WHY IT DON'T COME EASY

As a young woman right out of college, I moved to New York City and studied and worked in theater.  Translation:  I waited tables.  And handed out programs for “experimental” performances.  And did lots and lots of “staged readings.” 

I very quickly got fired from my first job because the restaurant had a “sidewalk element” to it and one day, while I was fetching drinks, a payment got lifted off one of my tables by a delightful passerby.  No, not my fault.  Yes, that manager hated me.

My next job, soon after acquired, was in the financial district.  It was hoppin’ for lunch but relatively dead at dinner.  I preferred the slower paced evening meal and the opportunity to bond with my customers, so soon I was unofficial head waiter of that shift.

One night, as I was weaving through my station making small talk and delivering drink refills, I had a customer say to me quite out of the blue—“You know, I have never seen a waitress who is quite so attentive to service.  But you do realize you are doing everything the hard way, don’t you?”

Actually, I didn’t.  I was doing what felt logical to me.  I was doing what felt “right”.

But as he described my movements as an observer, I got to see his perspective.  I was certainly not taking the shortest distance between two points (that would be lazy).  I was also adding extra (translation: anal) steps to nearly all of my duties (hypervigilance is a definitive character trait of mine).

I was not at all insulted by this man’s observations; truthfully, I felt a bit prideful.  Look at me, I thought, going the unnecessary extra mile to make sure a room full of strangers get their needs met and then some!  Yes, I know…because we are all adults, we can see where this is going.

But I was a very young woman, blissfully unaware of how the “extra” mile quickly becomes the “expected” mile both in the workplace and in personal relationships.  Also blissfully unaware that while your “extra” effort may make you the “go to” gal in a lot of situations, it doesn’t necessarily translate into “extra” pay, “extra” appreciation, or “extra” love.  Almost never, actually, in my experience.

Thus began my long and storied career of “reinventing the wheel”, because the easy thing to do and the right thing to do are almost never the same…right, 1 billion inspirational memes??? 

It can’t be any good if it’s easy, right?  It’s only worth having if you fought for it tooth and nail, right?  Right?????

Yes, we are all adults and can see where this is going.  But I was a very young woman and hypervigilant by nature and something of a perfectionist and maybe a tiny bit of a martyr and…well, we can see where this is going.

So because we live in an excruciatingly cooperative universe, my belief that what was “easy” and what was “right” were not the same thing began to reflect in my life in every way possible.  Soon, virtually nothing was “coming easy” to me—backbreaking effort was required to accomplish things most people could do practically in their sleep…naively, I was baffled.  Why was I working so hard for so little? 

Getting pregnant was a struggle (IVF).  Childbirth was a struggle (36 hours of back labor).  Parenting was a struggle, as my son faced some unique and, at the time, mysterious developmental issues.

Those first four years of my son’s life, in addition to dragging him to virtually every kind of doctor on the planet, also included dealing with the death of both of his grandfathers, two job losses for my husband and two moves.   Emotionally and spiritually I was crawling across the desert in search of water, all while attending to the needs of everyone around me while my own consistently fell by the wayside.  And as my expectations for my performance continued to grow, what I expected from others was proportionately diminished; better to do it myself then ask for help and risk being  a burden, or being let down.

As years went on I heard myself being described thusly:  “The most low-maintenance person I know”; “A self-sustaining ecosystem”; “Ferocious”; and most tellingly: “It must suck to be you”.  I was not at all insulted by these observations; truthfully, I felt a bit prideful.  But about two years ago, as I stood there pridefully with all my fingers already stuck in all the various leaky dams in my life, the universe “cooperated” once more and the proverbial sh*t hit the proverbial fan.    

I graduated from crawling across the desert to making this same trip in a gluey quicksand, and I quickly came to realize that the more I struggled and efforted, the deeper I sunk; the quicksand was swallowing me whole. Panic became how I woke up in the morning and how I laid down at night.  I felt trapped and doomed, but like Dorothy in the witch’s castle watching the red sand run through the hourglass, for the first time in my life all I could think to do was stand there and cry and pray someone would save me. 

So there I was, feeling alone and weak and helpless and pitiable (translation: surrendered), and the universe once more cooperated with my idea of myself and (drumroll, please)…SAVED ME.  A solution to one of my biggest problems (two of them, actually) dropped out of the sky like I was one of those women on Sex in the City.  It was like Hollywood magic; it came EASY. 

EASY!  So that means it can’t be right, right?  At first my anxiety, in spite of the miraculous intervention, did not abate, because EASY can’t be GOOD.

And then I started thinking about the things in life that DO come easy…like falling in love, which, when it happens,  is as unavoidable as falling when you go over a cliff.  Or loving your child…the most inevitable and powerful love in the universe.  Or…being good at what you are good at, which is different for everybody but inevitable as well.

It’s easy to laugh.  It’s easy to do the things we enjoy; it’s easy to watch a sunset, give someone a hug, go for a walk.  Easy people are delightful, easy days are restorative; easy is where we can REST.

Easy is what gives us the down time to face what is difficult, because difficult is also inevitable.  Easy is a critical piece of the yin and yang of life and we should welcome easy when it comes and trust that the very easiness of it is a sign that it was meant for us.  To paraphrase Rumi, the answers we seek that come easily were seeking us as well.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I won’t go giving up difficult cold turkey because difficult, in addition to being inevitable, has also brought me many beautiful gifts, too.  Also, I’m not meant to be anyone but myself and sometimes I need to do it “the hard way” in order to really hear the lesson.  But I will also remember, as Ringo Starr sang, “peace is how we make it”.

I will remember that while it’s not all going to be easy, it doesn’t always need to be difficult.  I will remember that I don’t always have to be easy to be lovable.  I will remember that peace is possible always when you accept yourself exactly where you are, whether it is an easy or very difficult place.  

 

 

Why Happiness is Not a Luxury

Back when I was a young, single girl in L.A., I had a friend who would often opine that any problem that could be solved with money is not a “real” problem.  Of course, none of us had any money, so we had lots of “fake” problems; and “fake” problems, like “fake news” are actually very real.  Not being able to pay your rent may be a “fake” problem, but it will still get you evicted.

But the core truth of what she said has always stuck with me.  Things like disease, depression, addiction, loss of a loved one—these are things we can throw all the money in the world at to no avail.  All other problems tend to be transient, to some degree; even if we do get evicted, the vast majority of us will not end up permanently homeless.

And all of us will face various challenges throughout our lives and for the most part will eventually either triumph over them or at the very least get past them.

Which brings me to the topic of happiness. 

When we get caught in a cycle of challenges and difficulties, it is easy to lose sight of it.  While we will still cherish the way our child embraces us, or a beautiful sunset or a good book, being generally a “happy person” with a “happy life” starts to seem like something only possible for our Facebook friends, who appear to be forever on holiday or at the very least eating gourmet meals on a regular basis.

Happiness itself seems like a luxury, not something we regular folk with 99 problems, “fake” or not, get to enjoy.  Happiness is for the lucky, the beautiful and yes, the rich.  The rest of us are just trying to get through the day, keep a roof over our heads and keep the kids alive and relatively well.

For the last 9 months, many of the big, major ("fake") stressors I had pressing down on me started to shift, mostly for the better.  Of course the shifts have caused adjustments, not all of them desirable, but for the most part life is a lot better than it was a year ago.  However, I also developed a new problem, something that may be judged as frivolous by some, but that has really been bothering me.

When I mentioned it to my mother a few months ago, her response was, “At least you don’t have cancer!”  Classic Mom.  Of course I wish NOBODY had cancer; I lost my Dad to it 12 years ago and consider cancer to be a cruel thief and worthy of nothing short than eradication from the planet.

But just like not having enough money to pay your bills is only a “fake” problem when you do, just because we are fortunate enough not to have a ravaging disease does not mean other conditions won’t cause us pain.  Bad relationships, bad jobs, even a bad back can wreak havoc on your ability to sit in a state of bliss; “at least you don’t have cancer” might remind us to count the blessings we DO have.  But, as I told my Mom when she said it to me, I think ALL of us have the right to want to set the bar a little higher than “not having cancer”.

It may be an unpopular opinion, but I think we have the right to be happy. 

I also think that for most of us, “happiness” is not some pie-in-the-sky, unattainable ideal; we wish for yes, physical health, but also emotional freedom.  Good relationships with people we respect and trust.  Good work that is meaningful to us and helpful to others.

Feeling at home in our own skin, our own psyches, our own environs.

So when we are in a state where a lot of those markers aren’t being met?  We feel unhappy.  And unhappiness begets unhappiness and often we spiral into a sense of powerless.

We may yell at the kids or our spouse, we may underperform at work, but most of all we will take it out on ourselves.  Unhealthy eating or too much drinking (smoking, etc) can easily become coping mechanisms, and the dis-ease these sorts of behaviors cause in our bodies can compound our sense of worthlessness.  Self-talk runs in circles where we blame ourselves for not having the “courage”/financial ability/support system to leave unhappy (and sometimes abusive) circumstances, as we self-confirm on an endless loop our own hopelessness.

This is why I am going to call it:  happiness?  It’s not a luxury.  It is actually the very least you deserve.

And I know there are a lot of people with that old-school mentality that says we don’t DESERVE anything inherently; we need to work for everything we get or else we won’t appreciate it.  This is partially true, but actually not a contradiction of my belief that we deserve happiness.  Yes, we are inherently worthy of happiness, but yes, we do have to work for it.

So what does “working for” our happiness look like?

It looks first and foremost like healthy boundaries; the ability and willingness to say “NO” to people and situations that undermine, take advantage of or abuse us.  It also includes prioritizing those things that feed and/or soothe our soul—music, reading, exercise, alone time, cooking—whatever that means to you.  Another critical component is accepting your own preferences (being “okay” with who you are and what you want) while at the same time NOT trying to force your preferences on anyone else (some people have more trouble with the first part of that equation; some have more trouble with the second, but knowing thyself is crucial).

Now many of the same people who don’t believe we are intrinsically worthy will say my recipe for happiness is “selfish”.  Because how dare we say NO, how dare we nurture ourselves, how dare we accept and allow ourselves to be and extend this same courtesy to others who may or may not share our belief system?  We actually have a cultural bias AGAINST happiness, due in part to the fact that happy people are not indiscriminate consumers and therefore “not good” for a capitalistic society.

But I say this is false; yes, happy people are NOT indiscriminate consumers.  But happy people are more motivated and productive (better workers); happy people are more confident and energized (more likely to take care of their bodies and splurge on that special outfit, for example).

Happy people are more loving and compassionate.

Happy people have better relationships, both with themselves and others.  Happy people are more likely to “go the extra mile” and work towards their dreams.  Happy people are more generous and supportive and enthusiastic and open-minded and flexible.

Happiness in not a luxury.  Happiness is that which we should be seeking whenever possible and that which we should encourage in others through our words and actions.  Sanskrit wisdom (and some believe Ghandi) taught that “Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.”

Does that really sound like too much to ask for?

 

 

 

 

Why You Should Be Careful What You Wish For

Be careful what you wish for… is a thinly veiled threat that can be taken a whole lot of different ways.  I mainly regard it as one of those truisms that relates less to what we would think of as “wishing” (upon a star variety) and more to the power of our repetitive thoughts.  A friend of a friend who worked with Jack Nicholson on the film “A Few Good Men” liked to share the star’s hard-won advice on how-to-make-it-in-Hollywood: "if you stick around long enough, eventually they can’t deny ‘ya”.

That’s the way I feel about our thoughts, or wishes—the ones that stick around long enough cannot be denied.  In my life this has proven more or less to be true; not only when it comes to specific goals but even to less directed desires.  Example:  when we were house hunting in the Charlottesville, Virginia area, I came across a dear little home that was already under a contract.

Although I looked at many dwellings during that particular search, this one struck my sweet spot; so in spite of the fact that it was “already taken”, I looked at the listing every damn day and wished that either it, or one like it would become available to me.  We were making no progress in finding a place we both loved (that was in our price range) and kept stretching the budget higher and higher in hopes of finding the house of our dreams, but to no avail—nothing resonated with me like the one I couldn’t have.

Obviously there is no suspense here because of how I have framed my tale, so long story short—the contract fell through and we snapped up the place in an instant.  I later found out that another couple also had their eye on it, but we beat them to the punch (mainly because I checked in on the listing with an OCD-like frequency).  I could bore you with a LOT of stories like that, including the one about how when we had to sell the house, we were in a down market and all the realtors told me there was no way I’d get the price I wanted…except I did, after only two weeks.

So “wishing” can be a very helpful tool, if you also understand the “be careful” part.

The problem with the power of our (obsessive) thoughts is that they can work against us as much as for us…and frankly, most of us obsess over the negative far more than we obsess over the positive.  How many times have you had a worried loop repeating endlessly in your head?  And how often has that worried loop either then manifested in some way OR simply ruined your enjoyment of the present (unworried) moment?

This happened to me recently, where I became so obsessed with a relatively small problem that in my over-exerted efforts to MAKE IT GO THE HELL AWAY, I actually made it much, much worse.  I “wish” I could say that is the first time I have done something like that to myself, but I am such a “problem solver” kind of gal, that I often enough unravel the whole damn sweater by yanking on the loose string.  Overkill may not be my middle name, but that’s only because my folks hadn’t met me when they picked it out.

I do realize, therefore, the double edged sword that I have been handed; yes, it works both for and against me, depending on how careful I am with my wishing.  BUT there is one other component that I have not yet mentioned, and that is PATIENCE.  I think the power of the wish may be an endangered species, because our society has become such an “instant gratification” culture that almost no one has the patience to wait for what they want.

In other words, wishes not instantly fulfilled often fall by the wayside. 

This can be a good thing; when I was in 5^th grade and my neighbors got their ears pierced, my Mom said I had to wait until I was 16.  By the time I was 16, however, I had zero interest in letting someone punch a hole through my ear cartilage so I could dangle stuff off of it.  But it can also be a bad thing, because instead of holding out for the “right” choice, we settle for the “right now” in so many areas of our lives, and then never move beyond it.

When I was a kid (think: stone ages) I would spend hours sitting by the radio listening for a specific song.  No downloadable music (and no music budget) meant that I had to be very patient to get what I wanted.  I also had to be open to hearing a lot of music other than the desired tune.  So to reach my “goal” (“Peg” by Steely Dan!) I not only had to demonstrate perseverance, I also had to learn flexibility.

This simple exercise, repeated over and over during my adolescence and teenage years has served me very well as an adult.   I wonder where kids are learning these skills today when I think about the passion and drive it took to simply hear ONE song versus the relative silver platter on which children see their whims fulfilled on regular basis. The old joke about walking 20 miles in the snow uphill to school every day feels more and more true when I compare my childhood to the experiences of my own son.

I see how frustrated he is when things don’t come easily to him (we all are, to some degree or another) but also the assumption that he must be “stupid” if information doesn’t download into his brain intact and functional, like an app.  I see other children dismiss whatever doesn’t come easily as the “stupid” thing.  The problem I see for these kids is that making your wishes come true requires an attention span.

Be careful what you wish for—back in the old days when we were all walking uphill in the snow for 20 miles, I’m sure we wished for things to be “easier”.  That wish has definitely come true in many ways, but at what cost?  Have we lost our patience, our willingness to make an effort, our attention spans?

Be careful what you wish for—if thoughts become things (and they do, every day), are we mindful of the kind of thoughts we are playing in our heads?  Are those thoughts likely to bring us closer or farther away from what we want?  Are our thoughts bringing us peace or pain?

And most importantly--are we willing to stick around long enough that our passions can no longer deny us?

 

 

Why ALL Families Speak a Different Language

When I was a little girl, Uncle Hockey was a legend in my family.

Now, to be clear, he wasn’t actually my Uncle.  Also, his name wasn’t “Hockey", or anything like that.  And, I never really met him.

But every summer, when we spent time at my grandparents’ cottage on Lake Ontario (and we did this often), when the man (not my Uncle, never met him) who lived up the street drove by, my Grandfather would yell, “UNCLE HOCKEY!” and Uncle Hockey would wave at us.  If my grandpa wasn’t there to do the honors, it was understood that whoever happened to be standing in the yard when Hockey drove by should greet him in this manner.  Relating this story now, it sounds more than a bit odd; but at the time, I never questioned it.

“Uncle Hockey” was just a part of my family culture and lore.

How my grandpa came to call his neighbor by this name is a not-terribly-interesting story that I only heard for the first time a few years ago, when my cousin asked one of the man’s grandsons.  But nicknames are a family forte, and no one was better at it than my Grandpa Jim.  If he came up with one for you, you might as well have changed your birth certificate and social security card, because no one who knew the both of you would ever call you anything else. 

I am one of four children, and each of us is commonly referred to by at least that many nicknames; Kara Mia is the one favored for me, Joster for my little sister, Roo for my brother and Cinders for my older sister.  But seriously, there are so many others we rarely refer to each other by our actual names.  My son also responds to at least half a dozen names not his own.

He and I just returned from our annual summer family visit, and spending time with my brother, younger sister and I prompted him to ask the following question:  is there ANYTHING you guys DON’T have a private joke about?

Short answer:  NO.

Long answer:  growing up together in the wonderful home our parents provided for us gave us ample opportunities for shared experiences and bonding.  We were the best of friends and the worst of enemies (depending on the day. or hour, depending on the day.) and my folks were VERY hands off when it came to negotiating our disagreements.  We had a ping pong table in the basement, which could be a great source of tears or laughter (depending on the day. or hour, depending on the day.), but when the tears (screams, moans, etc.) were in play, the elders’ most common response was to open the basement door and call down, voices dripping with sarcasm, “Having fun, children?”

We were, more often than not, just left to deal with each other.  And in being forced to deal with each other in close quarters for many years, we developed a lot of short cuts.  Our own secret “language”, if you will.

So when I tell my brother, “You smell like fish, you big brute”, he knows I am expressing an endearment.  And when my sister and I yell, “IN JAIL!” after celebratory greetings, (as in, “Happy Birthday!  IN JAIL!”), everyone knows we are channeling our inner Mr. Potter.  Everyone who gets the joke, that is.

And, if I am going to be perfectly honest here, I will admit that obviously not everyone in our family “gets” our language.  People who have joined us through marriage, people we have birthed…even my mother, who was too busy trying to keep four kids alive to keep up with every nuance of our relationships.  Also my older sister, who moved out when I was only 8, and was not around for much of what inspired our private vocabulary.

And, the weekend before last, after my brother and I spent about 20 minutes singing various verses of “Particle Man” (They Might Be Giants!) to each other (totally out of order, naturally), I looked at him and said, “I can see how this could be annoying to people who are not us.”

And it occurred to me that this might be at the heart of intolerance in general.

When we feel like we are “in on the joke”, we feel safe, accepted and understood; when we feel like we “don’t get it”, this triggers a lot of insecurity, judgment and suspicion.

So people who ACTUALLY speak a different language (or worship differently, love differently, act differently or look differently) bring up our fear that we might be “the outsider”.  We have our own language and way of being, and those who do not share it can seem to threaten our personal sovereignty.  It makes us want to “circle the wagons” and ONLY hang out with the people who will sing “Particle Man” with us (triangle man HATES particle man…)

Isn’t that ironic?  The real kind of ironic, not the Alanis kind (you TOTALLY GET that joke!). 

 Nobody wants to be an “outsider” because we don’t understand “outsiders” and we fear the “outsiders” may become “insiders” and make us the “outsiders” (triangle man hates particle man, they have a fight, triangle wins)…

This is the most ludicrous logic, sincerely.  We are ALL “outsiders” (depending on the day. or hour, depending on the day.) and we are ALL “insiders” (depending on the day.  or hour, depending on the day.) and every single family on the planet speaks a different language.

All families speak their own special language, every tribe speaks their own special language, every generation speaks their own special language,  and even every PERSON speaks their own special language (you know you have private jokes with yourself, just admit it!)

But if you ever get to leave the house (and I hope that you do!), you will come to realize that you don’t have to be from the same family to “get” each other.  You don’t even have to be from the same country!  You can meet a stranger from the other side of the world for the first time and realize:  I get you; you get me.  So let’s walla-walla, six to 8 hours a day, down by the mango tree.

(Comment if you get that reference, please!)

My parents had it right.  We just need to be left to deal with each other.  No interference (or travel bans, or walls), we need to work it out and hopefully develop a new language of cooperation and acceptance.

Especially when we are the “insider” dealing with “outsiders”; then most of all.  How can we ever hope to be understood if we don’t, as my Pop was fond of quoting, seek first to understand?  Wouldn’t the world work so much better if kindness was our first language?

Universe man, Universe man
Size of the entire universe man
Usually kind to smaller man
Universe man

 Be more like Universe Man. 

 

WHY "DO THE RIGHT THING" CAN BE A WRONG TURN

A few weeks back, I sent a seemingly perfectly healthy child to school and picked up a boy that afternoon with symptoms so alarming (to me, he was not overly concerned) I brought him into the doctor a few hours later.  I am a no-stone-unturned and no-time-like-the-present sort of gal.  His pediatrician confirmed a bacterial infection and prescribed antibiotics.

I drove him to the pharmacy with a strong sense of being a superhero mom, and even treated him to take-out Chinese, so great was my feeling of “mission accomplished without even breaking a sweat.”  End of story, right?  Yeah, I wish.

A few days on the antibiotics and things are about the same; he remains unconcerned, so I take my cue from that.  Then Friday, day three, I get a call from the nurse at school—my son is in her office, in pain, and she is understandably worried.  I pick him up and get him home for the weekend with pain relievers and ice packs and now I am Googling. Yeah, I know—always a mistake.

His symptoms should be getting better by now, Google informs me.  Maybe these symptoms are pointing to a much scarier diagnosis, Google warns.  If you don’t catch it in time, there could be the direst of consequences, Google threatens.

Now the boy (who also has access to Google, or “The Great Santa-Slayer”, as I like to call it) is getting alarmed.  His symptoms are not only NOT improving, they are actually marginally worse; in fact, there are some NEW symptoms.  He is freaking out, I am trying to play it cool—surely, this is nothing catastrophic--and no good has ever come of Googling symptoms; we can convince ourselves of any malady if we obsess over it enough.

Nevertheless, Monday the follow-up call to the doctor is made; and although done without any overwhelming sense of urgency I detect, an ultrasound is ordered and scheduled for the next day.  To “rule out” any of those other possibly devastating diagnosis.  Truthfully, I don’t have much of a poker face, but I summoned every ounce of my will to present confidence and reassurance to my son; we will get answers, we will heal him.

And as the next day dawned, my front became my reality—a calm descended and that reassuring mantra repeated on a loop in my brain.  If you saw us in the hospital, you would have believed we were there on a lark; smiling, joking, hugging as we made our way through the corridors.  We were there to get answers; we were there to heal him.

Very fortunately, the answer was this:  he will be just fine.  We needed to tackle the infection with a stronger antibiotic and within a day we could see signs of his symptoms abating.  His physical symptoms, that is.

Because my son had caught something more powerful than a bacterial infection; he had caught a bug we call ANXIETY.

To be clear, my boy has always been an easy-going, even-tempered, happy-go-lucky child.  Even as a toddler, if you can imagine such a thing.  No grabbing, no pushing (well, once, but that’s another story.  A GREAT story, actually), no demands, no tantrums.  On the rare occasion that something displeased or upset him, his reaction was generally appropriate and he was always responsive to reason.

But this illness caused a tear in his worldview—he believed, and had consistently confirmed, that when you “do the right thing”, you get the “right” results.  Yeah, I know.  I guess most children figure out the whole “life isn’t fair” before 12, but most children have siblings, and NOBODY ON EARTH can drive that point home quicker than a sibling, amiright???

The expediency with which we had addressed the problem (going to the doctor) and the seeming surety of the solution (antibiotics are magic!) had accounted for his breezy attitude in the first few days of his illness—we had done the "right thing" right away.  The fact that the foolproof solution had not only failed to yield positive results but seemed to be distinctly edging his recovery in the wrong direction was more than discouraging to him—it was frightening.  What role his swirling fear and rising anxiety played in those worsening symptoms we will never know, but what I do know is this:  even after his recovery was reassured by the ultrasound and the palliative effects of his new medication were clear, he STILL FELT ANXIOUS.

As a parent, I believe most of us try to impart to our young children a sense that we are a sure thing.  We will have answers, we will have comfort, we will provide support and encouragement and we will always be there.  We try to make them feel that with us, they are 100% safe and secure.

In other words, we lie.

And just like (damn, you!) Google unmasked Santa Claus for him last fall, this experience taught him the hard truth:  there are no guarantees.  And even when we do our best we can fail.  And even when we seek the assistance of “experts” like doctors, they can make mistakes (like prescribing the wrong medication) that impact us negatively.

In other words, this was a game-changer.

So we talked it out; I told him that stress and anxiety, so new to him, are actually a pretty normal part of the human experience.  I also told him that “negative” emotions, like sadness and fear, can often serve a positive purpose.  Most importantly I told him that the fact that we can “do the right thing” and still find things take a wrong turn is actually great news.

He had a bit of trouble with that last part there, understandably.

But here’s the truth:  when we do our very best and still “fail”, we learn a really gorgeous lesson…that is, that perfection isn’t a “thing”, at least not for us mere mortals.  AND (spoiler alert!) sometimes we TOTALLY and COMPLETELY SCREW UP and have things work out just fine.  You know it happens; more often than not, actually.

When you accept that doing the right thing doesn’t mean circumstances are always going to go your way, you breathe a sigh of relief.  Because the pressure is off to “do the right thing”.  And, as John Steinbeck wisely put it, “now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.”

My son is almost well again and is back to being his happy, good-natured self.  At the same time, he has changed; he has assimilated this new learning for better and for worse.  He knows that he doesn’t have to be perfect, AND he knows that sometimes, sh*t happens; a lot of times, in fact.

And I learned something, too:  my 12 year old doesn’t need a “superhero mom” any more than he needs Santa Claus.  He needs a real-live human Mother who says, “Hey, I get anxious too.  I make mistakes too.  I get scared and frustrated too.  And I don’t have all the answers.  But if we need answers, I will leave no-stone-unturned to find them with you.”  He needs to know perfection isn’t a “thing” and my desire to give him a “perfect” childhood, while understandable and sweet, is misguided.

It devastated me to see my son, my sweet baby, so anxious and afraid.  But he got through it and now he has a much bigger coping skills toolbox than before.  When we try to make things “perfect” for our kids, we rob them of the opportunity to face challenges and learn that they are equal to them; we rob them of experiences necessary to thrive in the world.

Sometimes we do what we think is “right” and it goes “wrong”—or does it?

Maybe we just needed a not-so-gentle reminder that adversity provides the building blocks for our soul; that grit is as much a part of great character as compassion.  Maybe we need to understand that perfection is not a “thing” because perfection is BORING.  Maybe we need a wake-up call that no matter how hard we try to “do the right thing”, life is messy, unpredictable and glorious because of it; and sometimes a "wrong turn" can be the beginning of a great adventure.

Maybe we needed a reminder that every great story has beginning, middle and an END.  And it is the fact that there is an end that gives true meaning to the beginning and the middle.  And there is no truly “right” thing to do, but follow your heart and know that in the end, all will be well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHY SPRING IS JUST AROUND THE CORNER

My favorite series of books for children, hands down, is Frog and Toad Are Friends (sorry, Harry Potter!).  Arnold Lobell’s charming stories about two amphibian besties are remarkable for the simplicity that belies their true depth.  The profundity of these tales, which tackle such big subjects as anxiety, fear, risk-taking, self-esteem, the importance of patience, perseverance and goals and yes, most of all friendship, is mind-boggling (especially when you consider they are part of the Scholastic “I Can Read Series”, Level 2).

In the collection Frog and Toad All Year, a book about the changing seasons, there is a chapter called The Corner.  The friends get caught in a cold rain storm and Toad, the resident curmudgeon, declares the day “spoiled”.  Frog, the eternal optimist, soothes him with tea and cake and a story about how when he was small (“not much bigger than a pollywog”), his father promised him on a gloomy day that spring was “just around the corner”.

And as children (pollywogs) are wont to do, he takes his father at his literal word and spends the day searching for the corner spring is just around, without success.  Until he returns home and, turning the corner of his own little house, finds his parents working in the garden.  “I was very happy”, he says, “I had found the corner spring was just around.”

In case you hadn’t heard, spring has been very slooooow to arrive for those of us living in the Northeastern U.S. this year.  A particularly ambitious winter has reached its icy fingers deep into April, what with three decent snowfalls and only two days above 60 degrees so far (and most well below 50!).  Trees are leafless; grass is dull, sparse and yellow, flowers are few and very far between. 

It’s like the fabled Miser brothers got into a snit and Snowy emerged decidedly victorious; never mind the groundhog’s prediction of 6 more weeks of winter, we have hit 10 weeks and counting!  And the sun has been a no-show more days than not, to the point where we have started greeting it with a verrry sarcastic, “Well, helloooo, stranger!”  In the thought bubbles over our heads, not out loud; New Englanders are die-hard and prefer to suffer in silence.

Ha, ha, ha, but not ME, of course!   I suffer very loudly and publically, as anyone who reads my blog regularly knows.   So I won’t re-hash how freaking miserable things have been around here for the last 18 months or so, because you have heard all about it ad naseum.

But recently…dare I say it?  It seems perhaps Frog’s father is right:   spring is just around the corner!  Metaphorically speaking, that is—it is FREEEEEEZING and miserable as I write this.

In that same collection, there is a story called Christmas Eve in which Frog is late to a holiday get-together and Toad, considering all the horrible fates that may have befallen him, rushes about collecting the tools he would need to solve these (imaginary) problems. Although I prefer to think I favor the level-headed and wise Frog, there are several incidents where Toad expends extraordinary effort in order to accomplish something that could have been done with ease.  Like when he sings, plays music and reads stories and poems to his seedlings to get them to grow; or when he makes Frog spend an entire day searching for a lost button that was on the floor of his room the whole time; or when he literally bangs his head against the wall trying to think of a tale to tell his ailing friend.

Yeah, that’s right.  I’m more like Toad.  You can say it; I know.

In yoga, we are told to find the balance between effort and ease; it teaches us to harmonize our willfulness with our acceptance of the flow.  In spite of the fact that I have been practicing yoga regularly for going on 5 years now, I am still heavy on the “will” and light on the “acceptance”.  In fact, I am cringing a bit thinking of all the times my very excellent teacher will call a pose I can do with ease and I override her by doing something that requires a great deal of effort.

Effort is KING!  Ease is for lazy people!  Now, excuse me while I stage a 4 act play in order to assist my garden in growing!!!!

Is it just me?

So here’s the thing:  we all know that whether I stage the 4 act play or not?  Spring is just around the corner.  The sun will grow warmer, the garden will grow; trees will be reborn.

Spring is just around the corner!  And, as Dr. Seuss might say, it will come without begging, it will come without work. It will come without mowing, hoeing, or us whining like jerks.  Spring will come whether we have “earned” it or not; spring is given freely to everyone, the whole lot.

What I am starting to understand is that this is how MOST of life actually works.  Spring will come whether we lift a finger or not; we then repay the bounty we have been gifted by tending to our gardens, literally and figuratively.  The seasons exist to teach us, over and over again, that “patience is power…not an absence of action; rather… wait(ing) on the right time to act” as  Fulton J. Sheen puts it.

Patience is power.  We can run around like Toad planning for a future disaster or spend a lifetime searching for the “right” corner to turn, but what if we could just accept that spring will come and prepare for that future bounty?  Can we stop trying to force things and become more flexible in both our timetables and our goals?

Effort and ease.  Willfulness and acceptance.  Yes, "go confidently in the direction of your dreams!” (to paraphrase Thoreau), but observe poolside rules—no running and NO DIVING.

I cannot tell a lie (and people HATE this about me, btw)…on this very day, I found myself expending manic effort trying to solve a problem--the signs of spring in my own life, after such a long, hard winter have made me eager to hurry it along.  Yeah, I AM TOAD, and I admit it!  So I speak not from a lofty priestess perspective; I am down here in the trenches, trying to teach what I must learn.

Spring is just around the corner.  And just as it is the law of nature that the flowers will bloom again, so will we.  When we accept the ebb and flow of life, we trust that "to every thing there is a season" if we only have the patience to wait for it.

PS You can buy the ENTIRE Frog and Toad collection on Amazon for $7.99! 

WHY SNAKE OIL* CURES ALL!

In the classic film The Rainmaker, Burt Lancaster plays con man Bill Starbuck, who promises desperate drought-stricken communities that he can produce rain—for a fee, of course.  And of course he can do no such thing.  But Starbuck is not a man without merit; he understands the power of faith.  And in encouraging a young woman to believe in herself, he not only helps to make her dream come true, he ends up “making” rain, after all.

We are all susceptible to what I will call “the expert opinion”; that is, when we have determined someone else has greater authority on a subject than we do, we will defer to their position.  This seems like common sense.  But as anyone who is aware of “the placebo effect” knows, in many cases our beliefs about a subject can be far more powerful than any facts; in other words, if you believe snake oil is a cure, it may very well be.  It is our faith in the expert or the cure that encourages positive results.

In the recent challenges I have been facing, I have realized what a transient thing faith can be for us humans.  When things are going well we feel blessed, but when things are going not-so-well?  Our minds tend to run amok, twisting our perception of our lives into an endless loop of “worst case scenarios”.  It is our desperation in this virtual drought that sometimes causes us to turn to the snake oil salesman for an answer.

And what I have learned is that this need not be a bad thing, actually.  There is power both in the surrender and in the notion that we ourselves don’t have all the answers.  There is power in asking for help.

I remember when I was in high school, a girl I knew was told by an “expert” of some kind that all she needed to do to lose weight was simply to stop drinking diet soda.  He told her just this one thing would help her shed pounds.  Now, she didn’t actually share this with me, a mutual friend did.  Of course I scoffed at the ridiculous advice and began to logically point out all the reasons why it was a ludicrous prescription.

To my surprise, my friend shushed me and told me not to share my opinion with the girl in question.  When I asked him why not, his answer was simple:  because it’s working.  Naturally I harrumphed, but in retrospect I see how wise he was; it was her faith in the “expert opinion” that did the trick.

My father was a bit of a “rainmaker”, when I think about it, because most children think Dad is an expert.  Until we don’t.  But still, there remains that parental mystique; the idea that the people who took care of us and “made everything better" when we were kids retain the magical power to heal a boo-boo by kissing it.

My Dad’s brand of “snake oil” was a faith in goodness.  He had this sweeping tendency to name everything good, or if not good, at least fine.  As in “everything is going to be fine”.   When he said it, I believed him.  And he was usually right, by breathtaking margins; his ability to accentuate the positive in any situation was often a game-changer.

Going through tough times has forced me to confront my own “faith deficit”.  My obstacles have at times felt as insurmountable as the odds Moses faced in crossing the Red Sea…but we all know how that turned out for him, right?  In this space we see logic is not always our best ally.

I inherited, by way of the universe’s awesome sense of humor, both my Dad’s absurd level of optimism and my Mom’s hard-core practicality.  My parents, who rarely fought in reality, have full-on knock-down, drag-out fights in my head; the part of me that says “Don’t worry, be happy” (Dad) gets cold-cocked by the part of me that says “tie up that damn camel” (Mom).  Faith and logic can be strange bedfellows, to put it mildly.

To complicate matters further, I am a gal who likes to make decisions (a “J”, in Myers-Briggs speak)…logic demands it!  All the while faith whispers, “don’t force things, let them unfold under grace”.  This push-pull creates a lot of frustration because, to be perfectly honest, once I make a decision my patience level for waiting to meet my goal is, um, subterranean.

And here we return to the snake oil—just like often it is our belief in a thing that makes it efficacious, it is almost always our belief in our decision that makes it “the right one”.  “Snake oil” is just a stepping stone to faith, once you realize how powerful your beliefs about anything can be.  Once you learn to overlook that which interferes with your goal and concentrate on everything you think will help you meet it, you become pretty unstoppable.

But still, faith requires patience.  And (grrr, I hate this) patience is actually the epitome of both faith AND logic.  Because even if you make a firm decision to go to San Francisco, you are still going to have to gas up the car and drive 3,000 miles.  It will take time to reach your goal, and if you cannot accept that?  Well, maybe your new goal should be to invent a teleporting machine.

In The Four Agreements, Don Miguel Ruiz writes “Every human is a magician, and we can either put a spell on someone with our word or we can release someone from a spell. We cast spells all the time with our opinions.”  Like the “expert” who cast a spell on my friend to lose weight, or my Dad, who “cast a spell” to create positive outcomes, what we think and say about ourselves, our goals, other people and things can pack a far more potent punch than we comprehend. 

So use your “expertise” wisely.  Or, as my practical mom would put it, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”.  That goes for your self-talk above all.

You are a “rainmaker”, whether you are doing it deliberately or not, so be mindful that your opinions are either a blessing or a curse to those who will listen.  Your faith is the “snake oil” that heals all wounds and conquers all obstacles.  And even if you won’t believe you have the power to part the Red Sea, don’t you dare tell Moses he can’t.

Anthony Trollope wrote:   “Above all things, never think that you’re not good enough yourself. A man should never think that. My belief is that in life people will take you very much at your own reckoning.” 

Believe in yourself, even if that feels like “snake oil” at first; believe in other people, and help them escape the trap of self-doubt as well.  With each new day, new person and new situation, remember you have the power to cast whatever kind of spell you want. Choose wisely.

*metaphorically speaking, don’t sue me.  also, Mom is right:  tie up the damn camel.