When I worked in customer service at a bank, I admit I went out of my way to help the poor, clueless soul who thought the ATM had mind-reading skills and that the balance on the slip reflected the amount of the check she just wrote at the grocery store five minutes earlier. When I balanced her checkbook at no cost it made me feel good – even though I was later admonished for taking too much time with a non-lucrative customer.

But when I worked at a non-profit youth orchestra I was amazed by the retirees and parents who would take a few hours out of their day to help me stuff and seal thousands of fundraising letters or tune and price-tag dusty violins so they could be placed under the chin of a budding musician. On my day off, that would be the last thing on earth I’d want to be to doing.

Then I found something I believed in. Something I can do, something I love to do and know I do well. Now I want to tell the whole world and I’d do it for free if I could! And that makes all the difference.

Today I received a email from a friend who is going through a difficult time. I had encouraged her to write when she was ready, which she did. This was the final sentence of her message:

Thanks  for showing me a way to sort out thoughts and take control of my life.  You have helped more than you know and I would put that in any brochure or marketing tool you would like!!!!

This is better than a paycheck any day – and it made me cry.

I now know that my earlier “selfishness” was lack of self-esteem, lack of direction, and lack of passion. I now want nothing more than to help people. And I have the knowledge to be able to and the confidence to know that what I have to offer is something I would be selfish NOT to share!

I now know that my friend was right – there is nothing so gratifying as giving of your gifts, talents and knowledge for the benefit of another. And don’t underestimate what you have to offer. There is a certain joy that comes from giving the gift of yourself.

PROMPT: The ability, gift, or special knowledge I have that I could be sharing with others is…

As Hubby and I washed and dried and put away every last dish we became more and more attracted by the idea of only using a minimum of crockery. He wanted to go as far as physically banishing all the extras and have only a set of four available. But this I refused. I love dishes! I love mugs! I love pots, dutch ovens, tea pots, bowls… antique or modern, pottery or ceramic… love ‘em. And I like everyone to eat from matching sets. I even check to see which coffee mug Hubby had taken out for his morning beverage to ensure I choose its mate. And if my mug is pottery then my cereal bowl must be too. But if my cup is the bright yellow one then my toast plate is also bright yellow.

I also like looking at my colorful dishes so for Hubby to suggest they be packed away was just too big a request. He compromised and we put all the extra dishes on the top shelves. And we started fresh. Empty sink, empty counter, organized cupboard. Ahhhhh.

And what a difference! While I have sacrificed using my other precious dishes what I have gained is so much more:

1. Only a handful of dirty dishes in the sink at any one time, not piled high in the sink or overflowing onto the counter because the dishwasher hasn’t been run or emptied.

2. A chore that is finished in 10 minutes – including washing the cooking pots – rather than the half hour it used to take to empty and reload the dishwasher.

3. A Hubby who willingly washes the dishes because, compared to loading the dishwasher to his wife’s (insane) specifications, it is fun.

4. Sparkling clean nails.

5. The wonderful relief of walking into a clutter-free kitchen every morning.

6. One less overwhelming chore to stress over.

I never thought I would be happy for my dishwasher to break down. We still have it and we’ll get it fixed for the next dinner party. But for now I am more than happy to have it sit there empty and redundant. I even taught my kids the “proper” way to “do the washing up” — a game for them (oh, that it could stay that way through the teen years!) and I was relaxed enough to let them play.

This was a simple change with a huge pay-back. I can still enjoy my crockery as decor but it is not taking over my kitchen, my life, or my sanity. And maybe eventually I will be able to let some of it go – do I really need three different styles of ice cream bowls? – but for now I’ll bask in the new simplicity.

Now I just need to figure out what the hell to do about the five baskets of clothes spilling out the laundry room door…

Journal Prompt: “The one thing I could do today to make my life a little less stressful or overwhelming is….”

Courtesy CRUDEM Foundation crudem.org

I landed myself a little job last week. And it is making me very, very sad.

It’s an easy job. For just a couple hours a day I post links to the blog of a non-profit. No-brainer kind of work that helps out with the bills. So, what’s the problem? The non-profit organization happens to be a hospital based in Haiti.

In an attempt to keep my mind free of painful images and thoughts I have recently tried to cut down on my subconscious intake of world news. I say subconscious because I am one of those people who have NPR on all day while I’m working. It is just background noise most of the time. My ears perk up and I pay attention to interesting, human-interest stories or when something makes me go, “wow!” But the majority of the time people blowing themselves up and children being kidnapped is ignored, not because I don’t care, but because I care too much. But I know the sadness is computed on some level of my consciousness and it is having an effect.

I’m sensitive. I want to save the world. When I can’t I have to block it out.

I used to think I wasn’t sensitive because I didn’t cry over human tragedy. I wiggled out of volunteering at a soup kitchen one Christmas during high school and felt heartless as a result. I would watch my sister with tears rolling down her face as she recalled a sad story and I would think, what is wrong with me? It has been only recently that I have come to realize this is a defense mechanism.

When I was young I couldn’t watch horse-racing or a  cavalry battle on TV  in case a horse fell. Photos of beauty industry animal experiments have always made me nauseous. Show me a mother blowing cigarette smoke over her newborn and I have to stop myself from snatching the infant away to the safety of my own arms. A dog tied in an icy yard fills me with rage.

And helplessness.

One evening Hubby and I watched the movie, Last King of Scotland. I cried through most of it and by the end I was wrecked. I sobbed and sobbed for probably an hour. I hated mankind and wanted to cancel my membership to the human race.

After Hurricane Katrina when we had escaped north from our wind beaten town in Mississippi I had survivor’s guilt. Sometimes a story of child or animal abuse that I may have heard weeks or even months earlier will attack me from the rear and I am left broken with the knowledge that this kind of thing is happening everywhere every second of my pampered-life day. When I hear of the plight of women in different parts of the world I feel guilty for my warm home, loving husband, intact genitalia, and my freedom to be and do whatever I desire. I question from time to time what right I have to write this blog promoting positive thinking and dreaming big, when the majority of the world’s population can’t imagine much beyond their next grain of rice.

And so, although I am merely cutting and pasting links from online newspapers around the country, I can’t help but catch the words, “… who watched his parents die…,” and “…debris seeped into his brain…” I stare at the smiling (smiling!) face of the little girl whose leg is missing from the knee down. Sadness has seeped in. I feel unable to function. I wander around the house distracted and burdened by an intangible weight.

I’ve given my donation. What else can I do? My tears can’t help them. Helpless. Helpless. All the positive thinking in the world can’t reverse what has happened. It can’t bring back dead parents, missing limbs, buried children. But can it make a difference going forward? I don’t know the answer to that. Until I figure it out I will keep the radio off and try to stay as positive about my own life and its petty, trivial problems as I can.

Anything else would be sheer ingratitude and self-centeredness.

Video from Hopital Sacre Coeur: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RDo6ibXOJDQ

CRUDEM.org: 100% of your donation supports the needs of the hospital in the wake of this disaster.

Being thankful for what you have now instead of being focused on what you haven’t got is a very healthy mindset. Being grateful for everyday’s little blessings does not mean you can’t dream of bigger and better, it just means being content in this moment, now. After all, our life is ultimately made up of minutes. What you do, think, and say during the minutes is your life. Constantly wishing for something else makes a mockery of what you have now. Thankfulness for what you have now opens the door for more to be thankful for in the future. Contentment in the moment brings happiness in the long run.

The last two days has found me holding one or other of my children while their poor little bodies convulsed to void themselves of illness. This has meant two days when I couldn’t be at my computer rambling away as usual. I had to pull my mommy-nurse hat firmly down over my ears and set to comforting my weakened children. I tried not to think about the two looming article deadlines or the last minute marketing I could/should be doing for a workshop starting this week. I tried to immerse myself in housework that I never have (never allow myself) time to take care of. I tried to live in the moment even while mopping vomit off Little Lady’s chin.

It was hard. My work kept sneaking up and taunting me. And I had moments of frustration when I tried to sit at my computer while Elmo occupied my offspring in the other room, only to be called upon for more water or a tissue.

But then I realized something. I am so blessed! I can be home with my children. I am not letting anyone down at the office or using sick days that I might need for myself at a later date. I am not shorting us a paycheck and I am not subjecting anyone else to my children’s germs. How wonderful that I can be here to hold a coughing child and bring him hot milk.

I am so grateful that Hubby and I made the decision to stick to our guns and pursue what matters to us. It was incredibly important to me to be here to see our children off to school in the morning, to be here when they come home in the afternoon, and to eat dinner together at night. Yes, my dream to write and teach writing was an extremely high priority also, but the fact that these priorities merge almost seamlessly is an amazing blessing.

I acknowledge – and do not in anyway demean – that others would not choose the same route as me. Their dream, their priorities, lie on a different path. I do not for one moment intend to imply that those mothers (or fathers) who have chosen, or have no choice but to work outside of the home, care one inkling less for their children. My point is this, and only this: Be thankful for your every moment, even when you spend a morning washing sick-bed sheets when you would much rather be wringing out words and phrases. Being thankful can change your attitude from frustrated to fulfilled.

Prompt: Even if you are not particularly content in your current situation, what ARE you thankful for?

Why we fail

Innocent until proven guilty, right? We all know that it is human nature is to operate under the opposite tenet. And we also tend to prefer Believe Once Proven.

We all have things in our life that we want to change, or at least think we do. A bad habit, those extra pounds, time spent playing video games, smoking, or even a certain way of thinking. And why we do fail time after time? Because we won’t believe we can kick the habit or change our behavior until we have proven that we can. Believe Once Proven.

Well, obviously that system doesn’t work so well. As Dr. Phil says, How’s that working for ya? If we don’t believe we can do something until we see that we can, we never will.  You have to believe first.

Know why you will eat that donut even after you have said, I will not eat that donut, over and over again? Because you are focused on the donut. You brain doesn’t hear the “not” and says, OK, Eat Donut! Turn it around and say, I WILL eat the yummy almonds I packed for myself today. I WILL go for a walk instead of turning on the computer. I WILL have a cup of cozy tea instead of a glass of wine.

But first..

First you have to recognize there is something wrong or missing. Then you must truly want to change. Only then can you take the next step. This is where writing comes in. If you are writing from a place of truth (meaning you are being honest with yourself in your journal) you will know when something is wrong. You will also know when you are ready to make the change. If you have acknowledged a problem but don’t seem ready to face it yet, use your journal to explore this. Ask, why am I not ready to make this change?

But when you are ready, keep writing to help you through the next steps of committing to change and to hold yourself accountable.

Focus on the positive always. What you CAN do, not what you can’t or what you won’t do.

This doesn’t just apply to breaking habits or changing behaviors, it is just as effective in how you change your future for yourself. Yes, change your future for yourself.

Write out your positive statements. Write about why you want this change. Write yourself a love letter telling yourself that even with this issue (whatever it is) you are still a beautiful person and why you deserve the best life you can possibly have. Believe you have the ability to reach your potential.

Dear [your name], I love you. Even though I _____ more/less than I would like at this moment, I love and accept myself. I haven’t reached my potential yet, but I have the ability, the drive, and the self-love to do this for myself…

Yes, I will…!

Yes, I can…!

Use the incredible power of your mind to make your life whatever you want it to look like. Believe in yourself and prove you are capable of unbelievable things. Plug into your own incredible power.

Here’s a new tenet to live by: Proven Once Believed.

I fantasize about a time when I, the Writer and Business Woman, will have my own rhythm by which to structure my day. Writers are always interested in the working habits of their fellow wordsmiths as they try to unscramble the secret code of being a writer. One thing comes through from these stories: There is no one way to practice your craft.

The two stories I recall (and I have no memory of where I read them or to whom they refer) offered just two possibilities. I’m guessing this first one sounds downright luxurious to most of us. The writer in question would arise at a fairly normal hour, say 7AM, eat breakfast, walk the dog, and then go back to bed! Wow. She would then get back up a few hours later and write into the night. The second author was a mother (ahhh, someone I can relate to). She would get up crazy, crazy early, like 4AM (oh, no longer relating), work until the kids got up, get them off to school and then write for a couple more hours. After that I don’t recall how she spent her day – I would guess zoned out with exhaustion.

For how differently these two women scheduled their life, one thing is consistent: Discipline.

I am learning to structure my days in order to be more efficient and productive, but it is difficult. So many times my mood and energy depends on how many times I was yanked out of REM sleep by a Mama! or how the wake up-breakfast-school departure went off. Some days I can sit in front of my computer all day with not much more to show than some meaningless babble on Facebook. On these days I need to give myself permission to sit on the couch with my journal or a good book (and consider it research). I’ve written before about the benefit of the spaces in between work, but it is hard to remember the creative benefit of stopping once in a while. I also have to remember that doing a load of laundry or meeting a friend for lunch will not kill my career. The Work From Home police are not going to come and check up on me to see if I took a break to have a cuppa.

But efficiency is the name of the game. My goal is to set time limits on myself. Half and hour to journal before the work day begins, another half an hour to email (and OK, Facebook – for business purposes). Two hours to write whatever piece I’m currently working on, and then my blog. Another day it might be writing an Examiner article or preparing for an upcoming workshop. Whatever it is I’m working on, I have to block out the time in advance and be fair to myself. Don’t work at it until I’m ragged but turn to something else to always keep it all fresh and exciting. I must take breaks and most importantly, schedule in some FUN!

I’m still struggling to get the hang of this working from home thing. Time away from the computer still feels like I’m slacking. But I dream of the day when my day will run like clockwork from bed-rise to beddie-byes. I will churn out words like John Grisham, I will email and do paperwork as if I was my own legal secretary, and I will make beds and pick up toys with the spit-spot of Mary Poppins. And then at 3:30 precisely, I will shut down the computer and put on my Mommy hat.

Rhythm. Sometimes it is hard to keep in time with a new and unfamiliar one. But if you keep at it, eventually the beats, the rests, and the cadences will click with your own and you’ll be able to dance.

Prompt: What does your ideal day look like? Does it have a rhythm?

I believe in serendipity, in the power of positive thinking and envisioning your future. In this blog I have attempted to pass along my own experiences to serve as inspiration to anyone who is ready to receive it. I knew there were a few out there who also followed these principals and either saw them enacted in their own lives or were searching for it. I have also recently become aware that there is a move in the community conscious towards these things. The Secret and What the [Bleep] Do We Know are two examples of Quantum Physics and science of positive thinking being brought to, and beginning to be accepted, in the mainstream population. I don’t pretend to understand the science behind how thoughts effect our energy but I have personal evidence and a strange feeling like this is something I have always known but didn’t know I knew. That’s all I need.

But in general, in my little corner of the globe, I felt I was alone with my new “wierd” (hippie/new age) thoughts. Then over the last month some crazy things have happened:

1. Hubby left his job as an employee to become a private practitioner at a Holistic Wellness Center. He is not by training a holistic healer, he is just open to many options and has always been spiritual in nature. Daily he is surrounded by spiritually-minded people and he is happier than he has ever been.

2. Hubby starts coming home telling me things about positive thinking and I’m like: Hey! Preaching to the choir, bud! I’ve been telling you you can achieve this kind of understanding through journaling for, oh, I don’t know, ever!

3. Through this new job he is recruited to become a founder of a new venture: The Center for Spiritual Unfolding (much more to come on this – it’s gonna be good!). I am asked to join the board.

4. Hubby brings home The Secret on his iPod and I begin to listen to it (I had not read it). I’m listening to what I have discovered by myself but increased in power and possibility to almost the point of “it’s too good to be true!”

5. I have a meeting with a minister to arrange for the possibility of my journal workshop being held at the church. He asks about my religious background. No judgment. He understands. Our conversation is great and a relief. While assimilating our talk I begin to – for the very first time with clarity – see how the tattered strands of my religious beliefs could tie to my new belief system (eg. prayer is just positive thoughts being sent out into the Universe).

6. I attend the WBON conference: Making your Vision a Reality. Business women? Yes. Passionate? Yes. Spiritual? Yes! Every speaker spoke of the incredible power of envisioning and positive thinking. Vision boards, meditation, gratitude journals, affirmations, self love, self care, yes, even quantum physics and the power of positive energy in our personal and business lives. These women were talking MY language!! I drove home on a high!

My worlds have come together. First Hubby and I get on the same page, even working out of the same building, reading the same books, and journaling to make sense of it all. Then the realization that there are others just like me – passionate, creative people who are took a leap of faith to start their own businesses and who believe with every cell of their bodies that some higher power gave them wings with which to make the impossible possible.

So why the tears this morning? I think the immensity of my dreams and new-found knowledge suddenly felt squashed by the reality of my everyday life. My mind is spinning with possibility while my son is threatening his sister with a booger-finger and she in turn is squealing with a pitch that could shatter her plastic cup.  The calm and commaradie I experienced for eight wonderful hours yesterday was instantly washed away in a tsunami of missing boots and splattered oatmeal.

It’s a fragile animal, this soul-body we live in. I have a fabulous, inspiring, enlightening experience, I come home excited and so ready to get on with my life and then whap! I’m crying, angry, anxious, and ready to crawl under my bed covers for the rest of this roller-coaster ride called Life. But I recognize this feeling, I’ve had it before and thankfully I now know the nausea and the tears are just the big-toe in a cold sea. It hurts at first then it starts to feel good and soon you are floating, face to the sun, content – and fulfilled. (Shortly after I wrote that miserable post I quit my job and launched Wisdom, Within, Ink.)

I am choosing to believe the tears and anxiety was just fear having a final say before exiting my body…

I try to shake loose my mind, so something fresh can fall out… This process acts like a sifter – sand falls through and bright nuggets come to light.

–Natalie Goldberg, Thunder and Lightning

Writing for creativity

While Natalie talks about “writing practice” in her book Thunder and Lightning (as she did in Writing down the Bones) to clear the mind and stimulate creativity for the serious writer, the exercises are no different than what we do in our journals. We write without fear, without self-judgment to brush away the cobwebs of the mind and to stimulate the (re)creation or ourselves. Through free-writing — taking out the garbage, as Julia Cameron calls it — we make room for the good stuff. We are able to get past our everyday thoughts and right into the heart of the matter.

When you shake something you have control over it. It, whatever that “it” is, no longer functions under its own power. Shaking your mind through unrestricted writing allows the creative side of your brain to supersede the analytical, critical side. The gems have the opportunity to form and fall onto the page.

Writing through pain

This is important for professional writers, of course, in order for them to hone their craft – or any creative soul, for that matter – but it is also vital to us in everyday life. We can use the shaking up to remember, to uncover deep beliefs, and hidden dreams, and to heal.

Writing about our personal traumas has been proven to aid in the healing process. Seeing the images and feelings associated with our painful experiences actually changes the way the brain processes and understands the memory. This allows us to get past it. By writing about whatever slips from the tip of your pen you will eventually uncover the “nuggets” of your pain.

Look around you right now. What do you see? A book on the table. A toy on the floor. A banana. Coffee cup. Whatever it is, write about it. You may start with the snow-covered car outside the window and end up in your aunt’s living room or in the library at college. Wherever you go, go with it. Go there. Enjoy the ride. Shake it all loose and discover those nuggets.

But above all I love starting a new journal! For the past few years I have just continued using the current journal until a) I ran out of pages or b) I got bored of it and excitedly bought myself a new one just ‘cuz. With a 1/6 of my journal still empty I had planned to keep write on going in that one, but then I realized this January 1 is special: Not only the start of a new year, but also a new decade, and for Hubby and I, a new life.

I went out and purchased an unusual journal (for me). It is full-sized (8×11) and the brown and pink polka-dotted 1977-esque front cover is more “fun” than I usually go for. But for some reason I was drawn to it (I believe we are pulled towards what we need). The large pages reflect the size of my hopes for this year and decade and the whimsical cover is for the fun I plan to have pursuing them.

On New Year’s Eve I spent a few hours in blissful solitude christening my new journal. I wrote four titles:

Mental

Emotional/Social

Physical

Spiritual

For each topic I wrote sub-titles: Current Status and Goals. Within that structure I let my pen go wild. I assessed where I was and how I was feeling about each area of my life. I wrote and wrote. I then used those thoughts to determine goals for the coming year.

I know the large pages of my new journal helped me think big(ger). I felt free – unrestricted.

From there I started a new page for just Work. I wrote down every project, workshop and collaboration that is either a done deal, in the works, or a possibility. The golden potential of this list inspired and exhilarated me! From here I moved onto Work Goals for January. The list was long but do-able. I was anxious to get started right away.

When we give ourselves a PURPOSE (or MISSION) and look forward with INTENT, the path in our mind’s eye and in reality becomes clearer. Written goals are a way to clarify these things.

So, now onto to 20-10! Forget those resolutions. Set goals. Do-able goals. Goals that look towards your dreams.

And if you wander off the path on the way towards your goals, don’t give up! Just get back on where and when you can or find a different path that leads in the same direction (or a slightly different one – you have the prerogative to change your mind).

And always make sure you have your MAP (Marker And Paper) or GPS (Good Pen [and] Stationary) (goodness, those were lame!) aka: your journal to help you find your way.

(Also read my Examiner.com article on making goals)

It was my high school class 20th “preunion” held in advance of the official July reunion in deference to the few class mates who were shipping out to Afghanistan  in January. Hubby and I had spent Boxing Day (the British name for the day after Christmas) with my parents and so were in town anyway, I thought we should go.

I worried that I looked slim enough, 37 and not 45, and if my hair wasn’t too poofy. And I worried I wouldn’t know what to say to anyone. The very few people I was close to in high school weren’t going to be there and any others were in reality only acquaintances. Yes, we had spent four years knocking around the same halls and suffering under the same teachers, but I did not know them. And they don’t know me.

I hadn’t spent my formative years with them. Our mothers did not chat over coffee, our fathers didn’t watch the Game together. I never went to high school parties because back then I was “religious” and probably wouldn’t have been allowed to attend even if I had been invited. I wasn’t a cheerleader or soccer player. I attempted to play field hockey but that was only because a friend had told this newly arrived “English girl” that you weren’t anybody in high school unless you played a sport (she also told me that it was imperative that I wear a turtle neck under a button-down oxford – and I thought there wasn’t a school uniform here). So upon arriving at the school, I signed up for the only sport I had any experience with in my former school. I spent the next three springs sprinting (which I was good at) up and down the side of a field, stick in hand, praying the ball wouldn’t come anywhere near me. The only compensation was that I knew I looked good in the little pleated skirt.

I was too shy to join any other groups other than drama and the peer help group called Students to Students. Not one student ever came to talk to me. I question whether that was because no one had any troubles or because I sent out vibes that declared I was unapproachable? I’m guessing the latter. The truth was I was so anxious and unsure of my place in the (American) world that I erected a protective wall of which I was unaware but very few people penetrated.

Where I really belonged was in the music room. Once dear Mrs. LaPlaca heard me sing that’s where I and my closest friends spent a lot of  time. It was here I felt freer to be me.

That was twenty years ago. My high school friends are living their own lives and we are no longer physically or socially close. I have been away from the area for more than 15 years and I am not the shy, unauthentic, uncertain 16 year old I was. Or am I?

Walking into that bar, seeing faces from another time, another life time, bought it all back. The discomfort of not knowing where you fit, how you fit, or if you should even try. If I was an extrovert I would not only have had more friends in high school to begin with but I would be able to walk into a room of almost-strangers and initiate conversations, chat about football or kids, and throw caution and money to the wind for a few drinks.

But as it was, I felt like running away I moment I stepped over the threshold. Not because of the people there but because of me. I didn’t like being reminded of the lost little girl I once was. Just like the pathetically bad field hockey player who missed out on being in two plays because she was trying so hard to be a “somebody,” and the socially awkward student mentor, I felt uncomfortable and ostracized. And who made me feel this way? Me. I was once again the self-conscious “English girl” who didn’t belong. And so I made it so.

We make our own beds. What do you believe about yourself that you know in your heart isn’t true? How do you continue to perpetuate your own truth? How can you change this “truth” in 2010?