“I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.” When I sat down to write this morning, that memorable line from Robert Frost came to mind. It is a perfect starting point for the reflection I want to share with you this week.
It is Lent. For Christians, the six weeks before Easter are a time of purification leading to the sacred events at the center of their faith. We often observe Lent by choosing a habit to change for that period of time. It may not be an especially bad habit, but it is usually one to which we are especially attached. The difficulty adds value to the spiritual practice.
Robert Frost and the Christian calendar; what do they have in common? The common theme is promise. Promises we make. Promises we make to ourselves.
Whenever we take on a difficult lifestyle change—losing weight, adding exercise, getting enough sleep, building in reflection, managing our calendars—we start making promises. We will go to the gym tomorrow. We will abstain from dessert at the pot luck. We will set two alarm clocks to make sure we don’t fall back to sleep. We will honor that hour of white space on our calendar, no matter what else comes up.
We typically make those promises in the privacy of our own minds. We often break them when the moment comes. What’s the harm? No one knows.
The harm is in the lesson we are teaching ourselves. Every time we set an intention and break it, we teach ourselves that we can’t be trusted. We engrave the lesson on our minds: “I am lazy.” “I have no will power.” “I am too tired.” “I don’t have the time.” “It is selfish to take care of myself.” The more we repeat those phrases, the more deeply we believe them. They undermine our ability to keep the next promise we make.
Customer service experts advise businesses to “under-promise” and over-deliver.” The same message is valid for our internal promises. Set good intentions carefully. Make sure you have a compelling reason to take action now. Look hard at the down side: what do you give up in order to move ahead? Is it worth it? Are you ready? No? Stop! Don’t go there. Re-frame your intention to encompass something you really want and believe you can do now.
Where in your life are you teaching (and learning) an unintended lesson? It’s never too late to start over. Backspace. Undo. Escape. Teach carefully. Learn a lesson that builds credibility within your own mind. Choose the intention wisely. Set realistic goals that you can fulfill with confidence. Don’t make and break them lightly.
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Spring Cleaning: More than Dust Bunnies
Last week, we talked about the energy that comes with spring. Because the days are getting longer, even the inevitable snow showers and cold snaps are releasing their hold on the landscape. We are carried by the irresistible force of nature towards green hills, birds, and flowers. That’s what spring is all about!
Well, maybe not “all” that it’s about. Most of us grew up with yet another seasonal tradition: spring cleaning. For my mother’s generation, spring meant scrubbing the house from stem to stern. Furniture was moved, dust bunnies hunted down and exterminated. Windows were washed…and floors…and walls. Smooth cotton linens replaced fuzzy flannel.
My own version of the ritual is somewhat less dramatic and much less thorough. I do enjoy dusting and vacuuming, opening the windows and wiping off the grime. I love the practice of swapping clothes from one part of the closet to another, and I take satisfaction from purging the collected clutter and heading for the thrift shop.
This year, I have also been thinking of spring cleaning in a broader context: examining my calendar, budget, habits, and to-do list. I have been evaluating the contents of my inbox and Facebook news feed. I have noticed the multiple pages that appear when I open a browser. I have been observing my daily, weekly, and monthly patterns with a critical eye. What am I doing “just because”? Where am I ready to move on? How do I want to invest the new energy that comes with more sun?
The box for the thrift shop went out yesterday. I hope the bargains inside add enjoyment to someone’s life. The calendar, the budget, the in-box, and the to-do list are slimming down and changing too. I am making room in my life as well as in my closet--room in my mind as well as my house--room to welcome the next unexpected gift from the Universe with an open heart, rather than groaning inside and wondering “What will I do with THAT?”
What excess baggage are you carrying around? What would you like to pass along to someone who would enjoy it more? What habits are no longer serving you well? What commitments have you outgrown, and which commitments have outgrown your capacity to fulfill? What would it feel like to free up an hour, two, or three a week by challenging past choices? Or what would you do differently with the $20 that pays for something you no longer need?
Happy spring cleaning, and go well.
Pam
Well, maybe not “all” that it’s about. Most of us grew up with yet another seasonal tradition: spring cleaning. For my mother’s generation, spring meant scrubbing the house from stem to stern. Furniture was moved, dust bunnies hunted down and exterminated. Windows were washed…and floors…and walls. Smooth cotton linens replaced fuzzy flannel.
My own version of the ritual is somewhat less dramatic and much less thorough. I do enjoy dusting and vacuuming, opening the windows and wiping off the grime. I love the practice of swapping clothes from one part of the closet to another, and I take satisfaction from purging the collected clutter and heading for the thrift shop.
This year, I have also been thinking of spring cleaning in a broader context: examining my calendar, budget, habits, and to-do list. I have been evaluating the contents of my inbox and Facebook news feed. I have noticed the multiple pages that appear when I open a browser. I have been observing my daily, weekly, and monthly patterns with a critical eye. What am I doing “just because”? Where am I ready to move on? How do I want to invest the new energy that comes with more sun?
The box for the thrift shop went out yesterday. I hope the bargains inside add enjoyment to someone’s life. The calendar, the budget, the in-box, and the to-do list are slimming down and changing too. I am making room in my life as well as in my closet--room in my mind as well as my house--room to welcome the next unexpected gift from the Universe with an open heart, rather than groaning inside and wondering “What will I do with THAT?”
What excess baggage are you carrying around? What would you like to pass along to someone who would enjoy it more? What habits are no longer serving you well? What commitments have you outgrown, and which commitments have outgrown your capacity to fulfill? What would it feel like to free up an hour, two, or three a week by challenging past choices? Or what would you do differently with the $20 that pays for something you no longer need?
Happy spring cleaning, and go well.
Pam
Sunday, April 3, 2011
April Showers: What do they Bring?
I am so ready to welcome April…yes, even its showers! March in my life was a test, from beginning to end. I don’t know, or really care right now whether I passed the test. I am ready to turn over the calendar and start the new month.
One morning this week, I woke up to clouds in the valley. That is a common sight in Missoula (a recent news article cited ours as the 10th cloudiest city in the Lower 48). I sighed, added one more gray day to the cumulative tally, and went on with business. Later on, I had a chance to drive out into the country. When I opened the car door, I could smell spring! I could smell fresh, damp earth. When I looked closely, I saw there was no longer a sheet of ice sealing the ground. I could almost envision a little green tinge to the tan hillside. I felt a surge of joy.
For the first time, I really believed. At a visceral level, I responded to the change of seasons. The date on the calendar didn’t do it for me. Daylight Saving time didn’t do it. A reflexive response to sensory input convinced me: it is time to start anew.
New Year’s Day. First Day of School. These and other dates and seasons offer rituals that trigger list-making, fresh starts, and resolutions for a better life. I have not typically viewed spring as one of those times. Those of you like Frank, Jim, and Mari who are gardeners, know how to celebrate. Buy seeds. Till. Plant. April showers bring May flowers. Those of us who are not gardeners may see this as the wet, muddy, brown season between lovely white and iridescent green.
I am a convert! Not to gardening necessarily, but to spring. I am ready for the rain. I am ready for the mud. I am ready for the lighter clothing. I am ready to phase out of skis and ease into hiking boots. Goodbye treadmill, hello trail. It has been a long and beautiful winter. It is time for something else.
Spring does not mean marking time between the “better” seasons, but has a charm worth celebrating in its own right. That charm means tomorrow might be winter again. To celebrate in its own right.
What does this season mean for you? What rituals do you practice? Do you buy and plant seeds? Rake the garden? Take a Spring Break trip? Enjoy spring skiing by heading up the hill until every last patch of white is gone?
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
One morning this week, I woke up to clouds in the valley. That is a common sight in Missoula (a recent news article cited ours as the 10th cloudiest city in the Lower 48). I sighed, added one more gray day to the cumulative tally, and went on with business. Later on, I had a chance to drive out into the country. When I opened the car door, I could smell spring! I could smell fresh, damp earth. When I looked closely, I saw there was no longer a sheet of ice sealing the ground. I could almost envision a little green tinge to the tan hillside. I felt a surge of joy.
For the first time, I really believed. At a visceral level, I responded to the change of seasons. The date on the calendar didn’t do it for me. Daylight Saving time didn’t do it. A reflexive response to sensory input convinced me: it is time to start anew.
New Year’s Day. First Day of School. These and other dates and seasons offer rituals that trigger list-making, fresh starts, and resolutions for a better life. I have not typically viewed spring as one of those times. Those of you like Frank, Jim, and Mari who are gardeners, know how to celebrate. Buy seeds. Till. Plant. April showers bring May flowers. Those of us who are not gardeners may see this as the wet, muddy, brown season between lovely white and iridescent green.
I am a convert! Not to gardening necessarily, but to spring. I am ready for the rain. I am ready for the mud. I am ready for the lighter clothing. I am ready to phase out of skis and ease into hiking boots. Goodbye treadmill, hello trail. It has been a long and beautiful winter. It is time for something else.
Spring does not mean marking time between the “better” seasons, but has a charm worth celebrating in its own right. That charm means tomorrow might be winter again. To celebrate in its own right.
What does this season mean for you? What rituals do you practice? Do you buy and plant seeds? Rake the garden? Take a Spring Break trip? Enjoy spring skiing by heading up the hill until every last patch of white is gone?
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Serenity, Courage, and Wisdom
"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." (R.Niebuhr)
For much of my life I have been sucked easily into ranting about the way things should be, versus the way they are. The recent confrontation with viral demons is a case in point. I could do little to improve my condition. At best, I could accept reality and allow the time to heal. Instead, I beat the walls of my inner prison with fury and outrage. I railed at the injustice of illness on a long-awaited vacation. I resented the loss of voice during a rare and special visit.
The Serenity Prayer offers a cooling message. "Accept the things I cannot change." When I tap into that message, I begin to let go…stop resisting…flow.
The prayer does not, however, stop with acceptance. It moves on to courage: "the courage to change the things I can." Just as I sometimes rant about things beyond my control, I can also whine helplessly when, perhaps, I could make a difference. I complain about my own bad habits: “When will I ever lose those 20 ugly pounds?” I complain about government: “Why don’t they just buck up and do the right thing?” I complain about others: “How can they be so insensitive, coming up with a plan that drives me crazy.”
What, if anything, can we do in situations such as these? Are they really beyond our control? Should we be charting the shortest path from here to Serenity?
Sometimes “the wisdom to know the difference” reminds us to take a closer look. If I want to change a habit, I must do something different from what is not working now. It will take courage. If I want to engage the civic process, I must learn how it works and commit to engage. It will take courage. If I want to influence family plans, I may have to let go of being “nice.” It will take courage.
I may decide, after all, that I am not willing to make the effort, the sacrifice, or the trade-off to change the situation at hand. In choosing not to act, I relinquish the right to complain and I pray for the serenity of knowing that I had a choice to act, and chose to let it go.
What are the dilemmas between serenity and courage in your life? How do you distinguish the voice of wisdom from the voice of cowardice? Do you find serenity in truly accepting things as they are, and letting go of how you want them to be?
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
For much of my life I have been sucked easily into ranting about the way things should be, versus the way they are. The recent confrontation with viral demons is a case in point. I could do little to improve my condition. At best, I could accept reality and allow the time to heal. Instead, I beat the walls of my inner prison with fury and outrage. I railed at the injustice of illness on a long-awaited vacation. I resented the loss of voice during a rare and special visit.
The Serenity Prayer offers a cooling message. "Accept the things I cannot change." When I tap into that message, I begin to let go…stop resisting…flow.
The prayer does not, however, stop with acceptance. It moves on to courage: "the courage to change the things I can." Just as I sometimes rant about things beyond my control, I can also whine helplessly when, perhaps, I could make a difference. I complain about my own bad habits: “When will I ever lose those 20 ugly pounds?” I complain about government: “Why don’t they just buck up and do the right thing?” I complain about others: “How can they be so insensitive, coming up with a plan that drives me crazy.”
What, if anything, can we do in situations such as these? Are they really beyond our control? Should we be charting the shortest path from here to Serenity?
Sometimes “the wisdom to know the difference” reminds us to take a closer look. If I want to change a habit, I must do something different from what is not working now. It will take courage. If I want to engage the civic process, I must learn how it works and commit to engage. It will take courage. If I want to influence family plans, I may have to let go of being “nice.” It will take courage.
I may decide, after all, that I am not willing to make the effort, the sacrifice, or the trade-off to change the situation at hand. In choosing not to act, I relinquish the right to complain and I pray for the serenity of knowing that I had a choice to act, and chose to let it go.
What are the dilemmas between serenity and courage in your life? How do you distinguish the voice of wisdom from the voice of cowardice? Do you find serenity in truly accepting things as they are, and letting go of how you want them to be?
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Celebrating: One Hundred Candles
No, it’s not about years. It’s about issues. This is the one-hundredth issue of Reflections. Two years ago, I was journaling every day, and regularly swapping insights with friends. Then, one day I felt an impulse to expand the circle of sharing. Though I enjoyed the prospect of wider dialog, I was daunted by the commitment to writing every week.
One hundred weeks later, I look back with gratitude and delight. I find it rewarding to write for you on a regular schedule. The weekly commitment challenges me to reflect continually, seeking ways of responding ever more creatively to Life. I find it even more rewarding when you respond that Reflections resonates for you. Each exchange deepens and enriches the experiences we share.
Thanks for coming along. Thanks in particular for writing back in direct reply, on Blogspot, or on Facebook. I am celebrating 100 by declaring this a “light” week for my writing. It’s your turn. I welcome your ideas on where to travel next, and ask for your help in enlarging the circle during the next 100 weeks.
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
One hundred weeks later, I look back with gratitude and delight. I find it rewarding to write for you on a regular schedule. The weekly commitment challenges me to reflect continually, seeking ways of responding ever more creatively to Life. I find it even more rewarding when you respond that Reflections resonates for you. Each exchange deepens and enriches the experiences we share.
Thanks for coming along. Thanks in particular for writing back in direct reply, on Blogspot, or on Facebook. I am celebrating 100 by declaring this a “light” week for my writing. It’s your turn. I welcome your ideas on where to travel next, and ask for your help in enlarging the circle during the next 100 weeks.
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Hope and Fear: The Unspoken Threat
Last week, I shared mixed feelings about travel, and mentioned some of the threats and fears that guard the door to the runway as I head for a distant adventure. I did not mention the threat that I find most daunting. I did not want to wake it from a nap in the corner and draw its attention to my escape. It woke and hunted me down.
That first night in Georgia, a raging sore through clamped down on my vocal chords, kicked off a disabling week of laryngitis, and eventually led, step by step, to the full viral catastrophe.
Getting sick, especially while traveling, is a unique kind of misery. There is no way to hide and retreat until it clears. There is a need to keep moving despite the absence of strength or energy. There is a need to communicate, even if it is painful and ineffective to speak. There is the worry of infecting others, invading their space with sniffling and coughing and giving them good reason to fear that they are next. Sometimes the symptoms overcome the strongest of drugs and, quite frankly, you are going to be someone’s unwelcome seatmate.
Physical discomfort is reason enough to fear this demon; however the effect on mental and emotional comfort is even worse. My thoughts and feelings formed uncontrollably into a bitter and angry flood of reproach and despair. Hard as I tried, I could not access the sources of hope, optimism and joy that are typically close at hand.
I was possessed. I slogged through the week in a spirit of grim determination. Surrounded by caring friends and family, I had every reason to feel peace in the midst of chaos, but it eluded me. Silver linings were, at best, tarnished by the toxicity of my inner view.
What can I share from this experience, other than a self-indulgent rant? I discovered (again) that hopeful thoughts are not always available on demand. The pipeline to reframing challenges, accepting “what is,” and practicing gratitude can get clogged.
When the feelings of peace, love, and joy stop flowing we are left with the basics--focusing on the next few steps. Get gas. Study the map. Find a bathroom. Buy tissues. Keep track of keys, cell phone, driver’s license, credit card. Eat. See a doctor(wait 3 hours). Check in. Deal with the new “e-boarding pass.” Whisper and croak. Hack and gag. Snuffle. Acknowledge the love and nurturing of others who want so much to make it better, even when nothing can help.
It is humbling to be disabled by a virus, and even more humbling to be disabled by a mood. Neither body nor spirit is always able to resist infection. The silver lining in this case is on the other side of the cloud. The cloud passes. Your friends and family have not given up on you. Joy, hope, and inner peace are waiting and happy to return. Eventually.
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
That first night in Georgia, a raging sore through clamped down on my vocal chords, kicked off a disabling week of laryngitis, and eventually led, step by step, to the full viral catastrophe.
Getting sick, especially while traveling, is a unique kind of misery. There is no way to hide and retreat until it clears. There is a need to keep moving despite the absence of strength or energy. There is a need to communicate, even if it is painful and ineffective to speak. There is the worry of infecting others, invading their space with sniffling and coughing and giving them good reason to fear that they are next. Sometimes the symptoms overcome the strongest of drugs and, quite frankly, you are going to be someone’s unwelcome seatmate.
Physical discomfort is reason enough to fear this demon; however the effect on mental and emotional comfort is even worse. My thoughts and feelings formed uncontrollably into a bitter and angry flood of reproach and despair. Hard as I tried, I could not access the sources of hope, optimism and joy that are typically close at hand.
I was possessed. I slogged through the week in a spirit of grim determination. Surrounded by caring friends and family, I had every reason to feel peace in the midst of chaos, but it eluded me. Silver linings were, at best, tarnished by the toxicity of my inner view.
What can I share from this experience, other than a self-indulgent rant? I discovered (again) that hopeful thoughts are not always available on demand. The pipeline to reframing challenges, accepting “what is,” and practicing gratitude can get clogged.
When the feelings of peace, love, and joy stop flowing we are left with the basics--focusing on the next few steps. Get gas. Study the map. Find a bathroom. Buy tissues. Keep track of keys, cell phone, driver’s license, credit card. Eat. See a doctor(wait 3 hours). Check in. Deal with the new “e-boarding pass.” Whisper and croak. Hack and gag. Snuffle. Acknowledge the love and nurturing of others who want so much to make it better, even when nothing can help.
It is humbling to be disabled by a virus, and even more humbling to be disabled by a mood. Neither body nor spirit is always able to resist infection. The silver lining in this case is on the other side of the cloud. The cloud passes. Your friends and family have not given up on you. Joy, hope, and inner peace are waiting and happy to return. Eventually.
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Off and Running: Hope and Fear
It is Tuesday. I am taking an early look at Reflections because the rest of the week is devoted to travel. Jane and I are advancing our commitment to “run half marathons in half the states” with a race on the Berry College campus in Rome, Georgia. I look out the window at a fresh, white Montana landscape and hope for flowers in the South.
I have always loved travel. My parents took me as a child on long road trips each summer. We went to the airport and watched the planes take off and land. I spent a couple of summers in Mexico during college. Lyle and I honeymooned in Europe. Working for the Forest Service brought more than thirty years of meetings and training sessions around the country. Even after all this time, I love walking through air terminals reading destination-boards: Sioux Falls. San Francisco. Singapore. It’s magic! You walk through the little door and emerge hours later in a different world. Snow on the one end, flowers on the other.
I have always feared travel. Ever since childhood, I have fretted about auto accidents. Flying, while exhilarating, also means leaving the ground. Bouncing around the sky. Landing in crosswinds. Slipping on ice. I struggle with claustrophobia, especially as airlines fill the flights and cram larger passengers into smaller seats. I find it intimidating to navigate a new airport, a new rental car, a new freeway system, a new hotel.
Like so many other aspects of life, travel is a mixed bag for me. As I pack for this trip to Georgia, I am reflecting on the ambivalence I feel about adventure. When Jane and I signed up for the Half 2 Run club, I knew it would mean flying more. I knew it would mean facing my fears more often en route to my goals. I did it anyway. Why?
Somewhere, half-buried in sub-consciousness, I see aging as a journey of overcoming fear. As the years and experiences accumulate, they point out more and more threats to health, safety, and peace of mind. Bodies fail. Minds fail. Machines fail. People go crazy. Weather goes crazy. Earthquakes happen. Tornadoes happen. I am tempted to run the other way, to hide under the bed, to seek safety by facing inward and staying close to home. I want to resist that temptation, facing outward and facing up to the challenge.
Thanks for sharing my quick trip through ambivalence. I feel better now that we have talked. Back to packing.
What about you? Where in your life does a spirit of adventure collide with the instinct for security? How do you engage the power of hope to offset the temptation of fear?
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
I have always loved travel. My parents took me as a child on long road trips each summer. We went to the airport and watched the planes take off and land. I spent a couple of summers in Mexico during college. Lyle and I honeymooned in Europe. Working for the Forest Service brought more than thirty years of meetings and training sessions around the country. Even after all this time, I love walking through air terminals reading destination-boards: Sioux Falls. San Francisco. Singapore. It’s magic! You walk through the little door and emerge hours later in a different world. Snow on the one end, flowers on the other.
I have always feared travel. Ever since childhood, I have fretted about auto accidents. Flying, while exhilarating, also means leaving the ground. Bouncing around the sky. Landing in crosswinds. Slipping on ice. I struggle with claustrophobia, especially as airlines fill the flights and cram larger passengers into smaller seats. I find it intimidating to navigate a new airport, a new rental car, a new freeway system, a new hotel.
Like so many other aspects of life, travel is a mixed bag for me. As I pack for this trip to Georgia, I am reflecting on the ambivalence I feel about adventure. When Jane and I signed up for the Half 2 Run club, I knew it would mean flying more. I knew it would mean facing my fears more often en route to my goals. I did it anyway. Why?
Somewhere, half-buried in sub-consciousness, I see aging as a journey of overcoming fear. As the years and experiences accumulate, they point out more and more threats to health, safety, and peace of mind. Bodies fail. Minds fail. Machines fail. People go crazy. Weather goes crazy. Earthquakes happen. Tornadoes happen. I am tempted to run the other way, to hide under the bed, to seek safety by facing inward and staying close to home. I want to resist that temptation, facing outward and facing up to the challenge.
Thanks for sharing my quick trip through ambivalence. I feel better now that we have talked. Back to packing.
What about you? Where in your life does a spirit of adventure collide with the instinct for security? How do you engage the power of hope to offset the temptation of fear?
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
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