Looking Forward to the Bloom

It was just a little thing.

A little something that started my day with a tone that carried through a long day away from home, first at a meeting for work, one that took me dangerously close to the Art Museum. I drive an hour for the meeting. Each way. The meeting is two hours. The thought of going to the meeting and then driving back home straightaway seemed, oh I don't know, it seemed a little disappointing. So I stopped in at the Art Museum for a couple of hours to check out the new exhibition on Modern American Art. It was the loving thing to do. 

And it was wonderful.

I think it might have been that little thing, first thing in the morning, that little thing that reminded me about the tiny results we often fail to notice but that are there nonetheless. I think it was that little thing that set the tone for my day and encouraged me to remember myself. And my need for expansive experiences, for beauty, for a detour to tend my soul. 

I was up with the sunrise and opening up the house. I love the morning air just after dawn. It is cool and fresh. The light is soft. There is wild color in the sky. I walk through the house, bringing up the shades and opening the windows. Sometimes turning on the window fans to bring in fresh air and carry away any stale energy. 

My attention was caught by a small cyclamen I have in the living room. She was beautiful. Lush foliage. Deep green leaves. It was only a few days ago that I was wondering if I'd still have her at the end of the week. She had seemed to be in a malaise. Buds that dried up, wilted, and never opened. Brown leaves around the bottom. It looked like there might be too few healthy leaves for her to survive, much less thrive. 

I took her into the kitchen and gave her a good soaking. I cut away the dead leaves and buds. She seemed a shadow of her former self. She looked like she had been neglected. Had I somehow missed something? All the other plants looked great and I couldn't help wondering what was going on with her. I think I even asked her. I don't understand what happened to the buds, which only last week had come up. I'd been looking forward to the bloom. And when I set her back on the shelf, I wasn't sure whether she'd bounce back.

She was a new expression of herself today. And it took my breath away.

I marveled at how something so simple as a bit of pruning could make such a huge difference. And it got me thinking about my own resilience and about the power of shedding what no longer is alive for me. About how holding on to what is dead can actually make us less vibrant and threaten our thriving. Once pruned, there is more room for healthy new growth.

And she did not disappoint. I wouldn't be surprised if we see some blossoming soon.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months of thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

Maybe I'll Just Take Another Look

And there it is. 

I hit "publish" on Sunday's post and up popped up the writing that disappeared off the screen only an hour before. It popped up as a draft. Apparently I did not know where to look for it, although I could swear that I did look there. Maybe I went in to re-write too quickly. Maybe I panicked. Nothing good ever comes of panic. Maybe it just is what it is. 

I reread it and looked longingly at it and thought about adapting the published post and then just decided to let it rest. Maybe someday I'll work it into another piece of writing about dancing with "what might have been," or maybe I'll work it into some other writing when something else that might be triggered by that story comes up for me, but for now I will leave it in the queue as a reminder of something.

I'm still not quite sure what the lesson is, but I suspect there are many lessons in this.

And there certainly are a lot of maybes in this writing. 

Maybe there's a lesson around maybe. 

I originally began this writing piece moments after I published Sunday's writing and discovered the draft that, until then, had remained hidden. But I decided to let this one rest also. As I was thinking about today's writing, this little beginning kept scratching at the edges of my consciousness. It could be that because I have a long day at work today, I wanted to see if I can write quickly around this because it's already started and in process (in me, as well as on the screen) or it could be something else. I began to catalog the possibilities but stopped short when I realized. There it is again, in different words, but there nonetheless. Maybe.

The Oxford Dictionary defines maybe in two ways. As an adverb and as a noun. As an adverb, it means "perhaps, possibly." And as a noun, it means "a mere possibility or probability." Mere. The same dictionary offers these synonyms for mere: trifling, meager, bare, trivial, paltry. There is nothing "mere" about possibility.

Possibility is what gives creativity form. It is what makes potential real. And in potential is power. Just look at the word itself. Potent. From the Latin. "Having or wielding force, authority, or influence." That's from Merriam-Webster. "Powerful, able, capable, possible." Another dictionary takes us back to where we began. With possibility.

There just might be some power in the word "maybe." ("There just might be" is another way to say "maybe", by the way.) Normally, when I think of the word "maybe," I think of it as lacking precision or decision. There may be power also in that space of "not yet." And, of course, it is the power of possibility, of potential, of spaciousness. Of choice. 

I feel like I've stumbled onto another dusty box in the attic. I've just peeked inside. It looks full to me. Full of tiny treasures that will take time to go through, examine, and value. I gather it up and allow it to rest with the other artifacts of this Summer of Self-Love exploration.  

Long days at work limit the time I have on those mornings to luxuriate over this writing and allow what comes up to rest a bit before continuing. But, maybe, that's as it should be. Some things take longer to rest than others. And they come back into consciousness when they want to be worked again.

So maybe I'll...

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.   

Musings after Sunset

I definitely have a good time to write and a less-than-good time to write. 

Earlier, rather than later, is better for me. 

But today I was having such a great day, I saved the writing for the late evening. It's not quite nighttime. The sun has just gone down and the sky is darkening. Bed calls. 

And, yet, I've committed to writing every day.

I need to think about this because there are days that I'm busy with work and other things, and it could be easy to get to the end of the day and decide I'm too tired to write. 

What a great love lesson this is. 

How do we take care of ourselves and schedule our days so that we are able to do the things that are most alive for us?

My problem today was that I spent the whole day doing all kinds of things that were life-giving for me. What a great problem to have. I'm laughing at myself as I write. May all my days be so afflicted. 

The sun was shining. Big, puffy white clouds moved across blue skies. It was in the mid-70s and not muggy at all. And after a weather forecast that suggested a fourth consecutive week of cloud and rain, this was a magnificent surprise. I woke up without a headache. That's a rare treat these days. I was craving chicken soup and had the ingredients to make it. I was craving a great salad and had the ingredients to make that also. I love to cook so that was really fun. And the house smelled great. 

I spent the morning doing research and listening to podcasts. I love to learn and enjoy doing research about something I care about. Actually, I was researching self-love. I was curious about what people had to say about it. It was just a preliminary study, but a week ago I probably would have rolled my eyes reading these articles. I haven't talked about that yet. My subtle suspicion around the whole topic of self-love. I'll get to it someday, but a preview would be something like -- once upon a time, talking about self-love, images of Stuart Smalley would come to mind. And I might have judged the whole topic to be "hokey."

Maybe I had a little shadow energy tied up in my reactions.

The day continued with a trip to my fabulous hair stylist. He works his magic and I always feel beautiful when he's done with me. I also feel ready to take on the world. The conversation is worth the trip any day and I miss the days when my hair was very short and I saw him once a month. Today we cut off about six inches and I am feeling lighter. It's great to shed what is no longer working.

I hope I can take that wisdom into my de-cluttering projects at home. So far, it's been off and on. Truth be told, I've gotten rid of so much stuff I'm surprised I still have anything left. And that may be why these remaining projects are so difficult. It's all the stuff I think I can't live without. I can feel my body tightening up as I type. And I'm telling myself to relax because there is not a box or black trash bag in sight. I'm just writing. 

Just writing.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harvesting three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

Some Sun Breaks Through this Morning

How wonderful!

It immediately lifted my spirits but, with the headache, I wore sunglasses while washing dishes this morning. I must have been a sight. I've been experiencing a low-grade depression lately, more of a melancholia, really. Too many headaches, three weeks with grey skies and rain, another week of cloud and rain in the weather forecast, returning after a wonder-filled trip abroad just a month ago. Not having enough time to rest and recalibrate before the seemingly endless demands at work. An intense week at a homiletics festival, where we seemed drowned in the sadness of the world rather than in the ways God meets us in the human condition, what we call the Gospel. Good News. It's so easy to point to what's hard, to what's sad, to what grieves the heart or even breaks it. But it's powerful to be able to point to the ways we are met with grace and compassion in those hard places of experience.

Like in the sermon I preached yesterday. A beautiful image. A withered hand reaching toward a hand offering grace. And the space between them. That's where the magic happens. In the spaces between.

I woke with a tremendous headache this morning. Used a hot, wet compress on my face, a cold compress on the back of my neck. A shower to soften tight, hard muscles throughout my head, neck, back, and shoulders. I broke down and took a decongestant and an anti-inflammatory. Laid down, got back up. Laid down again. Basic management and deep tending to myself. The decision to not jump right up and hit the ground running today. Some grace for myself -- and some space to listen to my body and to notice what it wants to show me.

What's been withered in my experience? How am I, or have I been, operating with only one hand? That's a metaphor, of course. 

I think back to the story that formed the ground of my preaching yesterday, a story from Mark's gospel. Jesus heals on the Sabbath. It's so interesting because a person with a withered hand in that culture automatically lives outside the community. You needed both hands because they each serve a specific purpose. With the right, you eat from the common dish and engage in intimate touch with those you love. Like touching the cheek of a child or a lover, reaching over to hold the hand of someone who is struggling with something or simply because the touch and connection feel good. There's also all the social functions and exchanges that require the use of a hand, the right hand only. The left hand was reserved for personal hygiene and would never have been welcome in the common dish or in expressions of affection. So to have a withered hand, to lose the use of one of these important functions of life, engagement with others or self-care, a person like that is in deep need of healing.

And there's irony in the story because everyone is supposed to rest on the Sabbath. Built right into the story is a conflict around when and how to take care of the self and others.

Lifting up the story every now and then invites reflection around what might be withering in our lives. We need both - love expressed toward others and love expressed toward ourselves, self-love. So often, one tends to suffer in favor of the other. Either we ignore our own deep needs or we become so self-absorbed we fail to see, much less engage deeply with, the other.

It feels to me like there's treasure here. Like I've stumbled across a dusty old chest in the attic. I want to open it up and to explore what might be inside. Dust off the jewels and notice how they shine. 

It's a good thing the sun came out for a little while. It lets me see what's sparkling and what is dull and lifeless. A glimpse of sunshine seems to be the space between cloud and storm that have filled our days around here for a month. 

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.   

Allowing Inspiration to Move Through

I feel like a whole new woman today.

There's something empowering about making a decision and beginning something new. I'm not saying I'm going to feel this way every day on this journey, but today I do, and I'll take it and enjoy it. And notice.

It's important to notice. 

Right now, I'm noticing something very different than I was five minutes ago. And it's making for an entirely different piece of writing. I just made an amateurish mistake. Did not save my work, and suddenly the entire 500 words I'd just written completely disappeared off the screen. Poof. Gone.

I'd been writing about the peace of the day. And about noticing those moments because we don't always have them. The writing was poetic and beautiful and I just spent the last several minutes trying to recreate it. And becoming frustrated in the process. Normally Blogger saves as we go. I've never lost writing in the middle of creating a post here. I was in the flow. I had not planned the direction of the writing, I was simply allowing inspiration to move through me. 

Still, there is a "save" button up there on the right and I didn't use it. But perhaps that writing had been for me alone and perhaps there is something else that wants to be shared today. And all of that needs to be okay.

Looking out my window, I notice the lush, green foliage moving with the breeze and ribbons of cloud beyond. They are grey, white, and lavender today. Everything is soft and cool. The afternoon is quiet and there are no power tools singing in my neighbors' yards. When I began this Summer of Self-Love daily writing practice, I decided to give myself the weekend to be gentle with myself, to rest and to prepare. The busyness of the coming week will come quickly enough. I have some challenges to work through over the next few months and, while I jumped right into the writing practice, I don't need to drive myself relentlessly into the other work. It's important to take some time before setting out to rest and to reflect. To think about what you might need to make the journey well.

Last year on one of my desert explorations, I found myself in soft sand. I had to dig my car out and the only tool I had for the job was my foot. I have a great foot, and it got the job done, but I found myself in an unanticipated situation after having taken an unexpected turn down a road I'd not prepared myself to travel but wanted to explore nevertheless. I won't go out into the desert again without a small, pack-able shovel. They're easy to find in any outfitting store. They're easy to carry. And when you need one, you're glad you have it. It's not as obvious a needful thing in the desert as water is, but it's one life lesson I'll never forget. 

Tomorrow is Monday. New adventures await.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

   

How Did I Manage to Stumble into That?

I'm pondering lessons around imperfection today.

Ugh. Maybe I'll just put my toe in the water. But while standing at the edge of the deep waters, I was pulled in. And I can see where this Summer of Self-Love is going to take me. To the places where I don't love myself well. 

What did I expect? Really.

A good friend tells me I always walk into things so guilelessly and end up being so surprised when they bite me. It's something we laugh about together. Thank goodness for friends you can laugh with.

Anyway, don't ask the Universe for help and then be surprised when it comes in interesting life lessons.

So yesterday I published the first post of this daily discipline of writing and it was beautiful. Except for the pesky extra space between the picture and the text, which I thought would be a simple enough thing to fix. I'd already posted it and did not like the look of it when I went in and read the published version. It was just a tiny little thing, but it really bugged me. So I went in to edit. All I did was take out a space. I went back and viewed the blog and it had transformed into the ugly blog. Three different fonts. Two different font sizes. How the heck did that happen?

You know what I did next.

That's right. Went in to fix it. Over and over again. 

Made it worse. Each time. If such a thing could be possible.

It was possible. A great many things are possible.


Well, I laughed at myself when my alarm went off. The one that told me it was time to leave to go meet my son. There was no fixing the thing now. It would have to wait. And no chance it would not be seen. It was published. I'd sent it to two friends and put the link in a group I facilitate for people who've taken one of my workshops.

I was outed. Imperfect. Yep. That's me.

There was a time when such a public confession would have thrown me into crisis. It opens up a lot of things for me, imperfection. I've been struggling with not being perfect all my life. I have this strange notion that everyone expects me to be perfect. It's not true, of course. But there's a pesky little voice in my head that reminds me almost moment by moment that I am not. I probably picked it up in childhood. It really doesn't matter. It's here and needs to be taken in hand. Befriended. Healed. Transformed.

Shadow energies come up when they want to be healed, and they want us to pay attention because they really do want the best for us and represent the best within us. Our strengths, the things that make us powerful. Our beauty.

Like this pesky perfection gremlin. She really is not about perfection after all, but about excellence. 

Excellence and perfection are not the same things. First of all, excellence is attainable and perfection is not. Perfection is an illusion. Excellence is a true expression of our efforts and our manifestations. Perfection is also a clue that we are way too worried about what other people think of us. If perfection is a pesky little gremlin in my inner cast of characters, what-others-think is the monster under the bed. That darn beast whispers to me in the dark almost constantly. Something else I picked up in childhood, no doubt, but this one needs immediate banishing. When we give this one power, our life no longer belongs to us.

Hmmm...how did I manage to stumble into that?

Well, perfection and what-others-think usually walk hand-in-hand in us. And I have to say, that in my next production, these two do not make the cast. Not even in a supporting role. Not even in the chorus. And not as extras. I don't want to see them on the stage at all. Instead, I will let them sit in the theater and watch what I create without their constant yammering and efforts to direct, produce, and star in my show.

It's the loving thing to do. For me, that is. I trust that they will learn something and come into balance. Transform into energies that can be truly helpful to me and to my path.

I had a great time with my son yesterday. We did not see Solo after all, but had lunch at a funky place in Philadelphia and talked. A shout out to Honey's Sit 'N' Eat on 21st Street. (There's also one in Northern Liberties. We've been there too.) Take cash if you go. There's an ATM there if you forget. By the way, my son pointed out that, contrary to what I blogged yesterday, a whole half year has not gone by, but there's another month until we get there. There she is again. Imperfect me. And that's just fine. I feel like I am ahead of the game.  

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice birthed on June 1, 2018 as a container for harnessing three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey? Most of them usually are. 

The Summer of Self-Love

It's June 1st. The beginning of a month. The beginning of a season. The beginning of the second half of the year. It's the last realization that pulled me up short this morning as I was writing in my morning journal. An entire half year gone.

Just let that sink in a minute.

Where did it go? My inner critic tells me that it's been wasted time, that I haven't attended to my goals, that I don't have any goals, that I'd better get moving or I'll be left behind. Left behind. That nebulous self-threat our inner critics use to induce panic to try to get us moving toward something. At least that's how mine operates. I suspect others' do too. So I mustered a little self-control and very quickly noted my accomplishments for the year, so far. They went something like this:

1)  I have a print proof of my book.
2)  I have engaged consistent income to cover basic expenses and benefits.
3)  I have moved through and beyond a difficult contract situation.
4)  I continue to notice needed changes around my home space.
5)  I've been to England and back -- and to France!
6)  I've identified a rich prep period before my schedule gets heavy and full later this year.
7)  I continue to invest in myself with a mastermind group, writing workshops, and other         growth opportunities.

I paused for a moment and celebrated. That went something like, "So. Great to notice, and there's work to be done." I know. I know. I can do better with celebrating myself. But I realized then that I was on a mission. So I continued, noting the work to be done:

1)  Review print proof and schedule appointment to review changes.
2)  Create the TT and start planning transformational events. (That's for my day job.)
3)  Make a plan for the house and storage unit and get it done.
4)  Plan October trip and the rest of my time away for the year.
5)  Plan for doing my taxes this summer.
6)  Take a look at the big picture and set some goals.
7)  What is still alive for me? What support do I need? What's next?

I turned the page and immediately started writing about something else.

"Where's my good pen?" I'd been writing with an unsatisfying pen, my regular journaling pen having mysteriously disappeared off the kitchen table.

"My brain is full of conversations with stubborn church people. Rehearsals. And, perhaps, conversations I'll never have. Most of me wants to get through this with few claw marks on my hide." I work with churches in transition and sometimes the work is dangerous.

"So. Breakfast." I noted what I was having for breakfast. I noted what I'll be doing the rest of the day. I noted what I'll be doing the rest of the week. I noted an intrusive thought about the health insurance system being like an extortion scheme. And a question around what a politician with integrity might actually be able to accomplish around transforming American life. This is what morning pages are for, clearing mental clutter. And, occasionally, something brilliant comes through.

Like the Summer of Self-Love, born today on June 1 as I think about how to harness the next three months for my own thriving.

I ended my morning writing with what I am grateful for today - strawberries, good tea, the chance to spend time with my son (we're going to see Solo later this morning and then share a meal before he goes to work and I get to work). There is the always curious outcome of gratitude -- hope and power. Today it was expressed like this:

"Time to thrive, woman! How about a goal of a dinner party?"

I popped over to my mastermind journal, where I track my progress with goals and such, and continued. "What kind of steps do I need to complete in order to have a dinner party? Doesn't a dinner party sound like a good, non-crazy-making goal?" 

I'll do anything to disguise my need to de-clutter.

The brainstorming begins. "Summer of Love? Summer of Self-Love? Is this bloggable? Start today. Can I write a blog post today/tonight and just jump right in?

Yes. I can.