Traveling Mercies

" What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult for each other?"

- George Elliot

Whenever anyone in our family heads out on a trip, we send one another on their way with a prayer for "Traveling Mercies". A hope for encounters with the kindness of strangers as we encounter the inevitable bumps on our way from here to there. I love the term, and first heard it when I read Ann Lamott's gem, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith.  

 Whether traveling by planes, trains, or automobiles, getting where we're going is an exercise in grace, as we find ourselves at the mercy of almost everything. The weather. The traffic. The TSA. Overbooked flights. Underwhelming airplane meals. You name it. We're at its mercy.

And, we are at the mercy of one another. 

Years ago I was traveling for work. On an airplane bound for the other coast, we began to experience bumpy air. It wasn't too bad at first, and while not a phobic flyer, I'm not a huge fan of turbulence of any sort. The captain came on, ordered the flight attendants to return to their seats (never a good sign), and advised us that we were in for a rough ride. As I was white knuckling it in my seat, I heard someone crying across the aisle. Unclenching my eyes I looked over to find a young woman about the age of my own daughters. She was shaking uncontrollably, and for the briefest of moments, her fear helped me forget my own. Defying the captain's orders, and my own good sense, I unbuckled my seat belt and lurched across the aisle into the open center seat next to her. I pried her fingers off of her arm-wrest and laced them together with my own.  I didn't try and talk her out of her fear. A fat lot of good that does anyway in case you're so inclined. I didn't try and talk some reason into her by reminding her that planes are built to withstand almost anything that comes their way. An even fatter lot of good that does. And I didn't tell her it was all going to be OK, since I was pretty sure we were headed for a fiery death myself. We just clung to one another for dear life, and the tighter we held on to each other, the more the vicegrip of fear loosened its hold. 20 minutes later I was back in my seat. We didn't exchange names and phone numbers, didn't chatter about our lives back home. We just tried our best to sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of the flight. I got off the plane grateful for a fellow traveler who helped me weather my storm, by letting me help her weather hers.

I think about that experience every time I get on a plane. 

We are all just trying to make our way from here to there, hopefully, as best we can.

Traveling mercies my friends. 

Traveling mercies.

Photo by Tom Pierson

Travel Lightly

"Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way."

~ Viktor Frankl

My husband and I are getting ready to head Across the Pond for a long planned and highly anticipated trip to Denmark and Germany. In Denmark, we will be revisiting an earlier chapter of my husband Tom's life, where he spent his senior year in high school as an exchange student. Along with sleeping in the same house that was, and still is, the country home of his host family, he will have a chance to re-kindle his fluency in Danish, renew old friendships, and eat his weight in pickled herring. I'm looking forward to all of the above. I love to crawl into any bed with him, he's especially sexy when he speaks Danish, (which is crazy, because to my ear, it mostly sounds like he is clearing his throat), and the only reason I eat the herring is to follow it with the customary shot  of Aalborg Aquavit, a 90-proof, caraway flavored distilled spirit. 

The trip to Germany,  however, will have a different flavor to it, as one of our main reasons for going there is to spend time at Dachau. One year in college I took a J-Term course called The Holocaust in Jewish Literature. For a month we steeped ourselves in  Viktor Frankl and Elie Wiesel. We read Ann Frank's Diary of a Young Girl  and The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom. Ever since then, I've had a deep need to stand in the midst of one of the darkest periods in recent history. 

Our time in each country will be, in a sense, historical pilgrimages. One a chance to savor a rich time in the life of the man that I love. The other, a choice to swallow the bitter taste of death and the kind of destruction that can result when evil and fear-mongering hatred are let loose in the world. 

Both experiences feel important and laden with meaning. And they are.

Both experiences feel weighty. And they are.

To that end, I've thought long and hard about how to make the most out of this trip. 

So it was fascinating when two trusted friends, independent of one another, suggested that I "travel lightly". 

How does one travel lightly, even when visiting Dachau?

I'm not sure.

But I think it has to do with leaving behind expectations and preconceived ideas, and making room for wonder and surprise no matter where we are.

Shutterstock Image 393313726

Commonalities

But, we have always had so much more in common with each other than in disagreement.

~ Senator John McCain

Throughout my career, a large percentage of my work has been facilitating learning in the workplace. The format is often a one-day workshop, and classes are filled with individuals who may not know one another well, if at all, and the desire to be there falls anywhere on the spectrum from enthusiastic and eager, to detached and disinterested. Much of the potential learning comes from the wisdom in the room, and the willingness of the people in that room to engage in conversation with one another. Therefore, one of my most important responsibilities is to get people talking to one another as soon as possible.

One of my favorite tools to accomplish this is an exercise called *Commonalities.

It goes like this. 

I divide participants  into small groups of 4-5, and instruct them to find something that they all have in common. Easy, right? But then I give them the caveat. It has to be something that is really interesting. For example, if everyone had a childhood hobby, that might be sweet. But it's not particularily interesting. However, if they all raised and raced pigeons (like my husband)? Well now that's pretty darn interesting. The pigeon racers would have so much to talk about. What distance did their pigeons race? (Anywhere from 75-600 miles) They could share their best pigeon soothing techniques, and take turns imitating pigeon coos. 

I give the groups work 10 minutes to see if they can find something in common, and for the first few minutes it's apparent that no one knows where to start. There is a lot of uncomfortable silence and awkward shifting in their seats. Eventually, someone in each group dares to go first, and the room begins to change. Standing back, I can actually feel the energy begin to shift. Conversations become animated. Laughter erupts. People actually lean in towards one another. Often times groups can find something that a few of the people have in common, but not everybody. At this point I try to let them go a little longer as it has become obvious that they want to find that something that they all have in common. The wisdom in the room begins to kick in as they sense that if they just dig a little deeper, they will find it. And they almost always do. People have discovered commonalities in experiences ranging from spending a night lost in the wilderness to spending a night in jail. Others have found a shared passion for line dancing, while  others have a mutual fear of small things in large numbers. Some find that they are all children of college professors, while still others uncover the fact that they are each the first in their families to graduate from college. Regardless of what they find, whatever it is creates a thread of connection that they didn't know they had when they came into the room. With these new connections, all of which are grounded in common experience, the participants learn with one another, and from one another.  

Inside of the classroom or out in the world, we are at our best when we can learn with one another, and learn from one another. In a time of increased polarization, finding commonalities in the midst of our differences has never been more important. We are all story tellers at heart, and we see ourselves in one another's stories.

Dare to go first.

Tell your story.

Lean in towards one another. 

Who knows? Maybe you will find something really interesting that you have in common with one another. Like a group in one of my classes where every one had pulled the head off of, and plucked a chicken. Go figure.

* Thank you Joel Sinclair for sharing Commonalities with me. It is a tool that sheds light on that which connects us to one another.

Phone-a-Friend

 

"Winter, spring, summer or fall

All you have to do is call

And I'll be there, yes, I will

You've got a friend."

~Carol King

Years ago my best friend and I developed a strategy to keep in touch. We were both raising young families, and living a four hour drive away from one another the phone (the kind that hangs on the wall) was our best option. It was back in the day of long distance charges, and both being a little short on spare change, we came up with a plan. We called it Ring-Once-And- Hang-Up, and it worked just like it sounds. Whenever either one of us needed some support, were having a rough day, were having an especially good day, or just plain missed one another, we would call the other person and then hang up after one ring. Whether our phones rang off the hook, one ring at a time of course, or didn't ring at all on a particular day, that plan was a lifesaver. On the days we never called, just knowing we could kept us going. On the days that we did, in the silence following that one ring we could hear one another's voice, feel one another's love, and be reminded that despite the distance, we were not alone. 

In the game show Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, contestants are given three lifelines, one of which is called Phone-a-Friend. Contestants can use this option to call a friend or relative to get their input on the correct answer to the question before them. Contestants usually try and reserve their lifelines for later use, since the stakes go up as the game goes on.

That sounds a lot like life to me. When we're faced with the inevitable dilemmas, not sure which path to choose, uncertain which option best connects who we are with how we want to live, the good input of a good friend is always a good idea. Today alone I've used my Phone-a-Friend lifeline several times, connecting with friends and family to get input on the right answers to the questions before me. And I've had several people use their lifeline to call me.

In the game of life, the friends who are our lifelines are some of our most valuable lines of defense. When the stakes are high, it's good to have a friend to phone. Even if we only ring once and hang up.

Written with gratitude for those on the other end of my phone line.

Morning Glory

"Morgenstund hat Gold im Mund".

German proverb

Apparently, last night I inadvertently changed the setting on my alarm. After it went off this morning, I was up with coffee water heating and bed made before I realized that it was only 4:30. By that time I was too awake to go back to bed, and my French press coffee had steeped the required four minutes and was ready to press and pour. By 4:35 I was out on the front porch in the pre-dawn darkness with my steaming cup of coffee. In the kind of quiet that only comes before the sun makes her appearance, I remembered the treasures of the early morning hours. I'm a morning girl. Always have been. There is, for me, something good that happens as a new day breaks.

In the movie adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Two Towers, as hope fades for those who have been fighting in the Battle of Helm's Deep, Gandalf sets out to find and bring back reinforcements. Reinforcements that will be necessary if the fight for Middle Earth is to be won. As he leaves, Gandalf famously tells Aaragorn, "Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east."

Lately, I've gotten a little lazy about being up in time to pan for the morning gold. A little later to bed, a little bit more email, a little social media check-in, a little more Netflix, a little more mindless wanderings, all of which makes it a little easier to sleep a little longer. Without time to mine for the gold hidden in the silence, stillness, solitude and spaciousness of the morning, it is a little harder to be the better me that I seek to be.

There are reinforcements that arrive, like clockwork, every morning. But if I miss the hour, I miss what that hour has to offer. 

The morning has gold in its mouth.

Is This Mine To Do?

When we are in relationship with other people, it can be tempting to protect them from the work that is theirs to do. Rather than allow them to come face to face with themselves, we step between them and their "stuff". Doing this can certainly stem from our well intentioned desire to lessen their pain, fear, and discomfort. But it can also come from our desire to protect ourselves from the possibility that they won't choose to show up and do what it takes. Either way, we are getting in their way. 

It isn't that we have to go it alone. Part of being in relationship is a willingness to bear witness to, and be present for one another in the midst of the messy business of becoming who we want to be.

Others can't do my work for me, and I can't do theirs. But sometimes our solitary work is best done together. 

Remembering Our Affection For One Another

"But, we have always had so much more in common with each other than in disagreement."

Senator John McCain

Recently, during a conversation about our deeply divided country, and the concern we share for its future, a friend said something I haven't been able to forget: 

"We need to remember our affection for one another."

Those words resonated deeply, and they continue to reverberate in my heart like an echo off of the walls of a deep canyon. They ring as words of a distant truth that we once knew, but are in danger of forgetting.

"We need to remember our affection for one another."

As citizens, it seems we are increasingly choosing to stand on opposite sides of a deep canyon, shouting across the widening chasm at one another. I wonder, if we stopped shouting, and bent our ears to the canyon edge, might we hear the distant echos of our shared affection for one another? 

"We need to remember our affection for one another."

While I never voted for him, and I often disagreed with his perspectives, I've always felt a deep respect for Senator John McCain. I felt a kinship with him as a fellow American, and I am saddened that his fierce spirt has left the earth. But I imagine if I were to bend my ear close to the edge of the canyon, I would hear his words ringing back...

"My fellow Americans, we need to remember our affection for one another."

I offer this post in honor of and in gratitude for Senator John McCain, and am humbled and inspired by his final words below. 

A final statement from Sen. John McCain, who died Saturday at 81, read by his spokesman Rick Davis:

"My fellow Americans, whom I have gratefully served for 60 years, and especially my fellow Arizonians, thank you for the privilege of serving you and for the rewarding life that service in uniform and in public office has allowed me to lead. I've tried to serve our country honorably. I've made mistakes, but I hope my love for America will be weighed favorably against them. I've often observed that I am the luckiest person on Earth. I feel that way even now as I prepare for the end of my life. I've loved my life, all of it. 

I've had experiences, adventures, friendships enough for ten satisfying lives and I am so thankful. Like most people, I have regrets but I would not trade a day of my life in good or bad times for the best day of anybody else's. I owe the satisfaction to the love of my family. One man has never had a more loving wife or children he was prouder of than I am of mine. And I owe it to America to be connected with America's causes, liberty, equal justice, respect for the dignity of all people brings happiness more sublime that life's fleeting pleasures. Our identities and sense of worth are not circumscribed but are enlarged by serving good causes bigger than ourselves. 

Fellow Americans, that association has meant more to me than any other. I lived and died a proud American. We are citizens of the world's greatest republic. A nation of ideals, not blood and soil. We are blessed and a blessing to humanity when we uphold and advance those ideals at home and in the world. We have helped liberate more people from tyranny and poverty than ever before in history. We have acquired great wealth and power in the progress. We weaken our greatness when we confuse our patriotism with rivalries that have sown resentment and hatred and violence in all the corners of the globe. We weaken it when we hide behind walls rather than tear them down, when we doubt the power of our ideals rather than trust them to be the great force for change they have always been. We are 325 million opinionated, vociferous individuals. We argue and compete and sometimes even vilify each other in our raucous public debates. 

But, we have always had so much more in common with each other than in disagreement. If only we remember that and give each other the benefit of the presumption that we all love our country, we'll get through these challenging times. We will come through them stronger than before. We always do. Ten years ago, I had the privilege to concede defeat in the election for president. I want to end my farewell to you with heartfelt faith in Americans that I felt so powerfully that evening. I feel it powerfully still. Do not despair of our present difficulties, we believe always in the promise and greatness of America because nothing is inevitable here. Americans never quit, we never surrender, we never hide from history, we make history. Farewell fellow Americans. God bless you and god bless America." 

POLITICO

"We need to remember our affection for one another."

High Anxiety

“If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. If it's not fixable, then there is no help in worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.”

 Dali Lama XIV

Recently some good friends moved away. They had taken jobs two states away and were in the process of wrapping up life here, and unwrapping it there. This is a good move for them, and they are excited about what lies ahead. As we were visiting one morning, it was clear that while they felt good about the move, they were also anxious about how the whole picture was going to come together. That concern was making it hard to make progress on the list of tasks yet to be accomplished. 

"What is causing you the most anxiety and stress right now?" I asked.

They didn't skip a beat. 

"Where we are going to live."  

Anxiety about that particular piece of their relocation puzzle was making it hard to keep track of all the other things that needed to happen. If that piece could fall into place, the rest of the pieces would probably follow suit. It did, and, they did. 

If you're like me, you probably prefer not to think about whatever is causing you distress.  But no matter how hard we try and push it down, it is still there. Like an app that runs in the background on our devices, it drains the life of our battery. The sooner we address the source of our worry, the more energy we will have for the life in front of us. Worry often doesn't seem to have rhyme or reason. Avoiding a small thing can make it almost impossible to take on a big thing. A big thing left undone can get in the way of little things that could easily be accomplished. Important things left unaddressed, can make it hard to tackle the more mundane but necessary things. Whatever the reason, worry can wreak havoc on our days.

If you took care of the source of your worry, what other pieces of your puzzle would fall into place?

Grab a pen.

"What is causing you the most anxiety right now?"

Hi Anxiety.

How  may I help you?

Happy Anniversary

"The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark. ”
- Michelangelo

One night in 1993 I was making a fire. It was a Friday, which in our house meant pizza and a movie in front of a fire. Crumpling up some pages from the Willamette Week, the hip, professional paper in Portland, Oregon, two words in bold print caught my eye: Romantic Scientist. Now there's an oxymoron for you. Pre e-harmony, Tinder, and It's Just Lunch, the paper was known for its personals ads. The truth was, I wan't looking for love. I was just building a fire. Five years out of a destructive marriage, I was 40 years old with two young daughters, a good job, and a nice little home in a lovely neighborhood with good schools. Life. Was. Good. But there was something about that ad that intrigued me. Whoever wrote it sounded like someone I'd like to meet. I took a deep breath and what felt like a big risk, and answered the ad. Wrote a letter, stuck it in an envelope along with a photo of the three of us, and drove it to the post office so as not to talk myself out of it in the morning. A few weeks later we had our first date, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Today marks the 24th year of being married to my romantic scientist, and I offer this post in gratitude for every one of those years. For the love we share, and for the magical partnership we've created in our years together. I have to say, it honestly feels like a match made in heaven, even though we've had to work harder than hell to get here.

We couldn't be more different. I'm an introvert. He's not. He's good at math. I'm not. I care about form. He's all about function. I'm an external processor. He's not. He loves world travel. Nothing makes me happier than being at home. He's a peacemaker. I'm a disturber of the peace. His love languages are touch and quality time together, which means he loves it when I hang out with him, and reach out and touch...his hands, his face, his arm, his... well, you get the picture.  Mine are words of affirmation, and space and autonomy, which means please tell me I'm beautiful, and then just go away. I'm messy. He's a bit more buttoned up. I talk about myself too much. He should speak up for himself more. He struggles to find words for his feelings. I have more than enough for both of us.

Our first marriages taught us what we didn't want, and when we got together we tried our best to learn what we did. While we both understood that it would require us to "show up  and do the work", we had no idea what that meant. Early on I came up with what I thought was a great analogy. It would be like the two of us going to the doctor's office for an exam. We would both need to strip naked, get up on the exam table under those god-awful lights, and be willing to examine every lump, bump, spot, and imperfection. We'd be willing to bare it all. He nodded in that peacemaking way that makes me think he's totally onboard, when really he's just trying not to rock the boat.

Early on, so many differences didn't  make for smooth sailing. Somewhere about year eight, an especially big storm hit, and we were heading for some rocks. While neither of us wanted another boat, we needed to learn how to steer the one we were in. Sitting over coffee I told him that the marriage we had wasn't the one I wanted, and tried my best to explain what I meant by that and why. There were tears (mine), a boatload of emotions (mine), and a lot of silence (his). Reaching the end of my explanation rope I said, "I feel like I'm up on the exam table, naked as a jaybird, and you are sitting in the chair with all your clothes on, taking notes on a clip board. Get naked and get up here with me. Now!!" And he did.

24 years later, here is what I know about navigating our marriage waters: It's taken lots of hours in a therapist's office, and putting into practice what we learned there. We've discovered how to tend to the pain sooner rather than later, allowing our wounds to heal into scars. And in that knitting back together, that which connects us is stronger than before. Because our love is fierce, we fight for it mightily. Because we've had to learn that it is fragile, we tend to it gently. We've learned that the truth is what sets us free, and that living together means giving each other room to roam. We've learned to wire together our differences so that the lines of communication stay open. With endless opportunities to practice, we continue to master the art of forgiveness, both the asking for and the extending of. We work to be long on grace and short on judgment. We've come to have faith in one another's strengths when faced with our own weaknesses. He has taught me to "love by listening", and I've helped him learn to find words for his feelings. 

We still have to get naked under those god-awful lights and climb up on the exam table. But I know I'll never find myself up there alone.

Happy Anniversary.

ATG Photography

Laying On The Horn

Earlier today I was driving a car that belongs to someone near and dear to me. It looks good, is comfortable to drive, and seems to be in good working order. Up ahead there were some cows walking along side the road. I put my hand over the center of the steering wheel in case I needed to lay on the horn to keep them from jumping out in front of the car. They paid no attention as I passed by, so just for fun, I honked the horn. Except the horn didn't honk. I pushed down a few more times, and tried different spots to see if I could get a beep. Nothing but the sound of silence. 

My guess is that the owners don't even know it isn't working. A car horn is only there in case we need it. But if we haven't needed it for a while, we'll probably assume it is in good working order. We've got things to do, people to see, and nary a cow in sight. We won't notice that it isn't working until it's too late.

We all have our blind spots and can't always see when danger is headed our way. That's why we need each other. 

As the saying goes, if you see something, say something.

Honk Honk