To Snooze or not to Snooze: That is the Question

I can’t go one more minute without writing this.  Unwashed dishes in the sink be damned.  Messy desk "that needs to be clean before I can be creative” be damned.  And above all, my fear that this is not a neatly folded idea that I am about to present be damned!  Sometimes you just know that you can’t hit the snooze button again.  No.  Today I am awake. 

This morning I was writing my “morning pages” - three pages of long-hand, free flowing words which are meant to be the equivalent of sweeping the crumbs from the nooks and crannies of the psyche each day - when I came across this quote in the margins of my journal:  

“As frightening and abusive as life with a crazy-maker is, 

we find it far less threatening than the challenge of a creative life of our own.”  

That sucker hit me between the eyes. Ouch.

My personal definition of crazy-makers is this:  Any person or situation which has enabled me to NOT live up to my green and juicy potential in any area of my life, but which I have instead put up with (no…FED) for the sake of an easier, albeit disempowered, and sanitised life.

This type of realisation is not for the faint hearted.  Why on earth have I done this?  The answer, as ever, is found in the shadow.  Befriending one’s shadow - the original “dark side” - is a seemingly endless process, but a worthy one.  For with each shamed, neglected and split-off piece of me (as embodied by the crazy-makers) that I bring back into the light of awareness, I become just a little bit more of whom I was born to be - I wake up to my own potential wholeness.

One of my most poignant wake up calls was back in 2004 when my kids were small and my marriage was faltering.  Although it was convenient for me to blame my unhappiness on my big-living, hard-drinking, husband, part of me knew that this was a cop out.  I knew I was complicit in our charade, but how?

I found out during my first taste of “shadow work” during a introductory course at Re-Vision, the Centre for Integrative Psychosynthesis, where I eventually trained to be a counsellor.  We were led through a guided meditation where we visited a cabin in the woods of our imagination.  Once there we were instructed to answer a knock at the door and discover a part of our shadow that wanted to be known.  Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to Dionysus – the god of wine, ritual madness and ecstasy – the “biggest-living, hardest-drinking” archetype of them all!  I told myself that I was NOTHING like my husband, but there was no denying that here he was, Dionysus himself, coming out of MY psyche. 

I left that course resolved to make friends with Dionysus (an ongoing process even still), and to find out what other parts of my shadow were being mirrored by the crazy-makers in my life.  (If I have a religion, that’s it.)  Not the dishes, not the desk, and not anyone “out there” can be blamed for my skating through life.  I am the one who hits the snooze button.  But the very good news is this:  life endlessly re-sets the alarm, and it is our choice to ignore it or get up...each and every day.

Are you awake?

  

Learning to Go with the Flow

Ever notice how water running down hill flows and winds effortlessly around obstacles? It’s helpful to remember this natural law, for in life, as with water, the most direct route to a goal is rarely a straight line. And as tempting as it is to label things “good” and “bad,” they are all just bends in the river.


Here’s a great example.

I had one goal this past Christmas: to fly to Seattle on Boxing Day with my son to join my big extended family for their holiday gathering. (Oh, and I also wanted an upgrade.) Being super organized – as I am – I was patting myself on the back for accomplishing all the usual travel prep plus making fresh turkey stock (boiled, cooled, strained and in the freezer) before our ride to the airport arrived. (GOOD!) Unfortunately, it was a pat too soon, as I forgot one crucial thing - passports. (BAD!)

I was too stunned to react when I realized my mistake, but things quickly went from bad to worse as I reached for my phone and noticed a flashing picture of an empty battery. Now my brain began to race….I thought I had charged the phone overnight, but apparently I had plugged it into a dead outlet! No phone meant no phone numbers to call those who might be able to help out. (BAD!)

Realising that the only thing panic would accomplish was grey hairs, I decided to consciously test one of my favourite pieces of philosophy: Events have no meaning except for the meaning we give them. I reminded myself that perhaps everything was actually in perfect order, and if so, then forgetting the passports was not a tragedy. With this in mind I mentally sifted through a few scenarios and decided that the best option was to call my neighbours (who keep a spare key) to ask them to locate the passports (on my desk where I’d left them!) and put them in a fast taxi to Terminal 5.

Meanwhile, my son was freaking out and the agent for the airline was sceptical that she could get us anywhere near Seattle on a different flight if our passports didn’t turn up soon as there were blizzards raging all over the country and many flights were being cancelled. (BAD!) I reminded him (and myself) that we were in the hands of fate and all we could do was “keep calm and carry on,” as they are fond of saying in the UK. I also mumbled a few favourite affirmations such as, “all of life comes to me with ease and joy and glory,” and, “how does it get better than this?” (Well doesn’t it?!)

It was a nail-biting hour as we waited and paced and eyed the clock, but in the end, my superhero neighbours did find the passports (GOOD!) but could not find a taxi (BAD!), so they pulled their Boxing Day roast out of the oven and drove like the wind to deliver them to us (VERY GOOD!) They virtually threw the travel wallet at us as they passed by, then we sprinted to the check-in desk.

Of course the flight was already closed (BAD), but I begged the woman at the desk to “Just see what else is possible.” She tapped away on her computer and shook her head. “They’re not letting me check you in,” she sighed (BAD). But just then her phone rang. “Uh huh,” she said, “Yes, two passengers…I know but they forgot their passports. Okay, thanks.” She looked at me and said, “Well this is your lucky day – the flight’s delayed and they’re letting you check in. They NEVER do that!” (GOOD!) My son and I jumped for joy and ran through Fast Track security (thank you very much) and had a leisurely hour at the gate before the flight finally boarded. When they called our row we were so happy and relieved that it wouldn’t have mattered if we were at the back of the bus, but guess what? Upgrade! (GOOD!)

We made it to the family party (only a couple of hours late) and enjoyed a really nice holiday. But the most valuable part of the trip was learning that staying neutral in the face of adversity is the most powerful thing one can do.

The moral of this story is pretty simple: keep your sights on your goals, and don’t let the twists and turns of life derail you. For when you truly learn to go with the flow, you just might get an upgrade when you least expect it!

Give Less, Receive More

I just had a birthday, and while planning a small party with my closest women friends I very nearly wrote “NO GIFTS!” on the invitation.  Luckily I paused long enough to ask myself, “why no gifts?”  Do I enjoy giving gifts to my friends?  Yes I do.  Would I feel slightly disappointed if they told me not to bring a gift?  Definitely.  So what part of me was contemplating saying “NO GIFTS” and why? 

This got me thinking on the subject of giving and receiving.  Forgive me for assuming that this is more of a women’s issue, but why is it so common for many women to be able give, give, give, and yet be so wishy-washy when it comes to receiving?  Think about it. How many times have you flicked away a compliment with a self-effacing retort?  Or refused help when it was offered because you really didn’t want to bother or inconvenience the other person?

Women, we’ve got a problem.  The root of this issue is much deeper than I can dig up in a few hundred words, but when I think about being offered help, two images emerge: First, my inner child raises her chin and asserts, “I can do it myself!” And second, she feels embarrassed at being the center of attention as the recipient of a gift or help, even though, paradoxically, this is also what she craves. Could it be that we have unconsciously martyred ourselves on the altar of Self Reliance, thinking that this is what true equality means (it does not), and have hardened ourselves to our innate feminine receptivity?

I came across some material on love and relationships (an interest of mine, being a newly single woman) by intuitive Jennifer Hoffman (http://urielheals.com/) and these two questions really struck me:   “Are you going to be the healer or are you willing to be with someone who does not need your healing?  Are you open to receiving the love that you are so prepared to give to someone?”  Ouch!  Tough questions.  And it’s not nearly as easy to say “yes” to them as one might think.  When I cast my eye around for single men I am no doubt still drawn to the fixer-uppers.  Why?

We’ve all been wounded in a thousand ways and have learned to refuse “gifts” all the time by closing our hearts.  Then we battle like hell to compensate for being “incomplete” by being self-less, giving, helpful wonder women…doing everything in our power to make others feel our love. The irony is we must risk being vulnerable and open to receiving if we are to reclaim our wholeness.  Give less, receive more, as it were.

When my birthday rolled around and my friends gathered, I was indeed showered with some beautiful gifts.  But more than the things themselves, I was really moved by how each item reflected the giver’s sense of who I am.  By opening my heart to receiving I felt known, and loved, and truly connected to my friends.  And that, it goes without saying, was the best present of all. 

Everyday Magic

The other night I was telling as story about something inexplicable that had happened when my friend piped up and said, “weird stuff always happens to you!”  I laughed and heartily agreed with her.  It’s true!  Apparently I was able to navigate growing up with my wide-eyed inner child still very much in tact.  As such, I am prone to magical happenings.  Perhaps, as someone else once suggested, I am a “powerful manifestor.” Or maybe crazy things happen to everyone but go unnoticed. Whatever the case, here’s the story.

Someone very dear to me has cancer, and I recently spend several weeks in Seattle helping to take care of her.  Part of being sick is accepting that everyone has an opinion about what you should do.  Amongst the flood of suggestions was one that she consult with Dr. Michael Lam - a Los Angeles-based physician who uses natural healing methods in synergy with allopathic oncology.  However, too many cooks in the kitchen tend to ruin the soup, so she settled instead for a local clinic that also uses an integrative approach. 

Meanwhile, back in London, another friend was having an interesting experience.  She had purchased several copies of a book written by a psychic she knew, including one for me. One evening she picked one up, opened it at random, and was surprised and confused to find that it was a book about healing cancer naturally – she thought it was going to be the author’s life story!  It didn’t take her long to work out that the wrong book was in the right cover – a mistake by the publisher.  In a panic she phoned the psychic author and asked, ”Is this a sign?  Do I have cancer?”  She was assured that she did not, but was told that obviously there was a reason that she received the wrong book.  “Hold onto it,” she was told, “and you will know whom it is for.”

The next day she learned that I was in America with my friend.  “Ah ha!”  She thought,  “This was Tricia’s copy all along!”  She phoned me, told me the story, and promised to send the book tout suite. 

Several days later it arrived.  I was full of anticipation as I ripped open the package.  The paper cover was indeed for a psychic’s memoir, but when I got to the title page I broke out in goose bumps as I read the words, Beating Cancer with Natural Medicine by Michael Lam, M.D.

I was, and still am, amazed!  What do you suppose the odds are that a psychic in Great Britain would have her book mixed up with one written by the very same doctor in California that had been recommended, and that it should just happened to make it’s way to me in such a round-a-bout way?  A million to one? 

That, to me, is the definition of magic.

As adults it’s easy to turn cynical and dismiss such occurrences as mere coincidences.   But where’s the fun in that?  The flip side of cold logic is the stuff that makes life juicy – the miraculous, the unexplainable, the magical. 

Mind-boggling things happen everyday in a thousand ways, but unless we view life through the eyes of our inner, magical child it's easy to miss the wonders that abound.  May this tale remind you to peek at the world through his or her eyes from time to time. I’d love hear what you see.

*  *  *  *

Want to welcome more magic into your life?  Check out Ursula James' new book The Source:  a manual of everyday magic.

Love 55: Life's Perfect Score

I like to think that life (for want of a better term) is constantly communicating with “them who have ears to hear and eyes to see” through coincidences large and small.   Once you get used to this way of thinking, it’s amazing what you start to notice.  For example, you might have read my piece about the number 44 (See: May the 4’s be with you Nov ’09) and learned that for a long time I seemed to be surrounded by multiples of the number 4.  I decided these 4’s were a sign from the powers that be that I was on the right path in life.  But all things change and it seems my numbers have as well. 

Last summer it dawned on me that I was seeing fewer and fewer 44’s and more and more 55’s.  It started out on license plates – suddenly there were 55’s everywhere.  And when I say everywhere, I’m not joking:  If the car in front had a 55, there was a good chance that so did the car behind; looking up I’d notice that the car waiting to turn also had a 55, as did the bus that just passed; and driving down the block to my house I’d count four or five 55’s on my street.  Sometimes the frequency of 55’s was downright disconcerting.  (I have witnesses!) 

I honestly had no idea what theses numbers could possibly mean until one day the thought popped into my head – it’s not 55, it’s 50/50.  Five plus five equals one – a whole, complete one!  This was a thrilling revelation because it fit with the philosophical point of view that I was fascinated with that all things are part of an imperceptible yet perfect whole… it’s only our distorted perception that labels things and events “good” and “bad.”  (See:  Master Ugway and the Broken Leg of Life Jan ’10)

So, as I interpreted it, 55’s everywhere were reminding me that duality is an illusion and all is perfect.  Fantastic! That’s when the universe threw in another coincidence to cement this lesson – the letter L.  Now I was seeing licence plates with 55 and an L – everywhere!  What could it mean?  L for Listen?  L for Learn?  Then it hit me:  L for LOVE.  As Dr. Demartini (a modern day philosopher and teacher whom I greatly admire) says, “Between positively and negatively charged particles is a center point of LIGHT; and between positively and negatively charged emotions is a center point of LOVE. 

So that’s what all the fuss was about!  Love it ALL – the 50/50 – for it is ALL love.  My quest to embody this philosophy in my own life has been met each day with affirmations from the universe in the form of L55.  What’s beautiful about this little communication is that it seems to be just for me – a personal conversation between me God.  (And can you imagine what it takes behind the scenes to coordinate all these L55’s?  It’s simply Amazing.)

Now that I’ve “cracked the code” I wonder what little coincidences will catch my attention next?  Who knows?  It will be hard to top L55 in my book, but you can be sure that I’ve already got my ears and eyes wide open.  

(PS...I typed this on Word and, coincidentally, the finished document has 550 words.)

What you can't meet in yourself: The Dark and the Light

One of my favorite 'therapy speak' expressions it this: What you can't meet in yourself comes to meet you. I've been pondering this lately as a series of interesting people and situations have been showing up to shake my hand.

First, there’s the matter of a guy I recently had a date with - my first since being single again. We had a nice time chatting over a beer and seemed to connect well. Then? Nothing but text messages - no invitation to meet again in the flesh. I was confused but figured it must mean one of two things: Either this is how dating is done in 2010 and I’m not playing the game right (let’s face it, the last time I was single I didn’t even have a cell phone!), or perhaps it was a reflection of my own reluctance and capacity to form an intimate relationship right now. Most likely it’s a little of both.

The next bit is pretty embarrassing to talk about but - gulp - here goes. You may recall that I’ve always been a bit of a “good girl” – easily shockable and quick to blush - so imagine my surprise when the aforementioned texting all turned a bit, well…sexy. I knew that the man in question had an undeniable fascination with the “dark side” that included an appetite for classic guy stuff like war and superheroes, but the naughty messages caught me completely off guard. It was perplexing that it could go from texting to sexting without even a first kiss, but I tried my best to check my judgement. This took the possibility of flirting and fantasy to a level I didn’t even know existed (except on paid chat lines) and revealed that I was far more game and able to meet him half way then I would ever have imagined.

Nothing came of our flirtation, but it left me with a much wider and accepting view of human sexuality. Hey, if it doesn’t hurt anyone and you’re both consenting, who am I to judge what you get up to in the privacy of your bedroom (or mobile phone)? An eye opener, to be sure, and yet I think I’ll hold out for in-the-flesh intimacy.

The next how-do-you-do arrived in the form of music. Not just any music, but live, acoustic music performed by impossibly talented young musicians. I had forgotten how much I love live performance and surprised even myself when one artist (who I wouldn’t have looked twice at on the street) stepped up to the mike and let out a voice so pure and raw that I started to cry. His talent sprang straight from his heart without a hint of self-consciousness and it was utterly moving.

The place was teeming with an under-30 crowd but rather than feeling out of place I felt, for the first time in a long time, at home. I recalled the odd combined sensation of nerves and bravery from when I too used to get on stage either with the jazz choir in high school or later with a rock band and bass guitar. I never felt more true to my authentic self as when I was making music, and yet I was never able to offer myself as completely as what I witnessed that night. Perhaps that is what touched me so deeply - the pain of acknowledging my own terror of being so exposed and vulnerable, while longing for it at the same time.

The array of talent that night nudged the shy, sleeping musician in me and beckoned it from the shadows. I haven’t got a clue what form it might take, but it will be braver than before. 

Another month or two wiser, I’ve learned to love just a little bit more of my shadow from both sides of the dark and light camp.  I've also learned that confidence is a muscle that shrivels without exercise. Thankfully, it's never too late to start doing a few pushups!  With every epiphany that life serves up I feel another piece of the puzzle-that-is-me fall into place. And thankfully I am learning to meet it all, palm extended, heart open.

What's in a Legacy: Lessons from my Grandma

A friend once expressed concern about her young daughter: Was she attending the right school?  Was she making appropriate friends? Were her extra-curricular activities the sort that would nurture her greatness?  “After all,” said she, “our children are our legacy.”

Her comment got me thinking - are our children our legacy? Do we need to fret about the type of people they may become?  Are we judged by their accomplishments (or misdeeds)?  And when we’re gone will we be remembered for our progeny or for our selves?   Personally, I believe the only legacy we leave behind is the one we create for ourselves, about ourselves. 

I don’t wish to dishearten those of you who are hoping to ride triumphantly into the sunset on the coat tails of your very successful and wonderful kids, but it does seem an awful burden to hand to one’s offspring – “Make something of yourself or I’ll be nothing!” And what about those folks who don’t become parents?

You need only attend a funeral to know what I mean.  Take my 92 year-old Grandma who passed away at the beginning of November.  She was mother to five children (including my mom), and while this is a wonderful accomplishment, it’s definitely not what she will be remembered for.  As was said so eloquently at her funeral:

She crossed continents like states and conquered all before her.

As she conquered me.

I loved her innate vibrance, her enthusiasm, her kindness in its simplicity.

You knew she meant it.

It was a rare charisma of wisdom and equilibrium.

And she rocked.

I too will remember her for all of the above, plus her bottomless appetite for seafood, her great love of hunting for stylish bargains at the thrift shops (charity shops to you Brits) and the evenings we spent playing Scrabble or going to the local casino to try our luck at the penny slots. Her legacy is her own -100%. 

So what is our responsibility to our kids? I like the very achievable guidance of DW Winnicott – just be a “good-enough mother”(or parent as it were).  It’s all about loving the child for who he or she is and not attempting to mould them into anything other than their best, natural selves.  Give them choices and options, but let them choose - then get out of the way.  Simple. 

That was one of my Grandma’s best qualities in fact.  She could spot the good in anyone and “forgive their trespasses” with seeming ease.  She knew that we sometimes make bad choices and she allowed them knowing we often learn far more from our mistakes than our triumphs.

At present I am exactly half my Grandma’s age and counting on many more years to work on my own legacy.  Who knows what it will be?  What I do know is this: The only important thing I will leave behind is the way in which I share myself with the world - be it for good or for ill.  (Kids, you’re off the hook.)  Whether one makes an impact within a family, a community,  a country or the whole world,  it’s the only legacy that counts.  And thankfully, it’s quite enough.