Tag: perspective

Awe Monsters

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“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.” – John Muir

I was backing out of the driveway the other night. Five-year-old Mr. D was in the back seat and we were on our way to pick up 9-year-old Miss O from a birthday party.

Mr. D exclaimed, “Mama, I saw the first star!”

Sure enough, out the back window was one really bright star. Mr. D’s excitement brought to mind a podcast series I’ve been listening to with Berkley professor Dacher Keltner on the 10 Percent Happier podcast.

Keltner is known for his courses on happiness. But his most recent book is about awe. He describes awe as part of the self-transcendent states, the emotions that help widen our perspective from inward and worried to the bigger picture. He writes:

“Awe is the emotion we experience when we encounter vast mysteries that we don’t understand. Why would I recommend that you find happiness in an emotion that is so fleeting and evanescent? A feeling so elusive that it resists simple description? That requires the unexpected, and moves us toward mystery and the unknown rather than what is certain and easy?

Because we can find awe anywhere.”

– Dacher Keltner in Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life

I’m lucky to live with a couple of awe monsters. They experience it and share it on a regular basis.

But in case no awe monsters are handy, Dacher Keltner has many other suggestions. Here are some that draw from nature: look up at the sky, listen to bird song, be mindful of something that strikes you and take a picture of it.

(featured photo is Miss O (age 6) and Mr. D (age 2) looking at a sunrise)

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!

An Open-Hearted Meditation

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“Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.” – Anne Sexton

My heart absorbs a lot in a day. That is to say that as I traverse my days, bouncing between to-do’s and must have dones, I collect a lot of nuggets that I store away in my heart as if it is a four-chambered storage cabinet.

– The note of trepidation from my kids as they start a new activity.

– An observation about a colleague who appears to be wrestling with anxiety.

– The feeling I shoulder when coming alongside a friend’s worry.

At some point I have to empty my heart storage cabinet so I can carry on and pick up new things, about myself or others. I think that’s why I love this breathing/heart meditation that I originally picked up from Deepak Chopra almost twelve years ago. [With all due respect to Deepak Chopra, this may no longer resemble the meditation as he taught it so please forgive any blips in the flow.]

Sitting with your eyes closed, feel your heart. Notice how it is feeling. Is it heavy? It is happily skipping a beat? Is it calm and serene?

Now take a deep breath into the front of your heart. Feel your chest expand. Feel that front wall where your heart meets the world.

Next breathe into the back of your heart. Allow the solidity and strength of your back to make room for the heart.

Take a deep breath and direct it to the top of the heart. Does it feel like there is a lid on your heart that can crack ajar to give the heart a little room to expand?

Now send your next inhale to the bottom of your heart. Breathe through all that might have settled there and benefit from some air to get moving.

The next breath is for the sides of the heart. As you feel the sides of your heart lengthen with the inhale, sit a little taller to feel your whole ribcage expand.

And finally, breathe into the whole heart. Notice how it is feeling. Is it the same as when you started? Or have you uncovered something tucked away there?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Life is Like Legos

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“Learn the rules like a pro so you can break them like an artist.” – Pablo Picasso

This weekend I played a lot of Legos with my kids. Mr. D was building a house, finding any square or rectangular pieces and putting them together.

I was following an instruction booklet to build a teddy bear. I spent most of my time looking through the 800 pieces for pieces the size of my pinky fingernail that were the right size, shape and color to match the instructions.

It struck me that life in general, and creativity specifically, is a lot like building Legos. We start out life creating off the cuff – listening to our gut, stacking and combining from what’s available. It’s intuitive and faster but it’s not long before we are told there are norms and expectations we are supposed to be adhering to.

Then we discover the instruction booklet and shift into making the prescribed things. In this mode, we make things that cutely and appropriately match other people’s expectations and instructions. But it takes a lot longer to find exactly the right pieces and we have to guard the pieces we find really carefully lest someone else takes the only one that will fit the specifications.

Once I was done building my teddy bear, I discovered a third way. I started building a structure with some of the remnants of our past creations. It built on both the structured and unstructured components. I went back to working like Mr. D and listening to my gut.

Seems like this is a great place to get to in creation and in life – where we can still be mindful of others, incorporating what has already been built, but leave the instructions behind.

Too Mad To Listen

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“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.” – Mark Twain

I saw this gas station sign and it reminded me of a story from many years ago.

The house next door to mine used to be a duplex. On the main floor lived a 40-something year old opera singer and music teacher who had lived there for nearly twenty years. She gardened and was friendly with all the neighbors so it was easy to get to know her.

One summer, a new renter moved into the top floor. She was younger than the opera singer – maybe in her early 30’s. I frequently saw her roller skating around the little lake we live near wearing bright red lipstick. She was noticeable but harder to get to know beyond a wave here and there.

The roller skater frequently walked loudly in high heels when she was home and slammed her kitchen cupboards late at night. This was keeping the opera singer in the apartment below her awake past her bedtime. She tried to ask her to stop. The roller skater didn’t want to talk about it. So, the opera singer tried sending her an email. The roller skater’s dad who lived in Florida called her to tell her to stop bothering his daughter.

Then one night the roller skater came home, parked her car in the driveway and left her car lights on. The opera singer noticed and tried to call out to her but the roller skater slammed the door. The opera singer tried to call her on the phone but the roller skater hung up on her. So the opera singer sent her an email.

The next morning, the roller skater’s car battery was dead. The opera singer watched as she slammed the door crying, eventually getting AAA to come help. The roller skater moved out shortly after.

I heard this story from the opera singer so I only have that perspective. I think the roller skater was a sensitive soul that felt every comment deeply. But even so, it’s always reminded me that not listening to others can come at a cost.

I searched my memory banks for a story of when I was too mad to listen. Funny thing is that I came up empty. I take that as a sign that someone out there is right now telling a story about me not listening. I’m just not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse that we often are oblivious to the help never taken.

What do you think?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Photos of the Week: July 27

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“It’s pointless to believe what you see if you only see what you believe.” – Marie Lu

We spent some time with our favorite spitting frogs. They’ve delighted us ever since Miss O was a baby and still are loads of fun!

I take all of my photos with my camera phone. This week I upgraded my phone – not to the latest version but still four versions newer. Everything is looking a little bit brighter now.

Mr. D spent some time appreciating a puppy that wouldn’t steal his undies.

The cat letting it all hang out. And Rusty trying to get out.

The hard thing about living in a glass enclosure must be that the key seems SOOO close.

Mr. D lost a tooth, turned five, and lost another tooth – all in ONE week! By the second tooth, which happened to come out on his birthday, the tooth fairy was so tired that she almost forgot to write back. Thank goodness for the whisper of paper during a good night kiss to remind the tooth fairy of her duty.

We spent some time pedal boating around the lake we always bike, drive, and walk around. It was so much fun to experience it from another perspective.

This last photo and the sign of the week also challenge our perspective!

Emanating Joy

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“Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.” – Thich Nhat Hanh

About a month ago when Miss O’s elementary school held Field Day, there was the traditional staff versus fifth grader tug-of-war. When the teachers won, Mr. Bean, a very tall staff member, spread his arms wide like an airplane and took a victory lap.

It was so joyful, that four-year-old Mr. D is still talking about Mr. Bean four weeks later. I think people who emanate joy, especially grown-up people, just stick with us.

Which is a good segue to the podcast that Vicki and I recently did with the recently retired pre-K teacher and blogger, Beth Kennedy. (Another great connection made by Pete Springer, by the way.)

Beth tells us the story of an instant perspective moment. In a chance encounter with an extremely friendly man, she is both buoyed and leveled.

It’s a funny and thoughtful story that is so true to Beth’s writing. In her beautifully concise presentation, she allows the sparkle of the realizations to shine bright.

So we talk about how we can get lost in our own worlds until something or someone breaks through and reminds us of the big picture. Naturally, our encounters with others ripple out.

This is a great conversation and story with a fantastic writer and keen observer of life that will stick with you long after it’s over.

So I know you’ll enjoy the scenic and beautiful places we go when we share the power of story.

We know you’ll love it!

Check out the full podcast at: Episode 75: “Cast Aside” with Beth Kennedy

(featured photo from Pexels)

Links for this episode:

Episode 75: “Cast Aside” with Beth Kennedy on Anchor

I didn’t have my glasses on…. | A trip through life with fingers crossed and eternal optimism. (ididnthavemyglasseson.com)

cast aside. | I didn’t have my glasses on…. (ididnthavemyglasseson.com)

Vicki’s personal blog: Victoria Ponders

Wynne’s personal blog: Surprised by Joy

Vicki’s recently released book: Surviving Sue

Wynne’s book about her beloved father: Finding My Father’s Faith

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.  

Writing From the Heart

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“There is a wisdom of the head, and…a wisdom of the heart.” – Charles Dickens

This post was originally published on 3/1/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.

The other day I read a beautiful post that was a tribute to a dearly departed pet. It was so touching and zinged me right where there’s a sore spot from missing my beloved dog, Biscuit, that died six years ago. I had to walk away for about 30 minutes before I could write a comment.

I find this so often be true – the topics that are the closest to my heart are hard to write about when the tears are still flowing. When I had to say good-bye to Biscuit, the next day the only words I could manage was to put a sign next to the cat who was also grieving the loss of his buddy:

Cat missing his newly departed dog

So this set me off wondering why it is so hard. Loss of perspective? Lack of clarity so I can’t yet make meaning? Inability to see the keyboard when the tears are flowing?

Thinking it could be a left-brain/right-brain kind of thing, I looked up the neuroscience of writing and found this New York Times article: This is Your Brain on Writing. Turns out that left-brain/right-brain isn’t much of a delineation that they make these days. Instead the article describes the results an fMRI study of the brain while writing including the detail that in expert writers, there is a part of the brain, the caudate nucelus, that lights up. The same part of the brain doesn’t light up for novice writers, a result that made sense to the scientists because the caudate nucleus is the part of the brain associated with expertise. Which was interesting but didn’t get me any closer to an answer.

Then I looked to our sacred texts and the spiritual world for wisdom on those moments when I can’t write. I was reacquainted with one of my dad’s favorite quotes from 17th century mathematician and philosopher Blaise Pascal: “The heart has its reasons, that reason does not know.” My dad often cited this quote in an argument about belief in God – that our heart knows even if there isn’t any proof for the head. Maybe those topics that zing me are too close to my heart so they haven’t made it to the head yet?

Next on my list of possible explanations was poly-vagal theory about the three states of our nervous system. When I wrote about it for a post, The Unified Theory of Breathing I summarized the three states as: ventral which is calm and regulated, sympathetic the fight or flight response, and dorsal which is when the nervous system has been so stimulated that it shuts down. Perhaps when I can’t write, I’m flooded, in a dorsal state and can’t write? While this alludes to an answer, I don’t feel like I’m dysregulated and can’t write, just that I can’t find the words.

Finally, I turned to the world of yoga and meditation and found an explanation that makes sense to me. Stillness. When my waters are muddied, I have a harder time seeing into my depths. In times of life when the waves are choppy, I am all churned up inside. It’s only when I reconnect with my inner stillness that I can see well enough to cross the space between me and you.

What I found to be as fascinating as the question itself were the lenses I looked through to find my answer. Brain science, theology, physiology, and meditation – my four go-tos and I usually find the answer sitting in meditation. Must be why I do it every day. A confirmation bias loop because it works for me.

Here’s my take-away from the journey: It’s hard to write when I’m too wet and stirred up in my heart. And it’s also hard when I’m too dry and too much in my head. I have to aim for somewhere in the middle where I’m soft, warm, and clear.

What about you?

The Onset of Reality

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“I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.” – e.e. cummings

Recently my kids and I were at my dad’s former church for an Easter event. On the way out, Miss O asked to see my dad’s stone in the columbarium. It’s in a beautiful nook by a babbling little brook surrounded by trees.

Miss O and I like patterns. So we looked at all the stones and saw the ones, like my dad’s, that are offset because their spouse/partner will be added when they die. And then the ones where the name is in the middle because they are by themselves.

Miss O wanted to know about the dates on my dad’s stone. I pointed out his birth date and then she looked at the date of his death and said, “Because everyone comes to their death date.”

Right!

[As aside, this reminds me of one of my dad’s jokes: “There’s always death and taxes; however, death doesn’t get worse every year.”]

She made that death date observation without any gravity or sadness. My kids can envision monsters and thieves but death doesn’t hold any weight for them.

At four-years-old and eight-years-old, they seem to attend to whatever is at hand with very little worry about the future. Somewhere between four and fifty-four, “reality” hits.

Which reminded me that a few weeks ago at bedtime, Miss O told me that she and her friend have been using recess to talk about “big topics.” I couldn’t wait to hear about these so I snuggled in next to her and asked, “Like what?”

She replied, “Puberty and reality. Puberty was my friend’s topic and I brought up reality. I can’t believe it starts in three years.”

I asked “What starts in three years?”

She replied, “Reality. You know. Middle school.”

I’m laughing, but perhaps that’s when it does start. The planning and preparing, setting the expectations for what life should be.

Thank goodness there’s death as an antidote. For me, being periodically reminded that “everyone comes to their death date” is helpful.  Not knowing when that will be prompts me to lay down my plans and to live.

(featured photo is mine)

Speaking of great reasons to write down our stories before we meet our death date, Vicki and I talk with author, publisher, podcaster, and former radio producer, Rick Kaempfer on our podcast, Episode 62: The Loop Files with Rick Kaempfer. He tells some incredible stories about the most outrageous radio station ever. And does an amazing job at poignantly describing one of the reasons we write.

Search (and subscribe!) for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple, Amazon, Spotify or Pocket Casts. Or click through to the link above to see the video excerpts from that podcast, the link to listen in browser, plus all of Rick’s links.