Hitting The Reset Button

“It’s never too late to be what you might have been.”

~ George Elliot

After a year of slow recovery and rehabbing from an injury, and taking my eye off the nutrition ball a little too much, it is time to reclaim the good habits that I’ve come to know support the kind of health, wellness, energy, and body I need for the life I want to live.

Today I hit the reset button.

Today I started the Whole30.

According to the founders, it is a “short-term nutrition reset, designed to help you put an end to unhealthy cravings and habits, restore a healthy metabolism, heal your digestive tract, and balance your immune system.”

In a nutshell, it means eliminating sugar of any kind, alcohol, grains, legumes, dairy, and all additives. I can, however, have coffee, which is the only thing that makes it possible. It may not work for everyone, and I’m not advocating it for anyone else, but it works for me.

Hitting the reset button is always an option, and not just for our health, but for our finances, marriages, friendships, family, education, work, mental, emotional, and spiritual health, not to mention our closets and garages.

If we’re honest with ourselves, we know when we’ve gotten off track, become immobilized, or have lost our way, and the sooner we hit the reset button, the sooner we can get on with living the life we want. The one we are called to live. The one that is authentic and wholehearted. The one that connects how we live with who we are at our core.

It’s never too late to hit the reset button.

Scar Tissue

“I have this thing about being a preacher who reveals things about herself, and it’s that I always try to preach from my scars and not my wounds.”

~ Nadia Bolz-Weber

There isn’t one of us who hasn’t been physically wounded. Thankfully, our bodies are designed to heal.

There isn’t one of us who hasn’t been emotionally wounded. Thankfully, our hearts are designed to heal too.

Healing of any sort however, requires time, attention, and sometimes professional help, but if healing is what we want, we have to do what it takes. When we ignore the injury, it can fester, infecting other tissue, or, other people, and everything is fair game. Our work, our interactions with everyone from loved ones to complete strangers, our mindset, outlook on the world, and opportunities, our finances, our pets, and our physical, emotional, and spiritual health. It may take energy to heal, but it is nothing compared to the energy required to ignore the pain and try to keep it under wraps. Trust me on this one.

Reflecting on Nadia Bolz-Weber’s words above I am convinced that every one of us can switch out the word ‘pastor’ for any word that applies to us, our work in the world, and our relationships with others. For me, it might look like this… “I have this thing about being a - wife, mother, grandmother, friend, sister, coach, writer, speaker, facilitator - who reveals things about herself, and it’s that I always try to - love, communicate, support, relate, speak, write, lead - from my scars and not my wounds.”

Recently, I’ve uncovered a wound that is calling for my attention, and as a new year approaches, I am determined to do the work it will take to transform that wound into a scar. It will take time and attention, but since healing is what I want, I will do what it takes.

In the words of Richard Rohr, If we do not transform our pain, we will most assuredly transmit it."

Broken Records

Sometimes I know that I sound like a broken record, but then I guess there are some things that are worth repeating. My dad was a broken record.

Remember who you are and what you stand for.

If I heard that once, I heard it several thousand times. And so did everyone else who knew and loved him, and some who didn’t know him and if they did, they probably wouldn’t have loved him. I got tired of hearing it, and there were times I wanted to throw the nearest sharp object at him for saying it. But you know what? It stuck, and those words spoken to me, over me, and around me, have gone a long way toward helping me to become a better version of myself. There are things for which I’ve thrown my dad under the bus, but these words are not one of them. I will alway be on board the bus with him on this one. 

Recently I’ve begun to hear my own broken record. Like my dad’s words, mine are short, not-so-sweet, and to the point.

Do the work.

Simply stated, it means choosing over and over and over again, to do the hard work of becoming your best, most authentic and wholehearted self.

Do the work. 

It means uncovering our wounds (we all have them) and doing what it takes to heal them, and turn them into scars. It means sitting with our pain, anger, grief, and all of the other shadow emotions, and learning from them rather than running from them. It means asking ourselves what we are currently carrying with us that needs to be dealt with and left behind, so as to move into whatever is next with more love, compassion, freedom, and peace. It means admitting when we are wrong, and making amends. It means learning how to apologize and mean it not justify it. It means having the hard conversations and doing the deep listening. Again, and again, and again.

Do the work. 

It means figuring out what makes us tick, and what triggers us. It means taking ownership for everything in our lives. Every. Single. Thing. Not that we are responsible for everything that has happened to us, or for the wrongs committed to us by others, but that we are responsible for what we do with what we’ve got.  

Do the work.

It means finding the professional help to support our efforts. At the risk of sounding like another broken record, we all need professional help to become our best selves. Every. Single. One. Of. Us. Depending on the circumstances, that might mean a therapist, psychiatrist, coach or spiritual director, or some combination thereof.  

I’ve been heartened recently by examples of those doing their work, and heartbroken by examples of others who are not. When we do the work every one around us benefits, and when we don’t, everyone around us pays. Which is why, later today, I am grateful to be meeting with my spiritual director. I know I’m better when I do, and it’s better for everyone around me too. 

Some things are worth repeating. 

Let’s do the work. 

Prop The Door Open

“To realize one’s destiny is a person’s only obligation.”

~ from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

This morning as I was working out in the little gym in town, I opened the door to let in the  gorgeous view of the fall colors in the distance, some fresh autumn air, and a little more light. I was facing the door while lifting some weights, when a slight breeze picked up outside, and the door slowly and quietly began to shut. It stopped about two-thirds of the way, leaving only a third of the view, fresh air, and light.

I’d forgotten to prop it open with a rock.

It is safe to say that while I am squarely in the third-third of my life, there is still a lot out there that is mine to do. More words to write, more retreats to lead, more stages from which to speak, more clients to coach, more work on which to collaborate, more adventures with the love of my life, more time with the “littles” in our family, more time with those I love, and, more to discover every step of the way.

In order to make good on what is still mine to do, I have to keep the door to whatever that is open.

So do you.

An open door keeps our vision in front of us, breathes fresh air into our work, and shines light on our steps. But the door won’t stay open of its own accord. We have to prop it open with our rock-solid commitment to pursuing the good work to which we are called, the authentic, whole-hearted lives that we are here to live, and the people whose hearts we are here to love and to touch.

The door to the life that is ours can begin to close, ever so slowly and quietly, if we don’t remember to prop it open with a rock.

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