A line from one of my favorite poems, Love at First Sight by Wislawa Szymborska (which I met through Roger Housden's Ten Poems to Change Your Life) says "Every beginning is, after all, nothing but a sequel / and the book of events is always open in the middle."
The book of events is always open in the middle. I've been thinking about that idea often during the past few months. It's been a change-filled time. Several groups I meet with regularly, including my writers' group, have gone on hiatus because members have dropped out or have been unable to attend. My workplace will begin a large-scale reorganization soon, which will bring many changes. And that's just the beginning.
It helps somewhat to keep an open-in-the-middle picture in my mind. Even when a colleague or friend leaves a group or collaborative effort, it's not The End. It doesn't mean we'll never see each other again or that I'll never feel her/his presence in my life. After all, if we worked together for 10+ years, we're bound to have a lasting influence on each other. And there's always a chance that I'll meet new friends, fellow writers and musicians in the future.
Keeping the book open won't make certain leave-takings or dissolvings less disappointing but it may help us through those arid in-between times when it feels like we're not connected and nothing's happening. It can help us remember that the past will always have valuable
gifts in it, and the future always holds creative possibilities.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Going Inward
While in college I was active in a student group that addressed hunger issues, both in the U.S. and abroad. Several of my fellow members belonged to the Lutheran student congregation on campus. During spring semester of my Freshman year I learned that my Lutheran friends observed something called Lent every year during the 40 days before Easter Sunday.
Having grown up in a denomination whose bare-bones calendar didn't include entire seasons - in fact, anything that seemed even remotely liturgical or "Catholic" was frowned on - the little I knew about Lent, I'd learned in junior high world history class, Medieval Europe unit. No meat, no sweets, no dancing or merrymaking, no fun. The point of all this deprivation was probably lost on the majority of common people in the Middle Ages whose lives were hard enough already without having their few pleasures taken away.
My friend Laurie explained to me that for most people who observe Lent these days, it's not about deprivation; rather, the focus is on going inward and seeing what needs to be given up in order to move forward or grow. For her it was a time of personal reflection, an inner retreat, when she took stock of where her life was going and asked herself if she needed to make any changes in order to get there. It sounded like a sort of spiritual spring cleaning.
Over the years I've used the idea behind Lent to set aside certain times for going inward, starting a new habit or practice, or just taking time away from the crush of involvement in workplace issues, family, community and so forth. One focus I return to over and over is the cultivation of mindfulness, the Zen practice of staying in the moment, being aware of what is happening now, noticing the opportunities that are standing right in front of me, and maintaining a certain detachment from gratuitous drama. Out of all my many experiments with ways to survive (and possibly thrive) at work, the practices of mindfulness and appropriate levels of detachment have been the most helpful by far.
I had a chance to work on this a few days ago, when a customer's rudeness pushed the envelope. For me and a lot of my coworkers, it had been a tough week, and this guy's insults topped it off perfectly. I wasn't in a position to leave the office and blow off steam by walking (or stomping) around the block. After taking a few deep breaths, I reminded myself that while I couldn't choose not to interact with him, I could choose whether to hang on or let go. If I hung on, I'd be making his problem my problem as well. It took a few hours plus some story-swapping with similarly beleaguered coworkers, but eventually I could step back from the incident and see it as just part of a crazy day that everyone shared.
If, like me, you work in a high-volume public service / customer service occupation, you probably have plenty of similar opportunities to practice detachment! Whether you participate in any type of spiritual or religious practice or not, I recommend setting aside a specific time period to shut out distractions and go inward. You may find that when you emerge from this inwardness and move out into the world again, you'll see that world with new eyes.
Having grown up in a denomination whose bare-bones calendar didn't include entire seasons - in fact, anything that seemed even remotely liturgical or "Catholic" was frowned on - the little I knew about Lent, I'd learned in junior high world history class, Medieval Europe unit. No meat, no sweets, no dancing or merrymaking, no fun. The point of all this deprivation was probably lost on the majority of common people in the Middle Ages whose lives were hard enough already without having their few pleasures taken away.
My friend Laurie explained to me that for most people who observe Lent these days, it's not about deprivation; rather, the focus is on going inward and seeing what needs to be given up in order to move forward or grow. For her it was a time of personal reflection, an inner retreat, when she took stock of where her life was going and asked herself if she needed to make any changes in order to get there. It sounded like a sort of spiritual spring cleaning.
Over the years I've used the idea behind Lent to set aside certain times for going inward, starting a new habit or practice, or just taking time away from the crush of involvement in workplace issues, family, community and so forth. One focus I return to over and over is the cultivation of mindfulness, the Zen practice of staying in the moment, being aware of what is happening now, noticing the opportunities that are standing right in front of me, and maintaining a certain detachment from gratuitous drama. Out of all my many experiments with ways to survive (and possibly thrive) at work, the practices of mindfulness and appropriate levels of detachment have been the most helpful by far.
I had a chance to work on this a few days ago, when a customer's rudeness pushed the envelope. For me and a lot of my coworkers, it had been a tough week, and this guy's insults topped it off perfectly. I wasn't in a position to leave the office and blow off steam by walking (or stomping) around the block. After taking a few deep breaths, I reminded myself that while I couldn't choose not to interact with him, I could choose whether to hang on or let go. If I hung on, I'd be making his problem my problem as well. It took a few hours plus some story-swapping with similarly beleaguered coworkers, but eventually I could step back from the incident and see it as just part of a crazy day that everyone shared.
If, like me, you work in a high-volume public service / customer service occupation, you probably have plenty of similar opportunities to practice detachment! Whether you participate in any type of spiritual or religious practice or not, I recommend setting aside a specific time period to shut out distractions and go inward. You may find that when you emerge from this inwardness and move out into the world again, you'll see that world with new eyes.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Are Quiet Spaces Possible During the Holidays?
On almost every spiritually-oriented site I've browsed or book I've read, an author advises readers to create time for quiet reflection, stillness and rest during the midwinter holiday season. Usually he or she will point out that before the advent of electricity and 24-hour availability of light, people slowed down during winter and that our natural rhythms make us prefer a relaxed pace during the short days of December. Animals hibernate; we like to nest.
This is probably great advice if you can make it work for you. Unfortunately, many of us work in occupations that shift into high gear after Thanksgiving and don't let up after Christmas. Although my former work in special education had its down side, it allowed a breather during the 1-2 weeks of winter break. Most jobs don't have built-in breaks. Some, like those in retail, may involve working up until midnight on Christmas Eve and coming back at the crack of dawn the day after Christmas for the returns/exchanges stampede.
Add mandatory extra hours, gifting, social obligations, unspoken expectations and possibly extra activities for people belonging to religious organizations, and it's easy to see why many of us regard the idea of "heavenly peace" as a joke. A friend who works for a major home improvement chain told me recently that she dreads the six weeks surrounding Christmas. What a strange situation we've created, considering that all the winter holidays observed by major religions are supposed to be about peace, community and gratitude.
Is it possible to carve out little islands of silence and solitude in the midst of all this?
As I've worked this out in my own life, the idea which has been most helpful comes, ironically, from the year I lived in Tokyo - a city not known for quiet in a culture that doesn't traditionally observe Christmas. Whenever I rode the city trains I noticed that most of the Japanese passengers didn't interact with the people around them. It was almost as if each rider was alone inside an invisible space bubble that kept the rest of the world outside. This was true even during rush hour when there was literally less than an inch of space between standing passengers.
After a few months it occurred to me that since Tokyo is so densely populated and the trains always so packed, the only way for many residents to establish personal space was retreat inside themselves. This might not be possible at home when forced to interact with family, but on the train among strangers it was relatively easy. Since life in Tokyo was so noisy and hectic, and since my fellow travelers usually didn't want to talk anyway, I started practicing this skill myself. It was surprisingly easy to develop.
It's been 25 years and I still sometimes do this when I'm in the midst of a nonstop day. Of course there are appropriate times and places (a floor hour spent helping customers is not one of them) but when it's OK, just closing my eyes for 5 minutes and tuning everything out establishes a personal quiet zone.
Try it sometime when you're in the staff break room. You can also snatch quiet or meditative moments while taking a walk (if you have a medium-large dog and a safe neighborhood, go out after dark), waiting for a bus or driving home from work. During the workday, a bench in a public park might work.
Five or ten minutes here & there may not seem like much, but you might be surprised at how calming these small retreats can be.
This is probably great advice if you can make it work for you. Unfortunately, many of us work in occupations that shift into high gear after Thanksgiving and don't let up after Christmas. Although my former work in special education had its down side, it allowed a breather during the 1-2 weeks of winter break. Most jobs don't have built-in breaks. Some, like those in retail, may involve working up until midnight on Christmas Eve and coming back at the crack of dawn the day after Christmas for the returns/exchanges stampede.
Add mandatory extra hours, gifting, social obligations, unspoken expectations and possibly extra activities for people belonging to religious organizations, and it's easy to see why many of us regard the idea of "heavenly peace" as a joke. A friend who works for a major home improvement chain told me recently that she dreads the six weeks surrounding Christmas. What a strange situation we've created, considering that all the winter holidays observed by major religions are supposed to be about peace, community and gratitude.
Is it possible to carve out little islands of silence and solitude in the midst of all this?
As I've worked this out in my own life, the idea which has been most helpful comes, ironically, from the year I lived in Tokyo - a city not known for quiet in a culture that doesn't traditionally observe Christmas. Whenever I rode the city trains I noticed that most of the Japanese passengers didn't interact with the people around them. It was almost as if each rider was alone inside an invisible space bubble that kept the rest of the world outside. This was true even during rush hour when there was literally less than an inch of space between standing passengers.
After a few months it occurred to me that since Tokyo is so densely populated and the trains always so packed, the only way for many residents to establish personal space was retreat inside themselves. This might not be possible at home when forced to interact with family, but on the train among strangers it was relatively easy. Since life in Tokyo was so noisy and hectic, and since my fellow travelers usually didn't want to talk anyway, I started practicing this skill myself. It was surprisingly easy to develop.
It's been 25 years and I still sometimes do this when I'm in the midst of a nonstop day. Of course there are appropriate times and places (a floor hour spent helping customers is not one of them) but when it's OK, just closing my eyes for 5 minutes and tuning everything out establishes a personal quiet zone.
Try it sometime when you're in the staff break room. You can also snatch quiet or meditative moments while taking a walk (if you have a medium-large dog and a safe neighborhood, go out after dark), waiting for a bus or driving home from work. During the workday, a bench in a public park might work.
Five or ten minutes here & there may not seem like much, but you might be surprised at how calming these small retreats can be.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
To a young friend on the occasion of his first time to vote
It probably sounds hokey but this is a big day for you. I'm glad you got your ballot in the mail on time.
You told me that you've studied up on the issues and candidates, and that you've had discussions - sometimes heated ones - with roommates and friends. I'm glad you're taking it seriously. Just remember that if you want to participate fully in the life of your community, voting is just the first step. How you live, relate, work, play and shop is just as important although much more challenging on a daily basis.
Try not to be too hard on the classmates you've complained about, the ones who disagree with you. Everybody has a reason for believing whatever he or she believes. Opponents don't have to be enemies.Sometimes you just have to agree to disagree
The same goes for your dealings with (name of older relative). She has her reasons as well. I'm finding that one benefit of getting older is realizing that I don't know everything. It's always possible to learn something from each other. It takes time to arrive at the point where you're able to do this but it's rewarding.
When I was 21 and living with Grandma Taylor for a semester, she and I had some pointed discussions. I can see now that I probably seemed like an insufferable know-it-all back then. She saw problems from angles I didn't see, and vice versa. Although we'd probably still disagree on many things if she were alive today, I'd disagree with a more accepting spirit. In fact, I think now that one of the most important goals a person can have at 21 is to outgrow know-it-all-ness.
Whatever the outcome of today's elections, there will always be plenty of work to do towards making the world a better place for everyone. If you're an idealist (and in some ways I think you are) you'll never run out things to do.
The fact that you're thinking about all these things and working out what you believe tells me you're off to a great start. Keep it up! And congratulations.
You told me that you've studied up on the issues and candidates, and that you've had discussions - sometimes heated ones - with roommates and friends. I'm glad you're taking it seriously. Just remember that if you want to participate fully in the life of your community, voting is just the first step. How you live, relate, work, play and shop is just as important although much more challenging on a daily basis.
Try not to be too hard on the classmates you've complained about, the ones who disagree with you. Everybody has a reason for believing whatever he or she believes. Opponents don't have to be enemies.Sometimes you just have to agree to disagree
The same goes for your dealings with (name of older relative). She has her reasons as well. I'm finding that one benefit of getting older is realizing that I don't know everything. It's always possible to learn something from each other. It takes time to arrive at the point where you're able to do this but it's rewarding.
When I was 21 and living with Grandma Taylor for a semester, she and I had some pointed discussions. I can see now that I probably seemed like an insufferable know-it-all back then. She saw problems from angles I didn't see, and vice versa. Although we'd probably still disagree on many things if she were alive today, I'd disagree with a more accepting spirit. In fact, I think now that one of the most important goals a person can have at 21 is to outgrow know-it-all-ness.
Whatever the outcome of today's elections, there will always be plenty of work to do towards making the world a better place for everyone. If you're an idealist (and in some ways I think you are) you'll never run out things to do.
The fact that you're thinking about all these things and working out what you believe tells me you're off to a great start. Keep it up! And congratulations.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Young people and violent death: what happens to one of us happens to all of us
A few months ago our 19 year-old son visited home, on leave from his job training program in another part of the state. He planned to meet a friend at a rave in Portland but once he arrived at the advertised address, he found only a dark house - no lights on, not even on the porch. He told us later that he went up to the door and knocked. The irate man who answered the door told him that no, this was not the address where the rave was being held and would he please pass the word to anyone else who might be looking? It seemed that this guy's door had been knocked on many times that night, and he was mighty pissed.
When we heard this story, my husband and I shuddered. The man who answered the door only seemed annoyed, and only yelled at the party goers who knocked. If he'd been fearful or paranoid and had a gun, he might have shot one of the kids, just as the self-appointed neighborhood watchman in Florida shot Trayvon Martin..
The violent death of a child or young person generates more public heat than most other crimes. I think one reason for this is because many people in the news audience who have kids (or who love kids even if they don't have children of their own) automatically put themselves in the shoes of bereaved parents. They photoshop their own child's face onto the newswire picture of the victim. I know I do.
It's an uncomfortable response to say the least, but there's nothing wrong with it. It's called empathy, and without empathy, there's no motivation to change things. All meaningful social change starts because one person empathizes with another.
When I read disturbing news items like this I know deep down, even if I might not admit it at the time, that it could just as easily happen to someone I love. Many young people wear hoodies at times. Those who aren't driven everywhere by a taxi parent will need to walk home at night on occasion. Certainly Noel did his share of walking home, as I did when I was in high school and there wasn't an adult driver at my disposal.
In a sane world, merely walking home at night doesn't automatically make the walker a target. But we don't live in a sane world and there's always a chance that someone I know won't make it home because he or she was cut down by a stupid, pointless act of violence.
I worry about Noel and some of the other young people I know. Many of them are living on their own for the first time, working minimum wage jobs, living in scary parts of whatever city they're in, and taking the bus or walking because they can't afford a car - just like I was doing at 21 in Seattle.
Trayvon Martin was killed, and nothing can bring him back. His family will have to live with that for the rest of their lives. But maybe one good thing can come of it: an increasing number of people may recognize that in the end, we're all vulnerable in one way or another. Any one of us could be the victim.
In the end, the mindless violence that springs from knee-jerk prejudice drags all of us down. What happens to one of us happens to all of us. This alone should provide the kick that moves us towards building a world where simply being alone on a dark street doesn't send an invitation to murder, and where all kids are safe regardless of their skin color or choice of outerwear.
When we heard this story, my husband and I shuddered. The man who answered the door only seemed annoyed, and only yelled at the party goers who knocked. If he'd been fearful or paranoid and had a gun, he might have shot one of the kids, just as the self-appointed neighborhood watchman in Florida shot Trayvon Martin..
The violent death of a child or young person generates more public heat than most other crimes. I think one reason for this is because many people in the news audience who have kids (or who love kids even if they don't have children of their own) automatically put themselves in the shoes of bereaved parents. They photoshop their own child's face onto the newswire picture of the victim. I know I do.
It's an uncomfortable response to say the least, but there's nothing wrong with it. It's called empathy, and without empathy, there's no motivation to change things. All meaningful social change starts because one person empathizes with another.
When I read disturbing news items like this I know deep down, even if I might not admit it at the time, that it could just as easily happen to someone I love. Many young people wear hoodies at times. Those who aren't driven everywhere by a taxi parent will need to walk home at night on occasion. Certainly Noel did his share of walking home, as I did when I was in high school and there wasn't an adult driver at my disposal.
In a sane world, merely walking home at night doesn't automatically make the walker a target. But we don't live in a sane world and there's always a chance that someone I know won't make it home because he or she was cut down by a stupid, pointless act of violence.
I worry about Noel and some of the other young people I know. Many of them are living on their own for the first time, working minimum wage jobs, living in scary parts of whatever city they're in, and taking the bus or walking because they can't afford a car - just like I was doing at 21 in Seattle.
Trayvon Martin was killed, and nothing can bring him back. His family will have to live with that for the rest of their lives. But maybe one good thing can come of it: an increasing number of people may recognize that in the end, we're all vulnerable in one way or another. Any one of us could be the victim.
In the end, the mindless violence that springs from knee-jerk prejudice drags all of us down. What happens to one of us happens to all of us. This alone should provide the kick that moves us towards building a world where simply being alone on a dark street doesn't send an invitation to murder, and where all kids are safe regardless of their skin color or choice of outerwear.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
When Work Gets in the Way of Life
When I was a student at PLU in Tacoma, I waited tables at the Denny's restaurant close to downtown. At the time, I worked weekends, all weekend long. Tips were great - I made more in one 8-hour shift than my entire work-study paycheck any given month. All my friends had crazy-hour jobs along with classes so none of us paid much attention to our social or family lives. I didn't mind Sunday afternoons.
However, one of my coworkers, a married woman with two school-age kids, did mind. As she explained to me,Sunday was the only day that the rest of her family was together at home. She felt sad whenever she had to miss it. But Sundays 12:00 - 5:00 were often the busiest time of day so she was invariably called in.
One reason why Sunday afternoons were so frantic was because at noon, a small army of people from the Baptist church across the street would flock in for lunch. Since most conservative churches have strict injunctions against working on Sunday, I sometimes wondered if our customers realized that eating out made it necessary for other people to work Sundays.
In western societies, Sunday is the day when the greatest number of people have the day off. Kids aren't in school and businesses with traditional office hours are closed. For people like my Denny's coworker, Sunday wasn't a religious day but it was the only day her family could be together and could gather with friends and relatives. Other cultures have a different traditional day off; the point is that everyone gets a weekly holiday together.
I've been remembering my Denny's friend during the last two weeks as I've tried to find a time when a women's circle I'm part of can meet. One woman's workplace recently went from a 6-days-a-week schedule to being open all 7 days. Her schedule has changed, and now there doesn't seem to be a time when we can all get together. Her workplace doesn't provide an urgent service; it's not a hospital, fire or police station, so it's not open out of strict necessity. But since customers requested Sunday hours, she has to be there.
The protests at Target stores this past Thanksgiving by staff who had to leave family celebrations early in order to be at work by 11 pm on Thanksgiving Day are an extreme example of opportunity for business trumping relationships. I know a few people who were stuck in that situation as well. I don't blame them for being upset.
It's probably impossible to tell exactly how a 365-24-7 economy affects our social networks, but I've known many people who've been adversely affected by it. This has made me pay close attention to my own consumer habits: do I really need to run out and buy that missing ingredient on Thanksgiving Day, or is it just possible that the party will be fine without that particular dish? How many of the 365-24-7 store openings are really because people can't shop at any other time, and how many are simply because we've lost the planning skills it would take to eliminate last-minute errands?
It's good to remind myself once in awhile that I help determine the values that run our collective economy.
However, one of my coworkers, a married woman with two school-age kids, did mind. As she explained to me,Sunday was the only day that the rest of her family was together at home. She felt sad whenever she had to miss it. But Sundays 12:00 - 5:00 were often the busiest time of day so she was invariably called in.
One reason why Sunday afternoons were so frantic was because at noon, a small army of people from the Baptist church across the street would flock in for lunch. Since most conservative churches have strict injunctions against working on Sunday, I sometimes wondered if our customers realized that eating out made it necessary for other people to work Sundays.
In western societies, Sunday is the day when the greatest number of people have the day off. Kids aren't in school and businesses with traditional office hours are closed. For people like my Denny's coworker, Sunday wasn't a religious day but it was the only day her family could be together and could gather with friends and relatives. Other cultures have a different traditional day off; the point is that everyone gets a weekly holiday together.
I've been remembering my Denny's friend during the last two weeks as I've tried to find a time when a women's circle I'm part of can meet. One woman's workplace recently went from a 6-days-a-week schedule to being open all 7 days. Her schedule has changed, and now there doesn't seem to be a time when we can all get together. Her workplace doesn't provide an urgent service; it's not a hospital, fire or police station, so it's not open out of strict necessity. But since customers requested Sunday hours, she has to be there.
The protests at Target stores this past Thanksgiving by staff who had to leave family celebrations early in order to be at work by 11 pm on Thanksgiving Day are an extreme example of opportunity for business trumping relationships. I know a few people who were stuck in that situation as well. I don't blame them for being upset.
It's probably impossible to tell exactly how a 365-24-7 economy affects our social networks, but I've known many people who've been adversely affected by it. This has made me pay close attention to my own consumer habits: do I really need to run out and buy that missing ingredient on Thanksgiving Day, or is it just possible that the party will be fine without that particular dish? How many of the 365-24-7 store openings are really because people can't shop at any other time, and how many are simply because we've lost the planning skills it would take to eliminate last-minute errands?
It's good to remind myself once in awhile that I help determine the values that run our collective economy.
Friday, January 27, 2012
The More I Learn, The More I Realize What I Don't Know
Earlier this month I started the course of study that will, I hope, prepare me to pass the test for my life coaching certificate. An integral part of this course consists of meeting with "practice" clients and helping them work towards their goals, using the framework provided by the certifying program. I knew I'd be learning a great deal but I didn't expect to be surprised by how much I don't know.
By the time many of us reach our 40s or 50s, we've done a lot of living. When I think back to the year I turned 8, a year when several important changes began, and run a mental movie of my life since then, the number and variety of experiences are almost overwhelming. But since I started working with my clients, I've been reminded that I can always learn more.
One of my people is an 85 year-old woman. As I've listened to her tell parts of her story, I'm amazed at how much she's been through. Yet she's willing to go through the coaching process because she still has many things she wants to do and needs help sorting it all out. As she filled me in on the details of her hardscrabble childhood in the 1930s, I was reminded that hardship is relative; she would have found my 8 year-old life wonderful simply because I had both parents at the time, many siblings & friends, a "real" house and was able to go to school on a consistent basis.
I've been learning from younger people as well. In fact, I'm probably receiving as much as I'm giving during the course of the class. It's been a good reminder that in the best of all possible lives, we not only never stop growing, we help each other grow.
By the time many of us reach our 40s or 50s, we've done a lot of living. When I think back to the year I turned 8, a year when several important changes began, and run a mental movie of my life since then, the number and variety of experiences are almost overwhelming. But since I started working with my clients, I've been reminded that I can always learn more.
One of my people is an 85 year-old woman. As I've listened to her tell parts of her story, I'm amazed at how much she's been through. Yet she's willing to go through the coaching process because she still has many things she wants to do and needs help sorting it all out. As she filled me in on the details of her hardscrabble childhood in the 1930s, I was reminded that hardship is relative; she would have found my 8 year-old life wonderful simply because I had both parents at the time, many siblings & friends, a "real" house and was able to go to school on a consistent basis.
I've been learning from younger people as well. In fact, I'm probably receiving as much as I'm giving during the course of the class. It's been a good reminder that in the best of all possible lives, we not only never stop growing, we help each other grow.
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