"When you have no choice, mobilize the spirit of courage." - Fortune Cookie
I'm not sure what to think of the first half of this bit of advice. We always have a choice.If I consider it a matter of semantics and read it to mean "When it seems you have no other choice..." then the narrative flows better, it gives me permission to make a choice, other than to sit there and accept my fate. So I look at the second half: "Mobilze the spirit of courage."
Mobilize. Move. Act upon your circumstances, rather than have your circumstances act upon you. Advice easier said than followed.
I am an analyzer. As I type that, I can visualize the smirks on the faces of family and closest friends; I can hear them saying things like, "You're just now figuring this out?" Ha ha, wisenheimmers. May I continue?
I am an analyzer. I take things apart in my mind, put them back together, take them apart again. Drive my loved ones bonkers in the process. "Move on!" is the counsel I most often receive. And I do, but at my own speed, seldom satisfactory for others. I'm okay with that. It's the analysis that, at a snail's pace, brings me understanding and acceptance, even if I am the only one who sees it. Although I strongly dislike the term "analysis paralysis", it is appropriate to use here because I am guilty of it. And it keeps me stuck in neutral, or in park, but I prefer it to the overdrive of forging ahead without considering whose feelings I plow over in the process. Keeping moving is a good thing, but the problems stay with us, locked in the trunk where we've stowed them. I want to find the speed and gear which will get me to where I need to be.
So I wish to specifically mobilize the spirit of courage. I wish to face my challenges (a much better word than "problems") with courage. To look them straight in the face, acknowledging the ugly truth it might be my own face looking at me. That's a choice I always have, and it might take some time. But I think it will always be worth it.
Friday, June 13, 2014
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Lucky in Love
"You continue to be lucky in love."
I found this sentiment printed under a bottle cap a couple years ago and found it so humorous I made a refrigerator magnet out of it. I had not, to that point in my life, found anything in my experiences to consider there was any veracity in the statement. One of my closest and wisest friends however, presented me with a new viewpoint. She suggested that perhaps the "luck" is in learning what I do not want in a relationship and in learning how different personalities can either complement the relationship or cause conflict in it. Whilst in the throes of heartache, I cannot see any "luck", or at least, if I can it is an intellectual assessment which doesn't jibe well with heightened emotions. I don't feel lucky; I feel hurt, even when I can see where I fell short myself. Even once past the could've-should'ves I can truthfully assign responsibility to my unrequited love, it takes time and effort to sustain a comforting knowledge of why continuing the relationship would likely have brought us both misery.
I mean no disparagement towards anyone I ever dated or with whom I discussed the possibility of "more than friendship". Each of them is wise and kind woman, fun to be with, talented and creative, giving and possessing of a tremendous capacity for love, even if sometimes she didn't see those traits in herself. Yet somehow, we just didn't mesh. It wasn't because she didn't try or I didn't try or one of us was afraid of committment or playing mind games, etc etc. -- all those things other people guess at when they see a friend's relationship end. People chose sides when someone's relationship goes south. It isn't about sides, and it doesn't help. I don't say much when a relationship doesn't work out the way I wanted it to, and I am careful who I say it to when I do, because I don't like people I care for being dissed; I don't want to explain what I feel should be obvious, not to mention fair: that there's nothing "wrong" with her -- or me. So I only trust certain people with my pain, people I know will respect the pain, me, and the unintentional source of my pain.
I do not care for the expressions "he/she broke her/his/my heart." I much prefer "my heart was broken." To say that someone broke it implies deliberation. While within the realm of possibility, I do not believe many people wake up one morning thinking, "I think today I am going to maliciously toy with someone's heart, and I think I will pick... um... him!" Even if they did, chances are good they play such games because of some deep inner pain I cannot touch or comprehend. Such need my compassion, not my anger or scorn. It behooves me to give them that compassion from a safe distance, but compassion and tolerance and my prayers are what they need, not similar treatment. I realize there are people in the world who actually do selfishly use and abuse others and don't care who they hurt. But most people want happiness, for themselves and others, even when on the receiving end of hurt.
I believe any relationship can work out given time and equal commitment by both parties. But because people are different and process their worlds differently and express and receive love differently, some of those relationships will require a whole lot more work than others, and some will be more naturally easily happier than others. I love fairy tales. I love Hallmark Hall of Fame movies. But I don't believe they accurately portray life. Happiness doesn't stick around after a single kiss or the slaying of one mere dragon. There will always be misunderstandings and the need for adjustments and the need for not just honest, but continual constant communication. Dragons will return. Vows of commitment need constant renewing with a realization and acceptance that not everyone operates at the same pace you do.
It's unrealistic and unfair to expect your prince or princess to come around to your perceived superior understanding and on your chosen time table. Nobody likes it when other people try to think for us, even if we're not certain what we should be thinking. Nobody likes to be told they made the wrong decision or to hear speculation as to why we made that wrong decision. Or worse, that we're not in sync with the Lord on that decision.
Yet, how often do we make these hurtful judgements when we are ourselves hurting?
I don't know how "lucky" I am that relationships I wanted didn't work out. I do know how much I learned about myself when they didn't, and I count that as luck -- or more accurately, blessing. Likewise I feel fortunate for the times when I wasn't looking for a relationship, and wasn't certain that the opportunity presenting itself was a good opportunity, but at my own snail's pace I gave it honest consideration. I count that as blessing -- "luck" if you will -- for what I learned about myself then, too.
So maybe there's something to that bottle cap, after all.
I found this sentiment printed under a bottle cap a couple years ago and found it so humorous I made a refrigerator magnet out of it. I had not, to that point in my life, found anything in my experiences to consider there was any veracity in the statement. One of my closest and wisest friends however, presented me with a new viewpoint. She suggested that perhaps the "luck" is in learning what I do not want in a relationship and in learning how different personalities can either complement the relationship or cause conflict in it. Whilst in the throes of heartache, I cannot see any "luck", or at least, if I can it is an intellectual assessment which doesn't jibe well with heightened emotions. I don't feel lucky; I feel hurt, even when I can see where I fell short myself. Even once past the could've-should'ves I can truthfully assign responsibility to my unrequited love, it takes time and effort to sustain a comforting knowledge of why continuing the relationship would likely have brought us both misery.
I mean no disparagement towards anyone I ever dated or with whom I discussed the possibility of "more than friendship". Each of them is wise and kind woman, fun to be with, talented and creative, giving and possessing of a tremendous capacity for love, even if sometimes she didn't see those traits in herself. Yet somehow, we just didn't mesh. It wasn't because she didn't try or I didn't try or one of us was afraid of committment or playing mind games, etc etc. -- all those things other people guess at when they see a friend's relationship end. People chose sides when someone's relationship goes south. It isn't about sides, and it doesn't help. I don't say much when a relationship doesn't work out the way I wanted it to, and I am careful who I say it to when I do, because I don't like people I care for being dissed; I don't want to explain what I feel should be obvious, not to mention fair: that there's nothing "wrong" with her -- or me. So I only trust certain people with my pain, people I know will respect the pain, me, and the unintentional source of my pain.
I do not care for the expressions "he/she broke her/his/my heart." I much prefer "my heart was broken." To say that someone broke it implies deliberation. While within the realm of possibility, I do not believe many people wake up one morning thinking, "I think today I am going to maliciously toy with someone's heart, and I think I will pick... um... him!" Even if they did, chances are good they play such games because of some deep inner pain I cannot touch or comprehend. Such need my compassion, not my anger or scorn. It behooves me to give them that compassion from a safe distance, but compassion and tolerance and my prayers are what they need, not similar treatment. I realize there are people in the world who actually do selfishly use and abuse others and don't care who they hurt. But most people want happiness, for themselves and others, even when on the receiving end of hurt.
I believe any relationship can work out given time and equal commitment by both parties. But because people are different and process their worlds differently and express and receive love differently, some of those relationships will require a whole lot more work than others, and some will be more naturally easily happier than others. I love fairy tales. I love Hallmark Hall of Fame movies. But I don't believe they accurately portray life. Happiness doesn't stick around after a single kiss or the slaying of one mere dragon. There will always be misunderstandings and the need for adjustments and the need for not just honest, but continual constant communication. Dragons will return. Vows of commitment need constant renewing with a realization and acceptance that not everyone operates at the same pace you do.
It's unrealistic and unfair to expect your prince or princess to come around to your perceived superior understanding and on your chosen time table. Nobody likes it when other people try to think for us, even if we're not certain what we should be thinking. Nobody likes to be told they made the wrong decision or to hear speculation as to why we made that wrong decision. Or worse, that we're not in sync with the Lord on that decision.
Yet, how often do we make these hurtful judgements when we are ourselves hurting?
I don't know how "lucky" I am that relationships I wanted didn't work out. I do know how much I learned about myself when they didn't, and I count that as luck -- or more accurately, blessing. Likewise I feel fortunate for the times when I wasn't looking for a relationship, and wasn't certain that the opportunity presenting itself was a good opportunity, but at my own snail's pace I gave it honest consideration. I count that as blessing -- "luck" if you will -- for what I learned about myself then, too.
So maybe there's something to that bottle cap, after all.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Conversation is Food for the Soul
Conversation is Food for the Soul (fortune cookie)
The topic of conversation has been on my mind a lot lately. Work, family, church, friends have all presented challenges in communication beyond the ordinary. The most heart rending of these has been, that after feeling frustrated for months that someone very dear to me had not been returning phone calls or answering emails but rather sporadically and answering only the most superficial of the questions I had about our friendship/relationship, I stopped trying so hard myself to "get through", to ask for an audience. I wish I had not done that. I found out in a very indirect way that the nature of that relationship had changed -- and not in my favor. After months of knowing it was slipping away I wasn't surprised, although I was hurt that I had to find out the way I did.
Trying very hard to not judge harshly, I tried to look at it from my friend's perspective. Where I had messed up I 'fessed up, repeating things I had said before during the previous months. Still no response. I feel my friend is at their core a fair person, not given to pettiness or callousness over the feelings of others. So I reason that it is I who am missing something. I know what efforts I had already made and where I could have been wiser. But I felt myself stymied by the breakdown in communication.
Yesterday I stumbled upon this quote, which ties in very nicely with the fortune cookie slip I pulled out of my quotes jar for today's post:
"The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place."
--George Bernard Shaw
Sometimes I need to be smacked upside the head before I "get" things. After all that time of wondering, and trying to be "fair" and "patient" and not to blame, I realized there wasn't any real blame to be had.
Despite the fact that both my friend and I believe communication to be vital to any relationship, from friendship to romance to family to work, neighbors, etc -- despite that, our communication styles are quite different. I thought I was communicating my thoughts and feelings well, and attributed the silence to processing time or the need for space, etc -- any number of things save what I now am going out on a limb guessing was the real problem: we were both under the illusion that we had effectively communicated. I feel safe in this guess because I went back over in my mind to see what I'd missed and what I hadn't, and found it about 50-50.
Time heals wounds, and true friendship (which is at the heart of all healthy relationships including familial and romantic) survives. I hope this is a true friendship. Even so, communication styles will always be as unique as the person who owns them, and some simply mesh better than others. I am blessed with some friendships that although our styles are different, the conversation is always "food for the soul", and in fact is always a veritable feast. I think our world teaches us to expect the other person to listen and understand and respond in a manner both timely and appropriately (and we decide what constitutes being appropriate, not allowing the other person to). And so we are disappointed. Even wounded. Intellectually we know those we love would not deliberately hurt us. Emotionally we only understand that we hurt. And I think then we exacerbate the situation -- and the hurt -- by then withholding further attempts at communication. Certainly we cannot force someone to see things our way, but how sad is it that we punish them, even indirectly, for being as inept at revealing themselves as we are ourselves?
Communication encompasses more than conversation, but I think it begins there. the little things, which we often discount as moot or even superficial, do count. There is time and place for the serious and deep, but those little discussions about the weather and literature, the commonalities, the humorous, those are the things, which for me at least put me at ease and cause my trust in a person to deepen to the point where the serious and the difficult and hard and painful can be discussed, where patience can abide -- but also courage, for patience can give permission to avoid an issue if that patience isn't accompanied by the courage to say, "Hey, my soul is hungry right now -- can we talk?"
The topic of conversation has been on my mind a lot lately. Work, family, church, friends have all presented challenges in communication beyond the ordinary. The most heart rending of these has been, that after feeling frustrated for months that someone very dear to me had not been returning phone calls or answering emails but rather sporadically and answering only the most superficial of the questions I had about our friendship/relationship, I stopped trying so hard myself to "get through", to ask for an audience. I wish I had not done that. I found out in a very indirect way that the nature of that relationship had changed -- and not in my favor. After months of knowing it was slipping away I wasn't surprised, although I was hurt that I had to find out the way I did.
Trying very hard to not judge harshly, I tried to look at it from my friend's perspective. Where I had messed up I 'fessed up, repeating things I had said before during the previous months. Still no response. I feel my friend is at their core a fair person, not given to pettiness or callousness over the feelings of others. So I reason that it is I who am missing something. I know what efforts I had already made and where I could have been wiser. But I felt myself stymied by the breakdown in communication.
Yesterday I stumbled upon this quote, which ties in very nicely with the fortune cookie slip I pulled out of my quotes jar for today's post:
"The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place."
--George Bernard Shaw
Sometimes I need to be smacked upside the head before I "get" things. After all that time of wondering, and trying to be "fair" and "patient" and not to blame, I realized there wasn't any real blame to be had.
Despite the fact that both my friend and I believe communication to be vital to any relationship, from friendship to romance to family to work, neighbors, etc -- despite that, our communication styles are quite different. I thought I was communicating my thoughts and feelings well, and attributed the silence to processing time or the need for space, etc -- any number of things save what I now am going out on a limb guessing was the real problem: we were both under the illusion that we had effectively communicated. I feel safe in this guess because I went back over in my mind to see what I'd missed and what I hadn't, and found it about 50-50.
Time heals wounds, and true friendship (which is at the heart of all healthy relationships including familial and romantic) survives. I hope this is a true friendship. Even so, communication styles will always be as unique as the person who owns them, and some simply mesh better than others. I am blessed with some friendships that although our styles are different, the conversation is always "food for the soul", and in fact is always a veritable feast. I think our world teaches us to expect the other person to listen and understand and respond in a manner both timely and appropriately (and we decide what constitutes being appropriate, not allowing the other person to). And so we are disappointed. Even wounded. Intellectually we know those we love would not deliberately hurt us. Emotionally we only understand that we hurt. And I think then we exacerbate the situation -- and the hurt -- by then withholding further attempts at communication. Certainly we cannot force someone to see things our way, but how sad is it that we punish them, even indirectly, for being as inept at revealing themselves as we are ourselves?
Communication encompasses more than conversation, but I think it begins there. the little things, which we often discount as moot or even superficial, do count. There is time and place for the serious and deep, but those little discussions about the weather and literature, the commonalities, the humorous, those are the things, which for me at least put me at ease and cause my trust in a person to deepen to the point where the serious and the difficult and hard and painful can be discussed, where patience can abide -- but also courage, for patience can give permission to avoid an issue if that patience isn't accompanied by the courage to say, "Hey, my soul is hungry right now -- can we talk?"
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Re-examine all you've been told
"Re-examine all you've been told... Dismiss what insults your soul." - Walt Whitman
A couple years ago a coworker who I'd had long had a personality clash with said something incredibly unkind to me. I did not even then think he had said it to deliberately wound me; I do not think that is his nature but rather that his nature is to "get things done" and I, moving at my own methodical pace, do not accomplish tasks as quickly nor as effectively as he believes they should be accomplished. I bit my tongue, and after he left my cubicle, fumed for a bit and decided I needed to calm down before I could accomplish the task at a rate pleasing even to myself. Peppermint herbal tea is always helpful for calming me and so I went to the break room to fit a mug.
Walt Whitman's words are what the little tea bag said, and they had as much a calming effect on me as did the peppermint. It was a turning point for me. I cannot say I no longer get agitated at work, but putting those words above my computer screen became a reminder for me to not take insulting, hurtful things personally - even if they are meant that way. Everyone handles stress in different ways. Myself, I generally internalize, which intellectually I know is unhealthy, but that knowledge doesn't automatically stop me from doing it. It's nice to have a reminder, especially in such as unexpected way, that I don't need to let the opinions of others define who I am.
Recently I read these words by Buddhist nun Pema Chodron:
We insist on being Someone, with a capital S. We get security from defining ourselves as worthless or worthy, superior or inferior. We waste precious time exaggerating or romanticizing or belittling ourselves with a complacent surety that yes, that's who we are. We mistake the openness of our being -- the inherent wonder and surprise of each moment -- for a solid, irrefutable self. Because of this misunderstanding, we suffer.
Security from defining ourselves as worthless or inferior? Security from exaggerating our faults? These were new thoughts to me, yet I could see the truth in them as soon as I'd read the words. We live in a world that disdains virtue and extols weakness. Instead of acknowledging weaknesses and using them to discover your strengths and help others, the world seems to think that acknowledging weaknesses and letting them lie is somehow intellectually, emotionally and morally superior.
But I don't think we are meant to remain broken. I don't think we are meant to celebrate our brokenness, but rather use it to become more patient and tolerant and compassionate. And we are not meant to shy away from others when we see their brokenness, but rather to love them all the more. The fact that we are here, on this planet, with everyone else already and by itself should tell us that we are someone of worth. And our worth is not greater than our neighbors, nor is it less. I think the only people we should believe we are worth "more than" is the self we were yesterday, when we were less than we were capable of.
I got the idea for this blog a couple days ago while looking at the glass jar where for months I'd been tossing the slips of paper from fortune cookies, tea bag tags, candy wrappers and bottle caps containing little pearls of wisdom. Every now and then I'd pull one out to read it and contemplate it, and I would add to it as I'd come across a new bit of wisdom. I also thought it could serve as a writing exercise; I don't often enough give myself permission to write, permission to pursue my dreams. I think it's because somewhere along the line I started telling myself that I didn't really have much to say, and what I did say no one would really care about anyway. But following Mr Whitman's advice, I hereby dismiss that little bit of soul-insulting nonsense.
A couple years ago a coworker who I'd had long had a personality clash with said something incredibly unkind to me. I did not even then think he had said it to deliberately wound me; I do not think that is his nature but rather that his nature is to "get things done" and I, moving at my own methodical pace, do not accomplish tasks as quickly nor as effectively as he believes they should be accomplished. I bit my tongue, and after he left my cubicle, fumed for a bit and decided I needed to calm down before I could accomplish the task at a rate pleasing even to myself. Peppermint herbal tea is always helpful for calming me and so I went to the break room to fit a mug.
Walt Whitman's words are what the little tea bag said, and they had as much a calming effect on me as did the peppermint. It was a turning point for me. I cannot say I no longer get agitated at work, but putting those words above my computer screen became a reminder for me to not take insulting, hurtful things personally - even if they are meant that way. Everyone handles stress in different ways. Myself, I generally internalize, which intellectually I know is unhealthy, but that knowledge doesn't automatically stop me from doing it. It's nice to have a reminder, especially in such as unexpected way, that I don't need to let the opinions of others define who I am.
Recently I read these words by Buddhist nun Pema Chodron:
We insist on being Someone, with a capital S. We get security from defining ourselves as worthless or worthy, superior or inferior. We waste precious time exaggerating or romanticizing or belittling ourselves with a complacent surety that yes, that's who we are. We mistake the openness of our being -- the inherent wonder and surprise of each moment -- for a solid, irrefutable self. Because of this misunderstanding, we suffer.
Security from defining ourselves as worthless or inferior? Security from exaggerating our faults? These were new thoughts to me, yet I could see the truth in them as soon as I'd read the words. We live in a world that disdains virtue and extols weakness. Instead of acknowledging weaknesses and using them to discover your strengths and help others, the world seems to think that acknowledging weaknesses and letting them lie is somehow intellectually, emotionally and morally superior.
But I don't think we are meant to remain broken. I don't think we are meant to celebrate our brokenness, but rather use it to become more patient and tolerant and compassionate. And we are not meant to shy away from others when we see their brokenness, but rather to love them all the more. The fact that we are here, on this planet, with everyone else already and by itself should tell us that we are someone of worth. And our worth is not greater than our neighbors, nor is it less. I think the only people we should believe we are worth "more than" is the self we were yesterday, when we were less than we were capable of.
I got the idea for this blog a couple days ago while looking at the glass jar where for months I'd been tossing the slips of paper from fortune cookies, tea bag tags, candy wrappers and bottle caps containing little pearls of wisdom. Every now and then I'd pull one out to read it and contemplate it, and I would add to it as I'd come across a new bit of wisdom. I also thought it could serve as a writing exercise; I don't often enough give myself permission to write, permission to pursue my dreams. I think it's because somewhere along the line I started telling myself that I didn't really have much to say, and what I did say no one would really care about anyway. But following Mr Whitman's advice, I hereby dismiss that little bit of soul-insulting nonsense.
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