Tag: relationships

The Art of Apology

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“And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.” – John Steinbeck

This piece was originally posted on 3/9/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

The other night my two-year-old son wanted me to get a step stool out of the closet. As I was lifting it out of the storage space, he reached for it and his littlest pinky finger got pinched in the hinge that connects the sides of the ladder as it opens.

Yikes! I put the step ladder down, scooped him up and said, “I’m so sorry.”

I wanted to say, “But you need to wait til I get it all the way out.” And “That’s why these things are grown-up things.” And probably 15 other things in order to make myself feel better because I very much didn’t like being responsible for an action that pinched his finger.

But I didn’t, because I remember listening to a podcast with psychologist Harriet Lerner on Brené Brown’s Unlocking Us series that was like a master class on apologies. It was 2 years ago and so well done that I still remember some talking points. One being “When ‘but’ is tagged on to an apology, it undoes the sincerity.” If there is a genuine counter point or excuse to the apology, it needs to happen as a separate conversation.

So I looked up some more details from Dr. Lerner’s book, Why Won’t You Apologize: Healing Big Betrayals and Every Day Hurts. She notes there are cultural differences when it comes to apologies. There are also gender differences – males are more likely to be non-apologizers, women are more likely to be over-apologizers. But for anyone trying to craft a sincere apology, here are some pointers she provides of things not to do:

  • Saying I’m sorry you feel that way: These are apologies that don’t address what happened but instead try to target the emotions of the other party.
  • The “IF” apology: I’m sorry IF you thought is a weaselly effort to not own what happened.
  • The mystifying apology: What is it that the apologizer just said? Apologies that usually are too wordy and talk around the issue, leave the other party feeling confused.
  • The apology as instant expectation of forgiveness: I apologize now you must forgive me is a quid pro quo that undermines the apology as a genuine offering and not just a means to an end.
  • Not listening: If we don’t hear the injured party out, they will not feel heard and any apology will fall short of the entire wound.

So what is a good apology? A simple statement expressing remorse for the action we are apologizing for, owning what we did, not taking more that our share of blame (because that comes across as insincere) and not trying to speak to how the other person feels.

Just thumbing this book reminded me of some old wounds that I was surprised to find hadn’t fully healed over because I can still think of the poor apologies I’ve received. The down-played sorry – “I’m sorry that I called you a ‘brat’ when I was feeling crappy” when that wasn’t the word used at all. The blame-shifting excuse: “I was feeling sick, what was I to do?” when someone no-showed/no-called to the birthday party I threw for her. And the non-apology because the person who caused the injury paraded around all his own hurts as a way to claim he couldn’t be responsible for his actions.

And it also brought to mind incidents where I owed an apology and fell short. The little hitches where I still feel a little guilty or ashamed because my actions were thoughtless, careless, or uninformed and I never had the guts to address it properly.

All these memories make the case of how important a good apology is. As Dr. Lerner says, “I believe that tendering an apology, one that is authentic and genuinely felt, helps the other person to feel validated, soothed and cared for and can restore a sense of well-being and integrity to the one who sincerely feels she or he did something wrong. Without the possibility of apology and repair, the inherently flawed experience of being human would feel impossibly tragic.”

This makes me think of one of the best apologies I’ve ever heard. When my friend Jill was feeling tender because something her partner did, he said, “Please tell me what I did so I can never do it again.”

Fortunately having two young kids gives me plenty of opportunity to apologize. Thankfully it’s usually for skinned knees and stubbed toes for which I have no responsibility but am still sorry they happen. Then I get to participate in the healing. As my son said for the pinched finger incident, “Mama, kiss it?” And then we get to continue growing and learning, all the while in relationship to each other.

Saying “I’m sorry” reminds me of the power of keeping it simple. I’ve posted about The Power of Short Sentences on the Wise & Shine blog today.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Leaning In To Answers

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“I’ll choose honesty over perfection every single time.” – unknown

“Have you been faithful to me?” was the question I asked that essentially ended my marriage. It took three years for us to be completely done but that question was a dividing point. Not a particular brave one because I already knew the answer (my business partner had told me), but it was a conversation starter for sure.

But what it divides is more than just my marital status. In the aftermath of my divorce, what I’ve learned is to be able to ask questions, even ones that might change the status quo of a relationship.

  • Do you still want to do this?
  • Is this a meaningful job for you?
  • Does this make sense?
  • This way we have of talking doesn’t meet my needs. Can we do better?

As I was healing from my divorce, I was introduced to the Buddhist nun, Pema Chӧdrӧn’s writings about leaning in. Those words, leaning in, became one of the defining points between before the question and after the question. I learned that I can ask the tough questions and survive. Moreover, I learned the wisdom that the answer exists, whether I want to know or not. So I might as well lean in.

This whole practice has removed a patina of fear from my life. It doesn’t make asking big questions any easier since I’m a conflict-averse, people-pleaser. But does make me less fearful of doing so. There were many questions that I could have asked in my marriage that might have might have started the conversation sooner – Why are your needs more important than mine?  Why do you say, “What’s the big deal?” when I tell you something that is bothering me? I feel suffocated by your need for constant affirmation, can we change this?

I don’t think the outcome would have changed but I do think the dialogue would have been more brave and real. I didn’t ask those questions at the time because I was quite adept at looking away. There have been many good things that have come from my divorce – my meditation practice, inner peace, the freedom to find my own path. But one of the most fruitful is the willingness to lean in to ask and answer meaningful questions.

Somehow asking that first one taught me I could handle any other answers that came my way.

Please see my Heart of the Matter post for a response to a recent question I asked my mom. The Courage to Ask Questions

(featured photo from Pexels)

Forced Flexibility

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“Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.” – unknown

I had to get rid of a settee from my bedroom. It was a holdover from my marriage, beautiful but useless. It sat in the corner holding books. But my kids have been arguing at night when we read together about who gets to sit where so I put the settee on the curb with a free sign. It was gone within hours and then I was free to build out a reading space on the floor.

That’s not the only change going on around here. I’ve been shuffling up my morning routine and have landed on feeding and walking the dog before I meditate. It isn’t really how I envisioned my feet hitting the floor. But it works well enough to create the calm I need for my sacred morning time.

I’ve been thinking about these as examples of how I’m being flexible for the beings in my home. But I suspect that I’m the biggest beneficiary of this practice. Left to my own devices, I would do the same routine every day in perpetuity.

But that sameness doesn’t loosen me up so I stiffen over time. It reminds me of the aphorism, “what doesn’t bend, breaks.” I’d like to think I’d bob and weave if I wasn’t being “flexible for the kids” but I’m not so sure.

It’s all part of their plan to keep me young. It’s like yoga for my soul – these exercises that keep my innards loose enough to go with the flow. I get a lot of practice being a tree that will sway with the wind instead of a stick dropped in the mud.

I write this to encourage myself to be flexible. Because I don’t like it much at all. I’m stubborn and dogged by nature and that has taken me far in pushing through to mountain summits and every other metaphorical summit. Yet I see the goodness practicing this acceptance and letting go of what is. It frees me up to create and be the next thing.

(featured photo from Pexels)

The Quantity versus Quality of Time

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“The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot.” – Michael Althsuler

This post was previously posted on 7/20/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

Last week I was driving in my car with my almost 7-year-old daughter at 8:29am when she said “Darn, I’m always a minute late for my favorite time.” She likes palindromic times – in this case 8:28.

It made me think about what I’ve been working on lately. Life feels hectic – summertime means different routines for each week, forms to fill out for camps, people to coordinate carpools with, a lot of additional details in addition to working my full-time job, taking care of kids and trying to maintain a social life.

In the midst of this, my goal is not to be in a hurry even while living a busy life.

That is to say, to try to be intentional and savor the things I’m doing. For example, I had on my to-do list an item to fix the fence where it had come apart at a post. That activity in and of itself doesn’t really have a high enjoyment value. But the other day when I stepped out to assess the task, I felt the summer sun on my back and saw the green of all the grass and trees around. The flowers of the garden are really flourishing and it’s an incredibly vibrant scene right now.

The task might not be much to talk about – but the scenario is gorgeous. When I hurry, I miss all of that. So I’m trying to take an extra breath or two, how long can that take – 11 seconds if I’m optimizing the length according to the Unified Theory of Breathing? Just a couple breaths add a dimension that makes me think of the quote from Auguste Rodin, “Nothing is a waste of time if you use the opportunity wisely.“

There are two different Greek words that speak to this divide: chronos and kairos. Chronos is clock time so when my daughter is saying that she’s a minute late for her favorite time, it’s chronos we’re talking about. Kairos is translated as the “right time” as in now is the right time to step in, speak up or enjoy what I’m doing. I might have to be somewhere at a particular time, as in chronos, but kairos calls me to be mindful of the trip.  

I usually manage to arrive on time, chronos speaking, but I frequently mess up the quality of the time, kairos, in order to do so. In fact, I did that just yesterday when I was hurrying the kids to the car so we’d be on time for our carpool. My almost 3-year-old son wanted to hold the door for his sister and in my desire for efficiency, I didn’t listen to him and missed the right time to enjoy the spark of what he was doing. A small moment that is neither here nor there in the big picture, unless all the small moments are rushed like that.

What I’ve learned is when I manage not to be in a hurry even while life is busy, it prevents me from feeling like I’m a minute late for my favorite time.

How do you approach the quantity versus quality of time? Any tricks to slow yourself down when you are hurrying?

If you aren’t short of chronos, I’ve also posted a related post on the Wise & Shine blog: Speed Reading

(featured photo from Pexels)

Everything I Needed To Know About Socialization I Learned In Puppy Kindergarten

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“Ancora Imparo. I’m still learning.” – Michaelangelo

Okay, not everything but a few key things. Cooper has started puppy kindergarten and has been kind enough to take us along with him. Here are some of the things I learned.

It takes training to become best friends.

We listen better when treats are involved.

Gifted dog people are not necessarily people people or business people
If you’re good enough at what you do, the people who love their dogs will pay you anyway.

Enthusiasm can’t be fenced in.

We come in all shapes and sizes, colors and combinations.

There are some breeds that will be judged harshly based on their appearance. The people that love them feel that they have to train them to be perfect to overcome bias.

We can learn things through positive reinforcement, but it takes a plan and a lot of practice.

Learning is exhausting. Set aside time to nap afterwards.

Our attention goes where the treats are; this can be used to great effect.

It’s great to practice for emergency situations. But preparing for it all the time is counter-productive.

Be consistent and those around you will benefit from knowing your cues.

Use your words. Even non-verbal beings can’t tell what you want without words.

Tell people to take their sh!t home with them.

Suggesting what we SHOULD do is more effective than just telling others what NOT to do.

Our natural desire to please and be social will drive a lot of behavior, good and bad.

Loyalty is a two-way street. When you find a creature that will turn to you upon hearing their name, treasure it.

This fits well with the post I wrote for Heart of the Matter today. I think we all deserve a Congratulations for Staying In the Game.

Choose You

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“If you want happiness for an hour, take a nap. If you want happiness for a day, go fishing. If you want happiness for a year, inherit a fortune. If you want happiness for a lifetime, help someone else.” – Chinese Proverb

I had a friend the other day tell me to “choose me” sometimes. The funny thing about it was that I wasn’t groaning about my life or anything else when she came up with that. In fact, I was wishing her safe and fun travels on her trip to Africa. So her comment was out of the blue and off topic which made me notice it more.

When I was about 17 or 18-years-old, my mom once made a pointed remark to me that I shouldn’t be such a caretaker. It’s taken me 30+ years to understand that the comment might have been more about her resentments in life, not mine. Also, I’ve come to see that there are people we should take care of, like children and pets, and people that we shouldn’t, like grown-ups who haven’t done their work.

But nonetheless, my mom was right about one thing, and that is I’m a pretty good caretaker. I can pretty readily set aside what I need in the moment and push through to make sure others are fed and cared for. But my friend’s comment has made me cognizant of some ways that I can “choose me”:

Steeping tea. I’ve written so much about my morning sacred time – the hour or so I take to do yoga, meditate, and write in the morning before my kids wake up. But I’ve found such reward when I take micro-moments throughout the day. Like instead of cleaning the kitchen, choosing to take a moment to focus on the scene out the window when I’m steeping my tea. Of course, my kitchen is a mess…but I’m a lot calmer to deal with it.

Morning walk. I’ve added a short walk with Cooper the puppy to my morning routine. I thought it was because it helped release some of his energy so we can settle into the day. But I’ve found, that especially when I stop my endless iteration of the to-do, to “be here now”, to look at the sky and take in the feeling of the morning, it helps to settle my energy as well.

Back rubs. At night, my kids and I snuggle into a nook we’ve built on my bedroom floor to read books. Often I rub their backs while we’re reading. It’s something I do reflexively but when I can choose to feel the smooth skin and precious life force under my hands it gives me a beautiful shiver.

Naps. I take 15 minutes to lie down every afternoon. There are times I don’t fall asleep but often I do. I find that short time to reboot the system instead of slogging through makes such a difference in my experience of the day.

I don’t know what my friend envisioned when she told me to “choose me.” Funny how that comment has made me think of the little things we can do to put on our oxygen masks throughout the day.

What things do you do to “choose you?”

One suggestion for something to do when you are choosing you – listen to Todd Fulginiti’s new album “Jazz on King, Volume 1” on Spotify, Amazon Music or Apple. Vicki and I talk with him about it on our pocast: Episode 38 Jazz on King with Todd Fulginiti

Community

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“Know all the theories. Master all the techniques. But as you touch a human soul be just another human soul.“- Carl Jung

This was originally published on 4/20/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

This last weekend, I was out listening to live music for the first time in two years and suddenly the people, the place and the context overran me with a sublime feeling of community. I was with my brother and his wife. The lead singer of the blue grass group we were listening to went to high school with my brother so the audience was filled with many of his high school friends and families that I’ve known from 40 years ago.

The place stirred up this feeling of connection because it’s a community center in my neighborhood that holds classes, the farmers market in the summer and my daughter went to pre-school there.

And the context struck me because the last time I was in this performance hall, two years ago before the abrupt pandemic shutdown, it was for a story-telling night for all the kids of my daughter’s preschool and the same twinkle lights were hanging from the ceiling.

As a consultant, I work alone and as a single-parent, I parent alone. Although I see, email and text family and friends all the time, it’s different than being in a room filled with people listening, singing and clapping.

It reminded me of a powerful mediation led by my meditation teacher. We close our eyes and picture an aspen grove. We see the individual trees, the way they stand tall, the singular leaves that blow in the wind. Then as we focus on those trees and start to relate to them, we go underground and see how all the roots are connected. The health of an aspen grove is a web of interdependence because it’s one root system. They, like us, all come from One, and the image of separateness is just an illusion.

And so it was with my moment in the auditorium last weekend. It was if I have been going about spinning the threads of my life and then I received one beautiful moment of perspective that gave me a glimpse of how they all tie together. Which went beautifully with the music. Here’s the thread of a story about a couple spun through one of the band’s hit songs, Be Here Now by True North:

They were on their honeymoon, and the bride said to the groom

I just can’t forget the dream I had last night.

I saw John, Paul, George and Ringo, In the church yard playing bingo on the gravestones

This is how the groom replied:

He said “Be here now

Be with me, look into my eyes, kiss me

Make this a moment we will savor, and will put aside for later

We are young , our lives begun

But it will not last forever, they’ll be days we’re not together

So be here now.”

They’re in their middle years, pretty deep in their careers

And he called her from the plane in Amsterdam

I just heard John, Paul, George and Ringo , from that dusty old single on the muzak

It made me want to hold your hand

He said, “Be here now

Be with me, look into my eyes, kiss me

Though our hearts still feel this hunger, we won’t get any younger

From the start our days were numbered

So be here now.”

It was after visiting hours

And he’d rearranged the flowers

And she hadn’t recognized him in a week

And the nurses heard him sing “Hey you’ve got to hide your love away”

And she opened up her eyes and began to speak

She said “Be here now

Be with me, look into my eyes, kiss me

Every breath becomes a treasure, in my heart we’re young forever

My race is nearly run, I no longer feel the sun

But I can face whatever comes just…

Be here now.”

The word community is defined by Merriam Webster as “a unified body of individuals” – maybe because of living in a particular area, or a common interest, whether it be social, professional or religious. But community brings unity – a sense of togetherness.

As I was sitting in that audience last weekend, I felt the ease of collective energy in a room full of great music. The physical reminder that we are in this experience together and it was a thin place. Thin place as explained by Bishop Michael Curry of the Episcopal church as those places, moments, people, experiences when you get a sense, “Wait a minute, God just touched me.” Something beyond me just happened to me. Those moments when time is intersected by eternity.

As I got that tell-tale shiver, all I could think was “Be here now.”

I’ve written a related piece on the Wise & Shine blog about how community helps to make our writing findable: Promoting Your Writing With Search

(featured photo from Pexels)

The Dog Ate My Homework

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“Your beliefs become your thoughts. Your thoughts become your words. Your words become your actions. Your actions become your habits. Your habits become your values. Your values become your destiny.” – Mahatma Gandhi

The other night our puppy ate Miss O’s homework. Such a cliché but truly, it happened. It was something she’d brought home finished, so it wasn’t like she had to turn it in. But when she saw the remnants of the paper in Cooper’s dog bed, this homework became the best thing she’d ever done.

Miss O was so angry. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen my generally happy kid this angry. She wanted to hit and kick the dog. Someone had to pay for ruining her beautiful work product.

Had it been the beginning of the day, I’m not sure she would have lost it to the degree that she did. But it was the end of the day, and tolerance was down across the family.

So, I stopped her from beating the dog and felt a huge surge of anger in myself as well. Something along the lines of, “How dare you want to hit the dog for ruining things without understanding how many things of mine YOU have destroyed! And do I hit you for that? NO!!!”

Three things strike me about this.

  1. How transferrable anger is
  2. That life is defined by these moments, not just the ones where we are all happy
  3. How much energy it takes to transmute anger into something expressed but not acted upon

Scenes like this make me think about psychologist and author, Jonathan Haidt’s, metaphor of the elephant and the rider. We think our minds are in control but as the rider atop the elephant of our feelings, it’s just an illusion. Or, in this case, it takes a lot of effort for the rider to turn the elephant away from rampaging down a path.

I’ve wondered why we are designed like this but as I see this play out close up with my family, I’m struck by the possibility that how we traverse the gulf between emotion and action is in part driven by our values. We start the groove the reactions and they become at least slightly easier.

That is to say, as we train the dog, we train ourselves.

When we’d all calmed down, I told Miss O that beating a dog doesn’t make it so that it won’t eat your homework, it just makes it a mean or fearful creature. And I suspect that it makes us a little meaner or more fearful when we do the same. So, we lost a piece of homework but learned a little bit of a lesson. Probably a fair trade.

There’s no doubt that I got my values from my parents. For more on my discovery about my dad’s source of the always present glint in his eye, I’ve written a book, Finding My Father’s Faith. For a bit about the courage I learned from my dad, please see my post on Heart of the Matter: The Courage to Not Be Divisive

(featured photo is a photo of Miss O and Cooper in a calmer moment)

Do You Listen to Your Pain?

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“These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.” – Rumi

I originally published this on 9/21/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

A couple of weeks ago, I took both my kids to the doctor’s office. When it came time for the flu shots, the tech asked me to pick which child should go first. I picked my 3-year-old son. He reacted with an “ouch” and then was on to the next thing.

My 7-year-old daughter went next and probably because her brother didn’t cry out, she didn’t scream or cry when she got the shot but spent the next 20 minutes telling us how much it hurt. Then she saw her grandmother and started in on the spiel all over again.

My kids have completely unique reactions to pain. That’s even with taking into account gender and birth order differences that may exist despite my best efforts to treat them the same. It makes me think – we all express our pain differently.

This brings to mind some observations I read from animal behaviorist Temple Grandin about how animals mask their pain. In her book, Animals in Translation she talks about how sheep are the ultimate stoics – she’s witnessed a sheep that’s undergone an excruciating bone procedure return to the herd and blend totally in. Because of course for prey, that’s the point to make sure you aren’t distinguishable to predators based on weakness.

And another example she told was the story of a bull being castrated, who when left alone was writhing on the ground in utter agony. And yet when a researcher walked up, he jumped up and pretended nothing was wrong.

We all mask our pain, physical and psychological, whether its nature or nurture. As Plato said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” It just might not be observable.

And perhaps pain is most dangerous when we mask it so much that we forget to listen to it. I have a spot behind my left shoulder blade that is incredibly knotted and tense from too much time spent in front a computer. I’ve had it for so long that for the most part I just tune it out which seems like an effective strategy until it hurts so badly that I have to get a massage. At which point my massage therapist, who has been my massage therapist for 25 years and is ultra-patient, asks “Are you ever stretching?” Duh – if I tended to it, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad!

And I won’t even get started on my examples of psychological discomfort because we’d be here all day. I’m just saying, pain is instructive. It tells us what not to do and it also shows us where we need to heal. When we listen to our pain, we can create a relationship with it and maybe even start a dialogue – something different than just ignoring it.

“Our bodies often give us messages we fail to pay attention to. Ironically, we are all so aware of pain, can hardly ignore it, but we rarely hear what it has to say. It is true that we may need to withstand great pain, great heartache, great disappointment and loss in order to unfold into the rest of our lives. But our pain may also be showing us exactly where we need to change.”

The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo

That day in the doctor’s office, I picked the order of the shots for my kids knowing that my son would have the smaller reaction. I didn’t want him to learn from his sister all the demonstrativeness. More than that, I didn’t want to endure the pain of having two kids crying.

But I think now I was wrong – I would much rather bear witness to their short-term outburst than to long-term suppressed agony. It’s one of the hardest things that I have to do to lead by example, to unmask my own pain and make it both visible and instructive. But I’m hoping that by working on it, it helps both of my kids know that exhibiting pain will gain one comfort, at least from your mom.

I’ve written a related post on Wise & Shine: Loving and Learning

(featured photo from Pexels)

Patiently Yours

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“Maybe happiness is this: not feeling like you should be elsewhere, doing something else, being someone else.” – Eric Weiner

We were snuggled into my bed for bedtime stories the other night, under the covers to fend off the late summer night chill, when I started a story about an attempt to fish when I was a kid by saying that I’m not a very patient person.

I’d only gotten that one line out when Miss O stopped me and said, “You are a super patient person with us, Mom!”

Oh boy, I had a parental drop-the-mic moment. I thanked her for saying that and walked away from bedtime stories with a little glow of my own.

I want to interject here to tell you of the many moments that I’m not patient, just as a reflex of polite conversation. It’s true that I’m still not very patient about waiting for life to unfold; it drives me crazy to wait for the pot to boil, the light to change, and the paint to dry. But brushing it off would be disingenuous because I’ve also done a great deal of work to become more patient with people.

So, Miss O’s words sparked some reflection about how I’ve come so far for it to be noticeable by my kids. Because let’s admit, kids are a tough audience where patience is concerned because they require a lot and have very little.

All of our major wisdom traditions speak to how to love others. For me, it’s a mix of those traditions and the way they’ve helped me to accept myself as a basis.

In the language of my father, I’ve embraced my role as a sinner and the grace of God. From a Buddhist perspective, mediation has helped me to find peace and loving-kindness. Listening to podcasts with psychologists has given me the perspective of self-compassion. And becoming a writer has helped me tell my story again and again until I’ve come to love it, and be infinitely curious and more compassionate about the stories of others.

In short, I’ve been able to slow my roll with others because I’ve learned to be patient and compassionate with myself.

I’m keeping this post about patience short. Just saying. Anyway, I’ve got to go watch a pot boil.

So if you want more and aren’t too impatient, I’ve written more about letting things unfold in others in my Heart of the Matter post: When Will They Learn?

(featured photo from Pexels)