I share with you some wisdom from another author today! Love, Joan
Many of the clients I work with have a desire to be content with life, yet struggle to experience it at any significant level. To live a content life would be amazing wouldn’t it? To not feel anxious about tomorrow, to feel satisfied and at peace with today and to be free from any guilt…
For a full 3 weeks, I felt almost debilitated. I was depressed, lethargic, and miserable. I had nausea, night sweats, and diarrhea. Some days I literally had to talk myself through putting pants on, and I wasn’t sure if I could keep going.
Are you asking yourself what I mean by “talking myself through putting pants on?” Here’s an example of how I shuffled through my days:
What’s the next right thing?
Putting on pants. I have to get some pants and put them on.
My pants are on. What’s the next right thing?
I need to get my purse. Okay, I have my purse.
What’s the next right thing? I need to find my kids.
Where are my kids?
That’s what happens when a person suddenly stops drinking after her body becomes accustomed to metabolizing a bottle of…
As a youngster, I became enthralled with collecting rocks. Someone started talking about arrowheads and geodes at 4-H and the search for these magical stones became an obsession. The very idea that these physical objects contained hundreds or thousands of years of secrets and usefulness in others’ hands was thrilling. I don’t think I ever found either type of rock but the searching, collecting, exploring and handling of all the other rocks I found gave me hours of great joy and my parents some well-deserved quiet.
One Christmas, my Grandmother gave me a rock polishing kit. I could take the rough, raw, basic rocks and immerse them in a capsule with a cleaning solution and after alot of time rolling around, they would come out sparkling, fresh and soft to the touch. It was okay but I much preferred the paper grocery bag full of dusty, mossy, grassy rocks I had been gathering. They were so much more interesting.
It wasn’t until about 5 years later, when adolescence hit and our family moved from our small town to the city that I realized people were like the polished stones. Life was just one big plate of perfectly shining rocks and it was frustrating to me that I would have to work at seeing everything back in its original, perfect state – raw, bumpy, earthy, rugged rocks.
Fortunately, the disillusionment did not last. I realized I could make my life a grand rock collecting adventure and that some of the shiny stones were fun to have around.
On my fortieth birthday, my five-year-old son spent the entire afternoon in our yard searching for “heart-shaped rocks” which he proudly delivered from filthy, chubby hands with this speech, “You gotta get old sometime, Mom!”. I kept them above my sink until a few of them fell into the garbage disposal and ground it to a halt. I was thrilled he understood natural beauty in the rocks and his aging Momma, and this reassured me his character was set.
It is now eleven years past my fortieth birthday. I still have a few of those heart-shaped rocks curated especially for me. They serve as gentle reminders of my purpose in life and the kind of person I want to be and others I choose to spend time with:
Kind – If I had to pick one single trait over everything, of course it would be kindness. Time and time again, practicing kindhearted gentleness brings greater joy and openness. Judgement divides and narrows everything immediately: hearts, feelings, opportunities, experiences and most of all, love.
Patient – Yes, patience is a practice that does not come easily when we are young. At 51, I am a pretty patient person, and I am getting better at ignoring the “productivity culture”. If all you accomplish in one single day is reassuring people of your love and confidence in them, that is enough for me. I have a hard time being with “productive people” for long – they are boring.
Resourceful – You can have the IQ of a genius but still not be able to figure out how to manage simple challenges. More specifically, I am more excited about finding simple ways to handle life that reap positive benefits for the broader world than explaining why that might be a waste of time. To me, being resourceful is an inclusive approach to living and just being smart can be so selfish.
Creative – There is a time and place to be linear and logical (e.g., when applying for FAFSA support for your college-bound senior!) and the rest of life should be interesting and fun. I am not concerned anymore about “making sense” to others, I just need to validate creative energy by using it, damn the judgers! Creative people spend more time enjoying taking risks than calculating failures. That’s why I like them.
Simple – I would rather spend the day with a Humanitarian focused on addressing fundamental needs than talking to the most educated, well-traveled person. I am so happy that my journey has opened my eyes to this basic truth and fortunate to have daily opportunities to practice simplicity. As I am learning, simplicity encompasses more than just getting rid of physical and mental clutter – it is a spiritual practice that helps one focus on being fully present in the now. When all you have is now, you tend to appreciate it and make better choices.
So back to the rocks and their wisdom: I love holding a rock and thinking about where it has been, for how long, what it is made of, the stories it “knows.” It is like holding the Universe and all its mysteries inside your palm and exchanging energy. To me, the unpolished rocks embody all the basic truths about living a good life. They inspire me to live and put my best (but simplest) self forward. I like rocks, yes I do.
“Rocks and minerals: the oldest storytellers.” A.D. Posey
Oh, Girlfriends! How would a woman survive life without them? They come to our aid before we even know we need to be rescued. They understand our innermost feelings and needs in the deepest way. They refrain from judgment. Like Momma Bear protecting her cub, a great girlfriend will work wonders in your life and expect nothing in return.
I reach for my Mom’s handmade quilts every single day of my life for comfort. Tattered and ragged, sometimes I drag my favorite one like Linus, as if the quilt could make me invincible. Magical powers sewn into every square, crafted and pieced together by my Mother’s hands with abundant love and the greatest of hopes for a life well lived. I literally can cover myself in her protection any time I want. The girlfriends who have sustained me through life’s toughest challenges are exactly like my favorite quilts.
In this picture, I am in the most miserable physical pain you could imagine. I had been laboring for over 2 days with my first child and was waiting the last few hours before heading to the hospital to begin the terrifying birthing process. I am sitting on a heating pad because I have lovely back labor. And draped across my knees is the “Cotton Boll” quilt my Mom made for me more than twenty years ago. “Don’t machine wash this,” she cautioned. “It will fall apart.” Nope. This thing might as well be made of kryptonite. Virtually indestructible. Just like my ties to my girlfriends, one in particular, my Pammy.
Pam took this picture of me when she delivered a beautiful Wendy’s lunch of french fries and a Frosty. She had had her daughter the year before, I had been her “birth coach.” I did not even know I needed her to check on me that day, my mind was swirling with nesting details and anxiety about the future. I am sure we laughed about the indignity of the last day pregnant – I was hobbling around, grunting and moaning in my hugeness. Pam’s presence was comforting, though, and nothing really needed to be said. There was history between us (at the time we had been friends over 10 years, thinking we knew everything about life, love, family and careers!).
We both moved away from Kansas City for many years and hardly stayed in touch, but fate reunited us a few years ago, and we have both returned HOME: to Kansas City and our friendship. I can look at her and imagine what she is thinking and we both erupt in raucous laughter! We have the comfort of each other’s company and support and a very long history of experience together to sustain us. Friendship is, indeed, a joyous thing. As a woman grows older, the comfort of a close girlfriend is one of the greatest treasures she can have. Nobody knows us better or would go farther to show us who we are when we are lost. And midlife, I am discovering, is a bit of a “curious wonderland” where one can get very lost, indeed. I am finishing the intensive Mom phase and looking ahead to the second act (actually, it has begun, I am just in denial). Pam helps me laugh away the embarrassment of my arthritic hips and knees when I try to get up gracefully from a restaurant chair. She will be there with me, locked arm in arm, for the second act, and there will be laughter, joy and comfort. And I am one grateful woman of a certain age!
Self-proclaimed “shame researcher” Brene Brown first entered my awareness a few years ago when I was listening to her interviewed on National Public Radio. I was exhilarated to learn there was an actual person researching the phenomenon of shame and extrapolating from those findings practical, hopeful, actionable insights for people desiring to live “in the truth” of who they are. In other words, she appeared in my life at exactly the right time, a period of intense change and transition during which I began asking myself, “How can I live more fully, less materialistically, and enjoy the fruits of just being ME in this crazy world?”.
Having been raised Catholic during the 70’s, the word shame resonated BIG TIME. I was shrouded in shame from an early age. It was the easiest means of eliciting good behavior, I suppose. But damaging to the core once a person learns how to think for herself. I don’t blame anybody for accessing this useful behavior modification technique, but I have been determined to dedicate my adult life to banishing every shred of shame from my path and seeking out ways for understanding the way people think and act, instead.
What does this random thought mean on a Wednesday morning in February, friends? I mention it because I have discovered that Brene Brown, her research and writing, her TedTalks and mere co-existence with me during my time on this Earth, has opened up for me a very optimistic, hopeful and enthusiastic approach to moving forward in life. We live the first part of our lives following the rules and “setting up shop,” so to speak, so we can “have” things like a good job, a nice family, a safe home and other standards of living well. But Brene Brown reminds us to be brave, open-hearted and courageous enough to look withinourselves for the ultimate source of “living well.” Like shame, external forces and identifiers of “success” can pull us off course from the destiny our uniqueness can attain. Brene Brown helps me come closer to finding that “true self” every time I read something she has written and commit to practicing authenticity, allowing my true self to be seen.
I am inspired this morning by the opening quote from the chapter “Cultivating Authenticity” in Brene Brown’s book, The Gifts of Imperfection:
Often people attempt to live their lives backwards: they try to have more things, or more money, in order to do more of what they want so that they will be happier. The way it actually works is the reverse. You must first be who you really are, then do what you really need to do, in order to have what you want.
Today, I am just grateful to have access to Brene Brown’s wisdom during this time of my life, and I hope you will seek her work out, too. Joyfully and Authentically yours, Joan
My one and only daughter, my beautiful Isabella, has recently turned 18 years old. I want to have profound things to say to her but every time I try, just a huge gush of emotion rushes forth. One thing I do keep thinking about is the time I let her Dad travel halfway across the country with her at six months of age to visit his cousin in Los Angeles. They were gone for four days, an eternity to this new Momma. We had no social media in 1999 so I could feel like I was a part of the adventure, only occasional phone calls to hear the cooing sound of her voice.
Through that little separation, I learned many things about my love for Isa and the kind of Mother I hoped to be for her. I wanted her childhood to be:
Full of adventures she could call her own, without me helicopter parenting in the background;
Grounded in a strong sense of family and self, so she would trust herself to make big decisions knowing that the love of her family would always support her;
Joyful enough so she would look forward to spreading her wings as an adult and sorrowful enough for her to understand that tears shed are a beautiful part of life’s journey and a reminder to be true to oneself and surrender love completely while the opportunity is given;
Magical in her own unique way, a time of exploring everything the senses could reach within the safety of a loving home;
Solidly anchored in self-love and a sense of personal competence and the ability to reject shame.
Over the years, my Isa’s comings and goings have been very bittersweet. When she returned home from her Los Angeles adventure, I played with her on the sofa all afternoon and cherished my good fortune to be the temporary guardian of her being. She hugged me and said “Mama!” when she first saw me after that separation, so I knew then that we would be lifelong friends. Today, I am awestruck by the beauty, strength and tenderness of her character and humbled to be her Mother.
James Taylor recorded a song in 1979 called “Honey, Don’t Leave L.A.”. It is his friend’s story about a French woman he fell in love with who ultimately left. Her spirit was indomitable. Just like my Isa.
So happy to bring you this insightful piece from my Recovery Friend, Rose Lockinger. If you are new in your Recovery or simply in need of a fresh perspective, Rose’s piece reminds us to expect a journey full of twists, turns, surprises and mini-victories. In short, like all things in life, when doing the work of Recovery, expect the unexpected and welcome the lessons as they unfold. xoxo Joan
You know how people always say that we take two steps forward, one step back, well in no other place in my life have I found that truer than with my recovery.
See, I have found that the healing process is never linear, although sometimes I would like it to be. Sometimes I want to believe that it will be achieved perfectly but this is never the case. Like it says, progress not perfection, this process of healing involves progress. It never just continues in a straight and logical manner but rather it ebbs and flows, and there are times when I feel like I’m actually healing and other times when I feel like I am completely regressing.
I didn’t understand that this was the way of things when I first got sober and I guess I sort of believed that my life would just get exponentially better day in and day out. The reason why I thought this way is because my life changed so dramatically and so suddenly that I just thought it would continue in this manner forever. The Steps seemed to work perfectly and the further I got into them the better off I became.
I found that I stopped lying as much. I stopped craving drugs and alcohol, and I even started to believe in God, in fact so much healing occurred in that first year of recovery that to a certain degree I kind of felt like I was destined to become the most spiritual being on the planet. That I was destined to be free from all of my character defects within the next year or so, but then reality kicked in and coming down from my little spiritual hilltop, I settled into my new way of life and I began to see that not everything was being healed as quickly as my alcoholism was. I began to see that many of the things in my life that were particularly ingrained were going to take a lot of work to get over and possibly more pain before they were ready to be healed.
I have also found that certain times in my recovery, I thought that I was healed from something, or that I had finally overcome some trauma or defect of character only to be reminded a couple of weeks later that it was still there and there was more healing to be done. I’d get these epiphanies and believe that I understood something that would allow me to change or heal, and to a certain extent I would, but then it would just lead me to more parts of myself that need to be healed.
Without getting too far into the abstract, I sort of believe that this is the way that life works. We are born whole and pure, without any attachment or damage and then through the process of our life we pick up damage and get hurt by people or things. Then once we are ready, we begin the process of healing from this hurt, attempting to get back to a place of wholeness, but the process is unique and there is no set road map. With each layer of healing that occurs another is revealed just like the peeling of an onion, and so the job is never done It is always ongoing.
I’ll give you a recent example from my own life to help illustrate this point. It is something that I have written about a lot and talked about even more, but has been probably the most important thing that has occurred in my recovery and has been one of the greatest sources of healing for me.
For years I hated my ex-husband, but after working my Steps I healed a little bit from the pain that I felt he inflicted on me, and so for a time I was okay. I believed that I had achieved peace with this part of my life and in all honesty for some time, I had. I wasn’t yet ready to really dive into that situation and experience true healing and so I only peeled back the first layer of the onion.
Then I moved back to my home state so that I could be with my kids and in doing so, I had to invite him back into my life. Not in the sense that we were getting back together, but in the sense that we had children together which required regular interaction with him.
Being home and being around him brought up things in me that were tremendously painful and I really struggled for a number of months with this. There were some days where I’d thought I found peace in the situation, only to have it destroyed the following day when he’d make some offhanded comment to me, or I’d find out something he said about me to our kids.
I’d go to meetings and I’d hear bits and pieces of information that I needed in order to heal from the situation and I’d leave these meetings thinking I had finally found the secret that would unlock my healing and allow me to act neutrally towards him, but this just didn’t happen. As the months went on and the pain got greater, I continued my lurch towards healing by taking two steps forward and one step back.
Then something happened that allowed me to know that I truly had healed from the wounds of this part of my life. I finally felt the true acceptance of who he is as a person and what the situation was. I no longer felt anger towards him. In fact, I just felt compassion and realized that he was doing the best he could.
So that’s been the story of my healing, a process that is messy sometimes and seems to move in directions that don’t make sense to me, but in the end, work towards my greater good. Sometimes I am aware that I am moving in the right direction, while other times I’m not even sure where I’m going, but through it all, I usually wind up feeling better.
It’s as vital as the air I breathe: CAKE. Very early in life, I internalized the message that cake was equivalent to joy, happiness, satisfaction, togetherness. Maybe it was the time my cousin’s Rancher Wife friend rescued me from the terrifying scene of watching Mr. Bird saw down the bull’s horn before it blinded him. My other cousin, Patricia, was there to help Mr. Bird take care of the bull. They left Pete and me (ages 6 and 8) in the farm truck (the “anchor”) and tied the bull to it and began sawing. I began screaming hysterically immediately, so Mrs. Bird came and got me and took me inside to the warm kitchen. She wiped my tears and opened her deep freezer (what a fascinating box of frozen surprises it was!) and pulled out a slice of carefully wrapped homemade coconut cake. We sat in her small but cozy kitchen in the warmth and slowly the cake soothed the trauma of thrashing around in a truck tied to an angry and uncooperative bull with my cousin, Pete! Mrs. Bird taught me that day that I was better suited for the kitchen than the ranch!
So, today, I am sharing with ya’ll one of my favorite Southern Cake recipes, Apple Dapple Cake. The photo does not do it justice – it should be covered in brown sugar-iced fresh pecans, but where was I going to get fresh pecans during an ice storm this weekend? Give yourself and your family a big treat today and grab some delicious apples, peel and dice them and create the world’s most delicious cake. And if it is work you must today, sweeten the evening with my favorite solution to any and all things intolerable: CAKE.
Recipe courtesy of My Momma, Miss Rhetta
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups pecans, chopped
3 cups tart apples, chopped
3 cups plain flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup brown sugar
4 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup milk
Beat eggs and mix with sugar, oil and vanilla.
Combine flour, salt and baking soda and add to egg mixture.
Fold in apples and pecans. Pour into greased and floured tube cake pan.
Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.
For frosting: Bring brown sugar, butter and milk to a boil. Boil only 2 1/2 minutes. Cool and spread on cake.
Eat it, You’ll Love It, and it will DRIVE AWAY any thoughts of ANGRY BULLS GETTING THEIR HORNS TRIMMED!!!!
Of all the adjectives one could choose to describe my personality, “Gentle” would most definitely not be among even the first twenty that come to mind. I have a very tender heart, but years of burying and covering up my vulnerabilities have created a somewhat tough exterior. This happens to many of us in life. It usually takes nearly half a century of living before you start to think about yourself as not merely a physical being but a spiritual one. I am almost one year past the mid-century mark in physical years and this is certainly true for me. More than anything, I want to prioritize spiritual growth over other pursuits right now. So my “Word of the Year” for 2017 is GENTLE.
The death of a beloved classmate last summer reminded me of a guiding principle for my High School education, a quote by Francis de Sales, “Nothing is so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength.” Weeks before Lori’s passing, several of my classmates and I were in daily contact with her via group text messaging. She reached out to us in her most frightened, vulnerable state for support as she awaited news and guidance about her recent diagnosis of breast cancer. The outpouring of “gentle strength” from my group of High School friends was, at times, mind-blowing. We walked hand in hand with Lori through her life’s most harrowing journey until it was time for her to leave her physical body. It was the most beautiful, intimate, raw experience of my adult life so far.
The courage it took for Lori to open herself up to so many friends from so long ago dismays me. I will be forever humbled and convinced that gentleness is the ultimate spiritual practice.
Everybody knows compromise is a good thing to practice in business and ultimately in life. Bending one’s will to move toward another’s best interests leads to successful relationships and a satisfying life. Nobody likes a stubborn old goat!!! Learning to practice gentleness begins with ME: embracing an open, courageous, accepting heart means I also have to be vulnerable when I don’t necessarily want to face it. Approaching a life of gentleness as a practice rather than a goal allows me to make small choices on a daily basis that ultimately lead to the value of gentleness. Before letting myself become completely angry, for instance, I try to think less of what I want from any situation or person and more about how wonderful it is the other person crossed my path. I can think about people and things this way because of gentleness – I am learning to accept what is and forget the rest. This practice leads to alot less brooding about what ought to be and frees up lots of time to just be in the moment.
So, in 2017, I will continue to joyfully pursue the practice of gentleness in my life. Earlier today, I read a beautiful reflection on gentleness, and I share it here with you as a special gift for you to take on your 2017 journey:
“It’s the hard things that break; soft things don’t break. It took me so very, very long to see it! You can waste so many years of your life trying to become something hard in order not to break; but it’s the soft things that can’t break! The hard things are the ones that shatter into a million pieces.” C. JoyBell C.
HAPPY NEW YEAR and may you joyfully experience the softness of a bigger, fuller, gentler life of authenticity this year!!!!
This recipe is an adaptation from The Pioneer Woman. The sandwiches are SO delicious and so easy to make, my family has asked for them twice this week! Here ya go:
3 lb chuck roast
1 envelope of Good Season’s Zesty Italian Salad dressing mix
8-oz Giardiniera (Chicago-Style Italian Sandwich Mix)
14.5-oz can of beef consumme
provolone cheese slices
Place chuck roast into the bottom of a 6-quart crock pot then sprinkle with salad dressing mix. Add the Giardiniera and beef broth. Place the lid on the crock pot then cook on low for 8 hours, or until meat shreds easily with a fork.
Split buns in half then scoop the meat mixture on top and add provolone cheese slices. Serve warm.