Choose Your Compass Wisely

I've been navigating my way through life

Trying to avoid the obstacles.

Trying to avoid failure; heartache; mistakes.

What would it look like

Instead

To point towards opportunity?

Towards destiny.

A dream of soul affirmation.

A quest for resonant frequency.

A future not governed by fear,

But guided by light.

The Mystery

It’s a circle –

This things called life.

It ends where it begins.

People say we are alone in death,

but we are never alone.

Maybe that is why

we are drawn to the sound of the ocean.

The constant shushing –

Like our mother’s heartbeat.

The blood rushing right past our ears in utero.

Maybe that's why we long

To hold each other so tightly –

Feel the comfort of immobilization.

The small voice of our deep longing

Reaching out to the greater longing of the earth –

The eternal, universal ache.

We are never alone.

We are singing the same song.

Sush and listen:

Your heart is pumping the beat –

Dance to it.

Honor the throbbing pitch –

Join it.

The breath in your lungs,

It brushes against the sky.

Add your strokes to the symphony

Of color there.

A dab here, a drop there.

A brilliant canvas.

The mixing pot.

Take what you need,

Give what you can.

There is no plan.

Every movement is beautiful –

Adds to the greater whole,

The bigger picture.

The mystery:

How do we know the same tune

Without consulting the book?

The answer:

We are made from the same stuff.

Nothing but children,

finger-painting in the bathtub.

Play Like a Child

A small memory of my dad came to me last night as I was drifting off to sleep. When I was young, my dad used to travel internationally on business, and on one particular stop-over somewhere in Europe, he sat down for a fancy multi-course meal complete with an over-the-top dessert. Unfortunately, the dessert was so over-the-top with delicately spun marzipan over gourmet chocolate ganache that he was running dangerously late for his next flight by the time his dish came out.  In a frenzy of what can only describe as assertive"daddy energy," he deftly wielded his spoon to crunch the masterpiece into bite-size pieces.  The waiters and waitresses looked on in dismay as he shamelessly stuffed spoonfuls of chocolate and delicately spun sugar into his mouth before pushing himself gracelessly from the table. Although I did not witness the event first hand, I  have crafted a hilarious rendition of this story in my head over the years. Shameless, uncoordinated, congenial, playful.  This scene is a wonderful reminder of who my father was.   And it reminds me who I want to be.  It is a memory full of grace because it reminds me not to take myself too seriously.  I imagine my dad, 6'8," in full business attire, briefcase in tow, demolishing a beautifully handcrafted work of edible art.  And it makes me smile.

Why take ourselves too seriously?  There is always a plane to catch, a report to finish, a deadline to meet, a social engagement to honor, or dinner to get on the table.  That insistent voice in our head is often there telling us we must continue forward at top speed or everything will fail.  Yet very few things are actually that fragile; very few things are so set in stone.  When my father died, the best advice I got was to simply breathe.  The second best advice I got was to be kind to myself. Breathing comes so naturally to us that we often forgot to focus on it; forget to give ourselves the time to decompress and listen to our bodies and our mind. What charms me most about the memory of my father is how clearly he had over extended himself in that moment - almost missing his flight as he waited for dessert - and yet, in his own graceless way, he was able to handle the slip-up with grace. We have little control over many things that happen to us in life but we do control how we respond to them. My father was able to make the situation playful and find a way to laugh at himself in the re-telling.

Slowing down to savor may not always be possible.  Being mindful of our actions, our emotions, our body, may not always possible. But everything we do, stressful and hard or fun, joyful, passionate, everything we do can be done with a sense of humor.  Everything we do can be done playfully.  My mom was trying to motivate herself last night to fill wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with manure for the garden.  A friend of mine is trying to energize himself for yet another trip across the country when I imagine it feels like he just unpacked his bags.  What would it look like to view even these obligations of dread and discomfort with the amazement, the curiosity of a young child exploring a new playground, a new backyard.  When we can laugh at ourselves and our mistakes and welcome the adventure unfolding before us, even the most daunting of hurdles can become explorations into better understanding ourselves and the world around us.  When we can learn to not take ourselves too seriously, the world becomes our playground.

Lonely, But Not Alone

Sometimes, I feel lonely even in a room full of people.  It's not that I feel unloved or under-appreciated.  It's not that I need more time with friends.  It's not that I really want to talk about it -- or that talking will help.  It's just that, even when I'm with people I love, respect, and enjoy spending time with, it can be difficult to feel known.

What is the cure to this loneliness? It does not seem to be the simple fix of more social interaction. Yesterday, I had coffee with one friend and lunch with another.  Everyday, I have so much love and support from my co-workers and family.  There are amazing people in my life that remind me how to play and laugh. And yet, the feeling often remains. I doubt I am alone in this feeling though it is so fleeting that I often forget it exists.

Perhaps we feel lonely because we are not working to be our own friend.  One can feel lonely even surrounded by the best people if they are not giving themselves the care and compassionate attention they would give to others. So, maybe it's not so much a question of curing this feeling of loneliness (with more social interaction, more physical activity, more connection) but having the courage to sit with the discomfort and the unknown within ourselves; slowing down enough to listen to and have a meaningful relationship with the inner voice, the inner self that is too often ignored.

"Do they have to get mad?"

Sometimes the greatest reminders come from the mouths of children.  A co-ed indoor soccer game turned sour last night when a scuffle between my teammate and a decidedly skilled opponent turned into a display of machismo.  I saw my teammate, normally so calm and sweet, standing chest to chest with this player -- both men puffed up with adrenaline, testosterone, and self-preservation. Luckily, no punches flew but there was a palpable feeling of anger, frustration, and excitement as the two players were pulled apart.  I saw my teammate's glazed look --- the adrenaline coursing through his veins -- as he was led to the bench to cool down.

A young boy who couldn't have been more than 8 years old snuck over from the sidelines.   Confused by the display, he asked me: "do they have to get mad like that?"  My response was immediate:"no, of course not," I said, "sometimes guys are silly and loose control of their emotions. You don't have to be like that." I rolled my eyes and shook my head as if the boy and I were superior to those hot heads on the field.  But inside I was rocked by the young boy's astute observation. Truthfully, I was no better. I had come off the field moments before with as much frustration as the two men had just displayed.  I wasn't playing as well as I wanted too. I was sleep deprived and drained from a full week of pushing my limits at work, on the soccer field, and in social settings. I had gone head to head with that same player a number of times and I think my pride was stung as much as my body from the experience.  I still have the bruises to show for it:

In that moment, I had lost sight of why I play soccer. Truthfully, I hadn't actually wanted to come to the game but instead had felt an overwhelming obligation to my teammates. Soccer usually brings me so much joy so for it to becoming a mere obligation is a serious warning sign. In the melting pot of too many obligations and not enough relaxation, I had begun to almost resent my lovely outlet.  There is a valuable lesson here -- stretch yourself too thin and you run the risk of being unable to fully experience each moment with clarity and joy.  That is not how I want to live my life -- and I am humbled by the reminder.

Children have a perspective untarnished by the ego's hunger for validation and superiority.  If they play soccer they do it to play, they do it because it makes them feel good, because it is an adventure, because they love it.  Perhaps that is why it is such a joy to be around children -- they have not forgotten how to play and how to keep a positive perspective on the little things that seem to trip us up in adulthood. Being a few minutes late, getting stuck in traffic, getting stood up on a date, miscommunication with parents, partners, siblings, coworkers, friends.  These things are transient. Do we have to get mad about them? Absolutely not. These things do not have to rule our lives -- especially if they no longer serve us as they once did. I am excited to renew my commitment to replacing the things that no longer serve me and cultivating the things that do.

Strangers

The concept of being a stranger - it bothers me.

There are so many people that I pass every day that I will never know.
That will never know me.
So many hearts and minds that will remain foreign, mysterious,

locked up.

Or maybe, too vaporous to access, to hold.
Too intangible -
slipping right through my fingers.

The girl with the brilliant
green eyes, pink strand of hair -
my never friend.

But we are not strangers to each other.
Really, we know each other better than we think -
are not so very different she and I:

We both have a mother, father,
dreams, aspirations, fears,
loves, joys, dislikes:

She likes her coffee sweet,
I like mine milky.

She wants to be an architect -
draws urban plans on her inner arm.
I want to heal the world -
keep tweaking my concoction
of healing elixir;
dropping in new additions
as I learn them.

Her dad left when she was five -
no letter.
My dad when I was twenty -
just one.
But letter or none -
it's never enough.

We could compare battle scars -
wounds from our lives lived fully,
lived with an overpowering insatiable hunger;
a desire to do, to connect,
to hear, see,
be heard, be seen.

But they are one in the same - the scars -
you can't compare them.
They are indistinguishable, inseparable -
part of a greater tapestry of human suffering and resilience.

We are not strangers - we are the same.