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.

Excuse me but your yang stepped on my yin...

 

Do you know your yin from your yang?

By definition, yin is receptive, passive female energy, while yang is active, expanding male energy.  The symbol depicts two interconnecting swirls representing the interdependence of these energies, with the dots at the center of each swirl showing that each is inherent in the other.  This deceptively simple little symbol is nothing less than a reminder of how seemingly contrary energies are actually mutually-arising and continuously transforming.  In other words, how the entire universe works.

The ancient Chinese packed a lot of knowledge into one little symbol, but from our vantage point as men and women in the modern world, what exactly does the concept of yin and yang mean to us in practical terms?

Personally, I have at times been held sway by two erroneous beliefs:  first, that women should be more yin and men should be more yang - separate but equal(ish); and second, that the only way for a woman to express yin and yang is to raise the kids, be the hostess-with-the-mostess and have a full- time job.  However, an eye opening little book that found it's way into my hands recently, has changed all of that.

In Collection, Shirley Gehrke Luthman (whom I can find no information about other than she was a therapist in 70's and 80's) makes the important point that feminine (intuitive, feeling, perception, images, fantasies) and masculine (aggressive, action-oriented, verbal, intellectual behavioral expression) energies are androgynous and belong to neither sex.  Her ideas can be condensed to the yin/yang principles of intuition and assertion:

You must put your feminine, intuitive power in control and use your masculine, yang force [assertion] to support and express it.  The internal distortion of this principle - the split between yin and yang - is the basis for all problems, power struggles, and distances between men and women.  

Duh, it's all about inner balance.  (Thank goodness. Now I can retire the idea that females should be one way and males another, and let myself off the hook about not being a super mom/career wonder woman hybrid.)  But can it really be that simple?  Well yes, and no.  Yes, because I believe she's right, and no because it's damned hard to put into practice.  Simply learning to recognize (never mind act upon) one's feelings can be a life's work.  And, she says, "it is not enough just to acknowledge your feelings and begin the act upon them.  The intuitive must be in charge, and the male energy must back it up instantly, without question or doubt."

According to Luthman, our relationships with the opposite sex are merely a reflection of the internal struggle between the yin and the yang.  So how do your relationships look?  Balanced?  Is there an easy flow between intuition and assertion?  Or have you, like me, found a few places where your yang trips over your yin and visa versa?

Having spent years mistrusting my intuition, it is no easy task to simply begin asserting myself based upon its counsel.  Like any under-used muscle it's going to take some consistent working out to build up my yin/yang balance.  As I happen to be single right now, I'm intrigued by the idea of being able to gauge my inner progress by the type of men I attract and am attracted to.  (Watch this space!) Meanwhile, give some consideration to your own inner yin and yang, and for a very thought-provoking read, get the book. 

*  *  *

Shirley Gehrke Luthman's Collection was published in 1980 by Mehetabel & Company and is  available from used booksellers such as Amazon.com.  Enjoy the entire book or skip straight to chapter six for her discussion of yin and yang.

To drift or not to drift...that is the question.

I once wrote a really corny song called "Follow your Bliss."  The lyrics went like this:

Good at everything; great at nothing.

I can't be like you, eyes set on one thing.

Life's more interesting when you let the current carry you.

I suppose that I could learn to swim against the tide,

It's not that I'm lazy,

It's just more fun floating.

Well guess what?  Turns out I am lazy!  And while "floating" has indeed afforded me a very interesting life, my aversion to five-year plans has finally caught up with me.  I have discovered that if I really want to "follow my bliss," I need to at least have a vague idea of where I want to end up.

Every seminar, workshop and book that I've ever attended or read on the subject of living an fulfilling life has stressed the importance of having a vision - a target to aim for.  Over the years I have made various half-hearted attempts to define my goals, but nothing has ever "stuck" with much energy or enthusiasm.

In her book The Right Questions:  Ten Essential Questions to Guide You to an Extraordinary Life, Debbie Ford likens a life without a vision to planning a road trip without a map.  She says, "If that was your strategy, you might never arrive at your destination.  With a map, if you made a wrong turn along the way, you wouldn't stop and spend five years beating yourself up.  You would pull over, look at your map, and get back on track."  She goes on, "Without vision it's easy to fall prey to the heat of the moment and the whims of your habitual behaviors."

So I pondered my lack of 'a master plan' and discovered that rather than having a plan of my own, I've had an "underlying commitment" (another of Debbie's terms) to finding 'a man with a plan.'  (It's true, and I am as shocked by this as you probably are.)  I've always considered myself a strong woman who can take care of herself, but the evidence is incontrovertible:  Husband number one - a brain surgeon;  Husband number two - a race-car driving property developer.  I have played at being self-sufficient (I have even been quite defensive about it!) but in reality I have made choices under the influence of an old wound - an unconscious fear that I am not worthy of success in my own right.  In reality there is nothing wrong with marrying successful, powerful people, but if it is covering up one's own unacknowledged desire for power and success, at the very least it can lead to resentment on both sides or, as in my case, two divorces. 

I am by no means alone here.  Question number three in Ford's book asks, "Am I standing in my power or am I trying to please another?"  I see this every day amongst my friends and family.  There is still an imbalance of power between the sexes, with too many women deciding that 'pleasing another' is their responsibility.  We set ourselves up to be martyrs, telling ourselves that "it's okay to abandon [ourselves] as long as we are making someone else happy." (Be it the kids, the husband, the dog...) I decided this long, long ago, believing (albeit unconsciously) that I'd be "too much" for people if I were to really shine.

So where does all this new insight leave me?  Well, I am pleased to say that I am working on a vision statement in earnest.  I've also decided that while my little song does have some truth to it - there is wisdom in allowing ourselves to drift along with the current - there's nothing wrong with keeping one hand on the rudder at the same time.

 

Face to Face with the Force

What started as a coffee morning - the usual gaggle of moms catching up over hot drinks and chit chat - turned into a surprise encounter with something I thought I knew quite a bit about -  "The Force."

One mom had brought along an exotic stranger - a MAN, from California no less, who was a Transformational Breath practitioner.  After not much pleading, he agreed to give us an impromptu class.  "Excellent," I thought, "A new weird experience to add to my collection."

The basic instruction was to breathe in from the lower belly for three counts and then let it out fast in one count - no pausing in between breaths. After about 15 minutes of breathing this way, he explained, the conscious mind would essentially shut off, leaving the door open for the powerful unconscious to come in and take over, allowing the body to release whatever old traumas or dramas it had been holding onto for safe keeping. If we were really lucky we might even slip into the flow of the source-of-all itself and experience the type of bliss that yogis sit on mountaintops for years trying to attain.  So far, so simple.  Ready, steady, go.

Cushions, blankets and pillow were gathered, and within minutes we were warming up to the beat of some energetic quasi-eastern trance/dance music, bouncing up and down and punching the air to "grab" handfuls of breath.  (I love these women - not afraid to dance like wild banshees first thing in the morning.)  As soon as the song ended we dove for our cushions to get into the breathing technique as quickly as possible.

My hands, arms and legs went numb and tingly within the first 10 minutes, and the breathing felt forced and unnatural. (He did say we might experience all of this, along with a few other common side effects such as muscle cramping, chills, etc.)  But, sure enough, after about 15 minutes things got interesting. I was breathing almost automatically now, and was noticing with detachment as first my right hand, then my left, began to curl into what I can only describe as a claw wrapped around a steel ball.  (I'm not making this up!) Next my calves seized up, followed by my lips.  At about this time we were encouraged to release sound on the out breath - any kind of vocal release that felt appropriate - a tone, a note, a sigh, a cry.  This felt great, and the music was loud enough to mask my tendency towards self-consciousness.

But soon my detachment turned toward distress as I realized I was completely frozen solid and it was getting painful.  Thankfully the teacher arrived when the student was ready, and he very gently helped to open my fingers and assured me it was safe to release whatever it was I was holding onto so fiercely, both literally and figuratively.  With that a most unexpected wail welled up from deep in my belly and came out of my being as an uncontrollable howl.  I sobbed loudly and wholeheartedly.

As the pain and the sobs began to wane, my body deeply relaxed. My awareness, however, was alert and observing.  I felt a wave-like sensation as my breathing took on a much slower, gentler rhythm, and it seemed as if I was lying in the bottom of a warm river, the water flowing over me in undulating ribbons of gentle energy.  I noticed that I was hardly breathing now, and I had a strong desire to stay in the pause between breaths forever.  It was pure peace, pure calm, pure love.  I imagine this is what the poet Rabindranath Tagore was describing when he wrote, The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day, runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

As the session came to an end I reluctantly began to wiggle my fingers and toes and bring myself back to the room.  Everyone had had a profound experience in varying degrees, and all looked radiant. 

Later that night I went to the theater and felt oddly removed yet alert.  At one point I noticed that I was completely still - no fidgeting, which is my usual modus operandi.  Three days on and I still feel slightly dazed and strangely calm, the chronic tension in my jaw and shoulders more or less gone.

The yogis have known of the transformational power of breath for thousands of years, and in my experience this particular breathing technique is aptly named. "The Stream of Life," "The Force," "God" - call it what you will.  Once you have experienced it so viscerally you truly will be transformed., and "the Force will be with you, always."

It's not Helpful to be Helpful

One day I'm going to do it.  I'm going to make a t-shirt that says, "I'm not here to help" and I'm going to wear it when I see counselling clients on their first appointment.  Why would I do that?  Because it's true.  Being a therapist may include many things, but being helpful isn't one of them.  In fact, I've come to learn that being helpful is actually unhelpful.

I recently read a story about a Russian billionaire who spent millions helping impoverished local in his native Georgia.  He discovered that paying their electricity bills merely led to them leaving the lights on all the time!  

What's going on here? 

Being helpful, particularly where money is concerned, is disempowering.  It tends to foster dependence rather than raise people up in the world.  As the old saying goes, "Give a man a fish and you feed him for one day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime." 

The same might be said of the listening arts of counselling and psychotherapy.  While I aim to empathize, encourage, challenge, reflect and notice my clients, the minute I try to be helpful I have an agenda - that something is wrong with them the way they are, or that I don't believe that they can help themselves.  Further, it sends a subtle message that, "I know what's best for you," and can insidiously undermine their belief that they can learn to be effective in their own lives. 

Being helpful can also prolong people's suffering by preventing them from facing the consequences of their own actions or inaction.  The desire to protect people from their problems is an easy trap to fall into, particularly where children and vulnerable people are concerned.  But I can clearly see in my own life that I gained far more when I learned to do things for myself, even when it meant, "learning the hard way."  After all, it is the struggle to emerge from the chrysalis that forces fluid into a butterfly's wings and enables it to fly.  "Help" it by assisting it out of its cocoon and it dies. 

Does this mean we abandon all charity and humanitarian causes?  Of course not.  Compassionate action will always have a place in the world. But the manner in which assistance is administered makes all the difference.  A hand up and a hand out are two entirely different things. 

Today, with perfect timing, I received the following inspirational e-mail from Neale Donald Walsch, author of the Conversations with God books:

On this day of your life, dear friend, I believe God wants you to know...
...that nobody needs your help.

I know, I know...this is a difficult one. But it is true.
Yet this does not mean no one wants your help, or that no one
could use your help. It simply means the thought that another
Aspect of Divinity [person] is powerless without you is inaccurate.

I love it when the universe drops such neat little crumbs to show me that I'm on the right path.  Neale and me, we're singing from the same hymnal.  Can you spot us in the choir?  He's the one with the beard, and I'm the one in the t-shirt that reads, "I'm not here to help."  (And a green light sabre, of course.)

Late Night Ah Ha - A Short Story

It is after midnight and I'm lying in bed listening to the party going on downstairs.  My husband is giving loud and enthusiastic advice to someone playing a racecar video game.  There is laughter.  Everyone is a bit drunk and, as we are in the middle of nowhere, not concerned about noise. 

I lay still for a few minutes - not sure if I am annoyed at having been woken, or annoyed that I went to bed early.  (That's me, the sensible one who gets the kids to bed at a reasonable hour and usually joins them.) A while ago I might have stomped down the stairs and asked the crowd to keep it down, but, for some reason, not tonight. 

Instead, I remember a funny conversation I once had with a gal who was lamenting the fact that a party-animal friend had quit drinking.  While she knew it was good for his health, she selfishly missed having him as the life of the party.  I can relate.  I once thought I knew what was best for my husband.   I wanted to magically change him into the watered down version of himself that I thought would be best.  But lying here right now, I am gifted with a moment of clarity.  I recognize how he brightens a room with his infectious antics and injects life into even the most awkward of social situations.  He is perfect as he is.


It's easy to fall into judgment and loose sight of how everything fits into the grand scheme of things.  To glimpse this perfection, even for a moment, makes my heart swell.

There is an ancient Hawaiian practice called Ho'Oponopono that encourages one to take responsibility for their judgments by repeating the simple mantra, “I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you.”  Lying awake I can't think of a better way to acknowledge this new awareness and to apologize for my arrogance, while at the same time forgiving myself.

I offer up a silent prayer to the man whom I have judged so harshly for his wild ways.  I smile as I hear him sloppily coach the game player through a chicane.  I'm sorry.  Please forgive me.  I love you.  Thank you.  The party is far from over, but I am happy in my bed, enjoying my little "ah ha" moment.  I tuck an arm around my little boy who is sleeping next to me and go back to sleep.

The Tangled Web of Purpose

The other day I had a conversation with a young counseling client about his life purpose.  It was interesting to discover that his (and my own) perception about purpose was entirely based upon about what we are to do in life, i.e., go to school, build a career, buy a home, have a family, etc.  But what if our purpose is a bit more complicated and tangled than that?

As I listened it dawned on me that perhaps part of this young man's purpose is also to be my client, helping me to learn and hone my counseling craft.  Likewise part of my purpose is to be his counselor, to help him learn to move through his life with more ease.  Thus his purpose and mine are intertwined. 

Imagine that life is an enormous jigsaw puzzle with each person representing a single piece of unique shape and size.  No matter how insignificant one feels their piece is, the space left by even the smallest missing chunk leaves a glaring hole in the picture.

It's terribly simple yet complicated at the same time.  One morning my purpose might be to smile at the depressed lady at the grocery store to remind her that all is not lost, while hers might be to awaken my compassion.  Later my kids' purpose might be to push the boundaries of my tolerance so that I lose my temper and illustrate for them that everyone has their limits.  A lovingly cooked dinner has no purpose without hungry mouths to eat it, and likewise a brilliant performance needs to see itself reflected back in appreciative eyes to feel purposeful. 

We do not exist in a vacuum - it is not possible for my purpose and yours to be mutually exclusive.  Carl Jung said, "As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being. " And it seems to me we can only achieve that with the help of another.

Living a life of purpose is our natural state.  Once we recognize this we can let go of the illusion that purpose = achievement.  If you have goal to achieve great things then good for you, but don't discount the importance of your more mundane interactions with others - healers need patients, teachers need students, and politicians need voters.

Today my purpose included writing this short blog.  If your purpose has been to read it, then I am honored and awed by our interconnection.  Have a wonderful, purposeful day.