Practicing impermanence

Callas are symbols of both rebirth
and death. They die back each year,
but the next year, they're stronger,
more beautiful, and more plentiful
than the year before. 

I am reminded this month of life's impermanence. Although I believe we are all energy, and energy can't be created or destroyed and only changes form, as humans on this mortal plane, we are impermanent. 

So as in life, so as in death.  

As humans, we are ever-changing, moment-by-moment, with every breath. As humans, we attach identity and meaning, but we choose these, either consciously or unconsciously. 

Our circumstances are also impermanent. And this is all good news.  

May is a month of anniversaries for me: the week after Mother's Day is the anniversary of my mom's death—this year marks 19 years. Her sister, who preceded her in death by several years, also left her earthly body in May. There are more. 

I currently have friends who just lost or are about to lose their closest relationships—one whose father recently transitioned, another whose parents are nearing their final days, and another whose date with death is literally planned through a MAID, or Medical Assistance in Death. It's not an easy time for many. 


The gift of presence


Death is hard for those who are left behind. 

On the same side of anguish, however, is presence. Death changes us, marks us, and shifts our perspective, reminding us of our own impermanence. Which makes today, our present moment, that much more meaningful and precious. 

On the other side of anguish is gratitude—for the moment, for our current experience, and for the future we still get to create. For the memories and gifts of those who left. 

On the other side of loss is forgiveness—for words unsaid, deeds undone, and grace not given. 

Parallel to pain is beauty—without pain, we cannot experience joy, happiness, contentment, nor peace. 

Perspective...

Physical loss is real, however the gifts that accompany that loss never leave us. We gain perspective. We grow appreciation. We soften over time as memories fade but feelings remain. We gain compassion and empathy, and are more likely to see others from a widened point of view.  

And, just as we are impermanent, so are our circumstances. There are other losses in my life right now. Changes at work and home, with friends and family. 

Change has many benefits... 

Impermanence serves us. We are not stuck. We can change how we think about our experience, change our response, and see our circumstances through a new lens.  

While loss of loved ones is truly one of the hardest things ever, I will always be grateful for change. Change is hopeful. Change is interesting, bringing meaning, substance and expansiveness from which we grow and learn. I wouldn't want to be the person I was in my youth, or even 20 years ago. Ugh! I am SO grateful for change. I have gained wisdom and experience that only comes with age and change. 

Good, bad, or otherwise, change happens, and our best option, for our highest and greatest good, is to find our way to peace with that. We must go through—there is no shortcut. If you're struggling with change, or the idea of impermanence, Buddhist sage Pema Chodron may be the preeminent authority and her foundation has many useful resources. 

Embrace what is...

We must embrace the anguish, the bittersweet experience that engulfs all loss. Mourn what was. Miss our loved ones. And trust that on the other side, life has its sweet rewards. There are still precious memories to make. Experiences to have. People to meet. I love yous to say. We will grow through loss, gain much, and love ourselves and each other that much more for it.  

Without impermanence, there would be no life.  


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.

Listen with your heart, not your ears

(Source: "the good quote")

A friend and I stopped for an appetizer after stocking up on produce at the local farmers market, and a comment she made about how I prioritized my time prompted a curt knee-jerk reaction from me. I caught myself and apologized, but this isn't the first time I reacted this way to her.

Knowing that our relationships are our greatest source of growth, that we humans are complicated, and that we all have blinders, I spent time journaling, had a sleepless night, and got more clear about why I react to her; this doesn't happen with anyone else.

We know what we know...

We think we know someone else's experience based on our own experience. But we don't, not really. We can attempt to walk in another's shoes, and empathy is essential, but we each have different reference points with different needs and desires.

I often say words matter, but I'll also add that tone, body language, and facial expressions also matter and are subject to interpretation.  

My friend has a way of being with me that taps into my self-doubt, where I question and judge myself. I actually felt judged. I felt unseen, disregarded. I felt mothered in a way that wasn't motherly. And I reacted defensively—only for a moment, but enough to change the dynamic.  

Relationships take two


I kept journaling, and a conversation with an 'intentional conversation' partner reminded me of The Four Agreements—one agreement is not taking anything personally, and another is don't make assumptions. 

I can't make this personal. If she is judging me, it's about her and not me. I know my friend isn't happy. Could it be that her unhappiness shows up in how she perceives me, how she interacts with me, and could be what I react to? Maybe. I won't assume, but it's worthy of consideration. 

My journal, and author Joe Dispenza's
Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself

And... all relationships take two. My responsibility is to consider how I hear, ask clarifying questions, and clear misconceptions. Instead of feeling judged and unseen by her words, I can listen differently. Just as we see from our own unique lens, we hear with our own unique filters, and our monkey mind then interprets. 

What did you mean when you said that? What made you think that? Do you want to know... why I feel that way... don't have time... what I'm doing? 

We learn about ourselves from each other

In the Landmark Forum, they describe a way of listening and perceiving as "already always listening"—those unconscious filters that define what we hear. I have an already always listening for my friend—and I realize it's been developing for a while. I'm not wrong when I say I feel unseen—so much has changed both for me and about me in recent years that she has no insight into, but if I care enough, it's my responsibility to speak up and be both seen and heard. I haven't done that. 

This also requires trust, and I'm not sure we have that right now.

So, I'm going to listen with my heart and not my ears, and do my part to use my voice and claim my space, and see what changes. I can also listen with love and compassion, knowing she's having a hard time and may have clouded vision. 

I don't want to react. No one has power over this but me. When we know better, we do better, said Maya Angelou. I hope I know better in the future.   

Is there anyone you have an already always listening for? Do you anticipate what someone will say or how they'll say it? Again, all relationships take two... It may be up to them to change what they say or how they talk, and up to you to speak up and listen differently.  


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.