The Reinvention of February

 

It’s my intention to reinvent February—

Conjuring up dreams of yellow daffodils on green stems,

A lost lover’s deep kisses,

A new freedom from the observation that 

More light arrives with each passing day.

I’ll have myself a new February!

Without the blood red center,

Without the memories of loss and regret.

I’ll distill and drink every last drop of sunlight from each passing day 

And this new February will be my magical portal to Spring.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Fern Canyon, Boulder CO

"Life is meant to be lived, and curiosity must be kept alive.  One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life." - Eleanor Roosevelt

For those of us still curious about life, the Internet is one fine invention because its hyperlink structure allows you to wander from one related (or not so related) idea to the next so very easily.  It's like taking a hike in a vast forest and being presented with many twisty passages, all different. Exciting to explore, easy to get lost and follow a path that seems to dwindle to nothing.  But even at that point of nothingness, new rabbit holes pop up along with new ideas if you have enough curiosity to take the plunge.  To me, curiosity is essential to joy in my life; however, I also want to be someone who can provide some guideposts along the path.

Recently, a group of people I worked closely with for many years before my retirement in February were laid off, after two decades or more of faithful service to the company throughout its various transformations, iterations and new-old strategies.  This latest development was described by the company's leaders in Orwellian newspeak as "simplification."

I've only been laid off once several years ago, but the experience is still vivid in my memory:  the initial feeling of being jettisoned out of the spacecraft with limited oxygen in the tank, the processing of the various stages of grief, the questioning of self worth, the terror at the unknown.  So my heart has been with these friends as they each travel their new paths--some elated, some scared, some elated and scared, some just thinking they'll take the summer off and then decide what to do, some kicking into courageous high gear to finally fulfill that beautiful writing project or Caribbean dream they've been envisioning these many years.

After talking to some of them, I'm not heartbroken any longer.  I'm thrilled for them.  Yes, yes, yes, as always there are practical considerations.  If they asked me, I would tell them there are many paths in the forest, and curiosity is the best gift.  Don't deny those urges to explore the less traveled side paths. As has just been revealed once again, you never know what you'll encounter on the next steps in the journey and that's what keeps it interesting.

24

Today I have a son who is 24 years old.  He’s many things including a mountain climber and a risk-taker—and he loves Boulder.  I know well that he also has a growing wanderlust and I would predict road trips and other adventures in the not so distant future.  Neil Young really had it right:

Old man, look at my life

Twenty-four and there’s so much more

Live alone in a paradise

That makes me think of two.

Love lost, such a cost.

Give me things that don’t get lost

Like a coin that won’t get tossed

Rolling home to you…

                              Neil Young

When I was 24 it was 1977.  Just a few months before my September birthday, M and I had packed everything we owned (mainly books, a typewriter and two guitars) into a tan square-backed VW and moved ourselves from Bloomington, Indiana (where at the time both cheap housing and jobs were in scarce supply) to Boulder, Colorado, mainly to follow our dream of living near the mountains.  I had graduated two years before.  We left everything behind in Indiana—all our friends, our family, our low-paying jobs, the abundant green of Hoosier woods, the orange-red of the Indiana fall.  I am surprised now that we had the courage to make such a monumental change, but at the time it seemed like exactly the right move.  We did have each other, after all.

It was May.  We were blessed with warm, summery weather and we had no idea how lucky we were about that—we camped in a tent for a week at the Wagon Wheel Campground up Four-Mile Canyon, and then we found rooms in a house on the corner of Arapahoe and Lincoln, right across from the public library.

Our housemate was a very strange ex-Californian named Peter, who was older than he wanted us to think, and who had been writing a screenplay for many years.  He was short, blond and tanned, and looked like a misplaced stubby little surfer.  His mother was wealthy and he seemed to have a limited but steady income from his mother to follow whatever dreams he might have.  He had once been a member of a cult on the West Coast, the subject of the screenplay.

We weren’t in Indiana anymore.

The year we came to Boulder a lot of construction was going on along a street called Pearl; they were building some kind of new-fangled outdoors mall where the street would be closed off for a few blocks and only pedestrians would be allowed. 

We were both writing a lot—M in longhand, I with my trusty little electric typewriter that my grandfather had given me when I started college.  We’d saved up enough money to not have to work for at least a couple of months.  It was a time of shining hope and vast optimism.  Ten years, later, Shannon, you were already one year old.  Happy 24th ! 

May your hands always be busy

May your feet always be swift

May you have a strong foundation

When the winds of changes shift

May your heart always be joyful

And may your song always be sung

May you stay forever young

                              Bob Dylan

How I Stay Sane, Part IV: Awake at Work

Recently I’ve seen a lot of change at work.

“What else is new?” you might ask. “Haven’t you learned by now in your lengthy career that change is the only constant?” Well, these particular changes are larger than usual, resulting in my managing totally different people and product groups, and with a new angle focusing on quality assurance rather than product development.

The opportunity for learning and growth is huge. And I have much to learn, which can be very stressful.

To stay sane and strong, I’m using a number of tried and true coping mechanisms, one of which is to re-read a marvelous book by Michael Carroll, “Awake at Work: 35 Practical Buddhist Principles for Discovering Clarity and Balance in the Midst of Work’s Chaos.”

You don’t have to be a practicing Buddhist (I am not--I am more of a dabbler) for these principles to be useful. The main point is that clarity can be gained by slowing down just long enough to become present and mindful of what’s going on in the present moment—by being “who we are, where we are right now,” as Carroll puts it.

This mindfulness allows curiosity to replace fear and hope (both of which can cause painful and futile resistance to the reality of the present moment). A calm curiosity can bring unexpected insights about what’s really going on at work and how to better deal with it.

Here are three principles that particularly ring true for me in my reading of the book this time around--although there are many others I find just as helpful:

“Work is a mess.”

“Power is unnerving.”

“First to pacify, last to destroy.”

First, “work is a mess.” Accept that unpredictable surprises and messes are inevitable. Instead of panicing, blaming, or regretting, seize these opportunities to find creative solutions. As Sun Tzu said, victory is achieved not through the execution of previously laid out plans but by being relaxed, open and awake at that moment when surprise strikes—and then trusting your natural intelligence and instincts to know what to do in these crazy moments.

Secondly, “power is unnerving.” As I become accustomed to working with new figures of authority, many of whom seem absolutely certain at all times that they are correct, and at the same time become the new boss for other people who are meeting me for the first time, it is good to remember that authority, either ours or someone else’s, can cause great stress and discomfort. But these very sensations are a signal to be ever more mindful, alert, precise--and to focus on the moment, allowing it to be okay if we’re uncertain, heeding that very uncertainty as a signal to remain fully mindful. (Another principle related to this one is to “welcome the tyrant. ” A bully at work may be just the thing to wake you up and focus you on being right here, right now—allowing revelations you never would have had otherwise).

“First to pacify, last to destroy” is the third concept. Four methods for dealing with conflict are presented, and I find that these are so much a part of my natural instincts that is it great to see them written down and validated. The first is to begin by “pacifying”—being curious rather than resistant to the conflict and listening to discover the other person’s viewpoint. The second is “enriching”-- looking for ways to support another person rather than focusing more narrowly on our own objectives alone--looking for the win/win, the higher level common goal. The third approach Carroll calls “magnetizing”—focusing on compromise, gaining agreement and support, which can only be done by having first addressed the previous two concepts and understanding where the other person is coming from and how you can support that other person’s goals as part of the solution.

The final method for dealing with conflict is “destroying.” This is the hardest one for me—the ability to say no during conflict and walk away if necessary. The point here is that by exercising the previous methods first (pacifying, enriching, magnetizing), there’s a foundation for finding the strength to walk away—not in anger or hate, but as a last resort after all else has failed, knowing you did your best. And, as I’ve always believed, this measure should only be taken as the last resort. Not all people in business believe this; some hold the view that “tough” management can only be demonstrated with an easy willingness to destroy first. But I agree with the idea that being “first to pacify, last to destroy” is the true hallmark of wisdom and courage. Even so, you’ve got to be ready to confidently take this measure when the situation calls for it.

If you are seeking new ways to look at work, get this book--and let me know what you think.

Cardinals and Snow

As I gazed at my Starbuck’s latte and pondered what I would say in the Christmas letter this year, I noticed a phrase printed on the side of the cup: “We invite you to LISTEN to your DESIRES and to RENEW your HOPE. To see the world not as it is, but as it COULD be. Go ahead. WISH. It’s what makes the holidays the HOLIDAYS.”

This contrasts with the Buddhist philosophy to neither hope nor fear, to let go of longings and be mindful of the joys available in the present moment. Can one let go properly (the lesson I keep working to learn over and over again) and yet retain hope and optimism? It seems that in order to renew hope one must begin by paying attention to the present moment and being mindful of all there is to be grateful for, here and now. And there is an optimism perhaps in Max Ehrmann’s phrase from Desiderata: “no doubt life is unfolding as it should.”

If a therapist were consulted, she might say that the first part of the Starbuck’s exhortation, the part about listening to one’s desires, is a very good plan, especially for those who have a tendency to try to make sure everybody else has the oxygen mask in place during the plane emergency and end up almost passing out from oxygen deprivation themselves.

A meditation on one’s own desires seems selfish and not in keeping with the holiday season—unless perhaps you have lost hope and you need to find a way back to the vision in the shining child’s eyes, seeing a Christmas morning where all wishes come true. For the Christmas book this year, my book club chose “A Redbird Christmas” by Fanny Flagg (also the author of “Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistlestop Café”). This is an unabashed fairy tale in which good people and a young child hope when it seems that all hope is lost, and end up with a Christmas miracle beyond their wildest imaginings involving redbirds and snow in the Deep South.

I have always associated red cardinals against a snowy background with Christmastime. I remember when I was around seven my mother wrapped a package especially for me and taped a red cardinal to it, carefully cut out from an old Christmas card. I don’t remember what was in the package, but I remember the love and thoughtfulness represented by the cardinal decoration. I also remember watching all the birds, including the cardinals, flock to feast on the sunflower seeds my Dad placed out on the upper deck bird feeder during the coldest, snowiest days of winter at our Sugar Lane house back in Southern Indiana. Those birds had reason to hope each year and also seized any opportunities in the present as well. So I will have my cake and eat it too, combining hope with mindfulness of the present. No doubt events are unfolding as they should.

So I wish that everybody who reads this has a great holiday. May all of you take a deep breath, be present, and renew your hope in the coming New Year.

Seasons

M and I walk north from Pearl on 13th and make our way to the North Boulder Community Gardens where piles of mulch and bales of straw announce the approach of winter. I notice for the first time a red stone bench with two trees planted in the half-circle. Someone has placed a few wicker chairs with comfortable backs in the half-circle as well, and the little park looks south over the gardens toward the Flatirons. The chair back feels warm from the sun as I settle into it and gaze at the view; I’m grateful for a momentary sense of inner peace. The stone bench has five separate sections with inscriptions. It is a dedication to Thomas Clark, “A Man for All Seasons,” it says. In the center section is carved:

Thomas Clark - A Man for All Seasons
Ecclesiastes 3:1 “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven.”

I think that Thomas Clark contributed much to the Community Gardens and has been remembered in this way; I could do worse than to be remembered as a "woman for all seasons."  Two sections on either side of this are carved with phrases representing each season, and so we find:

Spring – Joyful Renewal
Summer – Generous Abundance
Fall – Passionate Celebration
Winter – Peaceful Reflection

M and I agree that on this November day we would seem to be somewhere between celebration and reflection. It is a beautiful spot, and I tell him if I go first, he should meet me here in spirit, and I would do the same for him. He agrees to this with mild amusement, but later comments with typical irreverence that it is more likely his spirit would come back in a Terre Haute whorehouse.  Despite getting a pretty good night’s sleep, he is tired today he tells me, but has been able to write again just a little this week.

Knowing as I do how much seasons can affect moods, it's comforting to have these positive phrases set in stone to describe Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter--almost like a meditational theme for each. I’ve always loved climates with clearly defined seasons; they can be relied upon to change just when you’re most ready for a new perspective.

Let It Be

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me.
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.                  Paul McCartney

Last Sunday morning at 10:20 I found myself standing very alone on the corner of Pearl and 13th, filled with despair and grief about the illness of someone close to me. And I remembered seeing that there was a 10:30 am service at the First United Methodist Church a block away. I made it there with time to spare. The silver-haired gentleman greeting people at the door said, not unkindly, “Are you coming in?” “Yes, I am,” said I, and I took the program he handed me and walked on in with my backpack, jeans and tennis shoes, telling myself that God wouldn’t care, that God would be happy to see me in a Methodist church again for the first time in 42 years.

I found an empty pew near the front and sat in the middle right behind the familiar wooden rack holding the Methodist hymnal and a Bible. The program stated that all were welcome here regardless of gender, race, class, age, ability, religious affiliation or sexual orientation. One whole wall to the left emitted light through multicolored glass squares, and the church seemed very spacious and open.

Just as the service started a man of perhaps 33 slipped quietly into the same pew on my left, but at a respectful distance. He was also wearing jeans I noticed with mild relief, and wore a silver ring in his right ear. The service proceeded much as a remembered from long ago, the affirmations, the choir leading obscure hymns (I wanted to call out “Rock of Ages!” “Just a Closer Walk with Thee!” but I didn’t think they were taking requests), the prayers for those in the hospital or suffering a loss. The sermon was on the topic of seeing clearly, as blind men did after Jesus healed them, and truly recognizing that all we possess is really God’s, not ours (and despite these difficult times have you considered increasing your tithe lately).

As I murmured The Lord’s Prayer near the end along with the congregation, a tear rolled down my cheek and clung with some tenacity to my jaw until I finally brushed it away.

Toward the end of the service after a brief explanation that especially in this flu season it was okay not to shake hands, the “Pass the Peace” ritual occurred in which people turned to greet their neighbors. The man with the ring in his ear gazed at me with warm brown eyes, told me he was a regular attendee and had grown up in Boulder, that the ministers were great and the church was accepting of all who came and that he hoped I would find what I was seeking there.

When I was young my Dad and I went to the old limestone Methodist Church on First Street in Ellettsville some Sundays, the morning light streaming in through the old fashioned stained glass windows. For awhile I sang in the church choir. I never really considered myself a believer nor did he—but we sat together in the dark old pews sharing a hymnal, and I can still hear his deep voice singing the bass harmonies next to me.

At the end of the service everyone turned around in their seats and gazed up at a balcony where a bell choir played another hymn, the children from Sunday school standing by. And as I left the church that morning I felt a little closer to God and just a little more hopeful that no doubt events were unfolding as they should.

I Dwell In Possibility

I stood in my backyard this morning and soaked up the Colorado sunshine, seeking a remedy for my continuing melancholy. Focusing on the present is a cure, as is Emily Dickinson’s suggestion: “Dwell in Possibility” per the black magnet with white script posted on the side of our refrigerator. Is the idea of dwelling in possibility in conflict with the idea of focusing on the present? Some say that the phrase reflects Emily’s reclusiveness and isolation; she lived her life isolated in her imagination, and had little contact with real people and situations. But I’ve always preferred to interpret it ultimately as an expression of the same kind of hopefulness and optimism expressed by Helen Keller: “When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.”

The world always offers new possibilities for love, life, learning – we have to be open-minded enough to seize them.

On our walk this morning M shared the shocking news that “carpe diem” does not mean “seize the day” at all in strict Latin translation, but instead means “pluck the day,” as in plucking a flower.  Who knew? But now that I know the truth, it seems that “pluck,” as in “enjoy, make use of,” is perhaps better than “seize,” which has a rather militaristic, possessive, muscling-others-out-of-the-way ring to it.

Today I feel a weariness and lingering sense of lost purpose after a week-long business trip to the Emerald City in the Valley of Silicon looking for heart, brains, courage and a path homeward. My next magical trick is to focus on the present, and pluck the day.

Digging Up Dead Thyme

Mark mentioned a conversation he had with our next door neighbor Jim while Mark was in the front yard “digging up dead thyme.” We both laughed at the irony of this phrase and agreed it should go in at least one of our journals; he told me that it was a gift to me and I should record it in mine. Why is the phrase so amusing? I suppose because I do spend a good deal of my time (hah!) thinking thinking thinking about past events, losses, things that could have gone better, mistakes and mysteries.

On the other hand, sometimes yard work has to be done to clear out dying vegetation and then it is quite necessary to “dig up dead thyme;” to finally understand what happened long ago and how it is influencing the present dream.

I just finished a book called “Loving What Is,” by Byron Katie, another book about accepting and living in the present. In this book, Katie (as she calls herself) talks about emerging from a deep depression with a sudden understanding of how to do “The Work” to look at the problems of life in a new way. She sums up the work as follows: “Make a judgment, write it down, ask four questions, turn it around.”

I make it sound a little simplistic or a little crazy, but what it does is make you look at a problem that is causing you great unhappiness and see it in a new light. This follows the same path as other approaches such as cognitive behavioral therapy and the Power of Now—the idea is to be mindful of the thinking that is causing suffering and to dispute or counter that thinking. When it works (and I have found that it can work), it can alleviate some of the suffering. It is a focus on the pure reality of now.

Telling someone else about it, however, in the hopes that you might help them alleviate their own suffering, is alas a very different matter and quite difficult to do. A person is not ready for this until they’re ready, and until they’re ready, it sounds off the wall, boring or both. (Hello? Still there?)

What are your experiences with techniques for changing your moods for the better? Feel free to post here. For my other blogs on this topic, see Sanity.

Hope for America

During a short hike up Chautauqua Trail in Boulder, and a good look at the Flatirons on this June Sunday morning, I had time to think about two hopeful articles I read recently. Luminescent clouds against a Colorado blue sky framing the Colorado Rockies can do this (give you hope).

The first article was in Newsweek. I have always enjoyed Fareed Zakaria’s analysis of the complex interplay of culture and politics in the Middle East. Last week he wrote an article about hope – the hope we must all hang on to for the future of America. He helps us remember who we are by describing what he saw in the United States when he first arrived here as an 18-year-old from India in 1982, during another period of great challenge and transition for our country with unemployment at 10.8% and interest rates at 15% as well as great unrest in many areas of the world. Despite this there was hope and optimism. Today, he says we are so seized by fear we have forgotten how to believe in ourselves. He says we must stop using our energy to bash W. and get ready to move on:

“To do this we must first tackle the consequences of our foreign policy of fear. Having spooked ourselves into believing that we have no option but to act fast, alone, unilaterally and preemptively, we have managed in six years to destroy decades of international good will, alienate allies, embolden enemies and yet solve few of the major international problems we face.” - Fareed Zakaria

His point is, we do have what it takes to win back the respect of the world and move forward. Fareed says: “What the world needs is an open, confident America.” I agree.

The second article was a column by Garrison Keillor, author and host of the radio show ”A Prairie Home Companion.” He writes about the serenity and simplicity of the Amish and of small towns in a column called “Making the Case for the Simple Life.” He concludes that…

“There are bandits and demagogues and red-eyed zealots and destructive visionaries out working the main roads, but back here in the little towns and hoods, the country survives on steadiness and some innovation.” - Garrison Keillor

Yes. Let us cease the negativity of Bush bashing – and elect a new administration that will lead with hope, optimism, steadiness and innovation.