I espouse to be someone who cares about personal fulfillment, finding your best self, wading through the nonsense, etc., and then I throw advertisements at you for how you can order prescription pharmaceutical products or, maybe worse--a Snuggie?

If I like my readers (and I do, by the very nature of you reading what I write), then why would I direct you to junk? Why would I debase myself, and undermine my own credibility--not to mention cloud up the aesthetic appeal of my blog page--with flashing advertisements worthy of the Atlantic City strip?

Frankly, the teleclass, and all this venting it inspired, gave me a headache. I like to blog, in fact it seems pretty neat-o to me that I can write whatever I want on this free virtual journal that “belongs” to me, and then share it with any Tom, Dick, or Harry. The fact that I can just suggest to people to read my blog as opposed to, say, actually having to explain myself in a tete a tete (how 1990) seems like a fairly good return on investment. I do not need to advocate men’s hair growth products as well as a way of making a quick buck or two.

However, living in the world of: “If a little is good, then more must be better" (please go to any movie theater and inquire about a small popcorn for proof of this assertion), it seems that we are always wondering how we can cash in on any and every move we make. In speaking to people about my blog, people often have all kinds of ideas for how I can make money. It is like “Well, hey, you are entertaining people for free. You might as well charge them for it.”

Although that makes me wonder, should I start invoicing my friends after they come over for a drink or dinner?

But I have to say, it felt a bit appealing to explore the idea that I could be receiving checks in the mail for just writing what I was going to write anyway. And that is why I took the class. Yes, I too succumbed to the modern thinking, and I am ashamed.

Hence the headache, I think.

Here is what I would like: I would like people to read my blog because it makes them think. Because it gives them mental fodder and keeps them curious and interested. I would then like a publisher and/or agent to read my blog, and say, “This girl can write. This girl is sort of a mess, yet I find her musings to be compelling and a bit insightful too. I would like to publish her book.” Publisher could then offer me some moochachkas (money) to publish my book.

And then, my friends, my devoted readers, if you want to buy my book you can do so through the appropriate vendor and/or at the appropriate venue. No hoodwinking, no flashing billboards. You will merely be buying what you set out to buy at the place where you set out to buy it, and I will be making money in an ethical and straightforward manner. Voila! Everyone wins.

Until then, you can read my blog for free, with no pressure to buy controversial non-FDC tested drugs…or worse—a Snuggie.

Calling My Own Bluff

I do not suffer fools.

This personal propensity was revealed to me several years ago when a boss of mine informed me that the reason she liked my management style was because I did not suffer fools.

Even then, before I actually knew what it meant to suffer a fool, I was innately and staunchly adhering to this social positioning. In fact, when I first heard the expression from my boss, I found it so appealing that I made a mental commitment to find out what it meant and, as luck would have it, my own personal philosophy did seem in accordance with the statement.

I am aware, by the way, that by admitting that I believe myself to be someone who has the right to decide who is a fool and who is not, I have unveiled myself as a fool of the most grandiose proportions.

In any case, I have two dogs: Freya and Bruce. When we adopted Freya, about six years ago, two elements of her character quickly became clear: number one, she was more human than dog, and number two, she possessed a similar stance as my own with regards to fools. Proof of her inclination lay in the fact that it was immediately apparent that she detested teenagers. Show me the teenager who is not a fool and I will admit that I have been proven wrong. I know teenagers, I was a teenager, and trust me, they are all idiots.

And I am speaking from a place of compassion—you have to go through a phase of utter insecurity and foolishness if you are ever going to be a person of substance. Really, I commend their struggle.

Freya, however, as a canine, tends to live in the moment. She doubtfully considers the future of these rambunctious folks and merely focuses on the present. From the start, she seemed to be able to sniff out instability and unpredictability and to disdain it. As such, she has always avoided teenagers like the plague.

Freya is, incidentally, both an intellectual and a behavioral snob. I hope you can fully appreciate how rare these qualities are amongst the exotic mixed breeds of the canine world, otherwise known as “mutts”. She does not pick up refuse from the street, she abhors raucous behavior, she will not cavort with strangers (dogs or human), she has never plunged headlong into any body of water, she crosses her paws daintily when seated, and she enjoys jazz music and classic films.

Her strangest quality, as far as I can discern, is that she is a dog and not, in fact, a debutante from the 1950’s.

I take great pride in Freya’s undog-like behavior. She is calm, classy, graceful, thoughtful, and funny. In case you are failing to read between the lines, I have ascribed to Freya all of the qualities I strive to embody. It is a lot to live up to.

So enamored have my husband and I been with Freya, that last year we felt inspired to adopt a second dog. Enter Bruce.

Bruce is incredibly handsome. He is fifteen pounds of terrier mix with short rust colored coat, floppy ears, big brown eyes and a white stripe down his forehead that my husband is convinced makes him faster. We brought him home from the shelter and, much to our delight he was house-trained, cuddly, and willing and able to sleep (remarkably soundly) for 12 hours every night.

Bruce also entered our house with some other little “quirks." For one thing, he would incessantly chew on furniture. Here I want to make it known that the bitter apple spray, by which my mother swears (Paco evidently hates it) was no deterrent--even though it smells like rubbing alcohol. I am inclined, therefore, to add “alcoholic” to Bruce's list of qualities. Additionally, he barked maniacally for approximately six hours of the day, and generally demonstrated paranoid and schizophrenic behavior.

For example, on walks, he would become highly suspicious about random bushes or piles of leaves. He would lurch around these vicinities, seemingly sure that something or someone was about to pop out and pounce on him. He would then go inexplicably plunging into the exact bush about which he demonstrated such fear.

To some dogs he would have no reaction, to others it seemed he wanted to dismember them in sight. The strangest thing would be when we would see the same dog and he would have polar opposite reactions based on...well, based on what, I cannot say.

It bears noting that generally, upon seeing other dogs, he would run wildly at them, only to stop six inches in front of them and bark incessantly. An odd aspect to this “greeting” ritual (in addition to the oddness of the ritual on the whole) is that he seemed to want friends. That is, his tail would wag all the while he barked at an alarmingly high decibel. He would then cry when the other dogs ran away from him (often after having become so scared and/or alarmed that they peed on the spot).

Bruce manages to become unfathomably dirty in very short periods of time, and he will plunge into any and every body of water he comes across—regardless of factors such as temperature or general safety. Of the many, many items he unscrupulously picks up from the streets on our walks, among his favorite delicacies are dead toads and horse manure.

He throws himself with vigor at Freya at what (I would imagine) she perceives to be inconvenient and/or inappropriate times, and he shreds toys, shoes, and furniture with no apparent rhyme or reason. Somehow, all of this is tolerable. However, what I find most troubling is that he seems to love, of all God-forsaken things, teenagers.

I suppose I should not be altogether shocked by that realization. After all, when Bruce first came home with us he basically embodied a teenage boy in dog form; he was generally house-trained, seemed to be experimenting with alcohol, had social skills which outwardly indicated to the world that he wanted everyone to leave him alone, yet he also seemed to yearn for a sense of inclusion, and, finally, the whole “acting before thinking” phenomenon.

So you can imagine my chagrin. The girl who does not suffer fools has brought the canine equivalent of the human epitome of a fool voluntarily into her house. Was I self destructive? Or just, as I mentioned earlier, showing my true colors as the greatest fool of all time? Karma is, after all, a real stinker.

I know that I will never be able to specifically verbalize what made us decide to bring Bruce home, which is a question my husband voiced aloud for several months after we adopted him. Much like when we adopted Freya, some intangible force compelled us to select that particular dog at that particular moment in time despite a number of logical reasons which might have spoken against such a decision.

And when we adopted Freya, our life was truly in need of stabilization. A calm, contained energy was just what our home needed to balance itself as we navigated the waters from being an engaged couple to being married, as we moved homes four times, as we made several job changes, and endured many family “situations.” We needed a Freya, a dog that was, and is, calm in the storm. We relied on her constant support, unwavering gentleness, and companionship.

I, especially, needed Freya as she was the physical embodiment of the person I wanted to be: more grounded, more decisive, more graceful—content with who she was and what place she held in the world. Freya was truly an invaluable constant as we navigated through the waters of chaos to find our own rhythm and peace in this world.

Bruce, in stark contrast to Freya, is chaos embodied. Having some perspective now, I see that our decision to adopt him was indicative of our own need to shake things up in our life. My husband and I are at a stage where we both feel ready for new adventures; we want to grow as individuals and as a couple. Due to time, maturity, and a whole host of other factors, the qualities and components of an ideal life have changed for us, and I believe that we subconsciously craved a physical manifestation of our internal evolutions.

We both, as type-A’s who have been long devoted to routines and have lived carefully within the boundaries of our own making, recently realized that we wanted to stretch beyond our comfort zones and to try to incorporate a little more spontaneity…a little more, well living, into our life. We needed a Bruce as proof that we can plunge into unpredictable waters, get dirty, make awkward social decisions and still, at the end of the day, sleep like a baby.

Freya continues to be calm, graceful, and discerning. And Bruce is spunky, gregarious, and fearless. What I once feared to be his membership to the class of creatures I so disdained—the fool—has actually emerged as a genuine joie de vivre.

Now, as Freya sits by the door, paws gracefully crossed and head resting atop them in her ever dignified napping pose, and Bruce, in contrast, is splayed out in all his messy glory on the bed he spent the better part of the morning chewing up, I am reminded that life is about balance.

My dogs teach me every day in ways both subtle and obvious, on scales both large and small. I have found that what I intrinsically know to be true at any given period in my life is often manifested physically through my relationship with my dogs. Somehow my dogs are the link enabling what my subconscious believes to become a conscious reality.

Freya has helped me build a foundation of peace and inner calm, and Bruce is teaching me that life’s boundaries are far more flexible than I once perceived them to be. As I consider the magnitude of influence of my dogs on my life, and the ever expanding sense of gratitude I feel towards them, I am reminded that I once thought people who spoke of dogs as “teachers” or “friends” were unequivocally crazy.

And with that admission, I pose the inevitable question: who is the fool now?

"Inventing" Psychology

When I write, I have a tendency towards the verbose and the dramatic. When I speak, I have a tendency towards simplicity and repetition. My conversational style, taken out of context, would indicate that I appear to be perpetually speaking to a group of eight year olds.

The root of this unique (strange?) interpersonal style is twofold: one, I think I fear being misunderstood. This reason is, of course, my own issue, as I have no control over how other people will interpret what I say—no matter how slow or how many times I might say it. Two, I am a verbal processer. Even when my subconscious mind has learned and decided on something, it is only fully comprehended by my conscious mind through this process of repetition and simple articulation.

Unfortunately, neither reason for my behavior makes my conversational companions any better off.

For example, the other day, my husband and I were having a conversation about my most recent blog entry. He had not yet read the posting, and was patiently listening to me blather on about the concept of people being attached to their story and what not.

When I was done repeating the same idea in about five different manners—each appropriate for an audience of third graders--he started to say something, hesitated, and then sort of laughed. Forever curious about the reactions my musings elicit, I pressed him to tell me what was on his mind.

He looked at me with a rather wry expression, seemed to consider whether or not he actually wanted to divulge his thoughts, and finally began: “This is going to come across as a sort of wise-ass comment, but…”

Me, eager as ever: “Yes? Tell me!”

Him: “It is just that…Well, do you really think you are the first person to come up with this stuff? It is all sort of obvious. It is common sense.”

My husband, I feel compelled to share, is exceptionally generous and effusive in his praise for my writing. He is also extremely good at calling me out on my nonsense. We spent the next few days making fun of all the psychological analysis/diagnosis I “invent” on a daily basis.

I admit that I am a sometimes ridiculous person, and I forget how ridiculous I can be until someone else calls me on it. This point actually relates to my overall point here, so bear with me.

I would like to clarify what I thought was obvious and what is, based on my husband’s reaction, maybe not coming across through my writing: I do not presume to be re-inventing the wheel or to imply that what I impart through this blog are life-altering lightning bolts of ideas that have struck me, and me alone. Frankly, I am often not even giving these age-old topics a particularly new or original spin.

My intent is to inspire critical thought, conversation, and self-examination. The sort of which I try to engage in with myself. The sort that makes me take a second look at myself and at what I have been doing--and maybe stops me in my tracks for a minute.

Auto-pilot is a proclivity and I think it is a shame. At least, I want to shake myself out of operating in that mode, and I hope my musings inspire you to do the same. In order for that to happen, I do not think new ideas or foreign concepts are the place to start. I want to go back to what we all inherently know on some base level and then we inevitably forget here and there because something--life?--gets in the way.

When we function on auto-pilot, we are not being our true self. We are being a less vibrant, less evolved, less interesting version of the person we are. I seek to pull myself away from that tendency because I think doing so makes me more interesting and interested. Same goes for you.

But the truth is that it can be difficult to change our own habits, shake up our own routines, and rearrange our own perceptions of life and the way things “should” or “ought” to be. (Bad words, but you know that already).

My main point today is that there is so much that is so obvious when it comes to analyzing others. It is so easy to detect how other people are missing the mark, messing up their lives, etc. Discussing all of these issues abstractly often imparts a sort of “Yeah, well, duh!” reaction.

And yet, when I examine my life, I find I fall prey to all these obvious errors of judgment, and a whole host of mistaken self-analysis, with shocking frequency. It is hard to look at your life with an objective lens, and even harder to critically examine how or why you might be engaging in the very acts that seem so obvious, and so obviously detrimental, when you see them occurring in the lives of others.

I am assuming that I am not the only one who does so. At least, I am surprised by how often I can say: “What an imbecile!” when it comes to watching someone else bang their head into a wall with alarming repetition, only to turn the microscopic lens on myself and think: “What? Me, too!?”

But when I think about myself and my ability to opine on people letting go of their stories, etc., I know that the truth of the matter is this: easier said than done.

Personally, a big part of my story if that I care about external validation. I care about “doing the right thing.” I want people to like me, I want people to be impressed by me, and I want to make all the “right” decisions to make all of that happen.

Cognitively I know that to truly be happy and successful there is one person and one person only whose good graces I need to earn: my own. So, ironically, I talk a big game about the importance of being true to yourself. I will readily and convincingly tell you how the only person whose stamp of approval on your life that will matter is your own.

I will then turn around and be the first to cry (hysterically and disproportionately) over a minor criticism from a professor, boss, or client.

Basically, you could watch me for a week, and, in addition to being bored out of your mind (I am not ALL that interesting), conclude that I am guilty of falling into the very traps against which I warn others. I would imagine that you could, maybe easily, “diagnose” me as being idiotic, ignorant, and oblivious.

That scares me a bit. Although now think: could I do the same if I observed you for that amount of time?

We are all works in progress and change is not something that happens overnight. If you have been running on that same wheel for years, telling the same stories, or sleep-walking through your days then this is not a meant to make you feel badly; this is merely a suggestion to turn the lens on yourself. I will certainly do the same.

Creating Your Own Reality

Perhaps you have heard, as I have, that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.


Contemplating such an explanation immediately conjures up a vision of that oft referenced hamster running on a wheel. The little rodent literally runs in circles as he just keeps going and going and is, ironically, never getting anywhere.


Or to use an analogy involving my old friend/nemesis the bird: this definition of crazy makes me think of a winged creature flying into a window repeatedly--stupidly failing to remember with each attempt that there is a larger, if transparent, obstacle fully blocking the way. Adding injury to insult here is the fact that the bird is likely becoming increasingly physically compromised as he repeats the same action time and time again.


The imagery, despite being a bit sad, is also sort of funny. It is funny because it seems so asinine. As in: “Who would do that?” For an animal such repetitive, fruitless, and even injurious, behavior seems forgivable in a way. As in: “The poor little guy just does not know any better.”


With a human we are less forgiving however. It becomes more like: “Well, you DESERVE to be branded crazy if you are dumb enough to repeat the same action over and over again and not realize that all it is doing for you is making you tired and frustrated--and maybe even slightly concussed.”


All that being said, I bet you perform a variety of this wheel running, tail chasing, window banging in your own life.


I sure do.


If you do not, then I bow to you; you are now my hero and my inspiration. Please send me your address so that I can write you fan mail.


Although, even if you do not, you are actually not entirely off the hook. At the very least you are almost certainly being affected by someone in your life that is doing just that very window banging action over and over. You likely want to just throw them in a cold shower, shake them a bit, or just yell: “Wake up, will you?” at the top of your lungs into their face.


No? That’s just me then.


Despite the temptation, however, I would actually never handle the situation in any of the aforementioned manners. Not only would it be rude, and I tend to care quite a bit about proper decorum, but also because it would be ineffective.


At least, throttling someone and screaming in their grill would likely stun them into silence, acquiescence, and/or submission, but it would not actually solve the problem. Once they have regained their senses and perhaps attempted to sue you, what will probably happen is that you will have provided a very convenient scapegoat. They will misinterpret your frustrations with them as being a product, not of any problem on their part, but rather of your own issues. Voila. You are now the one with the problem.


They will then promptly pick up again where they left off—harvey wall-banging and all that.


The crucial point here is that no one is going to jump off that hamster wheel, or stop ramming into that window, unless he or she realizes that perpetuating a cycle is fruitless, frustrating, and/or harmful. And this is a very hard thing to do. To look at your life with an objective lens is tremendously difficult. To actually see and recognize your patterns is even more complicated.

At least, I have a heck of a time with it.


Patterns are not always as neat and obvious as those on a paisley tie. They are often much more multi-layered and deceptive.


But at the base of the pattern of your situation is the story. Your story. That story you have been telling—and are still telling—to yourself and to others about who you are and what defines your life.


It is the story of the reality you have created for yourself.


You have likely become incredibly attached to this story—whether it is a good story or a bad story. You likely are not even aware of how attached you are because the story is not a separate entity, it is you. As much as your breath is you, really.


So here is the main point of what I am saying: you create your own reality.


A point of reference comes to mind: Dermot Mulroney told Debra Messing in the sort of funny and sort of creepy movie, The Wedding Date, that “every woman has the exact love life she wants.”


Well I believe that, although there are a lot of people looking to throw tomatoes at me right now. But I do believe it. If you want love to be disappointing and fruitless, it will be. If want drama, you get drama, people.


But what I really want to drive home is that you have the exact life you want as well. I know this to be true, because you are creating it yourself.


And you might say, “But I want to be successful and happy and I have not created that for myself so you are wrong, you dumb blogger.”


But then consider: Are you often consumed by all the ways you are not successful? Do you constantly think about aspects of your life that are not going well? Are you someone who tells tales of woe and pessimism? You may not even realize that in wanting to be happy or successful you are just running on the wheel. To create happiness and success you have to feel happiness and success. You have to exude it. You have to, for lack of a better term, “fake it ‘til you make it.”


Because I can tell you that those angels out there are not just whispering, they are also soaking it in. If we say we want to be successful and then we focus on or spend time thinking about all the ways we are not, well then, boom, wish granted. You will remain the person wanting to be successful. You will not be the person who is successful. And that will be your story. Your story will be: “I am someone always seeking and wanting success and happiness.”


And all of this is, of course, based on however you define success. Because as you might remember from a previous post, “success” is a largely subjective concept. Read my old post on success ("Loving Your Problems...") to catch up if you like.


I am sure that even if you are darn near perfect, you have that one friend whose story is that he/she always has a dramatic love life, the one whose story is that he/she always has trouble with a sibling, the one whose story is that she is constantly at odds with her weight, the one whose story is that his/her coworkers are terrible. And so on...


And then they come to you, time after time, to report that the new relationship, the one that started out so new and different, is just as wrought with drama as the last. They tell you that the brother/sister is still being a pain in their arse, that the weight came off and then came back, that the co-workers at yet another new job are still a bunch of meanies.


And of course what they report is the case because these people have become the story they tell. They will perpetuate their story because underlying it all is the question: who are they if they are not the one with the dramatic love life, the one with the weight struggle, the one with the –you fill in the blank here?


We become so intrinsically attached to these stories that we forget who we are without them. As a result, we are constantly repeating the same frustrating patterns.


And we do not recognize that because each cycle comes in a new package, wrapped in different paper if you will.


Take me for example. I am constantly trying to figure out my calling, my passion in terms of a career. I have defined my life by wanting to uncover this perfect career the way one might uncover a crock pot. And each and every new vocation I take on, ends in much the same way. The jobs have all been (vastly) different, the bosses have been across the map, but the result is almost always the same. I run on the hamster wheel without ever thinking maybe I need to hop off and run elsewhere.


Like around a park for example. That might offer some lovely fresh perspective.


So now, I invite you to take some time and think about your story, or stories.


Imagine how powerful it could be if you could flip your story around to be positive. If your new story is that you are the person with the exact life you want because it is the reality you have created for yourself. You can do that.


Really.


Oh and by the way, I hope you know I am not saying you are running on the wheel to nowhere or slamming your head into glass windows on purpose.


My wise and wonderful friend Kristyn has taught me that the truth is that we are all doing the best we can with what we have got. And breaking cycles might take some time because you always have the temptation to go back to what you know.


If what you know is a dramatic love life, or low self esteem, or weight issues, then yes, you will likely run back to that ratty old security blanket of a story whenever the going gets tough.


But you can create a new reality. Just know that it takes a conscious decision, some rigorous self examination, and the willingness to let the old story go. And it might be scary to let it go. Even if it is a bad and self-destructive story, it is yours and you have built a life around it. Who are you without it?


Well, I do not know, but I am excited to meet you. Now let’s jump off that hamster wheel, run around the park, and start writing a new story.

Whispering Angels

Let me just open this one up by saying that I am not really into angels. If you find you read the first paragraph of this blog post and wonder when I jumped on the spiritual bandwagon to fruit loop town, please just keep reading.

“If you stay very still in life and in nature, you will hear us.”

This is the quote, spoken by the instructor, which served as the opening words for the yoga class I took yesterday. She explained that she had seen the quotation on a calendar at another studio where she practiced yoga this past weekend. Accompanying the words on the calendar were drawings of angels.

This whole situation is one which a year or two ago I think I would have groaned audibly, maybe physically left the class, and definitely would have emotionally and mentally tuned out from the first mention of the word “angel.” If you know anything about me and my history with people talking about and to angels, then this reaction would come as no surprise.

Yesterday, however, I found myself sort of moved.

I am not saying that I now feel the idea of angels whispering to us as they flitter around unseen and unnoticed by the general population is something with which I feel completely at ease. Or even something with which I feel remotely at ease.

Because the truth of the matter is that I do not really get it.

Of course, I understand the concept of the angels, but the logistics of the meaning behind my instructor’s quotation made no initial sense to me.

Frankly, the lack of the tangible can be hard for me to intellectually grasp, and so I often dismiss things, concepts, and ideas that do not have concrete "answers." But I want to be able to grasp such notions. I want to not “need” to have answers to every question I ask.

I am trying to work through these personal cognitive hurdles because, it seems to me, in order to evolve mentally and emotionally, it appears necessary; it seems that to be happy with myself and my place in life, requires quite a lot of acceptance for the fact that there are often no tangible answers.

Moreover, it seems the questions we ask with the most frequency and the most urgency are those with the most elusive “solutions.” Questions about love, happiness, closure, the future.

As someone who has trouble “staying in the question,” I also have trouble believing that the (presumably wise) words of angels are being whispered within my hearing range at all times. Is it really just up to me to silence all the “other,” to prick up my ears, to make a concerted effort to listen, in order to be granted some much needed sage counsel? Is it? I mean honestly: Angels? Whispering? Really?

But of course, once I spend a few minutes thinking about it all, I realize that is not the point. The point is that you can believe in angels or you cannot believe in angels. You can believe in God, you can believe in ghosts, you can believe in granola. None of that is what matters. Really. You can pray, you can swear, you can pray and swear in the same sentence. You can eat organic vegetables or you can eat ho-hos. None of that is what matters.

At least none of that is what matters surrounding my own interpretation of this whole idea of whispering angels. You may have another take altogether, but that is for you and your blog, so let us continue.

The point is that we will never hear anything if we do not take the time to listen. We will never allow a new idea to come unbidden if we continue the cycle of constantly cluttering our minds and bodies with whatever we can stuff into ourselves.

It is like the idea of cleaning out your closet. You may not think your particular closet needs any purging. You might think: “Well, everything fits in there right now, so why do I need to make room? Make room for what exactly?”

Well, I will tell you what it is exactly that you need to make room for: You need to make room for life.

Not to boss you around or anything.

But it makes sense. We expend so much energy filling up the "voids," the empty spaces, the closets of our life, that we really do not leave a whole lot of room for the unexpected to fit in.

In my own life, lately, I have been feeling very overwhelmed. I often feel overwhelmed when I am uncertain of my next step, or steps, in life. Without going into the details of what is confusing me, I feel it is important to share that I have a lovely life. I am a generally happy person who works hard to create a reality for myself that is constantly evolving and improving.
I am not always successful, in fact there are times when I rarely seem so, but I am always aware of the possibility of success.

It might now be obvious that I do not like the gray area. So--too bad for me--at this particular moment in time, I acutely feel uncertainty. I am not sure how my life will transpire over the next few years. Of course no one does; there are always a lot of unknowns. But there are times when all of the unknowns seem to be ganging up together and eclipsing all that I do know. This is one of those times.

And I dislike that—why hide my knowns from me? It seems sort of cruel.

So now my unknowns are taking center stage. Some of the most visceral of the wily unknown gang: Will I have children? Will my family, and the few close family members about whom I worry almost constantly, soon uncover happiness and peace? What is this concept of “home” and how do I define it? Am I any closer to finally understanding that the happiness of others is not my responsibility?

Anyway, back to my point, whenever I am overwhelmed by life’s uncertainty, by where the next stone on my path will be set (likely only to be moved, and re-moved countless times again), I seek answers. Any answers. But now, as I try to "stay in the question," I am learning that the quick fix, however instantly gratifying it can be, is only that: a quick fix.

I am learning that to grab on to the quick fixes, the most readily available solutions, is only serving to clutter up my proverbial closet. These "solutions" are merely filling my life with noise that is, in essence, not saying a darn thing, but is acting as a very effective distraction. I am learning that what I could most benefit from, in moments like these, is stillness--a chance to allow a new solution to develop, an angel to whisper, and all that jazz.

It is becoming clear to me that a big part of my uneasiness at these times of personal uncertainty is that I do not want to disappoint the people in my life whom I love. I worry that these people will be disheartened when they learn I have made a decision for myself that they would not make for themselves. I do not want to let people down by not following the path I think they think I ought to follow, the path that they thought I would follow, the path that makes “sense,” the path that I, for all intents and purposes, “should” be following.

But then I remember what I always seem to be telling other people: “should” and “ought” are icky, bad, evil words. If I live my life by what I “should” be doing—by my own or anyone else’s (real or imaginary standards), then I really “should” have just checked out a long time ago.

And, really, who am I to presume to know what other people really think? Who am I to put words, ideas, and judgments in their mouths about me?

I will tell you who I am. I am me. And the fact that I worry so much about letting other people down really only means one thing: I am worried about letting myself down.

Sometimes I am so fearful of doing the wrong thing, of making the wrong step or the wrong decision that I either jump headlong into the first thing that comes my way, or I just sit around and talk about all that I will or will not do, without ever doing anything. Basically, I fill my life, my minds, and all my "closets" with noise and clutter because it erroneously seems to be a "solution" to the silence that I sometimes fear above all else. And yet, I am starting to learn that it is only in the space of quiet that the real revelations manifest.

All that considered, maybe it is obvious why the words of the yoga instructor moved me yesterday. Maybe what I need to be doing is just listening for those darn angels.

With that I better sign off. I can only really listen if I shut up long enough to do so.