Category Archives: Stress

Don’t Be So Nice!

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So I’m at the red light and the light turns green. There’s one car in front of me and it doesn’t move. I’ve been working on being more patient, so I decide to give him a couple seconds before I honk. Boom! Someone hits me from behind.

I’m okay. Sore neck, sore back, two hours in the ER and a billion x-rays say nothing’s broken. Right. Thank goodness. Really, THANK GOODNESS!!!

But from now on, the second the light turns green, I’m giving my horn a helpful tap. That’s just sensible self-protection. Good Orderly Direction. Keeping the system running smoothly for all.

Too nice is not healthy for anybody.

And by the way, I didn’t let anyone yell at me about the accident, either. When someone did start yelling at me that there was no damage to my car, why did I want to involve the insurance companies? well, I just went over the the police officer and asked him to handle the situation and keep that angry person away from me.  He did.

Nice does not include, need or involve letting someone hurt me in any way at all, ever. (For the record, I knew I was going to need medical attention. I felt my head whip back and forth. That’s why I needed a police report. And there was damage to the car as well. I don’t have to explain, but I wanted to.)

Compassion, yes. Patience, yes. But awareness, alertness and common sense, too. I don’t have to be a doormat. I don’t have to give myself away to my own detriment. I don’t have to be hero, a saint or a martyr.

The Buddhists have a thing called Idiot Compassion, where you kindly hang in there when there’s no good outcome foreseeable and you’re being hurt. No more Idiot Compassion.

And for the record, I did not yell at anybody. I did not lose my cool. I did take care of myself. And here I am, alive and well and learning. Always learning!

 

 

Orchids in the Snow!!!!

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Enough with being stuck indoors. But there’s only so much snow I can shovel before I am too pooped to pot, as my…I don’t know, somebody used to say. So I dragged my cabin-fevered little butt up to Dearborn Farms, a nearby sinfully stocked market  and nursery for the annual Deep Cut Park Orchid Show. OMG! Yes, flower prayers!

“Our flower, which comes from heaven…”

“This is the orchid the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be grateful for it!”

“God grant me the serenity of this orchid…”

“God bless us, everyone…”

“Amen. Amen. Amen.”

 

 

What’s Wrong with Consistency?

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Tis the season to be who you are, as you are.

Did you know that it is okay to be inconsistent! I didn’t. Wow! It’s okay to not be and feel the same all the time! I don’t have to be a rock. I can be water! Who knew?

Just this morning a friend said, “I have given myself permission to be cyclical.”

Bingo! Here was an answer to a prayer and a struggle I’ve been having for ages. I’ve been confounded and more than a little annoyed by how changeable I can be from one day or even one moment to the next. I amaze myself sometimes by thinking something’s a good idea, then, the next day, waking up and thinking it’s a bad idea. And then thinking, “What was I thinking? How can you be such a flibbertigibbet?”

I’ve been baffled by how I can be so productive one day, a big mush the next. What’s up with that?

Well, if I go by this new idea that I’m allowed to be cyclical, all I need to know is that, um, I was thinking one thing one day and another thing the next. Or, some days I’m more productive than others. Case closed. (Or, if there needs to be resolution, prayer, meditation, journaling and consultation with others can bring me to where I need to be. But during the process, it’s okay to cycle through different feelings and points of view.)

For the longest time, I thought the way to be my best in the world was to be the same every day. I have learned to adore discipline in some areas, but I could never understand why I was all over the place in other areas.

There are some things in my life that cannot vary, like the way I eat and exercise, or whether I am committed to being the peace I want to see in the world, or whether I’m loyal to friends and family. But for a lot of stuff, it’s just not possible to be the same every day, and I was making myself nuts trying.

New POV: It’s not a question of inconsistency. It’s a question of cycles.

It’s not, as I feared, that I don’t know who I am or that I’m indecisive or too moody. It’s that sometimes I feel one way, sometimes another. Sometimes there’s a full moon, sometimes there’s a quarter moon. Sometimes it’s day, sometimes it’s night. Sometimes I’m in the mood to be with people, sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I have energy, sometimes I’m tired. It’s all me.

To everything, there is a season, in other words. Even me and my moods, energy levels, likes and dislikes, opinions and what have you.

Sheesh. That’s a relief. Okay, cycling off for now. Love you! Hugs! Happy New Year!

 

 

Remember Who Loves You!

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In which a love-seeker daringly takes her own good advice.

Whenever a family member or friend is feeling all beleaguered, stressed and overwhelmed—particularly by difficult people—I always like to send him or her off with this direction: “Remember who loves you!” These are the words I call it out to family members as they leave for work. I say them as counsel to friends who’ve been confiding their troubles. I even jot them on notes of encouragement that I pop in the mail.

I’m thinking about this now as I try, once again, to come to terms with the slow progress of my current personal reinvention. It seems to me that it is taking a very, very long time to emerge from my chrysalis. I am ready to flap my wings. That I’m still in transition to finding my next job, well, let’s just say I am not pleased. I want to know what my next right work is going to look like. I want a job. A clear job with a mission and a purpose and a fair income. Impatient? That’s my middle name.

Here’s the thing: I have this book manuscript—The Hungry Ghost: How I Ditched 100 Pounds and Came Fully Alive. And though I’ve been a professional writer and editor for decades, this work is so close to my heart that I’m having trouble putting it out there in the world. To do that, well, it feels kind of like sending a two-year-old off to kindergarten. “I’m not ready,” says the little girl. “You can’t make me!”

The crux of the matter isn’t that I don’t believe in the book. I do. It’s good. And it  feels like it was given to me to give to people like me who every day battle all the indignities of food addiction, compulsive overeating and obesity.

I’m not sure what the problem is. Maybe it’s that I hate criticism. Not so much for my writing. I’ve faced that before. It’s criticism of me and what I believe that I fear. I’m also scared of living large—inviting the whole world to know my story.

I don’t know what’s going on. I do know that the difficult person I’m dealing with at the moment is, you got it, myself!

Because the fact of the matter is, maybe the timing just isn’t right. You know, in God’s time not mine and all that.

So why give myself a hard time? Maybe I should remember who loves me. Lean into the love. Remember a love-saturated moment and recall the feeling I had and summon it up. Absorb. Slow down. Feel it. Take it in.

What do you think? Couldn’t hurt, right? Okay. Right now. Let’s all take a slow, deep breath and remember who loves us!

 

Thanksgiving Locusts

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Some folks DO grown their own food. These lovely wee eggs were a gorgeous gift from my niece, Cathie Searles. That woman knows how to harvest!

I’m not sure, but for a while there, it looks like I was in danger of losing my mind. I do know that I was in Shoprite supermarket this past Sunday (just to pick up my free turkey). On Monday I was in Foodtown, doing my regular shopping and picking up the free turkey I earned there (free food is free food; if you want to know how to get away with serving turkey five ways in seven days, LMK). Today, Tuesday, I was in Whole Foods because they have the best prices on soy milk and tofu—staples for the two vegetarians in my house—and I was out of both.

I don’t need to tell you that all three places were nuts. Crowded. Intense. Thanksgiving is nearly upon us! In order to be grateful we must shop ferociously! Yikes!

I hate crowds. I hate shopping. Three stores in three days! Triple nuts!

This is also gratitude week. So, yes, I’m mad grateful that I can easily get as much delicious, gorgeous food as my family needs (and then some).

However, I was not having fun that first day shopping. Did I mention I hate crowds and shopping? There I was in Shoprite, gritting my teeth and trying to be in a thankful state of mind when I had a flash of inspiration: What if I looked at the crowds not as a plague of pesky, aisle-clogging locusts but as a team of my fellows engaging in a Harvest Festival?

After all, Thanksgiving happens in the fall for a reason. The original one, so the story goes, was a celebration of the season’s abundance. In the burbs here, we mostly don’t grow and harvest our own crops. But we do go out to the store to secure provisions for our fall feast.

So I tried on this new Harvest Festival idea. And Dear Reader, it worked! When I looked at the other shoppers not as obstacles to my progress but as fellow harvesters, all of us together gathering supplies to nourish our beloved families, I was able to chill, get what I needed, and get out of there! I’m pretty sure, too, that I actually smiled at a few people.

The changed perspective worked in the next two stores as well. Eureka!

I can’t honestly say I enjoyed myself. But I did manage to retain my sanity and my dignity. Now there’s something to be grateful for.

No, I didn’t my mind. This is how I know for sure: I most definitely will not be indulging in any black Friday rituals. I don’t want to push my luck.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Spiritual Lessons from Sandy

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Spin me around in a hurricane, and I am going to have, as they say, “issues.”

As in, everything is a learning experience.

The hurricane itself barely affected me, relative to those who lost loved ones, homes, or important belonging. Yes, my family endured five cold, dark days without power in our New Jersey home. And still, we’re dealing with gas lines, minor food shortages and, sometimes, short tempers.

But Sandy did hit me where I live—in the safety bone. Safety is a big deal for me. Always has been. A bumpy childhood will do that to you. Minus heat and light and hot water and my normal routines, minus the sense that all was well in my community, I went a little off center. I wasn’t surprised—you can’t be comfortable in an uncomfortable situation, after all—but I did know I was going to have some work to do.

At the end of our Sandy Week, when the power came on—light! heat! hot water!—I sat still and quiet with how discombobulated I’d been. How attached to my material comforts. How unhinged to have them taken away.

I sat, and ever-so-gently breathed down into all that fear and confusion. That in turn took me to places where there were still the bits and pieces of wounds, places where other people had hurt me.

And while I was there in that place I asked, “How can I protect myself?”

What is required, my viscera informed me, is absolute reliance on the power greater than myself that lives in me, as me.

“But how do I do that?” was the next question. “What does reliance on a higher power, and not things of the world, what does that look and feel like?” Extreme self-nurture, was the answer. Radical self-love. Recognizing that I need to forgive myself for being vulnerable, and forgive others for their own frailties. Lean on myself more, things and other people’s opinions, less.

There was more: Honor my inner light by sharing my experience, strength and hope. Take good care of my body and mind. Give and receive love in everyday actions, small and large. Prayer time, and meditation, too.

I wish it were easier. I really do. But there it is. Breathing in, breathing out. Building my spiritual muscles. Taking life on life’s terms, just for today. That’s where the safety is.

Truthfully, I’m not all that excited about my options. I’m addicted to guarantees, sunshine and happy endings.

But this ever-deepening reliance on a higher power, well, if that’s where it’s at, count me in! You?

 

 

 

 

 

Growing Up Is Hard to Do!

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I discovered this poem on a friend’s refrigerator magnet. Whew! I could not find the author, so if you know, do tell. In the meantime, I love how it gently and firmly reminds me of a few things: Joy is mine. Joy is not guaranteed, it has to be claimed. I have to do what I have to do. I can only do what I can do. Compassion is power, gentleness is strength. There is no magic but there is possibility, potential, hope and acceptance of life on life’s terms is freedom. This, my dear ones, is how we become grown up.

 Miracles Happen

 After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul.

And you learn that love doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts.

And presents aren’t promises.

And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes open.

With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain,

and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone else to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure.

That you really are strong.

And you really do have worth.

And you learn and learn.

With every goodbye you learn.