Good Enough?

I saw the movie Boyhood not long ago. Made across 12 years, the film chronicles some of the life events of a fictional boy as he ages from about 8 years of age to about 20 at the end. From 3^rd grade to college, we literally watch this boy grow up during

the 3-hour movie. As fiction – this movie is not a documentary – the film is an outstanding story, full of the kind of gritty realism that touches my soul. As a treatise on child development and the impact of adults’ interactions with kids, this movie is nothing short of brilliant.

Since then, I have been pondering the messages of the movie, as they relate to the 7 Childhood Treasures. We start our view of this child’s world after he has moved through those first seven years of his life. Is there any way to tell how well he did, gathering his trove of Treasures? Can we see evidence of how well his parents supported him in these crucial early years?

Taking Care of God's Little Spaceship

Have you ever decided to adopt a new daily practice of self-care, whether physical, mental, or emotional/spiritual? From the goal to meditate or pray every day; to the intention to brush your hair 100 strokes, floss after every meal, or walk 10,000 steps every day; to signing-up for online brain training, have you ever decided to adopt a new routine or ritual? How did that go for you? 

Did you achieve your goal from day one, never missing a day of your new daily practice? That experience has never been mine. If it’s ever been yours, I hope you will tell me about it in a comment and I hope I get to meet you one day, for you are a hero to me! You’re definitely a person with all your 7 Childhood Treasures gleaming abundantly in your treasure chest!

The title for this blog post came into my mind this morning, as I did yoga and meditated. This longtime practice is one I’ve always hoped and intended would be daily. Honestly, though, I’ve been doing it for decades as an episodic practice—a spate of days here, a flurry there. Only very recently has it become, truly, nearly daily. It hasn’t been long—just a little over a week—but 8 out of 10 consecutive days is a new record for me.

Before we fly....

Scrolling my newsfeed on Facebook the other day, I saw this quote, as part of an inspirational meme: "When a butterfly is mature, it slides from its chrysalis, dries its wings and flies away." My immediate thought was, "It's not that simple!"

I know the reality of the butterfly's post-chrysalis phase, and I also know that it's a great metaphor for your growth and transformation--and mine. For us, emergence from our transformations is also not so simple.

Years ago, I was a butterfly farmer (yep, raised Monarchs) and I can tell you that there is a significant span of time and some crucial activity between a butterfly's emergence from the chrysalis and that first flight. This window of getting ready to fly is greatly over-simplified by the phrase "dries its wings."  In fact, three simultaneous and inter-related activities take almost a half-hour to complete. In a six-week lifespan, that 30 minutes is like 4-1/2 years for one of us humans.

First, the butterfly begins to "zip" its proboscis, creating a long cylindrical tube out of what starts out as two half-cylinders. She unrolls and re-rolls the two sides of the divided proboscis, over and over, to seal them into a continuous long tube that will enable her to feed for the six weeks or so of her lifespan.

Because I'm Happy

Recently, Pharrell Williams was interviewed on one of my favorite TV shows, CBS Sunday Morning. You know who Pharrell is, right? The "Happy Man," as he has been called; singer/songwriter of a snappy melody and some of the best-known lyrics worldwide: "Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof.... Cuz I'm happy...."

The interviewer was asking Pharrell to talk about his gifts, talent, and skills as a musician and he wouldn't do it. Steadfastly, he attributed his success to opportunities and blessings in his life, such as great music teachers in high school. After Pharrell named all these teachers, the interviewer said, "It sounds like you're attributing your success to them." "Well," Williams replied, "who am I without them? Really...think about it...."

Pharrell's adamant refusal to brag about himself

or his gifts, his unremitting gratitude for everyone who has supported him and for opportunities life has brought him, seemed to frustrate or confuse this interviewer. Brow furrowed, he said, "Well, surely you've spent some time thinking about what you're good at, the things at which you excel," Pharrell replied, "I think that's when you start to fail."

BRILLIANT! Williams' words rang in my head, and echoed in my heart and soul. It's true. When I focus on what I'm good at, particularly what I can do that is better than what others can, and what that can "get" me, I fail every time. What works is when I focus on "the song"--whatever creative process describes my current collaboration with the Universe.

When life works it's because, instead of pushing others to be aware of my gifts, talents, skills, or ideas, I simply open my mind and heart in gratitude for the gorgeous synergy. I give thanks for the intersections, parallels, and bridges created by being in the flow, focused on increasing good for all. When I contribute whatever I have to give, releasing it for that greater good, detached from any specific impact, that's when the song of the moment soars.

I Try. I Cry. I Try Again.

I love Facebook. I love my FBriends. They bring me laughter, tears of gratitude and tenderness, world news, quirky POVs, and vast piles of information at varying levels of believability and evidence. Most importantly, they inspire me when they share the words and images that have touched their spirits with wonder.

One of my FBriends from here in the St. Louis area just posted a little video, which you can watch at www.fungifilm.com ... and I recommend that you do.  It's a beautiful piece of art and also a cogent, compelling, spiritual case for understanding our planet and taking better care of her. The gentleman on screen said something that inspired me and launched me into some work on my Childhood Treasure of Faith.

As I listened to the bearded fungi-lover, I immediately edited his words in my mind, to, "If I die [working on it] and I'm inadequate to the task [of changing the way we treat children in America], okay, I tried. Fact is, I tried."

What he calls a "task," I see as a  Big Dream.

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A Big Dream is a lifelong quest to make the world a little better, to change it in a way that will have big and positive consequences for many. His Big Dream is planet-healing, mine is human-healing. We both were hard-wired from birth, as were you, for the capacity to dream big dreams--to birth visionary, world-changing, lifelong missions of passion, and to strive for their achievement.

And in our third year of life, when the window to develop the Childhood Treasure of Faith opened for each of us, the adults in our lives either helped us believe in our ability to change the world or they damaged that belief--a little or a lot. The latter probably not on purpose; parents usually do the best they can with what they know. Your parents either fostered hope and affirmed the power of applying energy and intellect to a cause, or they quashed aspiration with cynicism, and taught you that your personal, individual power is not capable of significant impact.

What did you learn? When your little self said you wanted to fly to the moon, grow up to be president, invent a cure for the common cold, build a talking robot, or whatever was your Big Dream as a young preschooler, what did you hear from those you loved and looked to for leadership and support? Did you hear:

• You can do anything to which you put your mind. (Yes, I am a grammarian, as was my mother!)
• That will never happen.
• What can I do to help you achieve that?
• You can't do that!
• Oh, that's a FABulous idea! You go, girl!!
• Oh, honey, you're too [NAME FORM OF LIMITATION] to do that.

Believing in love...for the first time

I decided that a relationship I'd been in for almost a year wasn't working for me and we stopped seeing each other. It's been a few months now and I am sometimes troubled by concerns about the choices I made:  what I said, what I did.... Was I clear? gentle? loving? Did I act in alignment with my values for kindness, direct communication, and honesty? I've been beating myself up a little, thinking that maybe I didn't handle this breakup very well. I suppose that many of you have had experiences of this kind...yes? (I kind of hope so, just so I won't be alone.)

Well, yesterday, soaring tens of thousands of feet above the earth on my way home from a business trip, I suddenly had a new perspective. I literally got the "30,000 foot view" organizational planners are always talking about...but on my personal life. The epiphany struck me with such force, I'd have fallen out of any chair into which I wasn't wedged like a sardine in a can (thank you, Delta, for saving me from that fate).

Here's what I suddenly realized:  that was the first time in my life I've intentionally and mindfully ended a romantic relationship. I think it's the first time I was fully an adult during and through the end of a romance.

Even now, as I write those words, I am stunned by this reality. I am 60 and 1/2 years old and this is the first time in my life I've said no to a romantic relationship from a place of grounded self-awareness of my needs, and a clear-eyed observation of my potential partner's ability to meet those needs. This is the first time I left because I felt I wanted something else and deserved to have it. So what if I didn't do it perfectly! (No offense/insult intended to the other party.) But, really, if I flubbed the details a bit this first time, I think I can stop feeling bad about that. I should be throwing myself a party, celebrating with loved ones this amazing victory of personal growth!

Freedom: A Glorious Madness

The universe has been bringing me opportunities to think about freedom. Oddly, it started with me catching a piece of a Big Bang Theory re-run. Will Wheaton asks Sheldon Cooper, "You don't like me, do you, Sheldon?" Sheldon replies haughtily and proudly that he owns Ihatewillwheaton.com, .org, and .net, and asks Will, in an aggressive tone, "What do you think of that?" Will's reply is brilliant. He says, "I think I'm living rent-free, right here," as he taps Sheldon's forehead.

That reminder that I give rent-free space to everyone about whom I spend time brooding brought with it the sobering notion that I'm not free. As long as I maintain space in my head for unhappy thoughts about people who have attacked and tried to hurt me, who disrespected me, who violated me or my "stuff" (some of them, many years ago), I am not free. When I let my life be taken over by thoughts and feelings about how I've been wronged, hurt, used, or disregarded, I'm chained for life to the job of "Building Super" in my History Hotel. I'm stuck in a no-pay lifetime commitment, maintaining property for every person I think has wronged or hurt me. They wander the halls of my mind in their pajamas, stepping on the popcorn they've dropped. I trail along behind them with my vacuum, grumbling and sucking up their mess.