In Praise of Paeans

  

I have been contemplating -- and yes, I admit it -- complaining about the general lack of acknowledgments being bandied about in our world today.   I don't really understand why people don't acknowledge each other more.  It's so damn fun.  Why wouldn't everyone want to do it?

I was trained very well by a series of friends and family, starting with my dad, who loved to acknowledge me and others.  I watched him do it in his business and saw that it was what made it a happy workplace.  I also knew how it worked on me, marking my evolution as a good person, to show me that someone was watching who I was becoming in the world. 

It feels great to be acknowledged as thoughtfully as my dad did it, with all his heart on deck for the ceremony of it all, but damn I am also absolutely unabashedly conscious of the fact that it makes me feel just as happy to acknowledge others as it makes them feel.  I don't do it for me.  At least I don't think I do.  But honestly how could I separate out a history of feeling better when acknowledging someone?  And does it really matter if part of my motivation is that making someone feel good also feels good to me? I think not.  

I think acknowledging people can be vulnerable work, and it's possible I'm just used to the years of vulnerability.  You have to unveil what touched or moved you to speak up.  I find that even when I am acknowledging something devoid of emotional spin, I do feel a little vulnerable still to this day.  Will they reject my acknowledgment, disagree or not like the way I say it?  I often have a hard time receiving it myself. It's even more vulnerable to receive it, but still giving it is vulnerable as well.

Several months ago I accomplished a near miracle for someone and I received no acknowledgment for it.  I was thrilled beyond belief to have been able to accomplish this not so small near miracle.  Truly, I remember feeling more alive than possibly ever before when it occurred.  I was buzzing with the thrill of it all.  So I got all the goodies that come from doing a good deed.  Yet, the lack of acknowledgment of any kind put a little dent in the post-near-miracle joy.  It's like we didn't put a period at the end of the sentence of that experience.  We wrote that sentence together. It's begging for a punctuation mark.

I didn't need a big thank you.  Sometimes the tiniest, simplest of thank you's are the most precious.  Two days ago I found this acknowledgment on my front porch.  It was sent to me by my neighbor's son.  I asked her why I had been so blessed to find this magical black handmade envelope and magical contents awaiting me.

She explained that her son had been contemplating the used -- yes USED - birdfeeders I had handed off to them, and decided that he wanted to do something nice for me.  So he made these lovely little sculptures and wrapped them lovingly, artistically and left them for me as a little love surprise.

 

 

I'm pretty sure this heals every single missed acknowledgment I have had in my entire life.  They truly are the best neighbors on the planet and his mom and I actually have a battle of acknowledgments that we have agreed is a little out of control, yet slightly hilarious. But neither of us is lying, we just truly do appreciate each other and what we do for each other.   But she wins the battle because when her kids say thank you - often in the form of artistic missives like this one - even if its the sweet little utterances of the words "Thank you Miss Bridget," my heart is beyond satiated and happy at the punctuation mark on that lovely sentence.

 

Today someone at work provided me with something truly brilliant.  I asked for some information but I got far, far more than that, all of it exquisitely written aka "stealable"!  I wrote an email to her boss and her boss's boss to mark the occasion of her going above and beyond and being a genius about it to boot.

 

Her boss forwarded my email to her and she thanked me for my paean.  I am embarrassed that I have been on this planet as long as I have and did not previously know this most glorious word.  It's now my favorite word. 

 

Who doesn't love enthusiastic praise?  It's a true gift and like every gift exchange it really is hard to figure out which end is more satisfying.  But I think paeans are the gift that keeps on giving. 

 

Acknowledgment: it's what's for dinner.   Try it, you'll like it.  Paeans will be served for dessert over a warm berry compote.  

 

 

 

 



I Found a Yoga Superhero of Love!

 

I've been wrestling a lot of octopi recently, final edits (hopefully) on my book and my hormones/weight being two of the biggies.  Slippery, many-tentacled creatures, I'd have one handled, two, three and then four in my control...and then SNAP!  Start all over again!

 

One of the messages I've been getting -- in the form of every book I open, every show I turn on, every friend I talk to -- I HEAR YOU, GOD! --  has been to get back to yoga. 

 

I haven't had a happy relationship with yoga, though, for almost two years.  About 17 months ago I hurt my hip pretty badly in a power yoga class with a less than stellar teacher.  It doesn't affect my daily life.  I just can't sit in anything near a cross-legged position, which is pretty much of a yoga deal-breaker.   At least it was one for me when I tried to go back to yoga a few times only to get curious looks from teachers and students when I was accommodating my injury with alternate postures.  I grew sick of the looks and also got advice from people I trust that I should stop stretching it, that yoga was probably the wrong thing to do for it. 

 

But then the messages started pouring in and it occurred to me I could do this in the privacy of my own home, just me and my hip, no curious judging looks, as awkward as I want to be.  I've been doing yoga since I was 18 so I know what to do but I didn't want to self-guide, I wanted someone fun to lead me through it.  So, I said to my hip, "Hey let's start gently, with a yoga video on youtube."  My hip liked that idea and googled yoga videos.  Smart hip.

 

The first hit in the list was my new yoga mecca, Yoga With Adriene.  She is a Superhero of Love, because man oh man does she have a way of encouraging us to love our bodies and where we are exactly in this moment, like no other teacher I've experienced.  Somehow, also like no other teacher before her, she takes me instantly to calm.  Seriously. Instantly.  I never get distracted or wonder how many minutes are left.  This is nothing short of a miracle for me, who listens to podcasts or books AND plays solitaire while on the elliptical!

 

But my #1 favorite thing about Adriene is she has this incredibly perfect human moments like seeing a piece of lint on the floor in front of her mat and then looking down at her yoga pants with the comment -- mid-pose -- "I seem to have a lot of fuzzies on my pants today!"  But when she says it it doesn't even slightly take you out of the moment or distract from the pose.  

 

How does she do it?!  Genius!  She is delightful and she really knows her stuff. 

 

I didn't want to put too much pressure on myself because of my complex recent relationship with yoga, so to start, I committed to doing her 30 Days of Yoga (recorded in January 2015) because it just drew me.  I'm on day 8 but yesterday I did two videos from her other series and today I did one from another in addition to my minimum, because I really wanted to.  I wanted to.  Seriously, a miracle that I wanted to do more than my commitment.  After having a love-hate relationship with yoga for the last few years leading up to my injury, I feel like I am in miracle-ville. 

 

I realize now the hate part was I can't stand being preached to by teachers.  But Adriene doesn't preach.  She sincerely, gently, suggests.  Authentically.  That's the difference. 

 

My hip is way better on this Day 8.  I look forward to it healing completely.  And Tallulah is super happy about this new yoga practice.  For the first 6 days she lay two feet away like this, very polite, just out of reach, watching, almost pretending to sleep but totally alert: "What is this new thing my human is doing on the floor?  I must make sure I stay awake as it may require my assistance."

 

 

 

Yesterday and today -- with multiple videos and more sweat -- she decided that her assistance would be to lick the sweat off me.  I put her nearby stuffed dog on her back, but that didn't deter her.

I may have to wear a head to toe rubber suit to continue my practice with Tallulah nearby but it'll be worth it because....Adriene rocks.

Love Warriors: A Call to Action!

 

The book I'm finishing is The Superhero's Guide to Break-Ups, Loss & Heartache.  Therefore when several people I trust told me to pre-order a book called Love Warrior, it was kind of a no-brainer. 

I have to admit, though, I was scared to open it when it arrived on Tuesday.  Would it make my book irrelevant?  Four years of work down the drain?  But then I heard her interviewed of author Glennon Doyle Melton on Linda Sivertsen's podcast (Linda Sivertsen & Martha Beck Interview Author Glennon Doyle Melton) I knew that her book was very different because there is no one exactly like Glennon, just like there is no one exactly like me, or you, dear reader.  We all have these juicy little unique hearts holding their very own juicy little unique stories.  That's why everyone who wants to tell their story should.

Glennon has a way with telling hers in a way that might really have a shot at opening millions of hearts.  She has wrestled bulimia (since age 10), alcoholism (since her early teens), mental illness, a cheating husband, motherhood and the circuitous and perfect journey toward her own recipe for faith.  The gift of this book is that she opens her heart so your can feel safe rummaging around in yours, looking at "what's underneath" the pain and behind the walls she has built around her heart.  We all do it.  She makes the journey to an open heart feel possible.  If she can do it, we can do it.

She can turn a phrase too.  Some of them took my breath away.

On motherhood:

"The scent of him is so comforting and soothing it has ruined regular air for me altogether."

On the trauma's life can deal us:

"Shock is a grace period.  It gives a woman time to gather what she needs around her..."

On faith:

"Fear and God together will never make sense to me again."

 
I read it in just two nights.  It's a fast read because it's authentic.  If you know of anyone looking for a heart opener, anyone looking to have a possible breakthrough with their addiction, bulimia, or with the ever-delicate balancing act of being a mother and wife, click here: Love Warrior Book.

I Spy a Shadow

I am close to finishing The Superhero's Guide to Break-ups, Loss & Heartache: Heal Your Broken Heart & Then Go Save the World.  Like with anything big I set out to accomplish - like training for a marathon, buying a house, reaching any enormous goal that requires me to step outside my normal vision of myself -- I have come to realize that writing a is just one big fat opportunity to have a series of confrontations with oneself. 

When I trained for the one marathon I ran I remember not having a clue how I would run 9 miles for the first time in my life.  Then 12 - only 3 more than the previously daunting 9, but still.  Then 20, and then on top of that a whole other 10K in addition to make 26.2 miles.  Each number was an unfathomable stretch.  "How will that get accomplished for the love of God?," I would wonder.  Each run a bit of a mind game, not being fully present, looking always to the future. Sometimes though, fully present for the sake of survival, each and every step a struggle.  "Maybe I should walk now," I would negotiate.  Negotiations: some gentle, some harsh.  And the time in between runs spent trying to not fall or twist something or get a debilitating pull, cramp or even a searing blister.  And so it is with books in a way.

I think the only difference between the people who get their books out into the world and the ones who don't is sheer stubbornness -- with oneself, and wanting to come out a winner in those damned internal battles.

A big chunk of my book is encouraging the reader to look at the shadows that are thwarting them from giving or receiving love, so in the edit that I finished last night I've been embroiled in reliving my own shadow work that I chronicle in the book.  I came to some new realizations, deepening my understanding as I revisited those pages.

So it's no surprise that today I would be blindsided by one of my previously undiscovered shadows. And I should be proud to say - though I can't muster pride in this case -- that  I completely set myself up to have this breakthrough. 

I knew I had a writing deadline. I was turning in this last round of changes at 10 p.m. Friday.   Yet when I received an Airbnb reservation request for my guest room that I knew could potentially thwart my work, I said yes.  The couple had a 10 month old baby, so I had originally said "no"as it clearly wasn't a fit given my deadline.  The man contested that they would rarely be here.  This didn't end up being true, nor were they sensitive to the baby's noises echoing loudly throughout the house starting at 6:30 in the morning after I had been up into the wee hours of the morning.  The mother even chided the cleaning lady who was here (when they had promised they would be gone), angry at her that her car alarm kept going off while the baby was napping.  I had to calm the cleaning lady when they finally left, yet another thing to yank me from my writing.

Who in their right mind has a family of 3 stay at their house when they have a writing deadline?  Someone who has a shadow rearing its head, the shadow that says "You don't deserve to be great.  You deserve to be as good as you can be in spite of a slew of icky circumstances."   Bravo shadow, you created the perfect circumstances! 

Three hours of sleep always makes me more emotional, but that's actually a good thing when processing these old conversations that have been clutched like dead bouquets by adorable little shadows.  That little girl doesn't believe I'm worthy, and she hasn't believed it for decades.

One of the concepts I have in the book that others who have read it have quickly adopted is the Love League (previously known as the Love Army but more superhero-y now, eh?) -- the friends you can enlist to be there to bring you back to our superhero self.  My friend Gina did that for me today when I called and asked if I could vent about this Airbnb debacle.  She said this brilliant line that I had long forgotten from Steel Magnolias.

Then she very kindly listened to my vent, oohing and aahing at all the right moments.  As soon as I was quite finished she paused and then asked "So do you think there might be something for you to look at about deserving to have this book be great?" 

I don't recall one of my precious shadows shooting me directly in the foot for quite some time.  "I demand attention!" that little shadow girl inside me shouted.  "Oh, and by the way, you are NOT great, so the book won't be great either and you may as well fill your house with insensitive house guests now!  And  really, who are YOU to right a book like this?!"

So, now I get to let the shadow express her emotions and calmly tell her as Gina shouted for me today with glee "I am the PERFECT person to write this book, and it's going to be great! End of story. Period."  

The adult is now taking over steering the car of my writing life, and the wee scared one gets to sit in the passenger seat.  And when she reaches over to change the radio channel to one that loudly shouts my inadequacies and encourages me to say yes to insane distractions, I get to change the station back and suggest instead a round of "I Spy": "I spy something that starts with the letter "s"...."

 

Orange You Glad It's Summer?

I've had one bijillion reasons to bake for various different friends and events and I have to say these two ingredients were the most delicious additions to all my summer culinary adventures.

You may remember me extolling the virtues of the Minced Lemon Peel from The Spice House in Chicago that my friends Dan and Kathy bestowed upon me as part of a most wonderful birthday gift.  I used it so much I had to order more and that's when I saw Minced Orange Peel. I was about to make some Orange Olive Oil Cakes and thought it would kick it up a notch.  It did!

For one of the Orange Olive Oil Cakes, the recipe for the orange syrup that is poured over the cake after it comes out of the oven called for Orange Blossom Water.  Oh My God!  A few drops of this gloriousness added to -- oh I don't know JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING -- is serious divinity to the taste bud!

So here is what I made and here are the recipes and how I changed them, etc.

• Orange Almond Pecan Chocolate Chip Cookies -- find my Best Chocolate Chip Cookie Ever Recipe (probably over on the Lazy Woman Blog) and add orange zest and minced orange peel + toasted almonds and pecans + a few tablespoons of coconut .  You will NOT be disappointed and everyone will think you are a goddess.

• Orangey Celebratory Trifle -- I actually can't bear angel food cake.  It's too sweet.  I was shopping last minute and couldn't find sponge cake so I had to use angel food cake.  Don't recommend but people still really liked it.  To offset the sweetness I took this recipe 4th of July Trifle by Sunny Anderson and did the following:
• Add to the cream mixture:
•  orange zest of two oranges
• a couple tablespoons of Minced Orange Peel
• a splash of Orange Blossom Water
• Gran Marnier
• two oranges (yep, the oranges you just zested, peel and cut up in tiny pieces, leaving most of juices on the counter)
• To the top of the whole trifle I whipped up another pint of whipped cream and put just a small amount of sugar + more orange zest, peel + blossom water
• I made the orange sauce (see the little brush man floating in it in lower right of pic above) that I loved the most from one of the olive oil cakes I made Citrus Semolina Olive Oil Cake and added zest of a second orange and only did orange juice plus a splash of orange blossom water AND Gran Marnier.
• Orange Semolina Olive Oil Cakes  -- I made SIX different recipes and honestly loved all of them for different reasons but I have to say the recipe above (link in previous paragraph) from Food52 is pretty spectacular when you add the orange blossom water and Gran Marnier to the sauce and add the Minced Orange Peel to the batter.  And the piece de resistance -- and I know this is not how it is supposed to be done but on the 6th recipe -- which was the Food52 one -- I added chocolate chips, almonds and pecans.  Oh.  My.   God.  I now that the chefs from Italy and the Middle East who are famous for this kind of cake would probably tar and feather me but I don't care.  The semolina flour with the orange and the chocolate and the nuts....swoon!     

But really you can't go wrong with any citrus semolina cake recipe and they are all pretty darned easy to make.  Most have a combo of semolina and all purpose flour.  A few recipes have semolina only and you can guess the texture is different, but still divine. Highly recommend making them because super easy to also do ahead.   I think I will make one for Christmas time and serve with orange chocolate mousse.

This was my very favorite of the six.  I swore I would remember the recipe but I don't.  All I remember is I added coconut, almond meal, almonds and of course the Orange Peel.  Look for the recipes that have yogurt in them too. I know this one had yogurt in it.  But throwing coconut in there added a wee bit of crunch. Super moist.  Super yum.  Honestly you can't go wrong with these cakes.

 

 

Check out The Spice House in Chicago for all kinds of groovy ingredients.  I also use their extra strength vanilla regularly and, of course, the lemon peel.  You can find Orange Blossom Water where ethnic foods are sold, or order on Amazon.   I highly recommend having both Rose Water and Orange Blossom Water on hand, a splash of either in whipped cream, drinks, lemonade, etc. can kick a recipe up several notches with one tiny bit.

 

So happy zesty summer to all!!!



When Doves Cry: When Pain is Left in the Cold

A beautiful man I once knew committed suicide recently.  He had been the boyfriend of a dear friend.  I used to love watching them love one another, how they were so easy and gentle with each other, how much they truly delighted in each other’s company.  He had a smile that could light up a room, and hers often lit up in reply.

Most touched by suicide are thrown into an endless round of mental acrobatics to understand it, everyone hoping to gain some tool or knowledge that might help with another loved one in the future.  But no two cases are ever the same, are they? This man was, in fact, doing all the right things to address his depression, hitting all the therapeutic marks. So, then what?  Where does the mental acrobat jump now?

Ironically, since getting this news I’ve been embroiled in researching happiness as I prepare myself to interview an expert on the subject.  I fell down the rabbit hole of TED Talks on the topic of happiness, which included presentations by many who, not surprisingly, have done extensive research on depression, including one by Dr. Nancy Etcoff (Nancy Etcoff TED Talk on Happiness) . 

The year of her talk was 2004.  She said that suicides actually outnumbered homicides in the United States at that time.  I was shocked by that statistic and thought it must be different now.  It’s not.  Suicide is the 10th top cause of death, homicide is 15th.  Our friend was most at risk to suicide. White males accounted for 7 of 10 suicides in 2014, with middle aged white men having the highest rates of all. (CDC Suicide Data)

Equally as troubling, particularly since this particular statistic’s moment of fruition is now imminent, Dr. Etcoff said that the World Health Organization claimed that depression would be the second largest cause of disability by the year 2020.   I personally know a lot of people battling depression, some also dealing with addiction that was sparked by trying to self-medicate for either emotional or chronic physical pain.

We all know someone who has an opioid addiction.  Thank you, Prince, for bringing it front and center. I wish we hadn’t lost you to have it so.

I know several people who are dealing with opioids, many of them not admitting an addiction, several fighting valiantly to face the pain.  But the allowing, acknowledging, and facing pain head on are all skills most of us don’t have.  I would rather look the other way myself.

I think we haven’t cracked the code on depression or addiction because we haven’t cracked the code on handling pain or -- as my Shaman friend, Carol Woodliff refers to it --  “holding pain” for each other in a way that allows for true healing. 

I know a few sets of parents whose kids are addicted to drugs who just want them to handle their addiction, get better and return to the way they once were.  I know other parents who are in the trenches attending Al-Anon helping their kids, husbands, siblings to hold that pain, and bravely, vulnerably delving into their own, causing transformation for their entire families.

Your pain touches the pain in me.  My pain touches yours.  If we can help each other hold and bear witness to the pain, we might be able to better meet the varying needs of people battling depression, anxiety and addiction.   There isn’t one code to crack, but there is certainly a systemic failure in our society to process, or even allow, pain. 

We want pain to be put out like a fire, quickly, expediently, with little regard for the sparks and dry kindling that gave it life.  I have to remind myself to look at what sparked the fire and make myself dive in even when I don’t want to.  I am working on shifting my judgment of pain.  I think we need a seismic societal shift around talking about pain but it has to start with me working on my own instinct to run from my own or others’ pain.

Instead of seeing a red flag I’m trying to look at the pain as a white flag as if my highest self (which wants to be fully expressed, unthwarted) is signaling, “I give up, let’s look at this pain together and heal these wounds….and I promise good stuff is ahead if we do.”

I’m not saying people who commit suicide aren’t doing their damndest, or that they don’t see the white flag themselves.  Nor am I saying that our friend’s support system wasn’t doing all they could do, or that the friends and families of addicts aren’t doing all they can do.  I’m just noticing that we aren’t giving ourselves a lot of openings for healing pain and increasing our happiness quotient, or bringing suicide off that list to top death causes, if we have an allergy to pain or people who are in pain.  In honor of those we have lost, I’m trying to deal with my own instinct to push it away, and not leave my pain or the pain of others in the cold.

How can you just leave me standing?

Alone in a world that's so cold?

When Doves Cry, Prince

Election 2016: Before We Were Trump/Bernie/Hillary Supporters We Were Someone's Child

 

"Before you were a guerrilla, you were my son."

Before you or I were a Hillary, Bernie, Trump or Cruz supporter we were someone's child.  Then we had a bunch of life experiences that brought us to this point where the RIGHT thing for ourselves and our country was to choose the candidate we are supporting.

No one I know wants to harm this country.  Everyone thinks their candidate will be the best president for them personally and for our country.  We are all the same.  We are right and we want to win.

Jose Miguel Sokoloff is an ad guy who did a series of pro bono campaigns for the Colombian government to encourage guerrilla soldiers to stop fighting, stop terrorizing their beloved country. When someone on Sokoloff's team discovered that the time of highest demobilization is Christmas, they realized they had a way into the guerilla hearts.  They rapped 75' tall jungle trees with Christmas lights with a message to go home for Christmas. (Check out Solokoff's Ted Talk "How Christmas Lights Helped Guerrillas Put Down their Guns")

In one of his final ad campaigns -- which, all told, effectively helped demobilize 1000's of guerrilla forces -- Sokoloff plastered the country with posters featuring childhood photos of the soldiers emblazoned with these words from their mothers "Before you were a guerilla, you were my son [daughter]." Beneath that, a simple call to lay down arms and go home.

 

Sokoloff recounted on NPR's This American Life Episode: The Poetry of Propoganda how he was acutely aware that he too was in a war of sorts.  Before the Christmas light campaign, each "attack" from him would prompt a counter-attack by the guerrillas marketing the opposite message to their soldiers.  Sokoloff saw these counter-attacks as just and right, part of the virtual tennis game that is war, back and forth until someone wins.  

Sokoloff was playing one of those exquisite games of marketing tennis. It was literally beautiful, visually stunning and compelling like truly great tennis match.   Magical lights illuminating the dangerous jungle, Christmas lights and glowing spheres carrying messages or gifts floating down the rivers that were the guerrilla highways.   While the Election 2016 tennis game might not be as exquisite, it's still just a game between people who think they are more right than the others.

I was on a "This American Life" podcast binge this week and everything seemed to be chipping away at my own resolve about being more right, which is what I tend to think of myself as during this presidential election season.  This American Life Episode: I Thought I Knew You episode from December features the story of evangelical Christian radio host Tony Beam who was shocked to find out that many of his listeners were Trump supporters.  He was certain, though, that Trump would lose their vote after he said he would ban all Muslims coming to America.  Beam was shocked that many, including one of his most engaged listeners, Barry, remained a passionate Trump supporter in spite of the religious attack. 

The NPR reporter met with Barry and we got to see the man behind the bluster, like pulling the curtain back to reveal the Wizard of Oz.   She called him out for being a bit of a contrarian everywhere in his life.  He paused and his voice changed a bit, making him sound almost vulnerable as if he had been "seen."  I flashed on him as a little boy and wondered if perhaps something happened in one pivotal moment that made him need to fight against the world. 

Barry is a man who really loves this tennis game of Right v. Wrong, Left v. Right, etc.  As much as I disagree with him, as much as I find some of my candidate's opponents unsavory, as much as I think the guerrillas are absolutely wrong, I have to admit that where I stand is just as much right as Barry or anyone else.  I had pivotal moments as a kid that made me grow up to be my own version of right.

I can be grateful, though, that it's just a bunch of bluster, all of us fighting hard, and sometimes dirty, with words to prove we are right.  Depending on our history, the words either hit us in the heart in the right way or the wrong way, and we react emotionally.  And then we vote.

At least we have what Sokoloff longs for in his own country: people arguing passionately with words instead of bullets. 

The two words I contemplate this election season will be 1) RIGHT, and my insistence on being so ALL THE F'ING TIME and 2) GENEROUS (not a natural instinct when I am inflamed) with my also-right-opponent.  As high ranking Colombian army Captain Juan Manuel Valdez said to Sokoloff when giving support for the Christmas light project: "Being generous makes me stronger, makes my men stronger."

I am hoping to be much, much stronger by election day.  We'll see...