Tag: relationships

The Feeling of Community

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“The deep irony, in order to be social, we first have to be individual.” – Nicholas Christakis

This was originally published on 2/16/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

When I was climbing mountains, I’d regularly sign up for a guided climbing trips, sometimes with a friend and sometimes by myself. It was a great way to travel and also get to climb a mountain or two. Typically we’d all converge in a meeting place and do the initial meet and greet and then go from there.

The groups of people that would come together were always interesting. I’m thinking about a particular climb of two volcanoes in Mexico. We all flew to Mexico City where we met our guides and fellow climbers before riding in a van to the base of Mt. Ixtacchuatl for our first climb.

The group was mostly Americans but otherwise there wasn’t an easily defined demographic, not gender, education level, personality type other than love of mountains.  On this particular trip, there were very outgoing people like my friend, Jill, and man named Trent who loved to talk and help anyone with anything. Most of the group was like Paul from Greenfield, NY who was really nice to talk to but more reserved about initiating conversations. There was our guide, Phil, who like to just spit out wisdom or quips in one line but not talk endlessly (e.g. “Watch out Jill, that guy has more moves than an earthquake.”)

As we went around doing introductions, one man named John stated very clearly, “I don’t like people. I’m just here to climb the mountains.”  Which was fine because that’s what we were there to do.

We summitted the first mountain, Mt Ixtacchuatl (17,338 feet) on October 31 and then headed down to celebrate the Day of the Dead in Puebla. After a day of rest, we started up our second mountain, Mt. Orizaba (18,491 feet).

After being dropped by trucks on the mountain, we spent the evening in a hut. At this point, we’d been together as a group for about 5 days and we were having a great time and working together pretty well as a team. The guy that didn’t like people was a very good climber and mostly stayed to himself, grabbing his share of dinner and finding a quiet place to eat it.

Around midnight, we got up from the few hours of rest we’d gotten and started preparing for our summit attempt in the dark using the light of our headlamps. We climbed steadily in the dark for about 6 hours until we reached an exposed couloir. We paused as the guides tried to get some ice screws deep enough into the fractious ice to secure our trip across the steep gully. Eventually we realized that the conditions wouldn’t allow us to cross safely over that part of the mountain and our summit bid had ended.

As we sat on the mountain watching the sun come up in no hurry to get anywhere, John, the climber who didn’t like people, pulled off his boot and found a Payday bar. He’d put the candy bar in his boot while preparing in the dark and then forgotten to take out. After being climbed on for 6 hours, it was shaped like an orthodic. He pulled it out, showed it around and we all had a good laugh alongside him as we imagined the journey of that candy bar. Even John enjoyed for that moment being part of a group that understood the crazy things that happen on a climb.

That particular event created an idea of community for me. One where we don’t have to all be best friends or come out of our comfort zones but can still enjoy the camaraderie of a shared experience focused on a common interest.

(featured photo is mine of the group leaving the top of Mt. Ixtacchuatl)

A Legacy of Love

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“The one thing that we can never get enough of is love.
And the one thing that we can never give enough of is love.” – Henry Miller

When I published my book about my dad eight years ago, there was a consistent kernel of comment that I got about it from his peers that read it. It was stated or implied that they hoped they were remembered as fondly.

I’ve sat with that nugget for a long time to try to unravel what that meant. I’ve come to believe it reveals a truth about what’s important.

Let me start off with a list of the things that my dad wasn’t good at. He worked too much. He left the hard work of parenting largely to my mom. He could be sloppy with details. He was conflict averse and would turn most anything into something funny and light so as not to have to deal with it. He didn’t show his struggles or any negative emotion in a way that would make him more relatable.

But he had one major thing he did right consistently – he loved people. He managed his own neuroses, opinions, and worries in a way that made him open to love others. He’d say that it was following the example of Jesus to love, accept, and welcome others that allowed him to do that. He believed that was Jesus was the way, the truth and the life, but he also believed that it wasn’t the only truth. He came to appreciate any practice or belief in something bigger than ourselves.

On his birthday about four months after he died, I posted a tribute to him on Facebook based on the Maya Angelou quote, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.“. An acquaintance from high school with responded with a comment like, “Not everyone had a dad like that.”

Right. I was incredibly lucky to have a dad that was so effusively warm and whose face lit up every time he saw me. I think he had an advantage as a pastor in that it was part of his profession to practice meeting, accepting and loving people. His resume virtues and his eulogy virtues were aligned, to borrow a phrase from David Brooks.

But I think we all have the opportunity to prioritize supporting and encouraging others in a healthy and boundaried way, and love people the best we can. I suspect it might be the key to how fondly we are remembered. The ultimate paradox is that we give love in order to be loved.

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.

Mama, Why Would We Want to Feel Their Pain?

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“Your ability to understand and empathize with others depends mightily on having a steady diet of positivity resonance, as do your potentials for wisdom, spirituality, and health.” – Barbara Frederickson

This was originally published on 4/5/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.

My 7-year-old daughter, Miss O, bumped her 3-year-old brother with her backpack when they were getting into the car yesterday morning. As he started to cry, she offered an uncharacteristically flippant, “Sorry, Dude.”

I gathered him in my arms to check on the little pinky finger that got jammed and added something like, “I’m sure your sister wants to offer some sympathy but can’t find the words right now.”

As we got underway, Miss O said, “I thought sympathy was a bad thing?” The curiosity about learning about emotions moved her away from her defensiveness and we talked about the continuum of responses in the face of pain: denying it, indifference, sympathy and empathy. Off the cuff, I said that empathy was something like leaning in to relate to someone else’s pain.

Miss O asked, “Why would we want to feel their pain?”

It seems I’ve spent the better part of my 53-years trying to understand the answer to that question. I suspect that it was becoming a parent that truly changed my willingness to really sit with the distress of others.

I’ve found that unacknowledged wounds weep the most. Jack Canfora’s post, There’s Nothing Wrong With Everything Being Wrong, spoke to me about the cleansing act of being honest. When we pretend everything is okay either with ourselves or others that are hurting, we add a layer of BS that hardens over time.

But when we talk about hard things and are able to lean in to the sorrow and pain of others, we are blessed by getting to know someone deeply. I imagine we are all a little like icebergs, carrying the pain of life as the big unseen part beneath the water. And when we empathize with each other, we get to see all of us, and even witness the growth that comes with healing after things fall apart.

Which isn’t to say that I’ve found it to be easy to embrace the discomfort of others. I find myself stumbling for words, unsure how to ask, or if to ask, and it becomes worse if I fear I’ve had a part in causing pain. But when I avoid it, it only becomes bigger, sometimes big enough to sink the Titanic.

I remember my dad, who was a Presbyterian pastor for 40 years, describing the first time he had to do a funeral and a wedding on the same day. He said the sheer emotion of going through those extreme emotions almost buckled him at the knees.

I’ve found that the times I have the most access to empathy are when I’ve done my own work to manage my emotions, to understand that I don’t have to carry other people’s loads, and to clean my own wounds. Then I have a much bigger capacity to sit in the dark with others. I can’t go deep when I’m swimming in the shallow end of my self-care and grace pool. For me, that work is in the form of meditation, writing, and creating but I know we all have different tool kits.

So I circled back to my daughter and said, “Sometimes we start trying to empathize because we think it’s the right thing to do or because our mom told us we should. But sooner or later we learn that pain is a lot like the dark – only scary because we don’t look. We lean in to feel other’s pain so that it goes away and it doesn’t become a monster in the closet, threatening to pop out when we least expect it.

We lean in because we all take turns hurting and healing and then have to do the work of repair.”

I’ve also published today on the Wise & Shine blog: Just Start

(featured photo from Pexels)

Doing Nearly Nothing

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“Recognize what is simple. Keep what is essential.” – Lao Tzu

I spent some time this past weekend sitting on the porch of an AirBnB cabin on Whidbey Island doing nothing. Well, I was drinking tea so not technically nothing. I was going to say maybe more accurately, I was just doing that one thing so I wasn’t multi-tasking. But I was eating popcorn along with the tea so perhaps that is multi-tasking.

Okay, maybe we can agree I was doing nearly nothing. I was sitting on the porch with my tea and popcorn not doing anything else. I didn’t have my laptop open or my phone within reach. My kids were off at a playground with a friend, so it was just me and Cooper the dog, looking at the bay.

I knew the next thing I needed to do to get ready for dinner but I hadn’t moved yet. I was trying to extend the moment of doing nearly nothing for as long as possible. I found this to be extremely difficult – to drop the should and the oughts and just sit.

It reminded me of the question of whether finding inner peace will ruin our ability to get things done. I have both heard and thought myself, if I wasn’t so ________________, I wouldn’t be nearly as productive. Fill in the blank with ambitious, anxious, efficient, motivated, OCD or whatever else suits you. Sometimes it seems to me, with Buddhism especially, if I let it all go, what’s going to be left?

I live by a lot of rules that help me get stuff done. Rules like:

  • No tv after the kids go to bed.
  • If you notice something needs to be done, do it now. And really, with two kids, a dog, a cat, a job and a house – how hard is it to notice something that needs to be done?
  • If you pick something up, put it away properly so you only handle it once. This includes emails and work tasks.
  • Go to bed by 10:30 so you can get up by 5:30 to get sacred time and do it all again.

My structures help me but also limit me. They keep my head down so that I don’t notice other things.  When I let them go, even for just a short while, I’m happier because my head’s up.

In the few moments when I’ve been able to experience something akin to inner peace, here’s what I’ve noticed: that I’m able to float peacefully along with the stream instead of trying to constantly generate my own power. That the biggest effort is quieting the should and oughts in my head and then everything else flows rather nicely.

I’m so grateful I was able to practice doing nearly nothing this weekend. I need to do it more.

Let’s Play

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“When one teaches, two learn.” – Robert Half

Last Saturday morning, four-year-old Mr. D wanted to drive his remote control car down the sidewalk. Since we were still in our pajamas, I tried to lobby for a back yard activity. But the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Mr. D wanted to go out front, so I covered up with a coat and followed.

Funny thing – it’s hard to drive those remote control cars straight. We spent a fair amount of time just getting to two doors down, the side walk in front of my favorite neighbors. They are a retired couple in their 70’s. They’ve lived here for almost fifty years, I lived here for twenty and so we’ve got some history under our belt.

My neighbors are interesting, generous, and kind. We’ve shoveled five yards of delivered bark from the street to the yard together. I’ve gotten to know their kids and grandkids. My kids tell them all that’s top of mind every time they see them. They often rake my strip of grass between the sidewalk and curb in the fall. I bought them toilet paper at Costco during the pandemic.

When we got in front of their house, Mr. D said, “Let’s go ask them to play.” Some polite part of me thought we’d be pests asking them to do that on a Saturday morning. I said we shouldn’t. But Mr. D put his hand on his hip and said, “Follow my lead.”

When we got up to the front door and they answered, Mr. D handed the remote control to them and said, “want to drive?” We had a lovely time standing on the porch and talking while Mr. D chased down the car any time it went astray. It was so enjoyable to chat with my neighbors that I don’t see nearly enough this time of year with short days and cozy couches inside.

My kids keep teaching me how important play is. For myself. And to keep inviting others to play. It connects us and relaxes us. And it’s fun. It isn’t an interruption – it’s what we need more of.

Romancing the Stone

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“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.” – Maya Angelou

This post was originally published on 9/8/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

More than 10 years after the fact, I can tell the story of my marriage/divorce without even the slightest wince of pain. I got married to my husband when I was 33-years-old. He had been married before and told me that he was divorced because wife #1 had a jealousy problem.

In the marriage, I came to think he just wanted a mindless side-kick to be with him for whatever HE wanted to do. He thought I was far to in-de-PEN-dent (pronounced slowly as if a four syllable curse word). A couple years into the marriage he announced that it was time to have kids. I said “no.”

Seven years into the marriage, his best friend came to me to tell me of my husband’s infidelities. All of a sudden I understood what had really happened with wife #1. <insert big a-ha laugh here> After some dithering and poor attempts to fix it, we divorced.

After a couple of years of patching myself up and finding meditation, I started dating. I had very good reasons why none of those worked out. Here are a few examples:

  • There was the guy that brought a gun to the date. No, I didn’t feel threatened at all but certainly was surprised when he pulled it out. He thought it was necessary because I lived in the big city and he’d come from a smaller suburb.
  • And there was the date who I went snow-shoeing with. When the outing lasted longer than expected, I knelt at the door of my home to greet my dog and say sorry for leaving him too long. The date had followed me up to the door and muttered behind me, “Never apologize to an animal.”
  • There was also the very dear friend with whom I was unable to have deep conversations.

After these forays into dating didn’t produce a life partner and I was age 45, I made what I thought was a pragmatic decision to have kids on my own. In the seven years since I’ve had kids I’ve had a few sparse and isolated dating attempts but have largely left love of that variety alone.

That’s my story – and a story I fully inhabit and believe. But recently I was talking with a dear friend going through heartbreak. As I sat and listened to my friend’s stories, I realized that it exposed a deep vein of cynicism about love that I wasn’t aware I held.

 The cynicism says – I’m not sure love is worth it. It also says that I have to do x, y, and z before I’ll be ready. And that it’s okay for other people to have partners but maybe not me.

Whoa. It’s like I’ve been hanging on to my story as if it’s a life raft and now I’m finding out it’s full of holes. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t find my partner after I divorced because I didn’t want to. Somehow my joy for what I have and the optimism that I’ve been clinging to have covered over some walls I’ve constructed.

One of my close friends always says she found her second husband and love of her life because she believed she was worthy of love. For me, and for many of us that have experienced great loss in relationships, I think we might need to believe something similar:

I am worthy of love. And the love that I will find will be worth having.

One of my favorite quotes about healing comes from priest and author, Henri Nouwen. After experiencing a loss of a significant friendship, Nouwen sequestered himself for six months and wrote journal entries that became his book The Inner Voice of Love. Towards the end, he comes to realize:

“Your future depends on how you decide to remember your past.”

Henri Nouwen

That’s the problem with my story about my marriage and divorce. I am frequently grateful to my ex-husband for the events that put my on the path that I’m on. But it appears that I need to re-remember what else about love is worthwhile. That decision may change a lot about my future.

What do you think about love? Hopeful? Cynical?

(quote for this post from my wise friend, Brian: Writing From the Heart With Brian)

(featured photo from Pexels)

I’ve also published today on the Wise & Shine: You Get What You Pay For

Failing Well

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“Take chances, make mistakes. That’s how you grow. Pain nourishes your courage. You have to fail in order to practice being brave.” – Mary Tyler Moore

Last weekend when we were in Leavenworth, WA, we went to an adventure park to ride a roller coaster. Or maybe I should say a roller-coaster-ish kind of ride because the cars were individual and the driver could apply the brakes as much as they wanted. Another clarification: by “we” I meant my kids rode with my dear friend, Doug, because I’m an endurance person, not a speed person.

Now that I have all those caveats in place, on with the story.

Eight-year-old Miss O had no hesitation and climbed right in to ride with Doug. Talking with four-year-old Mr. D about it, he was clearly torn. He didn’t want to do it. And then he did. He flip flopped a couple of times. Since I was pretty sure he’d like it, I was trying to figure out how to nudge him in the direction of trying it.

But even though Miss O didn’t hesitate on this challenge, she and I had just been having a conversation about failing when it came to learning to ride her hoverboard. She asserted that life was easier for me because I never failed. I told her I fail all the time which is why is doesn’t faze me much any more. In fact, I rarely think of it as failing but just as a step towards the next thing I need to do.

On the drive to Leavenworth, I’d been listening to the Ten Percent Happier podcast, The Science of Failing Well where Dan Harris was talking with Amy Edmonson, a professor of leadership and management at the Harvard Business School. She had three points that stuck with me about taking risks:

  • Make the risk as small as possible: This point reminded me of gambling – make a bet but don’t put all your chips in.
  • Have a hypothesis: Know what you are trying to test or prove
  • Learn from the attempt: Use the experience and hypothesis to extract information for the next thing you might try.

I think a lot about what creates confidence. What my parents did to create kids who are willing to try hard things because for all the differences between my siblings and me, we are all game to take on new challenges. So I’ve tried to figure out how I can do the same for my kids. While there’s much that remains a mystery to me, what I’ve identified is that my willingness to try and fail might be the single most defining characteristic in the arc of my life.

So, I told Mr. D he didn’t have to do it. But if he did, he only had to try one ride, Doug could go as slow as he wanted, and that I thought he’d like riding in a car on a track. When it came to his turn, Mr. D was a little nervous but resolutely game. Until I greeted him at the exit ramp, that is. He rolled back in with a huge grin on his face!

He had so much fun that he learned he wanted to do it again. And the second time he went up with his hands in the air.

Life is a roller coaster and I’m glad that I continue to ride. The metaphorical kind at least.

(featured photo is mine)

(quote is from Real Life of MSW blog: Being Brave)

The Detective’s Toolbox

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“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” – e.e. cummings

Mr. D hasn’t wanted to go to his pre-school lately. It’s been such a marked change that it’s evoked the inner detective in me trying to figure out why. Was it the week that the lead teacher went on vacation? Is there a shift in schedule or meals that is bugging him? Is there a particular classmate that he’s having trouble with?

At four-years-old, Mr. D doesn’t seem to have the answers to the questions. I say that like his age is the factor. I’m sure it is in part, but I think we all get stumped about what’s bugging us from time to time.

Yesterday, we’d just parked at the curb and were just sitting there collecting ourselves before we went in to school. Cooper, the dog, was in the front seat next to me. Mr. D from the back seat said, “Cooper is sad.” I asked why and he said, “Cooper is sad because he misses us.”

Oooh, my first break in the case.

So I tried two more things. At the end of the day, I asked Mr. D to tell me a story about school. He told me a story about John waiting in line for the roller coaster on the playground. Another student, Molly, gave John a look and it made him sad. So Mr. D went to play with John and it made John happy.

The second thing was to have him show me something he’d learned that day. They are studying the human body this week. In their study of the stomach and intestines, they put bread into plastic bags with soda water died green to mimic stomach acid.

We repeated the experiment at home so that he could teach his older sister and me. Yes, it’s really gross, but I took one for science’s sake. And giving Mr. D a chance to showcase a bit of how he spent his day made him feel proud of his learning.

Here’s what I noticed. That when we don’t know what’s wrong, we project it on to others like Cooper the dog. We also can get to it by telling stories or acting things out. I haven’t cracked the case entirely yet but I’ve started figuring out the toolset. A similar set of tools probably works for all of us.

Speaking of telling stories, Vicki and I talk with David from the Pinwheel in a Hurricane and unwanted blogs on the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast this week. It is a fantastic episode where David talks about doing story work to find clarity, integration, and healing. Check it out: Episode 53: Practicing Creativity with David

Things About Parenting I Think I’ve Learned So Far

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“You’re an author, and the stories you write are penned across the hearts of your children. Therefore, be careful with the pen because you’re writing on some very precious paper.” – Craig D. Lounsbrough

I’m riffing the title of this post from Jack Canfora’s Things I Think I’ve Learned So Far because Jack’s post is one of my favorites and I’m too tired from parenting to think of one of my own. And that matches with my experience of parenting – you have to take small favors and lifts when you can.

Admittedly, I’m pretty early on into this parenting thing with only eight and a half years so far. Despite the best efforts of my more experienced friends to teach me everything I might need to know, I still understand I have a lot to learn. But in the interest of celebrating incremental progress, here’s the list of things I think I’ve learned so far in parenting.

Dance parties improve almost any mood.

When little people behave their worst, it’s when they need to be listened to and held the most.

Sometimes, on “those” days, you just have to declare it’s Milkshakes for Breakfast Day to shake everything up.

Try to say “yes” as often as possible, even if it’s just a qualified “yes.”

No matter how hungry you are, don’t eat that last bite off their plate until its cleared from the table.

There’s a time to push limits, and there’s a time to fold them in your arms. Knowing that balance is as mysterious as the original recipe for KFC or Coke. It’s sweet when you get it right, but you will still be guessing the next time.

Laughter is a beautiful elixir that will hold you together.

Socks are the bane of parenting. Little teeny tiny socks exploded off little teeny tiny feet are under the car seats, smooshed in the couch cushions, on the counter, behind the toy box, folded into books, and left everywhere and anywhere except the laundry basket.

My efforts to lobby Amazon to create a sock subscription service where new socks are delivered regularly have been ignored to date, mostly because I can’t ever finish an email without interruption.

A little bit of sugar works as an enticement. A great deal of sugar works like an unstable explosive.

You can use power over someone with little or no agency and it might work short-term. But, when you can, spending the time to develop power with a willing mind has a big long-term payoff.

You will screw it up. Look for the manual that came with the babies and remember there isn’t one. Be grateful for however many days you have before they figure that out too.

Insistence on anything that you previously thought you was indisputable fact before you had kids quickly becomes debatable in their eyes.
If you resist, the resistance becomes an object to focus on.
Better to use redirection.

Curiosity beats judgment any day and is one of the best tools in the box.

The line between crying and laughing is much closer than previously thought.

This is also true for irritation and awe.

On the Welch’s fruit snacks, the tear spot is between the h and the s. You’re welcome.

Every time you thoughtfully respond to a melt down you get to put a marble in the metaphorical trust jar.
Every time you lose it and yell, you take out ten marbles from the trust jar.
Every time you apologize for losing it, you get to add back your ten marbles, with bonus marbles for sincerity.

Naps aren’t just for the five and unders.

A well-rested kid can do most anything – this is true for well-rested parents too.

Save money on sorting games and instead teach them to match socks. This is a theoretical one but it would have been brilliant if I’d thought of it earlier.

You will screw it up. Apply grace liberally, get a good night’s sleep and try it again.

“Your eyes should light up when your child enters the room.” – Maya Angelou
But there will be times they will enter the room covered in paint or dressed in all the contents of the laundry basket that you, for once, managed to fold. So shoot for lit up eyes MOST of the time.

It’s fun when you try to pay close enough attention to learn something about yourself and where you came from every day.

In the years before logic works, you have a wonderful opportunity to practice winning over hearts instead of minds.

Connection expands in proportion to your time sitting on the floor next to them.

Someone will cry when the milk spills. Try to make sure it’s not you.

It’s only possible to handle someone else’s big emotions when you’ve taken care of yourself.

Life is fragile; love helps us to overcome the abject fear of being responsible for it.

Relationship can handle a lot as long as you remain connected.

Whatever amount of vulnerability and patience you entered parenthood with will not be enough. Fortunately, kids come with many opportunities to exercise both.

Things will seem unbearable, and then they’ll change.

It will pain you greatly at times, but you have to big the bigger person.

Parenting is maddening; but a bigger part is gladdening.

You will screw it up. Treat yourself as gently as you can, laugh about it, apologize as necessary, and remember you are teaching them how to start again.

The big upsets are rarely about what it’s about. Take the socks, for example, which is really about the complete disruption of any order and ability to get things done you previously believed you had.

Or this list, which might not be just about parenting.

Be a Campfire, Not a Conflagration

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“Don’t set yourself on fire to keep others warm” – Rumi

We traveled this weekend to visit a friend in Eastern Washington. On Saturday morning, I crawled out of bed early for my sacred meditation time. After I meditated, I built a fire in the wood stove to take off the chill of the early morning in the woods.

The sequence made me realize the similarities between meditation and fire building.

We accumulate the debris from our lived days – the celebrations, the joys, the annoyances, the worries. It sits like stacked wood until we are ready to coax out the heat and the warmth. Somethings are easier to ignite than others while others need some tending to burn.

It requires a spark to convert it to something other than dead wood that we carry around. The spark can come from something like writing, introspection, or meditation. It can come from people around us or circumstances can set us off. But one way or another something is likely to light us up in good ways or in bad.

Some sort of ventilation is necessary in order for the process to work. We can talk it out, sweat it out, write it out, pray it out, cry it out, or some combo of it all.

Thinking about these parallels as I sat watching the fire in the stove, I found myself mesmerized by the beauty and warmth. But there are few things that scare me as much as when fire escapes its boundaries and roars out of control.

I came home from the weekend with a new motto: Be a campfire, not a conflagration.