The fixings of possibility

A world of abundance

So many of us in the northern hemisphere are incredibly fortunate when we compare our lives to the world at large. But as the divide between rich and poor continues to increase, the wealth gap ever-widening, there are more of us who aren't so lucky. 

Here in the US, we have millions who live below the poverty line, and there are growing numbers of people who have nowhere to go at night other than an urban, unsanctioned, and makeshift campsite. This is all a giant shouldn't be and why those who have the power to enact policy to at least keep people fed and safe don't do that befuddles me beyond comprehension.  

Wise choices 

That said, we're all blessed to live in a time of inconceivable prosperity, although for many, there is no trickle-down. The majority who read this blog I assume live in a place where you can make choices that serve you, and you can course-correct when you make a bad decision. Peter Arnell, in his book Shift, wrote, "we can be our own aspiration." 

That's the stuff I write about most of the time. I love that we can choose a better life for ourselves with every decision we make. 

But it's important to remember that not everyone can—or at least, they don't know they can. We're all blessed with free-will, too, but even that's a non-starter for so many. If you can barely take care of your physiological and safety needs, it's highly unlikely you'll think about or maybe even know about the higher levels of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. 

Celebrate your gifts 

Danielle LaPorte, author of The Firestarter Sessions and other amazing books and resources, wrote on Instagram, "Can we be grateful for what we have when others are going without?" Yes, she says. Be modest and respect others, but celebrate all you're blessed with. 

She's right—because when we have more resources, we can do more, be more, share more. When we live into our potential, or lift ourselves up, we put that into the universal energy field and lift others up, too. 

We're grounded in belief

Yes, we all have the fixings of possibility (thanks to Liberte for the phrase). Even those who seemingly have nothing. But sadly, they don't know it, and may not have a way to find out. They haven't received a hand up and may rely on handouts, which feed their bodies but not their souls. As I view our growing homeless community, I wish I could help in a way that matters most—at that deep subterranean level where we know we have value.  

No matter where you live or what your experience, so much of what we have as adults is based on what we believe. No one spoke more eloquently and meaningfully about this than Austrian psychologist Viktor Frankl, in Man's Search for Meaning, who spent years in a Nazi concentration camp.  

Those living in abject poverty may not know any other way. They may believe that's all they're worth. Many come from childhoods with countless 'adverse events' with no tools or resources to change. They may have never had a lucky break, a mentor, or an opportunity to see life from a different vantage point. Eric Butterworth, in Spiritual Economics, writes, "We have been erroneously conditioned to believe that our lives are completely shaped by what happens around us and to us. But life is lived from within-out. It's not what happens 'out there', but what we do or how we think about what happens."

What we believe can keep us in poverty, lonely, and unwell. It's for those reasons we owe it to ourselves and everyone else to use our freedom and privilege wisely and to do what we can to live from an abundant mindset. 

Know your worth

Those fixings of possibility? Know your worth, know you're part of something bigger, and carry with you at all times the mindset of abundance, gratitude, and generosity. Even if you don't feel privileged, if you live in the US, particularly in the Pacific Northwest, you likely benefit from some kind of privilege by the very fact you live where you do. 

When we acknowledge and accept this, we can make choices that contribute to a better world. We owe it to those who have less to make smart choices, to expand our capacity to be the best we can be, and to model the way for others. And, extend a helping hand in whatever way you can, in a way that's meaningful to you. 

If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here.

Let's talk about death...

Grape leaves: the cycle of life

A few months ago, I signed up for a dinner party where death had a seat at the table. You could even say death was the guest of honor. 

Talking about death isn't something most of us who grew up in western culture are comfortable with. Sadly, because not having those oh-so-important conversations can make loss even more devastating. 

And not only do we not want to talk about it, many of us don't have cultural rituals to guide us when loved ones die. In some cases where we do, those rituals we grew up with don't fit anymore. 


This isn't a post about grief; I write about that enough. This is a reminder to all of us to do the things that must be done—the hard things, those caring things that make life easier for those left behind when we, too, leave this mortal plane. 

#DeathDinners

My dinner with death was last Saturday, and yes, it was fascinating, and yes, death was nearly the sole topic of conversation.  

Based around 'death over dinner' events (#deathdinner) started by University of Washington professor Michael Hebb in 2013, the dinners grew from a graduate course called Let's Have Dinner and Talk about Death. In 2018, Hebb authored the best-seller, Let's Talk About Death Over Dinner; from this website, you can also learn about hosting your own dinner with death. Why over dinner? As Hebb notes, the dinner table is the most forgiving place for a difficult conversation.

The dinner I attended was hosted by former lawyer now end-of-life coach Ann Forrest Burns. (Do check out her site; it's fabulous and you can learn some things. Do it; it's safe to look.) There were six of us around the table, and we started our conversation by sharing the first memory we had of a significant death. 

The impact of loss

My dad was my first significant death, but not a memory of my own as he died shortly after I was born. But my mom mourned his death until she, too, left the mortal plane when I was 38. That was big. 

Other losses left an impenetrable mark at an early age. My caregivers and my reasons-for-being all died within a few short years of each other: first, my aunt, who died when I was 8; she said "goodbye, daddy" to my grandfather as she was taken from the house on a stretcher—and then never came home. My grandpa left me the following year, and three years later, my grandmother. I was 12, and her death signaled to me that anyone I cared about—or who cared for me—would leave. Hence my modus operandi for the next couple of decades—being left became an expectation, and I looked for love in all the wrong places. 

Since then there were countless others—cousins, friends, pets, and other family members, few from a 'ripe old age' and largely from lifestyle choices. When someone in my family lives to 80 or 90, it's cause for celebration. There are few of them. 

As a little girl, I attended many funerals because of a large, extended family, and while uncommon today, when I see a funeral procession drive by, I still get choked up. I was often in the family car leading the way. 

Death upon death

Mortal death isn't the only death, though. My mom died an emotional death after my aunt died, closing off and shutting down—that, too, left an indelible mark. And when those we care about lose their quality of life, that may be a series of deaths, as they lose the ability to do what they love. Often, this is a prolonged death. 

Planning ahead 

Death can break apart families. Pre-planning can make a difference. 

I have a Canadian friend who works in the industry and helps people pre-plan. She's been highly successful financially not because she's great at sales, but because she's truly passionate about helping people. Death is hard enough on those left behind; when we plan ahead so others don't have to, we lessen their suffering. She knows this at a deep level.  

Talk with those you love about your needs and desires. Do you want your life sustained if it means you're hooked up to tubes, incubators, or various other machines? There are legal documents that leave no question, and it's best to work with a professional (you can find them in all price ranges). A health directive, or living will, is a must-have to ensure you're taken care of the way you want to be when you can't make decisions for yourself anymore. And don't be smug; this can happen at any time—an accident, or an illness that comes on suddenly. 

When the time comes: 

• How do you want to symbolize your time on earth? 
• How do you want your family taken care of? 
• Who do you want to benefit from any means you may have left, or any of your prized belongings? 
• Do you care if there's a service, and if yes, how it's done? 
• Cremated or buried? Where? We even have a choice of 'green' services now. 

You may think these aren't important, but when the time comes, they're important to those still standing, and the fewer decisions they have to make, the easier it is during a time that's anything but easy.  

Be curious

On Saturday, we also played the game Morbid Curiosity. It's a combination of trivia questions and conversation starters. While some of the trivia answers are humorous, many inform or help you think about options to consider. Conversation starters were either thought-provoking or entertaining. If you need help getting the party started, this game will break the ice. 

Meaningful death

Our lives have meaning, not just for us but for those who care about us. Our death will have meaning, too. Let's help those we leave behind with those most difficult decisions, so they don't have to when their wound is wide open. 

I'm grateful that death doulas are becoming a thing. It's a much-needed service to help us make choices that are meaningful while we still can, and help us navigate the complex industry that death has become. 

Don't wait

While my mom talked about her own death and did some of the pre-planning (thanking lucky stars for the People's Memorial Association here in Washington), I was less-than-impressed with our family's funeral home, the place where I spent enough of my childhood to still have strong memories. If only there were death doulas, or end-of-life coaches, then. It would have saved confusion, frustration, and heartache. 

Don't wait. This is far too important, and it's never too soon. Talk, plan, or find some help. Or host a #deathdinner of your own. It really isn't morbid. We had great conversations, plenty of laughs, and some good food, too. Here's the link again, just in case it helps. 

If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here.

Change: Sometimes you have to burn your fields

A sunflower must reach for the sun
to thrive. 

In an online group discussion this morning, I learned one of the participants is going through monumental personal and professional change. In response to his description, another participant, who grew up on a midwest farm, said, "even a farmer burns his fields"—which, although it seems destructive,  also ushers in new life, bringing nutrients back to the soil and promoting future plant health. 

Essentially, sometimes you have to stop and start over. Or, to paraphrase a term I heard when my own life turned upside down 10 years ago, sometimes you have to just blow everything up. 

Change is good

Ten years later, no regrets, despite the deep anguish of the time. I started over, dove deep into self-awareness, and on the other side found new insights and a future I could believe in.  

When the farmer burns the land, the fire not only replenishes the soil but breaks open seeds from which new plants can grow. When everything is stripped away, it's easier to see what's left, if there's anything worth keeping, and what needed to be scrapped anyway. 

While I don't advocate that we all blow everything up just for the sake of change, sometimes, that's what it takes to shake us out of our complacency. It's from this place where we can create our future based on what we want, not what we had, nor who we were, nor where we came from. 

I don't know about you, but in the past, there have been numerous times when I knew something wasn't working... and I didn't do anything about it until that proverbial two-by-four hit me over the head and I had no choice. 

I'd rather be the farmer, preparing the soil for my future. That burn gives us a fresh start. 

Not my smartest move...  

This morning's conversation also reminded me that when, as an internal communications manager for an organization during massive culture change, I found myself in HR's crosshairs. I oversaw all content for the company-wide intranet and often posted curated content to add validity to the changes underway. 

We were asking employees to change how they think about work, to be customer-obsessed and servant leaders, and to take an entrepreneurial approach to work. I posted the Fast Company story, with only the headline visible: How to Overthrow Your Boss and Burn Your Company to the Ground. 

Being future-focused, I thought it was a great piece and furthered the shift in thinking we wanted. HR wasn't amused and made me pull it, even with my strong rationale and the support of our VP to leave it up. 

Hindsight being 20/20, that may have been a catalyst for my next whack with a two-by-four.  

Burn your ships

While trying to find that 2015 Fast Company article to post here, I discovered a similar expression: Burn your ships. Apparently, when explorer Hernán Cortéz landed in the new world, he burned his ships, sending a message to the crew that there was no turning back. It was, quite literally, succeed or die. 

In other words, you can't have one foot out the door. You're either committed or you aren't. I often ask myself the question, are you interested or committed—one of my key takeaways from the Landmark Forum a couple of decades ago. If I'm just interested, those proverbial ships are my escape route, and I'm unlikely to achieve my goals. If I'm committed, I'm going to get where I say I'm going no matter what; I don't need those ships! 

No try, just do

(Borrowed from the interwebs...
copyright TBD; asking forgiveness,
not permission)

And finally, at least half a dozen times in the last week, I was told, heard, or saw the famous words of StarWars Jedi Master: Do or do not. There is no try. Wise master Yoda reminded me, via various channels, that the only way forward is to act. While I believe that burning the fields works, I've done that enough, and I don't want to be hit again with that proverbial two-by-four. So my only option is to do. No try. Just do. The hard things, the easy things. The daily habits and rituals. Those things that must be done. 

So tell me, what's your gut telling you that you need to change? What can you change now so you, too, can avoid that whack on the head and be the farmer instead? What must you do to create a life you want to wake up to every day? 

I'm about to change nearly everything, again, but this time, I'm doing it on my terms. And having some fun with it, too. 

If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here.

Purging possessions: a humbling experience

Seattle's Pike Place Market opened the same year
my family moved into our Ballard home, 1907. 

Off and on for years now, I've cleaned out and purged possessions and keepsakes; I've written about that process here before. Reading The Year of Less at the beginning of 2018 ushered in a new level of clearing, which continues today. That said, how on earth does stuff accumulate?  

My house is small. I have very few cupboards and closets and my storage space is extremely limited. For better or worse, the house came with plenty of stuff when I moved in, as it's been in my family now for 112 years. Even though they didn't have a lot in those days, somehow there was still plenty left by the time I landed here, nearly two decades ago. Add to that our active, busy lifestyle with numerous projects and interests makes functioning in our space that much more challenging. 

Our cottage on the hill, circa early 1900s,
with my grandfather and great aunt.

With much of the small stuff finally gone, it's time for the big stuff, which admittedly is harder for a number of unrelated reasons: emotional attachment even though I don't necessarily like these things, nor have a use for... and, nobody wants them. At least, no one in my family. And apparently, few on the Buy Nothing sites want much, either. 

My grandmother's old upright piano was a tough giveaway but finally went to a home with a young boy about 10 years ago. Now I'm left with the antique walnut dining set my aunt bought at a New York auction in the 1940s, which can seat six at its smallest, and has five leaves for many more—great for extended family dinners back in the day when we had a big family. It's beautiful, but frankly never felt like it fit this house. I'm also ready to part with an old Singer sewing machine, one of the first electric models, which belonged to my favorite great aunt. I've never used it. Its cabinet has been a plant stand for as long as I've had it, which is close to 20 years now. I think things are meant to be used, and while I believe in repurposing, I don't think a plant stand is a good repurpose of a cool machine that can be used to make things.  

Both of these are now listed online on numerous buy/sell channels.

I've also listed a handful of small items with no current personal use on my local Buy Nothing site. Why is it that people say they're interested, make arrangements to come get it, and then never show? And they're not just no-shows—they don't let you know nor even respond! 

It takes time to photograph and list these things. Food went quickly, even those items that had long past 'best by' dates. Go figure. I recall having a moving sale when I left Vancouver; the items that sold continually baffled me. The really nice stuff? Nobody cared... 

Our house today, slightly bigger
than before, but not much.

All of this is a humbling experience. I think I'm of the last generation to care about family 'heirlooms' passed down for decades. And right now, it feels like I'm one of few to actually respect people's time. I'm of a mindset that you do what you say you're going to do, or clean it up... which in this case means: let people know if you change your mind, can't get there, or otherwise are no longer interested. 

So while letting go of possessions is at times a humbling experience with some growth opportunities built-in, having fewer possessions is largely freeing. It makes space for something new, something better (and not necessarily a material thing) to show up in your life. 

That part's exciting.  

If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here.