Are you listening?

I awoke the other morning with a booming voice -- not mine -- in my head:

"Are you listening to me?" 

Good question. 

Hmmm... 

... listening now. 

Breathing. 

I have been busy being busy. I have been doing, not being. Trying to fill the space, the void. Not listening. It all feels important, and likely is, at least somewhat. And my job right now is, in part, to listen. To pay attention. That's where the good stuff resides. 

Ambiguity. That's where I need to be right now. Clarity will come if I let it. I don't want the same, I want what's next, what's better. Dream. Create. Expand. 

Onward.  

Forging a new path

((I'm not sure where the graphic accompanying
this quote originated but it's speaking to me so
thank you to whomever  I borrowed it from;
if credit is due, please let me know.)) 

Life is nothing if not a journey. I think we all know this by now.

I have written a lot about change on this blog; it seems I'm always in the midst of one change or another. You could say I'm an expert by now. At least at navigating my own.


So here I go again. 


This time I'm doing things a little differently, though; rather than reluctantly adapting (freelancing) or frantically driving (specific end goal), I'm working on the 'dream a new dream' part and embracing what's next as it shows up. I can't say I'm clear yet on where I'm headed. I'm still in the "be comfortable being uncomfortable" stage of not knowing.

That said, some of the puzzle pieces are starting to show themselves. The cover art and center pieces are still missing, but I'm getting a glimmer of the outer fringes. And I like what I see so far!

It's both exciting and scary (funny how these two emotions share physical sensations). I think it was Eleanor Roosevelt who said something like 'do something each day that scares you'. I have read variations of that lately, from several sources. This place where I am right now feels a little scary, every day, and rather than trying to fix it or make it go away, I am staying with it. Acknowledging it, naming it, allowing it to be.

I'll share more when I gain a bit more clarity and can articulate what's showing up.

Conversation, not knowing, and shifting gears

Spring hellebores - fresh, bright

Conversation. I am always amazed at the brilliance of just talking. That's part of what I love about coaching, but even through casual, random conversation, we can learn and see new possibilities. When we're connected, engaged and open-minded, things happen.

What comes from 'just talking' are awareness and clarity: new ideas, shared feelings, fresh thinking, and, for me, the understanding that we really are better together on this blue green planet.


New awareness

Right now, it's OK for me to not know what's next. I was reminded of this during a casual conversation while en route to a volunteer event.

With my job eliminated and no place to go each morning, my productive, corporate-trained brain is eager to be busy and feels anxious about what's next. I want to know where I'm headed, to be 'in action', to have a path, a next move.

Yet my creative, coach-trained, compassionate 'second' brain (that inner knowing, otherwise known as gut instinct) wants to slow down a little, shift gears, do something different, sit with, be with, see what bubbles to the surface. I am so much more than a cog in a corporate wheel; I have real gifts to offer the world, and I don't need 'a job' to do this. I'm in the fortunate place to not rush, to be able to explore, to sit with ambiguity.

How freeing to know I don't have to know. Even if I land another corporate role, I will do so mindfully.

Conversations are essential 

It's time for my introverted self to have more conversations. The fog that's enveloped me for weeks is finally lifting. The shift has begun and now I'm just curious to see what comes up. And... I don't have to know.

As my friend Sheryl asks in her email signature, quoting Mary Oliver, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

"...your one wild and precious life." Indeed.

I stated in an earlier post that my theme this year is 'invest' yet there's a place for 'wait and see'. What this means for me is being intentional about where, how and with whom I invest my time as I make space for what's next.

There is so much I don't know, so I'm staying open to something I may never have considered. There are many right answers, roads untraveled, and endless possibilities. I know countless people who have made big changes, as well as complete shifts, and are happier for it.

Tim Ferriss, author of The 4-Hour Workweek, suggests a person's level of success in life can often be measured by the number of uncomfortable conversations he or she is willing to have. Meaning, if you put yourself out there and talk with those you may seem unreachable, you may just find a connection and even an ally. So there's also that...

Lastly, from a lifetime-ago colleague, now life coach, in a recent email about looking back: If life only teaches you one thing, let it be that taking a passionate leap is always worth it.

Signs of new life: spring buds against a blue sky.

RIF: Closing a work life chapter

Truly, the only constant is change.

Shortly after my last blog post, I learned my job was eliminated and my work came to a sudden stop. Despite a premonition last spring, and a gut feel I wasn't able to shake for weeks, it's a little like hitting a brick wall at full speed; time shifts and I feel disoriented and disillusioned, as well as relieved and optimistic, all couched in a coat of anxiety.

"It's just business."

If I could change almost anything about the world of work, I'd start with changing some HR practices (as well as the name; human resources seems dated and inaccurate; what about employee services? or employee support? I digress...). Right now, my focus would be on how organizations facilitate change around something like this. It may be just business for an organization, but people's lives are affected.

I'm a lucky one; I'll be fine.

But major reductions happen regularly in the workplace, and I surmise they're more about budget than real, overarching strategy or change. Reports in all the business journals state that if you take care of people first -- be they employees or customers -- the bottom line improves. But I don't think most of our major organizations truly get that at a deep, transformational level. I hope I'm wrong.


"It's not performance..." 


Standard issue for a corporate reorganization these days is to ask employees to leave immediately, if not that hour, then that day. Performance isn't a factor, yet it still feels punitive and invalidating. I mentioned the layoff at a weekend dinner party, and those who'd experienced something similar said their first month following their last day felt like full-on PTSD, calling it wrong, disrespectful, and dehumanizing, despite severance packages and words of work well done.

Yep.

Here are my questions, not directed at anyone in particular as I think my boss and coworkers feel similarly, and I know without a doubt I did good work.

• What about trust? Until that fateful day, I was a trusted employee, coworker, friend. 
• What about closure? To wrapping up loose ends? Did none of my work matter? 
• How does this honor my contribution, my relationships, and even my coworkers? This affects them, too.

There's barely an acknowledgement, goodbyes, nor the fanfare afforded those who leave by choice, despite having worn the same "valued team member" label. No lunches, no cards, no group hugs. Even with transition support, an implied message is of wrong-doing.

Integrity is one of my top core values, along with loyalty and honesty, and right now my values feel impugned, and I feel a little betrayed, even though I know it's not personal. I think I would be much more OK with this if I'd been able to address those questions, to wrap up loose ends and respectfully exchange goodbyes.

I'm lucky, despite it all...  

Yet, I am not begrudging. I have many marketable skills, a solid network and a back-up plan (just in case). The "why me" question is a moot point (although I occasionally find myself asking it); it was time, it's complicated, and I don't need to address that here. I was and am ready for change. I know that at a gut level.   

I have much to be grateful for. I've grown personally and professionally in these nearly seven years in ways I couldn't have imagined. I have coworkers I care deeply about, and I trust we'll remain connected. I leave this job a very different person.

The world of work is changing, too, and I'm also ready for that. I have long believed that how we do business isn't the best for people nor planet, and the world is starting to reflect that belief even more. For now, I aim to be comfortable sitting with ambiguity and listening deeply to my inner voice. I will take some time to regroup, pay attention, be still, write, read and be present.

And when I'm ready, my intention is to be mindful and strategic about where I'm headed, what I'm doing, how I'm doing it and who's with me. I want to spend time with those who've chosen to do things differently, who are marching to their own proverbial drummer.

Lastly, here's a Liz Ryan post from Forbes about what we all deserve from a job besides a paycheck -- something else I'll pay attention to. And who knows... maybe I'll create something entirely different.

And with that, I close this chapter.

It's a new year... now what?

Blue world

For many, this is a time to make resolutions - things to accomplish throughout the year, or by an upcoming date. Often stated as goals, they're specific and potentially measurable, but they rarely address root issues, so they often fail. There's a lot of writing around the web about this, with a lot of "what to do instead" offerings.

One of the best I've read so far is by author and self-help guru Mark Manson, His recent, Your Goals are Overrated (NSFW or if you're easily offended by language), talks about developing habits rather than setting goals or making resolutions, and he offers six habits he considers worth cultivating: exercise, cooking, meditation, reading, writing and socializing. These all come with various benefits, both immediate and compounded.

Invest in you; you're worth it

My takeaway, though, is his distinction between spending and investing. And having read this, I've decided to have a theme for the year, and it's "invest". My time, my energy, my money. Everything. This is a really a mindset shift for me; while I'm not unfamiliar with investing, to think about so many things from this perspective suddenly makes so much sense. I may say more about this over the next few months.

Typically I take the first few weeks of the year to reflect on the year prior and imagine, dream and set intentions for the year ahead. I know big changes are coming, and they're probably even overdue. But I haven't yet taken the time these first couple weeks of the year.

Because ... time... that's one thing I anticipate having more of soon.

As I reflect, I recognize that sometimes we have to cut our losses and move on. Circumstances and people change, and we often don't have control over what changes around us. But we can control how we respond, and as I just mentioned to my cousin who's having to deal with a family issue that shouldn't be, we can make ourselves insane trying to make sense of things nonsensical. It's not worth it.

I've learned that what happens in our lives is often an opportunity to grow, and while hindsight usually illuminates this, it's not always easy in the moment. However, my fears are usually unfounded or carry no weight. I don't have to create meaning where there isn't any, because the meaning I create isn't usually in my best interest. Mindfulness is important when change is imminent and I am paying attention, reflecting and planning.

Onward. Upward. ... Invest. In my well-being, my intellectual pursuits, relationships, creating my future... the list of what to explore is long, but it is also intentional.

Post-Thanksgiving gratitude, and a big 'shouldn't be'

Driving south on I-5 toward my uncle's place for Thanksgiving dinner, for the first time I noticed the magnitude of tent encampments under the freeway as we drove through and beyond downtown. Forrest was driving and we were in his truck, which sits higher than my car.

Discovery Park frost

Whether it was the added height or that I wasn't driving, I was able to notice differently. There were dozens, maybe hundreds... tent after tent stretched out in groups under the raised lanes of the freeway.

I know of this, have read and heard about this, but I haven't seen more than just a scattered few tents before.

This is a shouldn't be... 

How is it in our wealthy country, and in our affluent northwest, we have so many homeless? This isn't unique to our area, but with our usual moderate climate and liberal programs and policies, there are many who choose the northwest over other, less tolerant areas to live their lives outdoors.

Yet, the near freezing temperatures say it's winter. A local charity that helps women and children, Mary's Place, notes there are more than 500 families right now in our area with no place to call home.

Walking through Discovery Park, an old military base converted to a 500-acre park and some high-end view homes, I see an occasional tent tucked among the trees and brush. I cannot fathom how this is possible in today's world.

Sanctioned tent cities, in my neighborhood and throughout the city, give people who live on the street a bit more security along with bathroom facilities and access to drinking water. Yet neighbors complain; I can only surmise they don't want their cozy perceptions of safety shattered. There are shelters and half-way houses everywhere, but still there aren't enough beds.

But my real question is... why? 

Why is this even an issue at this point in time, in this place?   

Do they choose this? Maybe... maybe it's better than what home once was. I know many women are on the street because it's better than anything else they know, because they feel they have no other choice. And mental illness keeps some on the fringes of 'civilized' society.

I believe that to some degree we choose our circumstances. But I think in cases like this, even if this is true, those who live this plight do not understand they have choice. Do not believe that choice can be theirs. There are no visible options. They don't have foresight beyond survival because their circumstances never gave them that. When survival is your focus, the choice you make is what's right in front of you.

No one, 

especially children and families, 

should have no place to go to be 

warm, fed, and cared for. 

I had earlier whined that the food on my holiday table likely wasn't organic nor sustainable. Those individuals - those fellow humans - would be more than happy to have that food. I quickly berated myself and gave thanks for my amazing abundance -- a table full of delicious food, and family to share it with, and leftovers to spare.

My life is far from perfect. My company is reorganizing and many jobs are going away; mine may be eliminated. I have debt. My house is old and inefficient. Really?

Daily, I experience abundance.

Discovery Park blackberry blossoms... in November.
#Hopespringseternal.

I have choices. So many choices. And resources beyond measure. I am not materially wealthy, and yet, I have extended family and friends to share meals with. A life partner who loves me. A warm home to come back to. A cat to snuggle with. A job, for now, that gives me a paycheck in exchange for work. I am healthy and generally happy.

I also understand that I am my own security and I will (almost for certain) always be OK. I can choose. I am lucky to live where I do. I benefit from the legacy of my ancestors and my circumstances.

This isn't true for everyone. Yes, there will always be difference, injustice, and inequity. But does the gap have to be so... gaping?

How do we change this? 

#choice #hope

What matters most

Today I learned a coworker was diagnosed with leukemia. We were in a meeting just over a week ago and he wasn't feeling well, didn't look good, and was having a hard time walking and breathing. I heard that later in the day, our director told him to go to the doctor, where after blood tests, he was immediately admitted to the hospital and is now undergoing aggressive treatment.

Macarons, because they're happy. 
When life sucks, they add 
delicious color and flavor.

A former coworker was recently diagnosed with a rare brain condition that showed up suddenly and increased rapidly. Now, post brain surgery, she continues to experience symptoms, albeit less severe, and this condition will likely be with her for life.

They're both young and vibrant.

These are just two stories.

How does this happen? 

I firmly believe that lifestyle trumps genetics, and so many conditions and diseases are now deemed preventable with different lifestyle choices.

But there is much that seems out of our control. What we (collective) do to the air we breathe... the water we drink, bathe in, swim in, eat from... our food sources, our soils... the resources we use as though they're infinite... we don't yet know the full affect of our actions. Even when we're careful and choose wisely, it's impossible to completely avoid those things that could make us sick, shorten our lives, or in some way negatively impact our quality of life.

Sometimes it feels like a crap shoot.

I was just in Las Vegas for a work-related training and stayed at a hotel / casino far from the strip. The despair I felt there was palpable. This place was by far one of the worst: heavily smoke-filled, with a largely older clientele -- many carrying extra weight, a fair number in wheelchairs or with walkers, and a few toting oxygen tanks, all smoking, drinking and gambling.

Las Vegas, known infamously as 'sin city', was deemed 'addiction city' 
by one of my taxi drivers. 

I had to breathe that nicotine toxin walking through the hotel each day. I could only give thanks this wasn't my daily reality.

And... what if none of it matters? Admittedly, with the latest report of an ill coworker, I at first felt sad and then a bit despairing. It doesn't make sense.


Does anything we do really matter?  


Why exercise, eat well, nurture our relationships, manage our stress, or do any of those other things that may or may not keep us well and living a long, full life?

Does what we believe, think or say actually influence our health, as so many of the new health celebrities spout? I wish I knew for sure.

I still believe we can make a difference, and to a degree, I do believe we control our own destinies. I'm not saying that either of the two mentioned above asked for or in some way created their circumstances, as some of those 'guru'-types might suggest. That would be unspeakably mean. And I'm not saying there's a reason for everything, because I'm not sure that's true.

Fresh air... from an oxygen bar. 

But I do believe there are gifts and opportunities everywhere - if we're willing and able to see them.

I am reminded not to take anything for granted. To be grateful for my current health and well-being. To cherish those I love -- and to tell them -- and to continue to act as if everything counts. I can choose what I do, say, buy, eat -- every day.

My actions... my choices... matter. 

If not for everyone, then at least for those I'm connected to.

Savor life slowly... 

I can make choices that are more likely to contribute to longevity... to good health, a good life, and a positive influence on the world around me. I can choose to be as chemical-free as possible so as to limit my contribution to the toxins others bear. I can choose to limit my use of resources, so to help ensure there's plenty for everyone.

Not everyone cares about this. But I do. What matters most to me is an equitable and just world - for people, plants and animals. Clean air and nutrient-rich soil. Healthy food for all. I may only have a micro piece of it... I am but a spec on the continuum.

And... I can make a difference in my little piece of the world. I don't subscribe to winner takes all, to getting what you can while you can... I think there's enough for all of us.

I have gained a lot of clarity on what matters most to me, and I'm passionately committed to living and working differently, and helping others do so, too. I have long believed that so much of how 'we' live isn't healthy, that there's a better way. And while it may not keep each individual healthy, perhaps we can be happier and more fulfilled while we're here.


What matters most to you?

Letter to my step-daughter

Well, this sure isn't an easy one to write, but it's been on my mind a long time. Here goes: 

Granted, it may be as many as 20 years since we've seen each other, and technically, you're not my step-daughter now. It's been more years than that since your dad and I split and you and I only saw each other a few times after that.

But that doesn't mean I haven't thought of you often. I have. You played a significant role in my life. You're 30-something now. Older than I was when we last saw each other.

So much water under that proverbial bridge.

You were eight when we met at the beach house in White Rock. Sandcastle weekend. Your dad and I reconnected the year before, and by then we were pretty enamored with each other. We'd met and dated briefly a few years earlier; we liked each other, but the distance was too much the first time around.

To be clear, there's more I could say than can or should be included in a blog post like this, but this feels like a necessary step.

It seemed like destiny.

When your dad and I got married, I was happy you were my step-daughter. I didn't have children, and you were funny, creative, sweet and smart. You lived with your mom but we liked spending time together, even though it wasn't often.

A lot happened during the years our lives were interconnected. But I want you to know that, despite all that proverbial water, you were family and I cared deeply for you. I still do, although to say I know you, or even know much about you, would be untrue. But I knew you during a formative time.

I'm glad we reconnected, even if just on Facebook (thanks for the friend request!). I'm sorry it was your loss that made it possible, but when I heard, I set aside previous hesitations to contact you, because I know what it's like to lose a mom too soon.

I was close to your age when I lost my mom. We were both too young to say goodbye; their lives were short. But I don't think the similarities stopped there. My relationship with my mom was complicated, despite how much we loved each other. That's why I sent a note to you...  I think yours was, too. And it tugged my heartstrings.

But even that isn't why I'm writing this.

There's this thing about completion...  

...about things unfinished. And I've felt unfinished with you. Early on, I felt sad, guilty, confused, concerned. Reconnecting brought some of that back up. I'm fortunate to have a life I'm truly grateful for, but there are things I've wanted to say, and never forgot.

The last time we saw each other was a year or two after you moved back to your mom's. You were living in Kamloops, so I drove up to visit you. You were busy with friends, though, as any self respecting 16-year-old would be, so we didn't have much time together. Instead I tagged along with your mom to the local bar, and left early the next day. I didn't try to contact you after that. I learned you moved back to your dad's after a couple years, and finished high school in the city. Reaching out really didn't make sense then.

That said, the point of this is...


...this post is about us, and that last year together.

Frankly, there were a lot of "shouldn't be's" during that year you lived with us. By then, you were 14 and looking for trouble--that's why you came to live with us. Ideally, you wouldn't find trouble, and trouble wouldn't find you, under the guidance of me and your dad.

Hindsight being that rear-view mirror, I saw later that it was pretty much a no-win for both you and me. Your dad was largely absent, working 16-hour days at least part of that year. I landed the role of stand-in guardian, rule-setter, school conduit, curfew enforcer, wicked step-mom, the bitch from hell... a few choice words you didn't shy away from saying. As the adult, I won't deny some of the accusations were earned; that's part of a parent's job, but... I wasn't your parent, and I overstepped (more on that later). You were rebellious, indignant and misbehaved, asserting your independence, no matter the conversations about honesty and consequences.

When you moved back to your mom's after the school year ended, our marriage went from bad to worse. While I would never say or believe you caused our break up, I'm certain that disastrous year, including my behavior, hastened it.

Those first years on my own required some intense soul searching on my part. I loved your dad. I thought we'd grow old together, together for life. I was devastated when I learned that wasn't to be; even on our last day together, he said he still loved me and we were family.

But neither of us had healthy role models for how to be in a relationship, nor how to parent. So I have a confession of sorts, and this wouldn't be worth writing if I wasn't completely honest...

First, I'm sorry. 

There were times I didn't show up as a skilled adult. I don't fault myself, but I'll own it.

So... 

At 14, terrible things happened to me. I wasn't fully aware of it then, but that history colored my experience with you. You were so grown up, or wanted to be, but you were still a kid. I was a child at 14, but I would have been really pissed off had anyone said that to me. You would have been, too. But your presence in such close proximity made me see my 14-year-old self as the child I was, not yet capable of adult decisions, nor the experience to understand consequences, and very much in need of boundaries and protection.

I'm not proud of my teenage self. Yet I have come to understand why I made the choices I did. Sometimes I'm sad about that. Unsupervised, I was a party girl, desperately looking for love and acceptance, afraid to say no, unaware that was even an option. I found myself in some precarious situations, some of which I couldn't get out of, some which caused me harm. There wasn't much I wouldn't do or try as I unconsciously sought that connection and affection. My friends were my family; you said the same of yours.

So, part of me wanted to protect you. Another part was scared--for you and for me. You reminded me of me. Except, by the time you hit your teens, the drugs were scarier, the consequences greater, and men and boys still dangerous. A lot of my friends didn't make it out; I was lucky. I didn't want anything bad to happen to you, or to me, or to us.

I wanted you to have a better experience. 

For much of our time together, I can say unequivocally I tried to be fair. Tried to tie actions with consequences. Tried to help you have a better life and give you tools and resources you weren't getting elsewhere. Tools and resources I hadn't had either, but in hindsight knew they'd have made a difference.

But it shouldn't have been me. 
That wasn't my job. 

Nothing worked. I felt threatened by your behavior and scared I could lose what I thought I had, and my actions reflected that. My early years were hard, but after many painful lessons, and a lot of self-reflection and conscious effort to do differently, I grew and changed. I felt like with your dad, I finally had something good.

I was afraid of losing that. 

After you went home, you got in trouble with your mom within a week, and your dad brought you back. I think that may have been my last straw. My coping skills disintegrated. My fear got the best of me. That year was a terrible time for all of us. I won't sugarcoat it; it challenged me on practically every level. That year -- and you -- left an imprint. I think I did a lot right, but I admit to being ashamed of my own behavior at times. Overall, I felt like I'd failed us both. I don't blame either of us. And I don't regret it. That year, our divorce, and what happened both before and after taught me more about myself, and relationships, that I couldn't learn any other way. I'm grateful for that.

But I've wondered about you. I have hoped for all things good for you. I'm sure you're still funny, creative and smart. From the outside looking in, you have a good life. And you got there on your own, with all the life lessons you gained along your journey.

Through it all, that's all I really wanted for you.

Life lessons: Courtesy, kindness and dignity

Dirty cat paws... 

My grandfather was adamant about treating people with courtesy, kindness and dignity. Didn't matter if that person collected your garbage every week, lived across the street, worked with you day in day out, cleaned your floors, sat at your table, or waited on you in a service environment. Income bracket, skin color or age didn't matter, either. He was first generation American, born to Swedish immigrants, merchant mariner, union employee, pretty standard middle class with first-rate values.

I often think of the lessons I learned from him in my current work environment as we move to a servant leadership model and focus on an overall customer experience. While those lessons were personal, they're easily adaptable.

I am very aware of how I'm treated in almost any circumstance, and if my customer service experience with a provider, service or seller is bad, I won't return. And as common research states, I'll also share that information with my immediate circle of family and friends. That said, I'll also share a good experience.

I like feeling valued. We all do. 

Here are a couple of my own customer experience examples:

• Nordstrom was my very first credit card and I've had that card longer than I'm willing to admit. They have a rewards program based on spending, like so many other retailers, but last month, I received an email message letting me know I had a surprise gift coming. And the next day, I received a $25 gift card. Not based on purchase amounts... and without any stated reason other than they valued me as a customer. Who needs a loyalty program with recognition like this. I'm in!
• Prior to leaving on vacation, I asked my gym, Olympic Health Club, if I could put my membership on hold while I was away. Turns out this is a benefit for month-to-month members only, and last December, I paid my membership dues for the entire year. I don't know how hard it would be to move my membership expiration two weeks out, or why they wouldn't want to offer more rewards to members who commit to an entire year in advance, but apparently they can't do that. This isn't my only disappointing experience with them - there have been many over the few years I've been there. While I like their pool, I think I'm done. My beaten path has plenty of other options these days. 

I think it's apparent that at my gym, I'm just another click of the member counter. Their support staff also don't seem empowered. I ask a question and they're hard-pressed to answer, and even more hard-pressed to answer like they care.

Having done brief stints in retail, restaurants and phone sales, I know I'm not cut out for that very public work. Even now I'm sometimes hard-pressed to be courteous and kind in certain circumstances (especially if I'm hungry; low blood sugar brings out my worst behavior). When I deviate from that moral stance and don't correct it, I'm not proud of myself. But as I practice being more kind, I have become mindful, and have caught myself being snarky to a grocery clerk or bank teller, called myself out, and apologized. No one deserves to be treated badly. Ever. Even flipping off a bad driver makes me give myself a little kick.


Kindness: empathy, compassion, patience 


My job keeps me behind a desk most of the time, but a computer screen doesn't shield bad attitudes or behavior. Long ago I learned that you can "hear" a smile in a phone call, or read between the lines in a message. It's not hard to be kind. And even small kindnesses go a long way, especially if someone's experiencing a difficult time. Kindness may be a tender word, a thoughtful note, an offer of help, or owning a mistake that isn't yours, but it may just mean taking a step back, listening, noticing, being patient, or taking the high road when it feels like that'll make a difference. I know how far it goes when said bank teller responds to my angst with kindness; I'm immediately diffused and apologetic. An exchange with an inexperienced, unsympathetic Barnes & Noble staff person resulted in the opposite experience. Poor guy. It's likely the only time in recent memory I haven't apologized. I think he may have been in the wrong job.

It's not hard. 

We can't possibly know what others are experiencing - even if they tell us. The annoying driver weaving in traffic? Maybe it's a family emergency. Benefit of the doubt goes a long way, too.

Ultimately, we're all in this together. And if that's not enough reason to be kind at least the majority of the time, or apologize when shit happens, kindness reduces stress - yours and that of your kindness recipients. Studies are proving it. And who can't do with a little less stress these days? Here's an Atlantic story for further reading.



What do dirty cat paws have to do with life lessons about courtesy, kindness, and dignity? My furry little friend, dignity not withstanding, gives me ample opportunity to practice patience. Even a little white cat needs lots of kindness, dirty paws and all. 

Getting over the hump: Grace and gratitude

Forget-me-nots in the garden

Today is Mother's Day. I have previously written that I'm not very sentimental about that. But I forget that May can be a challenging month for me, full of emotionally charged events - of which Mother's Day is just one small piece.

I rode my bike to the cemetery today. It's a small, lovely, peaceful little spot in a neighborhood just north of me, exactly what a cemetery should be -- gravel roads, many trees, benches for sitting, fragrant flowers and shrubs, with markers of varying shapes and sizes acknowledging those who've gone on. Many of my family members are buried here, and in 2000, when my mom died, I placed a headstone here in her honor and scattered some of her remains. I honor her today when I take care of myself by doing things like riding my bike. She and so many others died relatively young, of illnesses that today are largely preventable. I am doing my best. And I know she would want that. 

May is bittersweet. The anniversary of mom's death is May 19. This month also commemorates more fateful dates: the end of my marriage, my move back to Seattle, a hit-and-run that totaled my car and nearly totaled me (I am so blessed). May 10 was my dad's birthday - a symbolic date I knew as a child even though I didn't know him. And, on a high note, it's the month I fell in love with Forrest. 

So it's with grace and gratitude that I get through May. I've had a few rough weeks, and I haven't been able to get to the heart of what's up with me. Frustrations at work, personal irritations... feeling like my life is a little smaller than usual in key areas... some of it appropriate dissatisfaction. But I amplify these minor irritations by twisting them in my own head... and forgetting the real, underlying emotional reasons. Awareness is usually the first step to clarity, and the ride to the cemetery was the reminder I needed.

Grief is a funny thing; it can show up at interesting times in interesting ways, and I'm not sure it ever fully goes away. We heal, and scar tissue fades over time, but the memory remains.

While I do wish other mothers well on this date, I am not very forthcoming about offering it. I'm not the one posting a photo of my mom on Facebook, or wishing my friends who are mothers or the mothers of my friends a good day. Not because I don't care. Were I to describe how I feel when I see those posts, I think it would largely be numb. I cannot summon emotion.

So today, I recognize how grateful I am for the many gifts in my world, including the grace to have compassion for myself and save some space during a time when I need a little more than usual.