The Joy Choice: Little Decisions That Make Life More Joyful (Part 1)

(Since this was originally a ten-minute speech, I'm going to break this down into several blog posts so that someone might have a prayer of actually reading all of them.)

Part 1 of 3

I love watching little kids when I'm out and about--2, 3, 4 year olds--the ones that are too little to be in "real" school yet. They seem to have an innate sense of whatever will bring them joy and they just do it! They twirl or drop to the ground and roll around or stick a finger in their nose. They do what they want to be joyful and don't care what anyone (including their parents) thinks. Somewhere along the way, I think most of us lose that sense of what will bring us joy and then choosing to act on it.

A little over a year ago, I had a bit of a meltdown. I had a fantastic life--wonderful husband, great marriage, two wonderful kids, our home (something to be grateful for in this day and age), our health--and yet I wasn't happy. Sure their were moments of happiness, but I didn't have that deep-down core happiness that I call joy. And I couldn't figure out why. I had everything I'd dreamed of, yet joy eluded me. Then, the meltdown. I hit a psychic brick wall and had to just stop everything. I was physically and mentally exhausted from "living the dream."

I was blessed enough to have the time over the next year to do some serious personal work. I got to explore why I wasn't experiencing joy and how I might experience more of it. What I discovered was that much of my joy was in the choices I was (or wasn't) making. I'd like to share some of the ways I've been choosing joy in my life.

Choosing My Thoughts

If you think about it, much of our experience is really about what we are thinking. If we are having stressed out, worried thoughts, we are experiencing a stressed out, worried life. And vice versa.

For example, my son goes to school about a half hour from our house and I get to experience an hour's worth of freeway and downtown commuting right at rush hour. Believe me, other drivers give me plenty of opportunities to lose my joy! They change lanes without signaling, they cut me off, go too fast, go too slow, tailgate...and my first reaction is anger. Irritation. Swearing. But none of my reaction affects them, my reaction only serves to ruin my own day. My joy is in my perception.

There was a story in one of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books a long time ago. You've probably heard it before: A woman is looking forward to a quiet commute home on the train and a man gets on with his unruly young children. She gets more and more worked up, wondering why he isn't doing something about his kids' behavior so finally, she confronts him. The man explains that they are on their way home from the hospital where his wife, the kids' mother, just died. In an instant, her perception shifts. The kids are still unruly, she's still tired, but that one little piece of information melts her anger into empathy.

Maybe that guy who just cut me off is on his way to Phoenix Children's Hospital where his kid is fighting cancer. Maybe that woman tailgating me can't be late to work again or she'll lose her job--and her home. I don't know what their stories are, but isn't it just as easy for me to assume that they're not just assholes? The fact is I get to experience more joy in my life when I choose to think positive thoughts...OR when I just choose not to think negative thoughts.

Tune in next time for choice #2: Choosing What I Say "Yes" To

Perfectly Imperfect

As far back as I can remember, in any given situation, I've been excellent at reading other people to figure out what's "expected," and then do what it takes to meet or beat those expectations. I have always been good at people-pleasing.

This means at home I was the "good" kid. At school, I was the "good" student. When I met my husband, I added “good” wife to my list. Then, when our boys were born, I took it to a whole new level. I read every parenting book I could get my hands on. I was not going to be just a "good" mother...I was going to be the perfect mother. I was going to do it the "right" way and raise perfect children. 

I lived this way, trying to please everyone else, to live up to someone else's idea of perfect, for most of my life. Until a few years ago, when my kids entered their teen years. They had their own ideas about what they wanted to do and who they wanted to be. I kept trying to fit them, and our whole family, into the impossibly perfect mold I’d created based on what I thought was everyone else’s vision of “perfect.”

Now, we had never measured up to this mold of the perfect family that I was trying to fit us into, but as the kids gave up youth group in favor of playing death metal, we were getting farther away from this version of perfect every day. The more I tried to make the mold fit, the worse things got for all of us--frustration, arguing, nagging were making home life unpleasant. Until about a year ago, when the mold just broke. Really, I just broke.

You can call it whatever you want—a meltdown, a mid-life crisis, a crash—but essentially I had to let go. I was physically, emotionally, and psychologically exhausted from trying to measure up to some impossible—and incorrect—version of who I thought we should all be.

This "crash" has been the greatest gift of my life.

For a year now, I’ve been in the process of learning some fabulous life lessons and I’ve been blessed with amazing, supportive teachers along the way. 

Here is what I am learning:

·      There is no one right way. This may not be shocking to many of you, but this was a revelation to me that took 40 years! There are a lot of right ways--and none of them is perfect. It was the French philosopher, Voltaire who said, “The perfect is the enemy of the good.” And it’s true. I missed out on a lot of good stuff while I was striving for someone else’s view of perfection.

·      The more I try to be perfect, the more distant it becomes. Trying to be perfect actually keeps me from being excellent. When I am afraid of screwing up—whether it’s in public speaking or in my marriage or my writing—that’s when I do my least best work. It’s when I’m willing to make mistakes and reveal my “true self” that I form deeper connections with others.

·      Being present is more important than being perfect. It is my life’s work from now on to be more present and more grateful. When I am focused on being perfect, it removes me from experiencing what “is”—I’m too much in my head thinking about what to do, how to be. When I'm caught up in all my mind chatter, I'm not present and can't connect with anyone.  And I happen to believe that forming deeper connections with each other is part of our mission on this planet.

Maybe the most important lesson I’ve learned, though, is that I don’t know. I don’t know the "right" way, or what I'm supposed to do, or why others do what they do. As far as I can tell, my job is to show up and let go of the outcome.

As we start this new year, I would challenge us all to look at whatever it is in our lives that holds us back, keeps us from being present, keeps us from having the kinds of relationships we long for, and I would encourage us to take steps to change that. It's a process, not a project, but I think the more of us that get started on it, the better off the world will be.

We can’t be perfect, but we can be excellent, and excellence happens when we are present, when we are passionate, and when we are just our plain ol’ imperfect selves. So Happy New Year, and here’s to being perfectly imperfect.

Gifts: You Just Might Find, You Get What You Need

What is a gift? Have you ever gotten a "bad" gift? Recently, Jimmy Kimmel asked parents to pull a prank on their kids where they gave their kids bad gifts and taped their responses. Of course, their reactions ranged from sad, to cute, to appalling. In this season of gift giving and receiving, it provides food for thought.

I love giving gifts. I always have. I remember as a young girl, after all the Christmas gifts had been opened, going and finding household items, wrapping them, and giving them to my family. I didn't want the unwrapping, the gift-giving to be over. Sure, I loved receiving gifts, but the whole giving/receiving thing was wonderful to me. That is why I hate, H-A-T-E, that gift cards seem to have replaced so much of personal gift-giving. To me, gift cards are the same thing as giving someone cash and telling them to get their own gift. Giving shouldn't be about the money, the cost of the gift, it should be about taking the time to give someone something you think they might like.

The reason I think we love gift cards so much is because we don't know what people might like--and we don't want to take the time to find out. We are not close to people. We don't know what they have, what they want, what is important to them, what makes them laugh...or cry. So we give them money. We get money. Money...to get what we want. But what do we really want?

Some of my most treasured gifts are things I never would have asked for. One of the first things that comes to mind is a beautiful green, glass platter with a spiral design that we got as a wedding gift from a co-worker/friend/mentor of mine. I love that platter. It wasn't on our registry. I never would have registered for it in a million years. Twenty-one years after our wedding day I use that platter and every time I think of my old friend, Gay, who gave it to us. And I love it.

I have wonderful bowls from friends and family that I think of every time I make pancakes or salad. I have a great big pink diamond bottle stopper from my friend, Leslie. I think of my friend Kath when I see the solar lights in my back yard. I didn't ask for any of these things...didn't even know I wanted them...but every time I use them I smile and they bless me with thoughts of people I hold dear. I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Tonight, I was showing my husband something on the Internet and the tears flowed, as usual. You see, tears come very, very easily to me. You might say that God gave me the "gift" of tears. I've always had them, just ask my mom. To me (and her), they have often been a curse. I can't speak of anything meaningful to me without the tears flowing, but slowly, over time, I am coming to see them as a gift. Not everyone can cry. My tears are liquid love, as if my heart is overflowing. They show people I care. They are a release. My tears express emotion for those around me who can't. I'm not sure of all the ways they are a gift, but I am coming to realize that, somehow, they are.

If God had been part of Jimmy Kimmel's prank and I'd opened this "gift" of tears, I might well have reacted the way those kids did: irritated, angry, unappreciative and even downright disrespectful. I might have said, "God, what kind of gift is this? One that makes my nose run, that makes me look silly and feel self-conscious? Is this some kind of joke?" But God, like my friends, knows what I need even when I don't know I need it. He doesn't give me a gift card, to get the gifts that I think I want. No...he gives me what he wants for me. So when you give and get gifts this season, even if it's something you didn't want or don't think you need...take another look. Maybe, just maybe, it's the best gift you ever got...that you didn't even know you needed.

Saying Grace: A Thanksgiving Note

Today is Thanksgiving and Facebook is all-alight with statements of gratitude and platitudes of thanks. Now I happen to think the group of people that are on my friends list are pretty aware and enlightened (like me, right?). I know that these good people are thankful for friends, family, and blessings more than this one day a year. I wonder, though, if like me, they get complacent sometimes. All these messages gave me pause to consider, for what am I most thankful?

It is easy to get bogged down in the seemingly important details of my life. With two teenage boys in the house, there is plenty to fret about as they alternately dip their toes in, then plunge, then recoil into adulthood. Being married 21 years is no easy task either. When I tell you that being home all day not working is a challenge, I can see why you may not see why, but take my word for it—it gives me a little too much time with myself and there is plenty to worry about there.

So this morning began like any other holiday morning of late: Jim and I slept in until 9 or so, I went for a run, the kids are still sleeping at almost 1 and we need to leave in half an hour, and my appetizer is getting ready to go in the oven.  As I ran this morning—sometimes waving at the other food-loving souls who were trying to pre-empt the damage of today’s indulgences—it gave me plenty of time to think about what I am thankful for.

One word immediately came to mind: Grace. I am most thankful for grace. Grace from my husband, my kids, my friends, and, of course, God. You may find this hard to believe, but I can be quite irritable and snappy. Jim, my ever-lovin’ husband, often bears the brunt of this, since we don’t see the teens much and I have no co-workers to help with the burden. You see, sometimes, he annoys me.

Like when he loudly picks at his nails while we’re watching TV…snap, snap, snap. (evil eye) Or when he asks 30 times during the movie who that character is and what just happened (evil eye accompanied by irritated sigh) Or when he launches into another life-lesson lecture at dinner. I think I’d better stop there.

It’s easy when I am so irritated to focus on him and what he is or isn’t doing, but eventually what occurs to me is not what a great wife I am to love such an annoying person (ha!), but what a great husband he is for loving me despite my being annoyed.

What is the key to a lifelong marriage? Grace. He forgives me. He gives me another chance. He sees past my evil eyes and petty sighs and loves me despite my impatience and arrogance. He waits for the kind and loving wife he knows I can be to once again resurface. He loves me for who he knows me to be, not for who I am being in the moment. Makes me think that this grace thing is more than just the key to a long marriage, but also the key to a joy-filled life.

What better display of God’s love could I ask for?  So today, and all days, I am thankful for grace. And my hope and prayer is that as I continue to receive it from Jim and others around me, I will be better at freely giving it as well. May your Thanksgiving, and all your days, be filled with the joy of giving and receiving grace.

The Value of a Human Life

What is the value of a human life? This question is unanswerable because we don't have all the data. Our small brains cannot process the impact one person has on the world. I think we lose sight of how much we change the world every day by our mere existence. I know I do.

I have always been proud of my accomplishments: excelling in school, being part of the foundation of Starbucks' success, running a successful 15-year consulting business, creating a great marriage, raising two amazing young men. This year, when I decided to quit working, I realized just how much of my self-worth is tied up in this "accomplishing." For almost a year now, I've not contributed to our family financially, and with my kids in their teens, my mommying has been less in demand as well. Who am I if I'm not producing?

I was sure that I was destined to do "something big"--whatever that means. It didn't necessarily mean fame and fortune, although those themes definitely wove in and out of my dreams, but it did mean doing something significantly world-changing. Something all could see, point to, and recognize as a "wow, that really changed the world" contribution. Now that I'm reaching mid-life, I'm beginning to wonder if that's my destiny (notice I say, "beginning to wonder"...I haven't let go of that dream yet).

Instead, I am wondering if we can recognize those "something bigs" when they occur, because I think most of the time, we can't see them until we look back. Steve Jobs is a great example of someone changing the world right before our eyes, but it took place over many years, in small steps, and over a tumultuous course, so it wasn't always easy to recognize. What strikes me now, is how much each of us changes the world each day, simply by living our lives.

It is impossible for us to know the lives we have touched, what small act or gesture, what conversation, touched someone and altered their path. Does the pebble know the course of the ripples it created upon being tossed into the pond? If I had one wish for every human being on the planet, it would be for each of us to know that our lives, no matter how small, have impacted more people than we can imagine. If each of us could fathom our greatness and the extent to which we impact others, our words might be sweeter, our eyes softer, our hearts bigger.

Living a life of purpose, to me, means knowing that I don't have to produce to have impact. I just have to be. I have to be present. In each moment, I can strive to bring my best self so I don't miss out on the opportunity to do "something big"--share a smile, bring an open mind, open a loving heart. I may not make the history books, but then again, some small thing done in the moment, might just change the course of history. It's worth a shot.

Holding Time

Time is elastic to me. It stretches like a rubber band, pulled taught at both ends by nimble fingers, then suddenly, it snaps, contracts, smarts. Some people “master” time, harnessing it to use it productively, but for me, time has no master. It is my friend, my enemy. It is single grains of sand falling through an hourglass, as Hemingway wrote, “slowly, then all at once.”

 I can’t hold time in my hand or in my head. Just this week I was a contestant in a speech contest and for some reason I had in my head that I needed to be there at 11:15 in the morning. I went to my usual 8:30-9:15 workout, came home, made a leisurely waffle breakfast for my son and his friend. After their breakfast was ready, I made some eggs for myself, then sat down at the computer to surf while I nibbled at my plate. I decided to print out the flyer for the contest in case my Ironman-training husband got home in time to attend. I printed it and sat surfing my Facebook page, knowing that since it was just 10:00 a.m. I had plenty of time to get ready—even though I was still in my sweaty workout clothes. 

While waiting for a page to load, I glanced at the flyer. Something caught my eye. There, in bold letters it said:
                     Contestant Briefing: 10:30 a.m.
                     Contest Start: 11:00 a.m.

 I glanced at the clock on the computer. 10:04. I looked back down at the paper. 10:30. It would take me ten minutes to get there, speeding, and if the stoplights were in my favor. I jumped up, ran to my bedroom, stripping as I went (thank goodness my teenage boys were not there), jumped into my three-minute shower, threw on some nice clothes, blew-dry my hair in record time, smacked on foundation...then, took a deep breath and s-l-o-w-l-y put on my eyeliner (because if you try to do it quickly, you end up looking like Alice Cooper). I grabbed my props, shot out the door and made it there in record time. Of course, they were running behind and I was fine, but that's beside the point.

 I suppose many people experience time as I do: it passes like molasses when I'm bored, but when I'm engrossed in something, it's like a freight train on a mission and I couldn't slow it down if I tried. Like times with good friends or at parties where I never want them to end. I could stay up all night because I am so enjoying the moment—usually singing 1980’s karaoke songs. My dear husband, though, who asked at 11 p.m. if we could go home, is suddenly not happy that three seconds later it's one in the morning. I can tell by the look on his face that I will not be singing "one more" karaoke song.

 Having kids has made me more acutely aware of time than ever. I remember when they were little, screaming and whining, or when I was changing a never-ending stream of diapers, or when I thought my youngest would NEVER turn five so he could go to school, well-meaning older women would say "enjoy it, it goes so fast!" Fast? You've got to be kidding me. Endless days of Disney movies, and backyard baseball games, dirty clothes, and nerve-frazzling arguments seemed to make time drag, melting one day into the next. How could they possibly think it was going by fast?

 I should have known that age would trump youth. I look at my giant man-child who at 17 knows everything and nothing and I can't believe he painted the stick figure framed in my room that says
FOR M
         O
         M

because his three- (or was it four?) year-old mind hadn't planned any space to be able to paint the letters next to each other. I wonder how his 18-year-old self will go away next year and begin fending for himself.

 And I look at my 15-year-old boy-man who impresses me everyday by knowing so well who he is and what he wants. I spent so many years and so much time frustrated by his straining against my will for him and now that strong will of his is creating a life that he can call his own.

 Where did my babies go?

 And I look at Jim, my husband. Was it really 27 long years ago when I as a teenage girl used my feminine wiles to get him to ask me out as he changed my tire at a gas station? Looking back there is a lightning-fast slide show of happiness, sadness, joy, frustration, arguing, sharing, and mostly, thankfully, love.

 It isn't hard to picture us as my parents, over 55 years into marriage, enjoying each other in a peaceful life, having little bickerings over the same old things. Or as Jim's dad, widowed by his wife, Joanne, after 35 years of travel, golf, and raising their kids. I wonder how it feels at 87 to know that there are fewer days ahead than behind. But I know I won't have to wonder for long.

When I wake up tomorrow, I will be there.

Commemorating 9/11

I'm sure that every American who was over the age of five remembers that day. Living on the west coast, it was very early in the morning. We were just getting up and starting our day. I remember feeling scared, thinking our entire nation was under attack. First one plane. Then another. Then the third. Then the fourth. Then days of total silence and empty skies as all flights were stopped. Then weeks and months of images of destruction, tales of loss, and, eventually, stories of sickness of first responders. It was a dark, dark time.

While I did not know anyone who died that day, I--like many Americans, I'm sure--entered a period of depression. I was plagued by sadness, crying at odd times without provocation. It was an immense, all-encompassing sadness that I understand cannot compare to the ongoing loss felt by those who lost loved ones that day, but nonetheless was a personally challenging time. Even though it was ten years ago, it feels vivid and tangible.

As we near the anniversary of this terrible day, I find myself plagued by stories in the media. Every radio station is "remembering 9/11." There are TV shows. On NPR they had stories from parents and grandkids of those who died in the attacks. As I listened this morning in the car, I found myself crying, tears streaming down my cheeks as they did ten years ago. I had to turn the channel. And it made me think. What are we doing?

In no way am I suggesting that we forget, but I have to wonder, especially with the current economic chaos and uncertainty in which our country currently finds itself, is all of this "commemorating" a good idea? If someone's family was tragically murdered, would any therapist suggest that every year, or every ten years, they reenact, retrace, re-imagine the horror of every minute of that day? It seems unhealthy. It feels unhealthy--at least for me.

I would like to know what the families of the deceased would like to do to remember their loved ones. There is a giant controversy over the ceremony in New York City. Who is invited, who is not. Is this really a way to honor those who died and remember what happened? What might be a more appropriate way to honor those thousands of lives without plunging ourselves back into the deep despair that followed the original event? There must be a better, brighter way to move forward out of the tragedy.

I, for one, am not participating. I will not watch the TV programs. I will not listen to the radio. I will not be part of the sensationalism of one of the worst days in American history. I will call my friend, Maureen, whose brother--a firefighter--died that day and give her my condolences. I will say a prayer for all those still suffering. I will honor those who died by doing something positive in my community--something that builds connection so that we are not so divided by religion, politics, skin color and all of the other labels we like to put on people so that we can be right and "they" can be wrong.

But I will not dishonor those who died by being part of the media circus. And I will not return to the darkness of ten years ago. I will be part of the light. It just feels like the right thing to do, the honorable way to commemorate an unspeakable loss--being a little splinter of mirror reflecting light into the dark corners so that hopefully no one has to experience anything like this ever again.