Tag: relationships

The Next 100,000 Miles

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“There’s a sunrise and a sunset every single day, and they’re absolutely free. Don’t miss so many of them.” – Joe Walton

This is a post I originally published on 2/8/2023. Heads up – you have have already read this.

When we celebrated our car turning 100,000 miles in December, we made the car a cake. After blowing out the candles, my seven-year-old daughter turned to ask me, “Are you going to be alive when this happens to me?”

I stalled for time by asking if she was talking about getting her own car to 100k. When she nodded “yes,” I replied “I hope so.”

My engineering brain wanted to calculate how many miles we drive a day while factoring in variables based on the future of transportation. But my existential brain kicked in and reminded me that I don’t know how many miles I have left in me. I just know what kind of miles I want to put in.

The Destinations

Get togethers with friends, adventures to find new ones, crossing bridges to help anyone who needs it are all on my priority list of destinations.

I want to use a good portion of the miles I have left to drive to trailheads and view points. And speaking of miles, I’ve put a lot of them on my knees and hips so the amount of hiking and climbing, if I ever get back to it, might be limited. But if we are driving to be among trees and mountains, I hope I can be happy no matter the activity.

Gathering supplies for silly things like car cakes that help us celebrate any and every milestone together, or just even a good day, seems worth doing. But overall, I want to spend my miles going on vacation together and fewer miles to IKEA to get more stuff.

When I can opt out of driving these miles in a car and instead travel them in an ecofriendly manner that gives our environment and world a healthier and longer life, I’m happy to change vehicles.

The Route

I want to set my internal GPS towards spontaneous miles finding love and purpose and away from those routine destinations ticking the box for obligation. And I want to heed that directional voice as it gives me help me find places that unlock the sense of adventure and possibility, instead of spinning wheels in the muck and mire. If given the option, I’d eliminate miles to to-do list meetings, corporate bullshit, and fruitless gatherings with ineffective leadership or heart.

If learning and laughter is part of where we are going, I’ll be happy to detour from any well-traveled road. I want to drive proactive miles to the things that keep us healthy and NO miles to the emergency room.

The Atmosphere

I want to put in connected miles, ones where we talk, laugh, or sit in companionable silence and gaze at the same scenery. I don’t want to put in disconnected miles where we zone out on attached devices. I understand that this will soon be out of my control, and that I’m part of the problem already when I encourage them to do it on mornings we have trouble getting into the car. But even when they choose their devices, I want my kids to know that I’d prefer to talk and listen to them.

Traveler’s Log

I know that regardless of the intentions I’ve put into the list, I get to control very few of these things except to choose to lean in when I take a “wrong” turn. Also, when lost, reconnecting to a desire to make meaning out of the detours.

I’d like to spend my remaining miles trying not to be locked in conflict or with my heart hardened towards people that have pissed me off. I want to stop avoiding my anger, sadness, or suffering but instead moving to approach all of the emotions of this amazing journey with empathy, awe & curiosity.

I hope to take fewer trips to regret. I’d like to be more readily willing to reroute to repair, apology, and appreciation of the unexpected path of life.

While I recognize I need to spend less time in overdrive and more time in idle, I also want to pass these miles not metaphorically (or actually) asleep at the wheel wondering how I got here but instead marveling at the scenery with gratitude.

When we reach our destination, I hope to remember, more often than not, to say a prayer of gratitude for safe travel.

I don’t know if I’ll be here when my daughter gets a car to 100,000 miles. If it takes til she’s my age (53), I’d be 99-years-old and the odds are slim. But if we are driving an open road between our hearts for any good portion of those miles, I’ll call it good.

I written a related post on the Wise & Shine blog about a road trip and making meaning from our experiences: The Universal You.

Room for More Learning

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“That is what learning is. You suddenly understand something you’ve understood all your life, but in a new way.” – Doris Lessing

The other day I went to help four-year-old Mr. D with his shoes, and he said, “I can do it. I’m an es-pert!”

It reminded me of a story I had just re-read in Mark Nepo’s Book of Awakening. He credits it to Leroy Little Bear:

“Two scientists traveled halfway round the world to ask a Hindu sage what he thought about their theories. When they arrived, he kindly brought them into his garden and poured them tea. Though the two small cups were full, the sage kept pouring.

Tea kept overflowing and the scientists politely but awkwardly said, ‘Your holiness, the cups can hold no more.’

The sage stopped pouring and said, ‘Your minds are like the cups. You know too much. Empty your minds and come back. Then we’ll talk.’”

Leroy Little Bear

This is my invitation when I think I know something, to stop, empty my mind, and fill my heart.

I went to the memorial service of the father of one of my childhood friends this weekend. He was a psychologist by vocation and long before I knew what that was, I understood that he had a healing presence.

One of the phrases that stuck out to me in the eulogies was one from his grandson. He said that this man “led by listening.” Ah yes, that’s it exactly.

Which brings me back to my four-year-old es-pert at shoes. I am so grateful for his help with the routine by getting his own shoes on. But anytime I’m feeling expert at anything, I remember that most of the time Mr. D, the es-pert, wears his shoes on the wrong feet. There’s always room for more listening and more learning.

For more about lifelong learning, please see my Heart of the Matter Post: Learning the Easy Way or the Hard Way

(featured photo from Pexels)

(quote from Reflections on Learning on the Real Life of an MSW blog)

Comic Relief

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“The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter.” – Mark Twain

By the time I got my kids hustled to the car on the first day of school, everyone was a little frayed by nervous energy. Getting the tags off the new clothes, squeezing into new shoes, packaging up the gift for the teacher, and taking the first day picture, all added to the excitement and anticipation of the moment.

The night before I’d told Miss O and Mr. D about my big first day feelings that usually showed up as nerves for the first attendance call. When the teacher would call out, “Mary?” I would blush deep scarlet and have to correct them because my full name is Mary Wynne and I have always gone by my middle name.

In preparation for the moment, I’d sit and think who else had to speak up on the first day. My friend, Katie, had to say something when they called her “Katherine” and my friend, Jiffy, had to interject when “Jennifer” was called out. But in the myopia of childhood, I was sure mine was the hardest.

Back to this week, Mr. D had his first day of school one day before his sister and since he’s in the same pre-school classroom, it wasn’t as momentous. But he was still picking up on Miss O’s first day of third grade vibes. So the car was pretty subdued as we pulled out of the driveway and as we turned left onto the busy road that would take us to school, I heard something very rare when in the car with my two kids – silence.

Then something caught my eye out the window on Mr. D’s side – a toilet seat lying on the sidewalk next to a business. Not the ring part but the lid part. I started to say, “Is that a..” when Mr. D chimed in “a toilet seat?” Miss O craned her neck to see out the other window more easily. And then we laughed the rest of the way to school.

Thank goodness for some comic relief reminding us not to take this sh!t too seriously.

P.S. For anyone wondering which teacher Miss O, got after her careful analysis of the options, and my work to stay out of it, as described in The Gift of Hard Things. She got the one she was neutral about – and loves her.

P.P.S. Interjecting humor at just the right time reminds me of my beloved dad. Check out this podcast where we let Brian (writingfromtheheartwithbrian.com) interview us about how we came to writing family memoirs even though our jobs are not as professional writers. Episode 34: How To: Writing Personal Narratives

Does Loving-Kindness Actually Matter?

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“All joy in this world comes from wanting others to be happy, and all suffering in this world comes from wanting only yourself to be happy.” – Shanti Deva

Two mornings after a puzzling encounter with a Hispanic man on the bus, his face came to mind during my morning sacred time as I was doing the loving-kindness meditation. Actually I couldn’t picture his face with much detail but the feeling of his leathery hands was still palpable. They were as wide as they were long, giving me the impression, along with the texture, of catchers’ mitts.

May I be happy, may you be happy

May I be at peace, may you be at peace

May I be loved, may you be loved

I wondered as I did it – does doing this meditation do anything for him? Here’s a man who randomly gave us $100 for no reason I could discern, the language barrier prevented any meaningful dialogue. But in so doing, changed the course of our day plus the day of the five people who received parts of his gift. (See my post on Heart of the Matter for the story of what we did with the money).

Then two days later I’m doing the loving-kindness meditation and sending him good vibes. Does it matter to him?

Here’s the image that came to me. If we all are a great big audience, some of us will be facing the stage, others are facing away, and the rest are looking at their phones. For anyone that comes on the stage, they can feel the love of those looking toward them, the antipathy of those facing away, and the indifference of those who are distracted. How the person on the stage reads the crowd is probably mostly based on their experience and viewpoint, but is also influenced by the energy of the audience.

If you asked me whether I wanted to be a part of this man’s audience the other day, my head would have voted for remaining indifferent. But my heart has been softened by enough loving-kindness meditation specifically, and by life in general, so that it opts for leaning in.

So perhaps the time spent in prayer and meditation does matter to the man on the bus. Maybe not directly, but it opens me for receiving others known and unknown.

See my post on the Heart of the Matter for the story of what we did with the $100: One Thing Led To Another

Let’s Not Be Grabby

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“Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.” – Dalai Lama

The other evening, I was out walking with my little family. We’d managed to get our puppy Cooper to walk a whole block in a semi-efficient fashion before we ran into some friends and it became a puppy love fest. Then more friends pulled up in their car and the whole family piled out after a three week road trip, with that day being a seven-hour stretch. Their three kids got into the puppy/kid mix and it was an excited muddle of energy.

Amidst all the noise and excitement, I heard Miss O trying to help the 6-year-old neighbor girl get the juggling balls from the girl’s older brother.  Miss O advised the girl, “If you ask nicely, maybe he’ll just give them to you.”

This thing is something we’ve worked on again and again in my family – the practice to ask for something from someone else instead of just trying to grab it or take it because you fear they are going to say “no.”

Watching my kids has made me connect with how strong an impulse it is to just take something. The way I experience it, it’s an incredibly powerful fear that if you ask that you’ll just get turned down so it’ll be better to craft another way by force or trickery to get what you want. Is it the beginning of vulnerability?

When I was telling Miss O and Mr. D stories at bedtime the other night, I told them the story of when I was in preschool and found some brand-new erasers in a box. They were absolutely beautiful – never used and had the alphabet on them. I wanted them so badly, so I filled my pockets with them. And then to create a back story, I dropped the erasers on the way home from school and pretended to find them. Yep, my mom didn’t buy it, and I had to give them back.

 But I feel it even now when I’m working with others. I’m inclined to forge a path that doesn’t involve having to ask someone else, mostly because of impatience. When I’m working with Vicki Atkinson, on the Heart of the Matter blog, I find myself having to consciously slow my roll to run something by her before making a decision or sending out an invitation to someone we want to podcast with. Thank goodness she is so incredibly smart and fast in responding because both reinforce the wonderful benefits of collaborating.

Given my own inclinations, I’ve worked and worked with my kids to ask before they take something from each other – even if it’s just goldfish crackers. And then our rule is that we have to abide by that answer, even if we have the strength and power just to take it. I’ve noticed that if they just ask straight off, the answer is often “yes.” If they ask after they’ve already been tussling about it, the answer is frequently “no.”

It is so hard to fight against the fear we won’t get something that we want. But hearing Miss O advise our young neighbor to ask made me think we’re making some progress. And guess what? The girl asked nicely and her older brother happily handed her the balls she wanted.

Now if I could just get Cooper not to nip when he wants attention.

The Power of Story

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“Quiet the mind and the soul will speak.” – Ma Jaya Sati Bhagavati

This is a piece was published previously on 10/19/2022. Heads up, you may have already read this.

Among the many stories my ex-husband told me of his precarious childhood, there is one that sticks out. He was five or six years old, living in Florida and his mom was dating the Hat Man, a man who wove and sold palm frond hats to tourists by the side of the road.

One night after he went to bed, my ex-husband woke up and smelled smoke. He tried to get out of his bedroom but his mom had locked him in from the outside. Finally he escaped out of a window to discover that his mom and the Hat Man had fallen asleep while smoking and drinking too much and set the house on fire.

Now that I’m a parent, I often think of my ex-husband’s story even though we divorced years before I ever had kids. The story of the precocious and energetic young boy who was probably a little bit of a pain in the ass locked into a room so his mom could drink in peace and set the house on fire.

I think of it when I need more patience to coax cooperation instead of compel it. I think of the story when I need extra capacity to provide good care to little ones when I am needing care myself. I think of it when I’m digging deep to do my best when my kids seem to be bringing their worst. I think of the story when I’m grateful that my parents modeled kind and consistent care with me as I was growing up.

When we tell our stories, or when we as writers tell other people’s stories, we often can’t see the effect they have on those who read them. Our narratives have the power to inspire others and become fuel for good and bad decisions. When we do a good job of humanizing the trauma that comes with life, we pass on the comfort of being seen and open the source for healing. We can lay the ground for growth by telling the stories of when life wasn’t so good.

I thought of my ex-husband’s story again the other day when I heard a Ten Percent Happier podcast with therapist Dr. Jacob Ham. He was talking about relational trauma, the small moments of neglect, abuse and fear some children experience from a very early age.

Dr. Ham described this trauma, “What’s really screwed up is as a baby that the only way to deal with fear and terror is to run toward your caregivers. They are supposed to protect you. You scream out hoping that they’ll come to your rescue but if they are the ones hurting you, then it puts you in a terrifying loop where you want to run from them but at the same time your body tells you to go find them. And then you spend the rest of your days trying to figure out how to resolve that paradox.

“I have seen it [the paradox] be worked through. The key term that and I haven’t found a good layman’s term for is reawakening the capacity for mentalization. And mindfulness is a very close overlap to mentalization but the term means knowing that other person has a mind and that I have a mind and being curious about what’s happening in your mind as well as being curious about what’s happening in my mind.”

Which I interpret as that Dr. Ham works with his patients uses mindfulness to notice the deep stories in their minds and unpack their reactions that are fueled by them. In other words, the power of the story runs through this all – to tell where we’ve been, to inspire and inform others and to discover our internal paradoxes when we face ourselves.

No wonder being a writer is such a rich pursuit. Rich in power to change that is, because rich in monetary reward doesn’t necessarily follow. But it should – because it’s important work.

I’ve also published a post today on the Wise & Shine blog today with my favorite quotes about writing: My Favorite Writer Quotes

(featured photo from Pexels)

When You Want to Give it Back

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“The strongest of all warriors are these two – Time and Patience.” – Leo Tolstoy

The other night as we were getting ready for bed, Miss O asked me, “Mama, with the dogs you’ve had, did you ever wish you didn’t have them?”

Oh, oh, oh, my heart. This was after a tough evening of puppy training with Cooper. He had been nipping at the edges of shorts, knees, and feet, the kids were running from him which he thought was a game. There wasn’t an ounce of calm to be found.

When everyone got settled down to watch a little bit of the Cars movie before bed, there were a few minutes when Miss O got to calmly pet Cooper when he was being good, but it wasn’t enough to heal the tiredness and irritation that come with getting chewed on and chased.

As we headed up the stairs to do the kids bedtime routines, I pondered Miss O’s question and the follow-on that led from it: Is there a gift in this world that doesn’t come with a downside or a moment when we wish we didn’t have the gifts we’ve been given?

I absolutely adore, treasure, and love my kids, but there are occasions when I’m flat out exhausted or sick, and don’t have the sense of humor to understand why they think sitting on my head is the right choice and funny. It’s fleeting, but I certainly long to only take care of myself in those moments. But thank goodness, I always bounce back after I get some sleep, or even just a moment to myself.

Any other gifts that we don’t momentarily doubt? Job? A new car? The place where we live? Our family?

All I could think to say to Miss O is that the work put in on the front end of relationships usually results in great dividends.

With a puppy, training pays off in spades when they are 7 times their original size.

With romantic relationships, authenticity and vulnerability allow true intimacy.

With friendships, when we keep looking for people with whom we can let down our hair.

With kids, when we create secure attachments.

It was just two weeks ago when I overheard Miss O’s mic drop moment in the car bringing the puppy home and explaining to him, “And you are something called my new best friend.” The problem with her new best friend is that he can’t automatically understand when she wants to play and when she wants to snuggle.

Funny how much I relate to wanting all my friendships to be effortless, only to discover that they grow when effort is applied. I suspect that for Miss O and Mr. D, learning that through raising a puppy might be one of the best gifts of all.

False Positives

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“A friend accepts us as we are yet helps us be what we should.” – unknown

Recently I was driving my eight-year-old daughter and her friend to camp. In the back, one was teaching the other to blow bubbles with Hubba Bubba bubble gum and between spit, pops, and crackles, they were talking about a girl they were in camp with.

“She doesn’t like it when we cheer her on and give encouragement,” one said.

“Yeah, it makes her grumpy,” the other replied.

At which point I couldn’t hold my silence any longer and asked my daughter, Miss O, why she doesn’t like it sometimes when I give her encouragement. She teased out that she doesn’t like it when I cheer her on and she’s not close to her goal, when it feels like the gap of accomplishment is too big for the praise she’s receiving.

But, I countered, sometimes the person doing something can’t actually see how close they are.

Our conversation made me think of the work of friendship. How we hold a space for each other that’s based on who we know the other can be. And yet, it can sometimes miss the mark if our ideas get outsized, are based on an old idea of who our friend was, or comes across as inauthentic.

Miss O’s comment reminds me that no amount of perceptiveness or encouragement on the part of a friend works if we haven’t done our own inner work to be able to hear. Listening to these two young girls talk, made me realize that some of our self-limiting beliefs can start really early in life. It left with me a feeling of introspection that I chewed on for most of the day: patterns, beliefs, encouragement, friends. It made me want to drive carpool every day just to heart two eight-year-olds remind me of the basics of life.

For more of the wisdom of children, please check out my Heart of the Matter post about what my 4-year-old son taught me about the power of working for something, Working for Joy.

The Wisdom of Dogs

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“Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.” – Orhan Pamuk

When my beloved dog, Biscuit, was alive he was one of the wisest creatures I knew. That is a bold claim to make about a golden retriever who loved people so much that when his favorite ones came over he’d start running at one end of the house, and then end up sliding the last ten feet before gently slamming into them. Not really the image of wisdom that is tip of mind when the word is uttered, but I just think of that as part of his charm.

Because his wisdom showed up in other ways. Loving people being one of them. Also the ability to be excited about life wherever it took him, even if he wasn’t in the driver seat, and he embodied the Carl Jung quote, “Please remember, it is who you are that heals, not what you know.”

I’d put signs on him and take pictures and while it seemed like I was the one doing the work, I swear it was just some observational connection to what he was telling me.

I say goodnight to dear departed Biscuit on my way to bed every night. I go into the living room, pick my way past the toys on the floor in the darkened room lit only by the street lights outside, to touch the cherry wood box that holds his ashes, and simply say “hi” or “love you” or a sentence about my day.

On the night before we were to pick up the new puppy, Cooper, I delivered the news to Biscuit and to my great surprise, he answered back. I know, it sounds like a Peanuts cartoon, but I swear the thought just came into my head, “Okay, you’ve gotten a new dog sooner than you’ve found new love.”

Yikes! In the six and a half years he’s been gone, that has never happened before. Of course, the effect was much more impactful since that’s the case. If I thought I’d been talking to my dead dog for all these years, I wouldn’t have much listened.

So what was Biscuit teaching me in this instance?

My observation about life is that life follows our intention, even for things like love that aren’t in our control. It reminds me of a podcast with Mark Petruska where he explained being a master manifester – really picturing what we want, clearly setting the intention, and then participating in the way things fall in place.

I think dear Biscuit was pointing out that my intentions have been ambivalent where romantic love is concerned. I haven’t spent much energy on it, and every time I try to imagine it in the life that I have now, I waver a bit.

When I went back to talk to him the next night, he was silent so I can only guess he’s said as much as he’s willing on that subject. Like all the wise ones, he knows not to talk too much and let the listener fill in their own blanks. Okay, my wonderful dog, I’ve hear you.

Speaking of podcasts, and listening, Vicki and I are doing a two part series about what we’ve learned so far about starting a podcast. This first part is about what we’ve learned about trying from doing a podcast: Episode 31: Trying Podcasting Part 1 with Vicki and Wynne. Check it out if you’re interested!

Sharing Wisdom

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“Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant with the weak and wrong. Sometime in your life, you will have been all of these.” – Buddha

This is something I posted on 1/26/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

In March of 2001, I trekked to Everest Base Camp with my friends Phil and Sue who were attempting to summit Mt. Everest that year. They had invited a few of their friends to join them on the 30 mile trek in and we’d assembled in Katmandu, Nepal to gather our last few supplies before flying in to the starting point of the trek.

It was on a rickshaw trip around the city, that one of my fellow trekkers that I’d just met, a 59-year-old man told me “Life begins at 40.” Given that I was only 31-years-old at the time, this particular piece of wisdom irked me. Taken literally, it implied that I should just waste the next 9 years.

Over the next few weeks as we were trekking, I found out his back story. He had been married in his early 20’s, had two kids but that marriage had broken down and he was divorced by the time he was in his mid-30’s. It was a contentious divorce and his relationship with his sons suffered.

By the time he was in his 40’s, he’d found success as a business owner, gotten remarried to a woman he adored, and shaped his life to look more or less like the balance of freedom and love he’d always wanted. Hence his statement that life begins at 40.

Why is it so hard to pass wisdom from one human to another? We have to pack it up in a suitcase so that it’s portable and then the recipient needs to have some hooks to hang it on when they unpack it.

In this case, I didn’t think much about the wisdom he’d offered me until I was about to turn 40-years-old. It was a tough time in my life – I’d recently been told of my husband’s infidelities, and I was struggling with the idea of failing at marriage while trying to hold it all together.

While I believe the age was just a coincidence, when I thought back to my fellow trekker’s story, it held a lot of comfort for me. Because it represented an example that life can rebuild itself even better after it’s all fallen apart. The wisdom, when I distilled it for me, was that we can have multiple chapters in our lives that still add up to a glorious story.

Isn’t that why we share our wisdom and stories? So that someone else can take them, draw strength from them when needed and they repackage them in a way that’s meaningful?

On that trip in 2001 to Everest Base Camp, after we’d been trekking for a few days, I woke up one morning a couple of hours before anyone else was up. I was so excited to be in the Himalayas, I decided to hike around to see if I could see Everest in the first light of the day. After about 40 minutes, I finally found a place to sit and watch the sunrise illuminate one of the most distinctive mountains in the world.

When I’d finally hiked back 40 minutes, everyone else was up. One of our guides said, “Does anyone want to get a first look at Everest?” and I joined the group. About a 5 minute walk from our campsite, in the opposite direction I’d gone, was a magnificent view of Everest.

Packaging up this story, I’d pass along this wisdom. “You will take some wrong turns in life, go down the wrong path and expend a lot of extra energy. But even in that case, enjoy the view, laugh about how you got there. Whether you go the short way or whether you go the long way, always look out for the presence of Wonder.”

What’s a piece of wisdom you share?

I’ve posted a related piece about wisdom gleaned during my podcast conversation with playwright and author Jack Canfora in a story about Laurence Olivier on the Wise & Shine blog: Do It Again: The Gift of Having to Repeat Ourselves

(featured photo is mine – a view of Mt. Everest from the Tengboche Monastery. Everest is the one with the snow plume caused by winds from the jet stream.)