Too Good Not To Share

re-spon-si-ble

having an obligation to do something, or care for someone, as part of one's job or role

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Especially during COVID, staying connected matters more than ever. Thanks to technology we can still meet, gather, collaborate, celebrate, learn, remember, worship, and share a meal or bottle of wine together. We can work with a therapist, doctor, coach, personal trainer, or spiritual director, all from the comfort of our home office, closet, car, or tree fort.

As good as all that connecting is, sometimes it’s just too much.

Our devices ring and ding and vibrate, alerting us that someone somewhere is reaching our way, and we, or at least I, feel responsible to answer right there and then. It’s as if not picking up the phone, responding to the text, joining the video call, or answering the email immediately communicates that I don’t care. That that person isn’t a priority, and as someone who values connection and relationships above all else, I never want to convey that. Ever. And yet I have this fear that I do.

This was the quandary I brought to a monthly video conversation with my spiritual director. One of his many gifts is his practice of parsing words. He will take a word apart, maybe switch a letter of two, all in the service of looking at it in a new and more helpful way. In this case, rather than feel responsible to answer the phone or respond to the text, decide if, in that moment, I am response-able to do so.

Do I have the emotional capacity, at the time, to respond with the best of myself? Is my tank, at the time, empty, full, or somewhere in between? Do I have what it takes, at the time, to be fully present? In that moment, am I responsible or response-able to answer? It isn’t about not responding. It’s about responding well.

Some things are simply too good not to share.

(Once again, a grateful shout out to Dane Anthony.)

Photo by Wendy Wei from Pexels

With, At, or For?

Last week I made a stop at Target before heading back up the Columbia River Gorge and home. I needed a few groceries, a couple of bottles of wine, paper towels, and for good measure and an alert drive home, a Nitro-Brew With Sweet Cream from the Starbucks on my way out.

They didn’t have any of the groceries I needed, the wine selection was subpar at best, so I consoled myself as I checked out with my paper towels that at least I’d be able to enjoy my caffeinated beverage of choice on the drive home. Except they didn’t serve Nitro-brew at that Starbucks. I might have given the barista a dirty look.

Leaving the parking lot, my Irish-throated Siri told me to turn left, but I was pretty sure he’d gotten his directions mixed up, so I told him in no uncertain terms to shut up. Turning right onto the road I reached into my jeans pocket to grab my Visa card (since I no longer carry a handbag into stores thanks to COVID) and put it back into my wallet. Except it wasn’t there. At the next stop light I frantically checked all of my pockets, the floor of the car, my wallet in case I’d forgotten that I’d already put it away, since forgetting things seems to be my latest new skill.

I thought I was going to explode.

Our credit card was compromised a couple of weeks ago and I’d just spent the better part of a day linking the replacement card to all of the necessary merchants and auto-pay accounts, and the thought of having to do it again was enough to do me in. I screamed at the top of my lungs, pulled a u-turn, yelled at every stop light between me and the Target parking lot, and prayed—well more like yelled at God as if it were Her fault—that by some miracle could I please f-ing find my card on the pavement where I’d parked. Which I didn’t.

Stomping back into Target I had to turn around because I’d forgotten my mask. I stomped back to the car, masked up (I’m a believer) and stomped back inside. Where, in short order, my credit card, which had been turned in by a kindly stranger, was safely in my possession. My little tantrum paid off, it just wore me out.

These days I can get so mad so fast that it makes my head spin. Like a Tesla, I can go from 0-60 in 2.3 seconds, and I never know what is going to set me off. If there were Anger Management Cops handing out tickets, I could wallpaper a room with them.

I’m not the only one either. Almost everyone I know is talking about it too. There are plenty of reasons to be majorly pissed off right now, and it can feel really good to be angry with someone or about something. But it’s exhausting too. Every eruption lets off just enough steam to keep going. Until the next outburst.

In the last conversation with my spiritual director, I told him about all of this anger that seems to come out of nowhere and spill out everywhere. As is his way, he let some silence sit between us before asking “I wonder, Molly, what you are angry for?”

What?

Not angry with.

Not angry at.

Angry for.

And just like that I knew what I was angry for, and what I could do about it.

Anger for is a different kind of animal than that which is with or at.

Anger for doesn’t erupt at, but energizes towards. It motivates us to fight for what we want, not against what we don’t. Rather than explode and cause harm, it exposes what is calling for our help. Anger for shines a light on what is missing, which is the first breadcrumb on the path to finding it.

Anger can get a bad rap. We’re taught to push it down, hold it in, or lock it up. Until we can’t. Which is when we get wrapped around the anger axle and take it out in all the wrong ways for all the wrong reasons.

What are you angry for?

Whatever it is, it’s worth fighting for.

On The Road Again

The early weeks in a new year are often a time of introspection and reflection as we allow the dust of the previous year to settle, and our vision and roadmap for the new one to begin to emerge.

It is time well spent.

On one condition.

Insight is cheap unless we take action on what we’ve discovered during the days of turning our gaze inward. That deeper understanding of who we are and what we care about is meant to energize our lives out in the world. It doesn’t even matter if we don’t yet have a crystal clear vision for the road ahead. It is time to start taking action, trusting that we’ll gain the clarity we need through the process of moving forward.

Do you remember those toy cars that had an internal mechanism called a pullback motor? The more you pulled the car backwards, the more the energy built up until when you released the car, it shot forward.

We are seven weeks into this new year. It’s time to stop pulling our cars backward, let them go, and hang on for the ride.

(With gratitude to Dane Anthony for reminding me about these tiny cars)

Photo: PRR on pexels.com

Old Friends

It is fair to say that I am comfortable with melancholy. She is an old friend who has been with me for as long as I can remember. There have been chapters in my life where hers was a constant presence, in others she lingered in the shadows, but she is never too far away. I am so at ease with her that before I know it, I’ve welcomed her in, and allowed her to make herself way too comfortable. Sitting with her for too long, I forget that there is work to be done. The good and hard work of crafting a meaningful life, and becoming the person I am here to be.

In a recent and rich conversation with my spiritual director, Dane, we talked quite a bit about my longtime relationship with my old friend Mel. Today I was looking over my notes from that conversation and found these words:

Melancholy—

I know it.

I’m comfortable with it.

We are old friends.

For today, I will build you a fire and you can rest. I on the other hand, have work to do, and I don’t need your help.

You may not have a long and abiding friendship with melancholy, but my guess is that you might have some version of my story. Are there any old friends for whom you can build a fire and let them rest? Remember, we’ve got work to do.

(As always, with gratitude to you DA)

Photo by Jenna Hamra from Pexels

Everything

“We do not think ourselves into new ways of living.

We live ourselves into new ways of thinking.”

― Richard Rohr

Our lives are made up of so many bits and pieces that it is easy to lose sight of the wholeness of it all. Not the perfection of it all, but the wholeness that is our life. Like a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle, each little piece contains a small fragment of the image that when put together will make the whole picture.

We, or at least I, get sidetracked by the small bits, forgetting that they are necessary to the whole. And in forgetting that they are necessary to the whole I let myself get swept up in frustration at what I’m not getting to, seeing things as interruptions to my day rather than integral to my day.

I forget that it all matters. I forget that the task at hand, the person on the other end of the phone, and the unexpected occurrence are all parts of the larger picture. They are all opportunities to show up fully and bring the best of myself to what, in that moment, is mine to do.

I forget that every emotion matters. I forget that there is as much to learn from the visitation of the hard emotions, the dark and painful ones, as there is from the gentle, shimmering, and delightful ones. That every one that comes knocking at my door has, as Rumi writes in The Guesthouse, been sent as a guide from beyond.

I forget that as Franciscan priest, author, and spiritual teacher Richard Rohr believes, everything belongs. Think about that for a moment. Everything belongs. Everything belongs. Everything belongs.

Everything.

What if we began to see everything that shows up at our doorstep as an invitation to become more of who we are meant to be?

What if we began to actually live into the truth that everything belongs.

It might just change everything.

Photo: pexels.com

With gratitude to Dane Anthony

A Question Worth Answering

Today in another rich conversation with my spiritual director, the topic of things I want to make happen, work I want to step into, but haven’t, came up. Again.

After a thoughtful pause, he quietly posed a question. What has kept you from stepping into it up until now? Now that is a question worth answering.

What is something you have really wanted to do? But haven’t.

What is something you have really wanted to make happen? But haven’t?

What is something you have really wanted to bring to life? But haven’t?

What is something you have really wanted to accomplish? But haven’t?

What has kept you from stepping into it up until now?

Now that is a question worth answering.

For all of us.

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In Need of a Dock

There are days when I am so in need of grace that I can hardly catch my breath. When it seems that try as I might, I am unable to find an inner dock on which to drag myself out of the murky waters in which I am drowning.

As you might suspect, today is one of those days.

Our family arrives tomorrow for our annual Father’s Day Glenwood Rodeo Weekend Gathering, which I love.  It is way too hot, which I hate. Projects are running behind, which should be expected, but somehow have caught me by surprise. Again. Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle picked now to have intestinal issues, which should evoke my compassion, the operative word being ‘should'.

I could continue, but you probably get the gist.

Searching madly for something to grab onto an hour ago, I remembered a poem by Carrie Newcomer that my spiritual director, Dane, shared with me after our last session together. I had every good intention of reading it the day he sent it to me, and, as we all know, the road-to-you-know-where is paved with good intentions.

Drinking in the words, I found a grace soaked dock on which to rest, and there is no doubt that the timing of finding it was heaven sent. If you are in need of a dock on which to rest, feel free to join me there, and we can sit with not knowing together.

I’m Learning to Sit With Not Knowing

Carrie Newcomer

I am learning to sit with not knowing.

Even when my restless mind begins jumping

from a worried

“what next”, 

to a frightened

“what if”, 

to a hard edged and impatient, 

“why aren’t you already there?”

I’m learning to sit and listen

to pat myself on the knee,

lay my hand on my heart,

take another deep breath, 

laugh at myself,

befriend my mistakes,

especially the ones,

that showed me how,

I most needed to change.

I’m learning to sit with whatever comes

even though I’m a planner,

because so much of this life

can’t be measured or predicted

or evenly portioned.

Because wonder and suffering visit

when we least expect 

and rarely in equal measure.

I’m learning to sit with what

I might never know

might never learn

might never heal

with what might waltz in and surprise me

might nudge me into the risky business of growing

might crash into my days

with unspeakable sorrow

or uncontainable delight.

I’m learning to sit 

with not knowing.

Photo by Yiğit Yıldırım from Pexels

With deep gratitude yet again, for Dane Anthony for walking with me on my spiritual trail, for my one and only sister Margie for never leaving my side, for my niece Katie for always bringing a spirit of peace to the adventure, for Harper Joy for bringing us joy, for my geologist Tom for caring that I care not only about how things function but also for how they look, and for my hermano-in-law Bobby for always showing up no matter what.

It's You Again

Things reappear in our lives for a reason, and if we are paying attention we’ll recognize them because of their familiarity. Our awareness that whatever “it” is has shown up again, has a sense of déjà vu to it. A feeling that we’ve been here before, and hoped that we wouldn’t have to be here again. But here again we are.

What to do with what has once again arrived at our doorstep? Will we turn out the lights, hide behind the door, and pretend no one is at home? Or, will we crack the door open, invite it in to sit awhile, and listen to what it has to say? One choice leads us away from, and the other deeper into, the authentic and wholehearted life that is ours to live.

When the detritus of my life shows up once more, my first response usually includes some form of profanity, and then discouragement that I have to deal with whatever it is. Again.

Apparently there is more to discover, or it wouldn’t be here again.

There’s some unfinished business to attend to, or it wouldn’t be here again.

There’s an issue to be resolved, or it wouldn’t be here again.

More healing of a still open wound, more truth to be told, more forgiveness to be sought or extended, more stripping away of my ego, or more fears to face. Whether it is any or all of the above, there’s more work to do, or it wouldn’t be here again.

Swearing at it and wishing it would go away doesn’t seem like a skillful way to proceed. Looking it squarely in the eye and greeting it does.

Oh. It’s you again. Come on in and let’s talk. I’m all ears.

We all have some form of “it”, and what goes around will keep coming around until it has had its way with us. The next time it shows up, let’s look it squarely in the eye, and greet it.

Oh. It’s you again. Come on in and let’s talk. I’m all ears.

With gratitude once again for my spiritual director, Dane Anthony, who continues to gently invite me to practice welcoming that which shows up at my door.

Tonglen

This morning in a rich and grace-filled conversation, I was reminded of a Buddhist spiritual practice that I’d learned about years ago, but have long since left behind. It is known as Tonglen, sometimes referred to as “taking and sending” or “bad in, good out”, and it is as simple as it sounds. For example, I might practice Tonglen for someone I know who is in pain or suffering a great loss, by bringing them to mind and taking in their pain and suffering with my in-breath, and with them still in mind, sending them relief when breathing out.

While simple it may be, it is anything but easy, as it means a willingness to take on the burdens of others by taking them into our very being, and as Pema Chodren explains in the link above, encountering the pain and suffering of others brings us face-to-face with our own. And who wants that, I ask you? But here’s the thing, in practicing it for others we can practice it for ourselves, as we inhale our own pain, and exhale relief back to our own hearts. With time, Tonglen helps us to connect our own pain with that of others, and to see that we are all in this rich and painful thing called life together. None are exempt, and as we sit in that connection we develop more capacity to extend compassion, love, and empathy, not only to others, but to ourselves.

In…pain.

Out…relief

In…suffering

Out…release

In…burden

Out…ease

In…imprisonment

Out…freedom

In…shame

Out…grace

In…fear

Out…courage

In…exhaustion

Out…rest

In…anxiety

Out…peace

In…judgement

Out…acceptance

In…hate

Out…love

In this same conversation I was also reminded that there are times when Tonglen will just be too much for us. Times when taking on any more is simply more than we can bear, and in those moments all we can do is simply breathe.

In…

Out…

In…

Out…

In…

Out…

Written with deep gratitude for my spiritual director, Dane Anthony, founder of SoulPrint