There is a responsibility in making a difference. A universal pact that the difference should, do no harm.

In Bruce Weinstein, PhD’s book Ethical Intelligence, the first principle of living an ethical life is ‘To do no harm’. He goes on to say that if you must do harm, minimize it and gives the example of having to lay someone off. Do it, he counsels, in a way that retains their dignity, that respects and honours them and you and your organization.

Yesterday, in an effort to do something good for someone, I harmed them. It wasn’t intentional, harm seldom is when we come from a place of wanting to do good. But, in the act of creating ‘a moment’, I didn’t consider the consequences of some of the aspects to what I was doing and the recipient felt unheard and unseen.

I am 100% accountable for my footprint in the world and in other people’s lives.

When I take a misstep it is my responsibility to acknowledge it, apologize (without excuses), commit to making amends and recommit to the relationship.

Yesterday, I made a difference I didn’t want to make.

Today, I recommit to doing my best, being my best, to paying attention, staying focused and present in what I do, and when I make a mistake, as I inevitably will, I commit to acknowledging my mistake, in love, and honouring the other through my amends.

We all make mistakes. It’s not the mistakes that make the difference. It’s the being accountable for what we’ve done by turning up, paying attention, speaking our truth and staying unattached to the outcome that creates the difference between harbouring resentments or moving forward in love and forgiveness.

In my mistake I have taken action. Embraced the opportunity to learn and grow. I have apologized and am committed to stay present in my desire to make a difference.

It is the best I can do and my best is good enough.

Namaste.

In May, 2003, when I was released from the living hell of an abusive relationship by two police officers who walked in and arrested the man who had promised to love me ’til death do us part and was taking the death part way too seriously, I knew I had received a miracle. In that miracle, I knew I had to share my joy, my belief — it’s never too late — to start over again. To say, I’m sorry, to forgive, to embrace Love. It’s never too late to live the life of your dreams.

I wrote, The Dandelion Spirit: A true life fairytale of love, lies and letting go, to share my journey of healing from the hell of that relationship to inspire other women, and men in their healing journeys.

Last night, while meeting with a woman on a project that we are both involved in (a really worthwhile and exciting project to honour the memory of women who have been killed on the streets) she mentioned someone she knows who just walked out on an abusive relationship with only her two sons, the clothes they were wearing, and her car. “We rallied together and got her all fixed up in an apartment,” she said. “Now, she has to figure out what happened to pull her down.”

I pulled a copy of The Dandelion Spirit out of the cupboard, wrote a note to this courageous woman and handed it to my friend. “Please give this to her. It will help.”

I know The Dandelion Spirit helps because I have had many, many women and men, email me to tell me what it meant to them. I’ve had people at Choices, the personal development program I sometimes coach in, stop me to tell me how the book changed their lives.

I wrote the book to make a difference. And it still does.

When I met with the woman last night to discuss the project, I believed working on the project was the difference I was consciously making yesterday. And then, ‘the difference’ opened up into being of service to a woman for whom my wisdom, experience and book can add value and healing to her life. I am grateful that I had a chance to pass it on. To share my experience to create value in someone else’s life.

Currently, the website for The Dandelion Spirit is being moved to a new server. I haven’t done a lot to promote the book, I’ve let it slide. In last night’s conversation I am reminded that I have let self-doubt interfere in my capacity to serve the world.

The lesson for me is to never let self-doubt prevent me from serving the world. The world needs me and you and all of us to continually be of service. The world needs us to shine!

Shine On!

There wasn’t much opportunity to make a difference yesterday. It’s still frigid outside and my daughter needs my car as her’s won’t start and, did I mention, it’s frigid outside?

I was to have gone out last night and participated in something that offered up real opportunity to make a difference, but between a cold that keeps scratching at my throat, a meeting that started late because of the traffic and my daughter needing my car, I didn’t go.

I did shovel my walk and my neighbour’s walk — I must get extra points for that when it’s this cold out, right? I did fill the bird feeder twice and I did have a conversation with a friend who really needed someone to listen to them. And I remind myself, there are small significances in all of that. Those things added value to someone’s life.

It is, I believe, one of our greatest needs. To feel like our life has meaning. That what we are doing adds value, makes a difference.

And I struggle with the everyday aspect of my commitment to consciously make a difference every day, knowing, it is a good commitment. How easy it would be to not shovel that walk, not fill the bird feeder, not listen to a friend because I was in the middle of working on a project, not lend my daughter my car.

How easy it would be to focus on just my life, my needs, my wants and ignore the world around me.

Yet, when I do that, become insular, ignore the world around me, I cut myself off from feeling connected to the world around me.

It isn’t about the kudos I get by doing ‘good deed’s or how making a difference makes me feel. It’s about how making a difference connects me to the world around me. And in that connection, I feel part of something bigger than just me, something grander than just the design of my day. I feel connected to the grand scheme of the universe, to the workings of the world around me. I feel like in the big picture, my life has meaning — and in that meaning I am content. Because in that meaning I am living on purpose — inspiring people to live their lives with eyes and hearts and minds wide open in Love, celebrating the small and the big things they do to make a world of difference.

Making a difference also got something done yesterday that I’ve been intending to do since moving into this community three years ago.

It was freezing out. No, read that, frigid. -30C . And that doesn’t include the windchill. Before I went to bed the night before I discovered kitchen sink was plugged. When I called the plumber in the morning, he promised to be over as soon as possible, but he was swamped with calls and couldn’t give me an exact time. Worried the pipes were frozen, I cancelled a meeting I had later that morning and determined not to drive my car for the day — not a big hardship. The roads are treacherous and the cold makes it worse. I didn’t need to add my exhaust to the ice crystals everywhere.

It doesn’t matter the weather, Ellie, the wonder pooch, still needed a walk. And I needed a purpose to take her, not just the fact she was sitting by my desk, holding her leash in her mouth and looking at me with big expectant, pleading eyes.

The plumber arrived, unplugged the sink and with water flowing freely again in pipes that fortunately were not frozen, I caved into Ellie’s wish for a walk. I have been intending to get a Community Association ‘forever’ and it seemed like the perfect time to do it. But first, a quick phone call to confirm the Association office was open and then, bundled up like Nanook of the North, Ellie and I trudged down the street to the office a few blocks away.

Did I mention it was cold? Frigid even?

Going east the wind bit into any piece of exposed flesh. Ellie didn’t care. She pranced along beside me as I huddled into the faux fur collar of my long  winter coat, my scarf and hat covering my face except the slit where my eyes squinted out. I wished I’d worn goggles — and I wouldn’t have cared how ridiculous I looked!

Ten minutes later we were at the office. Five minutes later, on our way home.

And now, I have a membership in the Community Association and I feel better for knowing, I am part of my community.

To make a difference in the world, I have to be present in my world, my community. To make a difference in my community, I have to join in the conversation. And to be part of the conversation, I have to take the steps to create a space for me to be part of it, and remove myself from the ‘outsiders’ list in my mind that would have me believe, I don’t belong.

I joined our Community Association yesterday. And now, to take part in the conversation. It’s the best way to make a difference where I belong.

Namaste.

Last night a young man dropped by. I’ve been helping him with his writing. A friend of my stepson, he’s very talented but his English skills are definitely in need of sharpening. I’ve been helping him edit a story he’s written about a man who robs a convenience store, drives north to Alaska and along the way winds up breaking into a house on a lake and  meeting his past in the frozen waters surrounding him.

The first time he brought the story to me I asked him to read it aloud.  He didn’t get far before admitting the lack of punctuation, poor grammar and spelling made it a tough read.

“Stories are meant to be shared,” I told him. “You’ve got a really interesting and creative story here but if you don’t pay attention to the details, the sharing of your story will be limited to friends and family willing to take the time to figure out for themselves what you wanted to say. As a writer, you need to reach out to your audience through language that not only sings, it needs to be readable.”

He took the story away and began cleaning it up. We met a few times before Christmas and last week he phoned to tell me he had more ready to be reviewed. “I think you’ll be really proud of me,” he said. “I’ve worked really hard.”

And he had. And I was, proud of him.

He’s signed up for a creative writing course at the University. He’s working on a novel. He is excited and committed and eager to write. And I am encouraging him.

My stepson thanked me not long ago for working with his friend. “He’s really gifted but no one really spends much time supporting him,” he said. “Thanks for doing that.”

And when the young man left after a two and a half hour editing session last night, he shook my hand and thanked me. I cautioned him to get some medical advice on a jellyfish bite he received over the holidays in Costa Rica. He’s got some weird skin discoloration happening and it needs attention. “I will,” he promised and added as he left, “Thank you for being concerned about my well-being.”

It doesn’t take much, caring about others. Making a difference.

And so much can happen when we do.

We can all do it. Share our wisdom, our knowledge, our care. Be a mentor. Take someone under our wing. Give a young person support. Inspire someone to reach for their dreams.

We can all do it. Let’s.

Terri Guillemets, anthologist and creator of the online anthology of quotes, The Quote Garden, said, “If I had to sum up Friendship in one word, it would be Comfort.”

Last night, I took great comfort in being able to celebrate the birthdays of two very dear friends. Charles, my partner, and I cooked up a special dinner of things we knew to be their favourites, and spent the evening sharing a meal, and wine and laughter and stories with their daughter along with Charles’ daughter and mine to say, “You are both amazing human beings. Thank you for your friendship.”

It struck me that friends, like family, are the real treasures of this world. That to be a good friend, I must consciously do the things that tell my friends (and family) how much I care. It is not always something I do. I can be forgetful. Disorganized. Distracted. I can forget birthdays, or get the date wrong — I did that this week with my friend BA whose birthday I am sure is actually January 21 when it’s really the 11th. Sometimes, I don’t take the time to write  a note, make a phone call, send an email to my friends to tell them how much they mean to me, or simply to say hello. I am not always a good friend.

It’s a good realization for me on this the 17th day of A Year of Making a Difference  — To be a good friend I must take time to express my appreciation of my friends.

I have an online friend, Kathleen O who is one of the most remarkable, ‘I’m thinking of you’ people I know. She is always sending out little handmade notes and cards that arrive in people’s mailboxes unexpectedly. This Christmas, for the second year in a row, Diane W. sent one of her amazing calendars and Joyce W sent along a beautiful hand crafted card of her flower goddesses. It is these unexpected treasures that remind me that I am surrounded by amazing friends.

To make a difference in their lives, I must be conscious of the things I do that express my gratitude and joy in their friendship. I must be conscious of how I say, Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being in my life. Your friendship makes a difference in my world. You make a difference to me.

The difference was visible yesterday. All I had to was open my eyes and see it.

Calgary can be a windy city. Garbage flies around, plastic bags and other things cling to tall grasses, dig into the bases of trees, get caught on branches. Yesterday, as Ellie, the wonder pooch, and I walked along the ridge overlooking the river, I saw a plastic bag clinging to low hanging bushes at the base of a fir tree. Ellie, always eager to get off trail, pranced in the underbrush as I crawled beneath the tree to pick up the bag (I think she thought I was a little crazy). The base of the fir tree cleared of debris, we carried on our way, my eyes scanning the terrain for opportunities to clean up nature.

And there were. Many opportunities.

In fact, the reason for picking up the bag became apparent not far from where I picked it up. Someone had not thought to pick up after their hound. A pile of frozen dog doo-doo lay to the side of the trail. I used the bag I’d found to clean it up, which, given that I always walk with two bags in my pocket, would not normally be a problem. But Ellie, who ate a tub of fish food the other night, has been somewhat prolific in her bodily functions and I had used, and discarded appropriately, both bags I’d brought.

I wouldn’t have been able to clean up the mess if I hadn’t picked up that bag!

And yes. It is wrong that people don’t clean up after their dogs.

And yes. I was tempted to criticize, condemn and complain about their behaviour. But those are not energies I want to put out into the world, and so, I breathed and whispered a prayer to the Universe that I say when faced with opportunities to give into my lesser emotions. “Bless them. Forgive me.”

It was easy to make a difference yesterday. All I had to do was clean up the world around me and help it sparkle.

It was a quiet day yesterday. Staying conscious was a challenge.

Work on my new website – I am grateful for the tech staff at godaddy who so graciously and patiently walked me through my struggles during three separate phone calls. They gave me hope. But seriously, the work of trying to figure things out consumed me for much of the day and I didn’t focus much time on ‘making a difference’ as much as on receiving help from others. As one friend reminded me who reads my other blog (Recover Your Joy), “you make a difference everyday through what you write.” Thank you my friend.

In the process of assessing my day yesterday though, I realized a couple of things that need changing. Rather than simply recording the difference I consciously made, on Fridays, I shall write about the difference other people made in my life during the week. From the driver who let me in from the merge lane, thank you, to Dave who had an extra tub of fish food when I needed one, and for the fish, thank you.

People make a difference in my life in small and big ways, everyday.

Isabel and Dave for being with me on Project Miracle. The gifts are many when I open my heart and soul to seeing the dark and the light in my emotions.

Carolyn who called to invite me for a spontaneous lunch. She is always giving, always sharing her best.

Rosemarie and Debbie shared their hearts over dinner one night and I had an opportunity to delve deeper into my own.

Ellie, the wonder pooch, who reminds me everyday — I gotta get outside and get moving.

For my fellow dance and meditation partners, you remind me that together we can make a world of difference.

Barry, for believing in me, encouraging me and supporting me.

Dave T for staying in touch.

Nan for inspiring me when I needed a boost.

Linda who shared an opportunity she thought I might like to explore.

Mark who called just to get in touch.

Karen and Marina for offering me an opportunity to make a difference.

Sue, whose energy on and commitment to the “and My Name is…” project is unflagging and who reminds me to give my best, always.

My daughters who continue to embrace me in love and teach me of its depths.

And as I write my list I am reminded of the value of being present. I can’t remember all the people who touched my life this week and made a difference. Reality is, everyone who touched my life made a difference this week. From phone calls, to brief encounters, to smiles of strangers on the street, to those who commented here ,to those who emailed or simply read, to those whose blogs I read and feel our human condition connecting in awe — there are many, many people who touched my life this week and made a difference.

And I think that perhaps, along with ‘what I did’, is the need for an ‘I am grateful’ perspective to keep my heart open to the many gifts in my life.

Yes. Staying present means doing my best. It also means, seeing  and being grateful for the gifts that flow through my life and acknowledging them and thanking the people (and animals) who make them possible.

Thank you.

It’s not surprising my father came up in meditation last night. 1) the instruction to the group was to ‘be’ our fathers’ during a piece of music. and 2) I had just been speaking of him to my friend Dave before going to our group meditation. On his way to group, Dave had dropped off my new friends who have taken up residence in my office. He is moving away and can not take his pets with him. He’d asked if I’d be willing to give them a home and I said yes. And now, I am the momma of three fish. Harry. Sally and Sue. They didn’t have a name when they arrived. Dave had never thought to name them. Which is good because I got to christen them and anoint their new home in my office.

When I was a little girl and into my teens, my father kept fish. Some of my happiest moments with my father were cleaning the tank, feeding the fish, talking about the different varieties he kept in the 150 gal tank that sat in our living room. And some of my most contented moments were simply sitting and watching the fish dart and dither about the tank. They were like poetry to me. I loved to rhyme off their names. To hear the sound of the consonants and vowels rolling off my tongue. Angel fish and Zebra’s. Clown fish and Leopards. And of course, Siamese Fighting Fish. I loved how the ‘s’ sizzled as it came out.

My father kept the Siamese Fighting Fish separated. He had to. If they’re part of the general population they’d kill all the other fish, he told me. I like their spirit, he added, but I don’t want them to destroy everyone else in the tank.

I was thinking about fish when I got to meditation. And thinking about fish always connects me to my father who passed away over 15 years ago.

And so, when Dal, our meditation guide directed the group  to ‘be your father’, tears began to flow and I felt the tug of the past pulling me under into the waters of memory. And in their flow I saw myself being my father. Angry. Frightened. Sad. An angry man with the heart of a poet boy, unable to let go of sadness for the past. I swam in that sea of sadness and felt the tendrils of regret release. I felt the sadness that had been buoying me up sink to the sandy soils beneath.

My father never had a chance to be a boy. Never had a chance to be the man he dreamt of being when war came and he ran off to fight. There was so much regret and sadness in his life. So much sorrow for the relationships he never had, for a past he could not change. I swam in those waters of meditation last night and let it go. I swam up through the darkness into the light and found myself free of regret. Lighter than air, I dove into the waters of forgiveness. In their flow I was reminded, that was then, this is now. And now is what matters most.

I adopted three fish yesterday. Did a favour for a friend who is moving away and needed a home for his pets. In giving, I received what I needed most — the gift of memory without regret. The gift of remembering my father as a poem in my heart that flows as sweetly as an Angel fish gliding effortlessly through the waters of life.