Tag Archives: letting go

Do life or be done by life. There is no in-between.

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do life copyWe can either do life or be done by life. There is no in-between place where life is not happening.

As so often happens, the words emerged as I was rising out of my meditation this morning.

And then I forgot them.

Ugh.

I scrunched up my eyes, scrunched up my face into a grim expression and fought to remember the words that had hit me like a potent cocktail just moments before.

Relax. Breathe, the voice of wisdom from within me whispered.

Relax. Breathe.

And the words emerged.

We can either do life or be done by life. There is no in-between place where life is not happening.

There is no in-between place.

Where are you in your life today? Are you standing in your power? Standing in your voice, speaking out in loving kindness for what is true for you?

Or, are you letting life have its way with you? Letting life dictate the ebbs and flows, rhythm and tempo of your journey? Stuffing down the words you yearn to speak, the actions you ache to make?

It’s often been said, ‘life is not a dress-rehearsal’.

It’s the real deal. The real thing. And we only have one crack at gettin’ ‘er done.

Get on with life today.

Breathe deeply and tell yourself, this is not a dress rehearsal. This is my life where I stand tall, speak up and let out all the wonder and magnificence that lives within me, just waiting for me to wake up and set it free.

It’s easy to feel defeated. It’s easy to feel like life is a daily struggle to get by, moment to moment, without any thought for the quality of each moment passing by.

Being passive in life is easy. It’s what you’ve done for so long. It’s how you’ve felt for the forever past you can remember.

Let go.

Being passive in life doesn’t get you anything other than more misery, more feeling defeated, more feeling like you’re not worth the bother.

Give it up.

And hold on.

Hold on to the belief that if you don’t turn up and speak your truth and live your life as if it’s the only life you’ve got, no one else will. No one else can.

Sure, there are rocks on the road, hills to climb, obstacles to overcome.

That’s life.

And so much more.

There are sunrises to witness. Sunsets to breathe into.

There are rivers to swim and seas to cross.

There are mountains to summit and ocean deeps to dive into.

There are pools of love to fall into. There are arms to embrace and smiles to share.

There are moments to experience the wonder and awe and pure joy of being alive, being here, being you!

Don’t let life do you. You do it!

Go on. You know you want to. Go ahead. Do life!

 

 

Day 4: the ultimate un-guide to surrender. Resistance is futile.

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surrender banner 1 copy

I yelled at C.C. last night. He had gone to pick up his son from the airport and I had gone to bed. My neck was hurting. Bad.

Later, when he climbed into bed beside me I was moaning and groaning about the pain. Every movement was agony. The slightest touch painful.

“Do you want ice?” he asked.

“I don’t know!” I yelled and started to cry. It hurt so much.

He got me ice.

Smart man.

Not only did he hear my unspoken need to have him take care of me, he got me the one thing that actually did work on relieving the pain.

This morning, I went in search of Louise Hay’s book, You Can Heal Your Life. I couldn’t find it in the bookcase so I searched online for “What does Louise Hay say it mean when your neck hurts?”

Google, as always, delivered.

sargam-neck-pain
Source:  Sargam Mishra: Inner Alchemy

How divinely sublime.

As I struggle and search for understanding of what I don’t know about surrender, the universe (aka google) delivers up “Change is the only Constant”.

Seriously?

No wonder my neck hurts. I just got walloped with understanding.

Resistance is futile. Acceptance necessary.

As I read the article by Sargam Misra, pranic healer, I felt knowing invade my being.

Sargam writes:  Neck – refusing to see other sides of the question, stubbornness, inflexibility.

What? Me stubborn?

Then again, what is the question?

Good question.

As I sank into the meditation she shares at the end of her post, the question came floating in as softly and easily as a cloud drifting across a summer’s day. “Are you willing to let go?”

Let go? I wondered. Of what?

It all.

What all?

Your resistance.

But I’m not in resistance. I just don’t understand.

What if there’s nothing to understand?

How can there not be? There’s so much to know. And if I don’t know it all, everyone will think I’m stupid.

How will you know when you know it all?

That one stumped me. I am reminded of a piece of feedback, Thelma Box, founder of Choices Seminars gave me once in a process we were doing on the JoHari Window. “I experience you as a woman who will never find an answer good enough for her.” That one stumped me too.

Problem is (which is just another way to say ‘the gift I received in her feedback’), she was dead on.

Sometimes, no matter the question, I think there’s got to be a better, deeper, more complete, all-knowing answer and keep searching for a better one and better one and better one.

Like this morning. After reading Sargam Mishra’s article on Neck Pain and its spiritual causes, I listened to the meditation she shared at the bottom of her post and in the mantra’s melodic affirmation found my neck pain easing, the stiffness relaxing.

Does it matter if I know what I am resisting as much as letting go of my resistance?

Does it matter if I can’t label all the responsibilities I tell myself I’m carrying that are causing my neck to spasm as much as I let go of my belief I am carrying a truckload of responsibilities that I tell myself are weighing me down?

Does it matter if I can’t name the fear beneath my sense of carrying the world on my shoulders as much as I let go of my belief I am carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders?

Release. Let go. Surrender.

My mind wants to tell me it’s too woo hoo wacky to write about this stuff, to even suggest I think it might have helped

My heart and soul know. Believe it or not, my body responds to loving care. My spirit responds to intention.

My intention this morning was to dive beneath the physical manifestation of pain in my neck to sink into what I didn’t know about the pain in my neck.

I know the pain is real. Perhaps its cause is not quite so real. Perhaps its source is a belief I’m holding onto that does not serve me well.

In Sargam’s mantra I find relief. And that’s all I need to know. To trust. To allow.

“I release, I relax and let go. I am safe in life.”

Universal Mantra for Healing : Ra Ma Da Sa Sa Say So Hum 

Surrender — the ultimate un-guide. Part 3. Mindgames and others fields of folly

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surrender banner 1 copy

My ego sees the world in black and white.

It craves concreteness. Labels. Meaning.

It feels strongest firmly planted in right versus wrong. Yes versus no. It holds absoluteness close and clings to what it knows fearing what it doesn’t know will hurt me and thus it, or at least damage the status quo it exalts in.

My ego thinks it is all I am.

Surrendering my ego leaves me breathless. It leaves me feeling exposed. Vulnerable. At risk.

Or so my mind tells me.

You cannot let go of me it says. I am all you are. All you want. All you need to be safe navigating this big, scary, unpredictable and chaotic world.

My mind likes to scare me. It likes to use words that make me believe I know everything I need to know to get through this life unscathed, or at least with minimal damage to my ego self. And everything else is irrelevant so why search for soulful meaning when ego is all I need?

But what does my mind know? It knows only the past and bases its response to today on its evaluation and assessment of my history. It filters its assessments through risk/reward ratios that are measured by how safe, or unsafe, it felt in every past experience and its measurement of the likelihood of ‘that’, whatever that is, happening again.

My mind cannot tell the future, even though it likes to tell me it can. All it can do is make up stories about the future based on what it experienced in my past.

Which, when I stop and think about it, is kind of funny. The past only exists in my mind. So where does the future live?

My mind is a trickster.

It does not want to surrender. It does not want to even give up a toehold to the possibility of ‘different’. It’s much more comfortable holding onto ‘the same’. In believing what was then, is what is now. That way, it doesn’t have to change its mind about anything.

My mind doesn’t like changing itself. It only wants to hold on. To control. To what it knows and tells itself (thus me) is true. It likes to create the illusion of safety through its capacity to rationalize, label and measure my life in terms of what it dictates is right, wrong, true, false, possible, impossible, fact, fiction and all kinds of jazzy stuff it feeds me to make me feel what it knows, or so it thinks, is the best for me to do, think, feel, be, become, have, go… without upsetting the applecart that is!

My mind thinks it knows it all.

It likes clarity and calls it insight so I will believe I really am in control of me, myself and I and how I am in this world. It also kind of enjoys the contradictions of my being too. It wants me to keep searching for the answers to ‘Who am I?’ because in my quest for answers, it doesn’t have to give up anything of itself. It only has to keep me searching.

Pretty sweet gig.

Keep me guessing and I’ll keep searching forever which keeps the mindgames going and going and going…

I surrender.

At least, until my next thought about what it means to surrender, or not…

Yup. Definitely some sweet mindgames keeping me running in circles in fields of folly.

When my ego thinks I just might surrender and quit playing its game, it can get downright dirty!

And so, I begin again.

I surrender.

 

 

 

The Poetry of a river

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Art Journal Entry February 17, 2015 ©2015 Louise Gallagher

The poetry of a river
is heard
in the depths
of its joy
flowing freely
into the sea
of life.

The poetry of life
is found
in the river
of joy
flowing endlessly
into the heart
of Love.

I can’t remember where or when I read or heard the line, the poetry of a river,  but I remember thinking, I must remember that, it’s beautiful.

Last night, when I entered the studio to spend some contemplative time, the line appeared and the word/art flowed.

I am grateful for the quiet. For the time to simply be present in front of a blank canvas or journal page.

In the presence of its invitation to let creativity flow, my mind empties and I become full of wonder and awe at how easy it is to find my balance when I let go of holding onto the thought, ‘I must find my balance’.

I am neither out of or in balance. I simply am where ever I am, living whatever label I give myself for where I am.

In letting go of needing to find my balance, I find my path through the questions that are percolating on the edge of my consciousness.

I am in a phase of extreme busy at work right now.

I am planning a large event for 400 people for March 3rd, which entails not only planning for the event, but also editing, publishing, printing a large report along with a website and video. It is work I love but the timeframe to get it all done is very tight given that the date for the event was set at the end of January.

It’s meant some busy days, and as is apparent by the time at which I’m writing, sleepless nights.

Spending time in the studio is essential for me to keep balanced and present. Spending time in the studio is something ‘the critter’ would like me to avoid.

“Just veg out Louise,” he hisses into my left ear when I change out of my work-a-day clothes into my paint splattered comfies. “Go on. Sit in front of the TV and turn your mind off. You don’t need to create.”

Of course, there’s the voice of ‘uber conscientiousness’ trying to cut in too. “Louise. You have not yet read that report on Collective Impact. What is your problem?”

Ever notice how critters and other nefarious voices have a definite style and place? Mine sits on my left shoulder, jumping up and down in its attempts to get me to pay attention, flinging its arms and flapping its tail as it whispers un-sweet ditherings into my ear.

He likes to ensure he’s hard to ignore!

Fortunately, I know what’s good for me even in the face of his insistence he knows better.

Fact is, when immersed in busy, I need to give myself the gift of time to create in order to let go of the pressure building on my list of ‘to do’s’ if I am to avoid the panic that sets in when thinking about all I have yet to get done.

What’s your path to balance? Where do you go to give yourself space to be present?

Anything is possible if you are willing to do the hard.

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He was in his late forties, early fifties when I met him. Almost black eyes. A crooked smile that moved all the way up to his eyes to push the skin into deep, well-worn lines. He liked to laugh. A quiet laugh that shook his body. He spoke slowly. Measured his words as carefully as the sugar was measured out at the homeless shelter where we met. Sugar is gold in a homeless shelter. He used his sugar wisely.

I’d seen him around the shelter for quite some time. Quite often inebriated. He was always friendly. Laughing. Loquacious.

On the day we officially met, he was sober. Had been for three months he told me proudly. “That’s how I got into this course,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me take it if I was drunk.”

‘This course’ was a three-week job readiness training course the shelter ran to support clients moving on with their lives. I was a guest lecturer, there to give a  half-day workshop on self-esteem.

“What is self-esteem?” I asked the 12 participants.

Someone replied quickly. “Something that’s hard to get.”

“What do you think makes it hard to get?” I asked.

At the end of the long table around which we sat the man with the measured words, considered the question. “I don’t think I ever had any self-esteem,” he said. “Residential school beat out any I might have had when I was a little boy and then, I never got sober enough, until now, to even think I might need some.”

It is the same answer for many First Nations. The attempted purposeful destruction of their culture tore apart their familial, social and spiritual roots. Rootless, they have drifted for years searching for what is missing, what was destroyed, what was stolen from their pasts, what was hidden from their futures.

“I don’t understand it,” he said. “I’m sober. My friends here know I want this. I told ’em it’s important to me. But they keep wanting me to drink with them. To get stoned. Why?”

“Why do you think?” I asked.

He shook his head. Side to side. His body slumped deeper into his chair. “It’s hard. Being sober. My friends. They make fun of me. Tell me I’ve changed. That maybe now I think I’m too good for them.”  He paused. Scrunched up his face. Smiled. “I don’t think I’m too good for them. But I can’t be around drunks. They’re not good for me.”

And we went on to talk about the challenges of sobriety in a community where ‘getting sober’ is both the dream and the nightmare of everyone involved.

“Is it possible that your getting sober, a guy who’s been drunk for 30 years, is a sign that they could do it too? Do you think they’re afraid?”

He laughed. “Of my getting sober? Nah. But they sure as hell are scared of getting sober themselves.”

He wanted to be a role model, he said. To be an example for the youth on the reserve where he could never go back to if he’d not gotten sober. “I’ve got two sons. They’re adults now. Haven’t seen them in years but I want them to see me as a man they can look up to.”

He never got the chance. Three months later a massive heart attack hit, and he took his last breath.

But the memory of our encounter has remained with me. This morning, while reading Ian Munro’s post at Leading Essentially, “When Did “Busy!” Become the Correct answer to How Things are?”, I was reminded of that encounter from several years ago.

Ian suggests we have to Watch how we measure ourselves. Be cognizant of where we are putting our energies, how we are measuring our time. He mentions in a response to a comment from one of his readers that he is coming off his addiction to ‘busy’. He is happier now. More fulfilled in his work, yet, people at his workplace keep asking if he shouldn’t be doing something more urgent.

For Colin, the man at the shelter who had put a lifetime of energy into being drunk and now was committed to sobriety, his courage in taking those steps away from the past, were a reminder to everyone around him that it was possible. In the possibility that Colin represented, their fear wanted only to drag him back so they would not have to face the truth.

Anything is possible if we are willing to do the hard.

The hard work of getting sober, of getting ‘unbusy’, of taking time to stop and smell the roses, to savour the possible in this moment, right now, no matter how frightened we are that if we don’t fill this moment right now with ‘meaningful work’ we will be wasting our lives away.

Colin only had a few months to savour his new life, to lean into his new possibilities. I like to think that in those months he found his meaning not in the past, but in his courage in letting it go. And I like to think he knows that in his life and his willingness to ‘do the hard’, he keeps inspiring me to step beyond my fear of letting go of the well-worn path to soar bravely into possibility.

 

What’s in your backpack?

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The other day, while riding the C-train home from downtown, a woman was upset at having to move all the way down the aisle to the open area by the doors to let another passenger get through the aisle. It didn’t seem to connect for her that the reason she had to move was because her backpack was blocking the way of the woman getting off the train.

When the woman with the backpack moved out of the way, she ended up standing in front of me. I smiled at her and made eye contact. She looked at me and complained. “This is awful,” she said. “I hate the C-train.”

“It’s better than driving,” I replied.

“Well, I don’t have that option,” she said. “I don’t have a car.”

“Then it’s a good thing there’s public transit,” I said.

“Harrumph,” she replied. “I’m just glad I don’t have to do this everyday. I’m just trying to get to the mall. If I had to do this everyday I’m sure I’d end up killing someone.”

“Do you really mean that?” I asked.

She looked surprised at my question. “Of course not. But this is awful. I hate people.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied and smiled again. “There’s a lot of us in the world.”

She paused. Looked down and then looked back at me. I was intentionally keeping my eyes soft, my heart open, my presence accepting of where she was at.

“I don’t hate all people,” she said. “It’s just crowds like this scare me.”

“I’m not fond of crowds either,” I told her. “But, there’s always someone to talk to in a crowd.”

She harrumphed again and we came to her stop. She departed without saying good-bye. Off to complete her mission of getting to the mall.

I’ve thought about that woman a lot since our encounter.

She is me. I am her. We are all eachother.

I thought about her discomfort at being asked to move so another passenger could get past and her lack of awareness that the cause of the other passenger asking her to move was the backpack on her back blocking the path.

And I wondered about her comment of ‘killing someone’ if she had to ride the C-train everyday.

I wondered about what she was carrying around in her backpack to cause such a visceral reaction to the human condition. What thoughts and ideas and limiting beliefs did she pack with her where ever she went to keep her safe, not realizing that it was what she was carrying that was creating her discomfort?

We all have backpacks we carry around. They’re not always visible but they’re always there. Thoughts and ideas that keep us from seeing, if we were to let go of thinking we are locked in by our thoughts or trapped by the crowds around us, we could be free to simply be present in our world without fear of the people around us, or without telling a stranger on a C-train that if you had to ride public transit everyday, you’d kill someone.

I’m sure she didn’t mean it, yet I wonder where else in her life she goes around feeling uncomfortable and wishing she could just get rid of all the people around her so she doesn’t have to feel so uncomfortable.

And I wonder, if her discomfort is caused by never having been told she is valued. She is loved. She is wanted in this world. Of always feeling like she doesn’t belong, or that there is no safe place for her to be in the world.

She sits with me this woman. She is a mirror. An image of what is true for each of us when we carry around our backpacks of woes and silent limitations, never looking to see if there’s something in there we should be unpacking if only to create space for us to be at peace with the world around us.

 

A Dog’s Guide to Life.

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Ellie's Garden

Ellie’s Garden

I have been grieving. I have been wallowing. I have been creating.

I have run the gamut of tears to laughter, sadness to joy, and still that which I must accept remains present.

There is an emptiness to my home. A quietness in the garden. I stillness in my heart.

And still, I must accept.

I have been fascinated by this journey. Choosing not just to go through it, but rather, to observe myself going through it has brought me up against things I do not want to touch, or see, or feel.

The Guardian Louise Gallagher 2014 Acrylic 24 x 24

The Guardian
Louise Gallagher 2014
Acrylic
24 x 24

And still, I must accept.

They are there. And I am okay. Regardless of the presence of sadness or joy, tears or laughter, I am okay.

I removed her bed from our bedroom. I removed her bed from the den and my office. Her toys remain scattered throughout the house. Her water dish remains full. Marley the Great Cat likes to drink from it too.

And I have heard stories. Of other people’s mourning of their beloved pets. Stories that brought tears to my eyes and made my heart ache. Stories that strengthened our human connection.

And I have written. And painted. And gardened. And created.

It took but a moment for her to wriggle her way into our hearts. It will take eternity to erase her footprints.

And here are some of the things I’ve learned.

A Dog’s Guide to Life.

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A Dog’s Guide to Life by Ellie the Wonder Pooch

  1. Get outside. Get into nature. Go for a walk. Garden. Run. Play in the snow. The river. The mud. And don’t forget to take me with you. I like being outdoors. There’s so much out there to explore and it’s so just good doginess to share it!
  2. Smell the roses. Smell the air. Heck, smell my fur, even when it’s wet. Bury your face in the sweet, juicy aromas of life. Sure, it can be messy and prickly. But it’s always beautiful and fruitful and full of sweet smells and reminders of how wonderful it is to be alive.
  3. Pet me. Rub my belly. Fuss over me. I’m a dog. That’s what I need and it’s what you need too! Love all over me and know, no matter what, love really is the answer. Try it with the people in your life too. It really works. Why do you think I do it with you?
  4. Sit. Sprawl. Laze about. Let yourself sink into nothing but the pure joy of doing nothing. Block doorways. Lay in the middle of the room. Take up all the space you need to get comfortable. It’s your life. Your space. Fill it and do it often. Life looks better when you’re stretched out filling the whole canvas of your life.
  5. Chase butterflies. Dragonflies, even bumblebees. You don’t have to catch them. The joy is in the running about, chasing after nature and feeling the wind against your skin, or fur if you’re me.
  6. Dance in the rain. Run barefoot in the grass. Don’t be shy. Don’t tell yourself you’re too old or too proper or too whatever. You’re never too anything to act silly and free. Kick your shoes off and feel the earth — I’ve never understood why people, and horses for that matter, wear shoes. They’re so distracting.
  7. Talk to yourself – which is like… talking to me. Tell yourself all your sorrows, your secrets, your fears, your dreams. It’s okay. No one else can hear you except me and I will always listen and never judge and never tell another soul. Your secrets are mine to keep.
  8. Greet everyone you meet, even strangers and that girl with the tattoos and piercings and dog collar around her neck, with a big happy smile. I also don’t understand why people wear dog collars. They’re for dogs, people, because we’re special. But I digress. Greet people like you’re really, really happy to see them. Try some wiggles and squirms, lick them even! Or, as you humans like to do, give them a peck on the cheek, but really, really mean it! Be happy to see them. Let your happy shine, where ever you go! Heaven knows, the world needs more wriggles and squirms and happy greetings. And by the way, so do you.
  9. Always, always, clean your plate. Yup. I know. Your parents told you this. Difference is, what you don’t eat, you can give to me, I’m not picky and will eat anything you don’t, and then some! (and that’s how you clean your plate btw while also savouring every morsel of life) Oh. And no artichokes please. I don’t like the prickles. Which brings me to my final point;
  10. Only consume, buy, eat, do, speak, think, create, the things that create more joy, laughter, love and caring in your life. Be picky! Don’t settle for something just because it’s there. Make your own choices. Make your own path. Make your own waves. Remember, I chose you and you’re the bestest friend a dog could ever have, even though you’re not a dog. And you truly are great, especially when you remember to follow your heart, oh, and let me be your guide.

 

 

Get off the path well-travelled

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They are already on the platform waiting for the C-train when I arrive.

He is maybe 6, 7 years old. Ninja backpack on his back. School is waiting. He’s excited to get there.

She is grandmotherly. Red coat. Black boots. Gloves. Matching purse. Her hair carefully coiffed, the metallic blonde of the dye fading at the roots.

He pulls his blue wool toque down around his ears, the rim just covering his eyebrows.

She pulls it back. Straightens it high against his brow.

He pulls it back down.

She gently slaps his hands away. Tells him it looks ridiculous like that and tugs it back into place. The place where she wants it to be.

His smile fades.

She turns to look for the train.

He pulls his toque back down to cover his eyebrows.

She turns back to look at him. Notices what he’s done. Tells him to stop being a nuisance. Tugs firmly and pulls his hat back into place. She smiles at him and says, “There. That’s better. Now leave it alone.”

His shoulders rise up and collapse downward in one fluid movement. He sighs. His hands swing by his side. He doesn’t touch his toque.

It is just a moment in time. A tiny vignette of a grandmother taking her grandson to school. Doing what she believes is her best. The right thing. The best thing she can do to prepare him for his day, and possibly teach him a lesson for life.

I wonder what message he got?

It wasn’t that her looks at him weren’t loving. They were.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have his best interests at heart. She did. I’m sure she loves her grandson to pieces. I’m sure she feels he was being a nuisance. That he needs to obey her, do what she says because that’s the only way he’s going to make it safely to school. If she let him wear his hat the way he wants, might he risk jumping the tracks? Might it lead to his mis-behaving in class, not following the rules, not doing what his teacher says?

You’ve got to obey your elders, I hear her saying in my head. Don’t be a nuisance.

And underneath the obvious concern for his well-being, what other messages were at play?

Don’t do it your way. Don’t colour outside the lines. Don’t think for yourself. You don’t count. You don’t matter. You don’t have the right to … speak up, do it differently, be individual. You don’t have a say. You don’t have a voice.

And for her what fears was she acting out? Did she need to keep control of every little detail so she could feel comforted by what she knows? Did she fear letting him have his way on this small thing would lead to his taking his own path on bigger things? Did she fear the path less travelled?

I don’t know what was going on in their minds or lives, but for me, the play enacted by this duo spoke deeply to my heart. It spoke deeply to that place within me where I want each and every one of us to honour the individual, to celebrate the different, to praise the uniqueness of our being who we are without fearing who we are is not enough.

It spoke deeply to that place within me where I feel powerless to awaken others to the importance of every small act we take with a child. That place where I want to go back and erase all the little things I did when my daughters were small that maybe didn’t celebrate the miracle of their lives because I was too busy to stop and see the gifts of their uniqueness, or too accustomed to taking the path I knew than to see there was a path less travelled that would awaken brilliance in our everyday lives.

It was a small moment with big ripples. A moment where I saw that for us to stop abuse, for us to end violence, for us to free children from living lives of desperation, we need to awaken to living fiercely in Love with this moment right now. We need to step into our power to do every small thing with love and compassion at the heart of every breath we take so that we no longer choose the path well-travelled and step fearlessly onto the path of Love.

 

 

Doing the hard

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It began with the effortless. Have coffee with a young man, Des, who inspired by my TEDxCalgary talk in November, wanted to chat about volunteering and making a difference. Chatting with Des I felt awed by his commitment to volunteering, and to creating opportunities to raise funds for the charities he supports. And, I came away with a great idea for my daughters and I to make a difference together (more on that at another date!)

Meeting with Des I was reminded — giving is receiving. 

An hour of my time and one green tea latte later and I came away excited about how powerful we are as human beings to create positive change in the world.

The hard didn’t come until later. A conversation with a cohort lead to confirmation of comments someone else is making that cast a negative light on something I was involved with. I was hurt. Angry. Saddened. Confused. And when I’m confused, my victim’s voice gets active… What’s in it for them to attempt to disparage me? Why do they…? Why can’t they…? In my victim’s place I put my focus on ‘them’ and take it off where it belongs — on what I’m doing, thinking, saying.

I had an option. Let those thoughts eat away at my peace of mind. Let myself become embroiled in, ‘how could they’, ‘well I never’, “wait ’til I get even’ thinking, or breathe deeply and consciously focus my thinking on creating what I want more of in this world — peace, harmony, love, joy.

It wasn’t easy. I wanted to lash out. To stamp my feet and scream about the injustice, not to mention wrongness, of what is being said. But, to do that would undermine my integrity. It would create disharmony  in my world, and thus, send out ripples of discord to the world around me.

And I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to create shockwaves of unease. I want to create ripples of kindness.

And so I did the only thing I knew I could to make a difference within me. I meditated and held this  situation in healing light.

What others do is never about me. What I do is about me. And I cannot do my best when I am focused on what other’s are doing. I can only do my best when I focus on me and accept, my best is good enough.

Fighting fire with fire only engulfs me in the flames. Healing torched ground takes tender loving care and so, I opted to cast light on the darkness, to shed love on the pain. I feel better when I put my energy on creating a world of difference within me. A difference that I intend to let ripple out in waves of kindness as I move through my day.

Making a difference isn’t about what I do. It’s about the choices I make to create a world of difference in and around me. And sometimes, that requires my letting go of the easy and doing ‘the hard’.