Tag: life

Navigating Unwelcome Surprises

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“Living is the art of getting used to what we didn’t expect.” – Eleanor C. Wood

Last week, at an off-leash area for dogs, a dog latched on to my 18-month-old dog, Cooper’s, face. This dog, a pit bull mix, had been showing a lot of interest in Cooper. But Cooper doesn’t have, or hasn’t yet developed, any defensive postures – he doesn’t bark, raise his hackles, or growl. He’s bigger than many of the dogs and mostly runs away.

For whatever reason, this dog latched on to Cooper’s face between his eye and his ear. The dogs weren’t fighting – and neither dog was even growling. The owner was right there and was doing all that he could to get the dog to let go.

I can’t say how long it went on for – it felt like five minutes but could have been only one or two. As it went on, all the humans in the dog park circled around but no one seemed to be able to help the owner get the dog to let go.

And then finally the dog released. Cooper wimpered and scampered away. The owner said to me, “I’m so sorry. We’re never coming here again.” I’d like to report what I said but I have no idea. Maybe nothing.

I checked Cooper as we walked out of the park and he didn’t have any blood or wounds. The side of his face appeared to be a little puffier but undamaged.

These kinds of things always surprise me when they happen. It’s not that I’m unaware that they can. It’s that I’ve found carrying around the armor of anticipation to be too exhausting. It fends off bad and good things equally. It weighs me down too much in a way that keeps me from trying new things.

Instead I’ve come to figure out what works for me to process these things. I sit on my meditation cushion and breathe and pray. I write about it. I tell the story to others and it helps me to get a handle on it myself.

Somewhere during this process after we’d gotten home from the dog park, I started to settle down. The shaky feeling had lessened and after a time, I even stopped saying “I’m sorry that happened” to Cooper every time I looked at him.

Then as the kids settled into bed that night, Cooper featured high in our list of what we were grateful for. Five-year-old Mr. D was glad his buddy was okay. Nine-year-old Miss O pointed out that it was great that the other owner was helping and was apologetic. I was grateful that the kids weren’t there and it wasn’t any worse.

So in the end, we found bright spots in a story that started with “a dog latched on to Cooper’s face.” I’ve found that navigating unwelcome surprises often helps me to dig deep.

(featured photo is Cooper after the incident)

I co-host a storytelling podcast featuring authors and artists with the amazing Dr. Vicki Atkinson. To tune in, search for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music or Pocketcasts (and subscribe) or click here. Or the YouTube channel features videos of our interviews. Please subscribe!

My other projects include work as a CEO (Chief Encouragement Officer), speaking about creativity and AI through the Chicago Writer’s Association, and my book about my journey to find what fueled my dad’s indelible spark and twinkle can be found on Amazon: Finding My Father’s Faith.

You can find me on Instagram and Twitter @wynneleon

Life: Perfect and Precious

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“Our life experiences will have resonances within our innermost being, so that we will feel the rapture of being alive.” – Joseph Campbell

Two weeks ago, on the same day that my niece had a baby, I got laid off from my job. I know that seems like two disparate events. But hear me out because they are the both the birth of new things.

It’s not hard to see the first. My beautiful niece says that she’s having a hard time sleeping when the baby is sleeping because she can’t stop looking at him. “He’s just so perfect.” And she’s enthralled with interpreting his every expression and sound.

I’ve seen the pictures – he indeed is absolutely perfect and precious.

Losing my job was a shock. I’ve never been laid off before and so it was a completely new experience. But twinned with the surprise was a feeling of elation. I was free. I try not to act giddy when I talk to the others affected by this layoff. But honestly, and I promise that this isn’t toxic positivity or denial, for me I knew this was a really good thing, even when it signals hard work.

I’ve been an entrepreneur for most of my career so I suspect that helps take an edge off the fear. And when I peal back that cover, I have a chance at seeing underneath to the opportunity. Similar to babies, I have to work hard to decipher the signs and signals of the bread crumbs where life leads me.

Life comes with pain – kinda like childbirth. And on the flip side, it too is perfect and precious to have the opportunity to keep growing.

P.S. Everyone that I’ve seen in real life has been able to take one look at me and sense the burden lifted from me. If you are worried about me, truly, I’m fine, the kids know and it’s all good. One of the things I’m so grateful for this week of American Thanksgiving is the gift of time with them.

(featured photo from Pexels)

The Preciousness of Life

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“Our life experiences will have resonances within our innermost being, so that we will feel the rapture of being alive.” – Joseph Campbell

The morning after a really rough night’s sleep, I was sipping tea and realized I didn’t like the mug. It was scratchy to my lip and it made my tea taste different. We were staying at a friend’s house on the Washington Peninsula so all the mugs were new to me.

Because I hadn’t slept well, I was more attuned to it. After a dozen sips, I forced myself to go the kitchen and change mugs. The smoothness of the new one made me realize how many sensations go into feeling soothing.

I hadn’t slept well because I realized in the middle of the night that I hadn’t refilled the water reservoir for Rusty the gecko before we’d left home for three nights. I sat up with a pit of dread knowing that without the water misting twice a day to keep his enclosure humid, he’d likely die. The questions swirling of when I last did it and how long he could survive sent me shooting out of bed.

It was our last night of this mini-getaway. It was 3am I was two hours and a ferry ride away from home. There was nothing I could do to help poor Rusty in that moment.

Instead I sat until I unraveled the knot of feelings in my gut. I felt the weight of all the responsibility I carry for keeping things alive. I sensed the thread of how tenuous life can be. I even worked my way to compassion for myself for making mistakes.

I finally went back to sleep feeling how dang precarious this thing called life is.

So when I awoke, I needed that soothing cup of tea. I wonder how often we forget that our time here is limited. Speaking for myself, when I lean in to the knowledge that life ends, it spurs me on to pay attention and drink out of the right cup. To take care of ourselves so that we can take care of others.

There’s a happy end to this story. I emailed my mom and she checked on Rusty. He was out of water – but she refilled it and misted him. He made it. So one other thing – thank goodness for moms!

Two Stories About Death

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“Death is more universal than life; everyone dies but not everyone lives.” – Alan Sachs

I was going to publish something else today — but then I found this post written three years ago and never published in my drafts folder. Who can argue with a post that’s already written?

Story 1

Last weekend my friend Eric and I took the kids on a long bike ride. My toddler was in a bike seat behind me and my six-year-old daughter was on a third wheel bike attached to Eric’s. It was a gorgeous fall morning with moderate temperatures, colorful fall leaves, not too many clouds and we biked five miles to a marina on the waterfront where we met my brother and sister-in-law.

Along the route we’d seen a draw bridge go up, a police car, all sorts of interesting people getting ready for a breast cancer benefit race. So when my daughter said to my brother, “Guess what we saw on the way here?” I was surprised by her answer, “A dead bunny.”

And we had seen a dead bunny about 4 blocks from home.

Story 2

One of my mom’s friends is moving back to Utah. She’s 97-years-old and lived in Seattle for at least 15 but she told my mom that she’s moving back because her husband is buried there. She looked up how expensive it was to transport a body after someone died. Apparently, it’s costly so she decided to move so she’s nearby the cemetery when she passes.

Conclusion

I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say that perhaps the very young and the very old have a frankness when talking about death that is harder to find in middle age.

The Fullness of Time

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“The years teach much which the days never know.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Miss O has been working on “time” problems in school. Like “It’s 12:40. Zach is supposed to meet his friend in 45 minutes. What time will it be when they meet?” She generally likes math but these problems are getting her goat at the moment.

So, we were settling into bed and she asked me, “Was time around when you were a kid?” Then she thought for a moment and continued, “Oh yeah, they’ve had it for a while.”

I couldn’t get out of the room fast enough to burst into laughter and write that one down. That she said this the night before my birthday wasn’t lost on me.

Hee, hee. Yes, they’ve had time long enough for me to count out 55 years. What else has the fullness of time given me?

Laughter

When we had a small party of family and friends to celebrate my birthday, as well as my mom’s and my friend Eric’s, the thing I enjoyed most was the laughter. Miss O and Mr. D put on a recital. There was great food and also presents, but the real gift was the just the lightness of being. Miss O asked why my eyes leak so frequently when I laugh. I don’t know exactly, but it has something to do with just being so happy to be here.

Perspective

Time has also given me the gift of perspective. It’s a bigger sea in which my hurts, my worries, and even my hopes feel less significant. They matter, but more as in a way that helps me set my sails instead of being the sea itself. I’m a far more patient person – but not because I’ve grown my patience but because the fullness of time helps me settle into the wait.

Heart

I have a favorite quote when it comes to the heart,

“God breaks the heart again and again and again until it stays open.”

-Hazrat Inayat Khan

When I first met that quote, it was like almost everything else that has become my teacher. I thought, “No, no, no.”

But time has shown it is less about heart break and more about giving up control. There are people, things, dreams, and abilities that hurt so much when they go. But the heart has no hands to hang on to them. Leaning into that is like opening windows in my heart so that the breeze can flow through.

So, has anyone figured out the answer to the time problem at the top of the post? Clearly, it’s “Who knows because Zach is always running late? But we’ll hug him when we see him.” 🙂 Or at least that’s the answer that the fullness of time has given me.  

Steeping the Tea Leaves of Life

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“Above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” – Roald Dahl

The other day the paper on the end of my tea bag string had just two words, “Live consciously.” As I sat and sipped my tea, I thought, “say more.”

Years ago, I read a passage in Mark Nepo’s Book of Awakening that heightened my appreciation for tea.

“If we stop to truly consider it, making tea is a miraculous process. First, small leaves are gathered from plants that grow from unseen roots. Then boiling water is drained through the dried leaves. Finally, allowing the mixture to steep creates an elixir that, when digested, can be healing.

The whole process is a model for how to make inner use of our daily experience. For isn’t making tea the way we cipher through the events of our lives? Isn’t the work of sincerity to pour our deepest attention over the dried bits of our days? Isn’t patience the need to let the mixture of inner and outer brew until the lessons are fragrant and soothing on the throat? Isn’t it the heat of our sincerity that steams the lessons out of living? Isn’t it the heat of those lessons that makes us sip them slowly.”

Steeping my “live consciously” tea bag made me think of three miraculous events that happened in the last 4 weeks.

The first leaf

A few weeks ago, on the last morning we were staying at an AirBnB on Whidbey Island, I took Cooper, the dog, out to go potty. It was 5:30 in the morning and still dark enough to notice that the dome light on my car was turned on. Ugh, it must have been on for almost 24 hours since the kids and I went to the grocery store. I got the keys and tried to start the engine and it wouldn’t turn over. But the dashboard lights came on so I knew it wasn’t entirely dead.

I turned off the light, locked the doors, and went back in to meditate. I tried to dial down the worry about what I’d do if the car wouldn’t start while on vacation and away from the usual people I’d lean on. Check out wasn’t until 11am so I told myself not to fret about it until 10:30am. Instead, the kids and I packed up and went to the beach one last time.

When 10:30am came, I unlocked the doors, put the key into the ignition, prayed, and turned the key. The car started.

The second leaf

Miss O had been asking for weeks to go to the new Boba tea shop in our neighborhood. We tried once and it wasn’t open. Other times we had too much going on. Finally, on a Sunday in mid-April, we got there. Miss O carefully scanned the menu. Her taste palates are pretty selective. After much consideration, she ordered a strawberry chocolate Boba. She took one drink and didn’t like it. She wondered if we could get our money back and looked absolutely miserable. I reminded her that it’s okay to try new things and to not like them.

Mr. D had a raspberry lemon rooibos and was blissfully sucking his down without noticing his sister’s unhappiness. I was standing there pondering. I wanted her to be open to trying new things. But I also didn’t want to signal we could buy $7 teas until she liked one.

Then there was a moment when the shop cleared out, no one was waiting for a drink and there was an extra raspberry lemon rooibos on the bar. I asked the barista if we could pay for it. She said to just take it. Pure magical rescue from our misery!

The third leaf

Mr. D said a few times that he wanted to learn to become a ninja. He repeated this again on a Monday afternoon about three weeks ago when I picked him up from school. Miss O was also in the car. On a whim, we all were up for popping in to the Aikido dojo in our neighborhood to see if it would work.

We showed up right at the time of the class for kids, the sensei told us this class is for training to be a samurai, not a ninja and Mr. D was okay with that. She invited Mr. D and Miss O to join the class starting right at that moment, and they both loved it.

It was one of those moments where everything lined up like dominos. The least planning I’ve ever had to do for a great fit.

Here’s the tea I made from this

Living consciously for me means finding the magic in moments. The light touch that I can sense sometimes when I’m scared, confused, or need an easy win. It doesn’t mean that the dog doesn’t throw up, or I won’t break and spill the glass of water right before I’m supposed to lead a webinar. But it gives me a glimpse of a wider view in which I can find the current to flow with.

Hurrying Never Helps

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“God did not create hurry.” – Finnish Proverb

We’ve been riding bikes to school this week. Primarily because it makes four-year-old Mr. D happier to do drop off at his school. Why that is, I’m not sure. Because we get the endorphins flowing? Because it makes him feel strong and successful? Perhaps. It seems that right now he’s realized the world is big and he is small. His inclination is to want to stay home in his safe space. But when we ride bikes to school, the threshold into his classroom doesn’t seem like that big of a deal and he has a great day.

Anyway, the hero of this story is eight-year-old Miss O. She’s been totally game to ride bikes if it helps her brother.

After the first day we did it, I told her it worked to help Mr. D have a great day. She said, “That’s great. But we have to find a different way.” But then she got up ready to ride again the next day.

Sometimes I don’t realize what things are big efforts for my little people, Miss O in particular. In this case, we drop her off first before Mr. D and I continue on to his school. But she rides her own bike while Mr. D rides attached to mine on a third wheel.

We have to get up earlier, it’s uphill for the first six blocks, and she wants to lead, so she’s taking on that responsibility too. It behooves me to remember the things that help me to do hard things: just start, remember to feed and water the body, and to take things one step at a time.

I tend to forget all that if we are running late.

On Wednesday morning we headed off later than usual and Miss O’s bike was rattling. I thought it was just the chain guard pressed against the chain and told her to keep riding. We got around the first corner and she said, “this is really freaking me out.”

I did not want to stop. We were late! But I had her get off her bike and found a section of the chain guard that had bent and was clipping the chain at every turn.

We got back on the bikes. About six blocks later when we’d finished the uphill, Miss O said, “I need a break.”

Oh holy cow, my inner voice demanded. You’ve got to be kidding me. But I remembered the things that help to do hard things and edited that voice before it came out. “Okay, Sweetie. How about a swig of water?”

The number one thing I need to do in order to help myself and my kids try hard things is to try not to hurry. If I don’t add time pressure to whatever else it is we’re trying to do, including the things I do solo in the day, it always goes better. I am more patient with others, I have less tendency to want to jump in and do it myself, and specific to my kids, we can enjoy more of their lantern brain where they see and observe everything around them. Like on this ride when Miss O heard a woodpecker in a tree somewhere around block four. Such a distinctive and interesting sound.

The number one thing I regularly screw up is not leaving early. Then I have to swallow my own anxiety about being late in order to help them have a positive experience with trying. Fortunately, I managed to do tamp down the time pressure on this ride and we got Miss O to school on time-ish.

Note to self: Hurrying makes life less enjoyable. Keep trying to leave earlier.

Complicated Compliments

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“Life doesn’t come with a manual. It comes with a mother.” – unknown

The other day, four-year-old Mr. D said to me, “Mama, you are the bestest in the whole entire moon.”

Sweet. And I don’t want to minimize that, but he said it to me after I gave him a cookie. I’m sure I can’t be the only person who has a complicated relationship with compliments, especially in families. Do they love us for who we are, the role we play, or what we do for them?

Do you feel that nugget of self-doubt in that last sentence? Me too. It reminds me of the few things I’ve been able to glean in the last fifty years about confidence and compliments.

They have to be right sized for the effort.

My kids keep teaching me this lesson. If I over-praise an effort, it feels insincere.

I have to be able to believe it

There isn’t a compliment in the world that can overcome my inner resistance. This one is fraught for me as a parent. My kids frequently compliment me for being the “bestest” or a “good mom.” But, of course, I’m just a mom and I can’t get everything right. My biggest growth area is mindful eating – not eating in front of devices. For a number of reasons this is complicated and I’m getting it wrong more than right.

So I find myself circling back to my driving principles. My priorities are to help them be kind (including to themselves), safe, and healthy (body, mind, and spirit). And to be present and to love them. If I can aim for most of that, then I try to give myself some grace about the rest.

Compliments are best when I would have done the same thing with or without it.

I would have given Mr. D the cookie whether or not he gave me the compliment. It wasn’t conditional on him saying anything.

So, yes, it feels safe to say that this time I can believe I’m the bestest on the whole moon. After all, it’s only me and a probe that’s tipped sideways in the running. Not that I’m on the moon…. but you know what I mean.

(Mary from Awakening Wonders reminded me of the quote for this post)

(featured photo is from Pexels)

Sunday Funnies: Sept 10

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A re-run of my dad’s humor cards. They make me chuckle all over again – so I hope you enjoy them whether it’s the first time or second (first posted on 7/31/2022).

The backstory: My dad was a Presbyterian pastor for 40 years. He kept a well curated stack of humor cards – little stories he heard, found or saw and then typed onto 5×7 cards. Then he wrote in the margins when he used that particular item. His humor was often an easy way to settle in to something deeper – by laughing and thinking about the buried truth in these little nuggets, it paved the way to an open heart.

When Does Life Begin?

Three religious leaders were posed the question, “When does life begin?”

The Catholic priest said, “At conception.“

The Protestant pastor replied, “At birth.“

The Rabbi answered, “When the last kid goes to college and the dog dies.“