Dreaming About Trusting My Own Nature

Recently I have been a little preoccupied with thoughts of death and dying. My friend who had very serious surgery earlier this month is recuperating well, for which I am very thankful. But this week I have had my own little scary incident that I continue to monitor and consider options for. There is nothing imminently threatening my life (at least not that I know of), but I have been reminded again of my mortality. And this makes me think of what I have, or have not, accomplished in my 60 years on this earth.  Part of this review includes judging my perceived worth and value in the world.

When I judge myself, I continue to find myself wanting. For instance, lately I continue to remind myself of the steps I could be taking to promote my book, but I don’t pursue them. I am torn between wanting the book to be very successful – thus a positive reflection on my value and worth (measured in both financial terms and the level of my talent/skill/depth) – and just wanting to trust that it will go where it is meant to go.

I also have an ongoing fear of rejection, of looking foolish if I talk to bookstore managers/owners, talk show producers or other media trying to get them to carry my book or do an interview with me.  Truthfully the only “rejection” I’ve gotten so far is having my inquiries, phone calls or emails completely ignored.  I know these venues are very busy with the upcoming election, and I keep telling myself I can wait till they have time for me.  But there’s also this persistent voice (my ego?) that tells me if I don’t become an overnight success, I am a failure. I have to hit the ground running with the book and never look back.  This is so NOT true in reality. Some books take years to become successes; others never do. The truth is, the book is done and where it goes isn’t completely within my control.

I belong to a dream group and yesterday we discussed a dream I had in which I needed to get to Portland for an appointment but I kept getting sidetracked or lost. Some of my distractions resulted in me making the conscious choice to not explore something intriguing or interesting or beautiful because I “had to get to my appointment.” Whatever that was.  Following the group’s suggestions about the dream, I have decided that the message of the dream is I need to pay more attention to the beauty, the interesting, the distractions that pique my interest and less attention to the “shoulds” or expectations. Those outside forces that I allow to influence my decisions do not come from my own authentic source, my heart or soul. They come from others.  I allow their judgments to affect the person I am, the way I spend my time and energy. 

Yesterday morning was a beautiful sunny fall day, sandwiched in between days of gray skies and rain.  I took Charlie for a walk along a trail adjacent to a river not far from us.  There were few people out so I let him run off leash.  Charlie is 8, no longer a pup, but his exuberance and enthusiasm when he is free is a joy to watch. As he raced down the edge of the trail across wet grass, his paws threw out tiny droplets that sparkled like diamonds in his path. I watched him be a golden retriever, running and sniffing, weaving in and out of brush, following scents. I expected at almost any moment for him to flush out a pheasant or grouse.  A little later he raced down to the river and waded in. 

Charlie looked so authentic, so full of life, because he was doing exactly what he was born and bred to do: hunt open fields and splash in water. He is not a German shepherd or a border collie and I don’t expect him to act like something he is not.

It makes me wonder if I am doing what I was born and bred to do. Sometimes it feels like I expect more of myself and I get frustrated and angry that  I’m really not accomplishing anything. But the truth is, not everything worth doing is an “accomplishment.” Putting pressure on myself to do things because I think I SHOULD is a fast way to nowhere besides frustration. We don’t always know how our lives affect others or the results of what we do and who we are; we don’t need to know, though we always want to know. Again, it’s a way of measuring our self-worth; we don’t believe we have value unless we have some measurable accomplishments or we can see our value reflected in others’ opinions of us. 

So I continue to work on just accepting myself and knowing I am valued, loved, worthy just because God made me the person I am. I work on trusting that where I am led and what I do is rooted in me and not based on the hope that my efforts will help me look good to others. And I continue to work on allowing others to be who they authentically are without my or society’s judging them. Hard work but moving in that non-judgmental, non-dualistic way is perhaps moving closer to finding my own true nature, what I was born and bred for. That includes taking time to stop and explore beauty where I find it.

Say What Needs Saying While You Can

This week I have been thinking a good deal about dying and death.  Being living creatures, death is something we all must come to terms with at some point; the loss of pets, parents and grandparents and other loved ones. Perhaps most challenging, eventually we all must face the prospect of our own death. But we don’t really like to think about any of that. We don’t want to go there.

Often only experiences like standing on the threshold of death with a loved one facing critical surgery or attending the funeral of someone who died unexpectedly can pull us into a place from which we are forced to view, however unwillingly, life and death in context with our important relationships.

This morning I attended the funeral of a man from our parish who died very unexpectedly following routine surgery. He was 73. His family is shocked; they had just buried his mother, who lived into her 90s, less than two months ago.  I didn’t really know him or his wife well but I wanted to be there to support her. Hers is a road I know well, having experienced the sudden loss of my own husband 7 years ago. I understand her sense of numbness and shock.

It’s never easy when death comes suddenly, like a tornado or tsunami, unexpectedly appearing out of nowhere. I have experienced my share of loss over the years: my grandparents and parents, my husband, a couple of very dear friends. Many of these were expected and, in some ways, death was a gift, a relief from suffering. As a survivor, I much prefer these deaths, the ones that come like hurricanes, giving you some warning and time to prepare but without requiring loved ones to suffer too much or too long.  The really difficult losses, for me, have been those that came out of nowhere, blindsiding me and many others. Without time to prepare, you sometimes miss the chance to say things that need to be said, to forgive and ask for forgiveness, to tell people how much you love them, how much they have meant to you.

On Wednesday a dear friend underwent her third surgery for a very stubborn and aggressive cancer. She knew her life would likely be changed irrevocably after the surgery; she faces a number of challenges during her recovery. On Monday we had a long conversation on the phone and though she seemed to be in good spirits, she had some fears about the outcome. Any surgery can have complications, and hers had some serious risks that could have ended her life very prematurely. It felt strange talking to her, laughing with her, knowing we might never speak again. 

What do you tell someone when you might never get another chance to say what needs to be said?  I wanted to assure her everything would be fine, but I didn’t know that. My own life has taught me that unfulfilled expectations and people promising things they can’t deliver are the source of much of my pain. I can’t control the future and it seems disingenuous to make promises I have no control over.  I didn’t want to have unrealistic expectations, and I didn’t want to give her false hope. I wanted to be able to just accept and help her accept whatever comes. So I listened to her, laughed with her and told her I loved her and would be there for her in whatever ways she needed me as a friend. But even that offers a promise based on things over which I have no control. I have no idea what my own tomorrows will bring. All I have – all any of us have – is today, this very moment.

She shared some of the graces of closure she has experienced the past few days, conversations that perhaps should have happened a long time ago. These have brought her peace, reconciliation, and validation. Old hurts and betrayals have been discussed and put to rest, words of love and forgiveness shared.

Her comments made me wonder if there are people I need to reconcile with.  It only takes a moment of impatience, anger or pride to deeply wound someone you love with words. Sometimes a thoughtless remark or something said in jest can cause pain that drives a wedge between two people. If that pain remains buried, never brought out to the healing light of day, the wedge grows to a chasm and will destroy the relationship. I try to deal with my grievances promptly, or at least at some point. There is a sense of closure when you ask for forgiveness for something you’ve said or done, even if it happened years earlier.  And forgiving others who have hurt you – whether they seek that forgiveness or not – can be very freeing.

There’s a Country/Western song that advises us to “live like you were dying.” Never mind the bucket lists:  seeing and going and doing aren’t really that important. Being truthful with those we love is what matters.  We are all dying and every day could be our last; we don’t always get the chance my friend has for closure, to make peace with old hurts, and to share words of love we put off out of fear of rejection or pride. I believe it is important to take every opportunity to be open, honest and authentic with those we love so we never regret loving words left unsaid or scars unhealed. There's no time like the present; in fact, it's all we really have.

Battling Fear, Pride and False Humility

I've spent much of the last two days sending out press releases for an upcoming book event and researching "bloggers" who review books, asking several to consider reviewing "42 States of Grace."  There is something strange about promoting yourself; it feels inappropriate to brag on something you've written. Trying to convince others of the value of my book (which in many ways equates to my own worth) is a daunting task. I often use comments from people who've read and loved the book to add more "glow" to the press releases I write because I have a difficult time promoting myself. So when I ask people who tell me they love it to write those reviews down in a public format, it's mainly because I am uncomfortable building myself up. 

My spiritual director explained to me, when we talked about my doubts, that those feelings of unworthiness, those fears that I have no credentials or appropriate background to write about spirituality, are voices of desolation.  They are not, he says, from God.  This, in itself, should harden my resolve because clearly there is value in what I have written if darker forces work to keep it from becoming known. The feedback I have received confirms there is value in the book for many. We are called to let our lights shine forth and not hide them under a basket.  I need to keep remembering that and stop dwelling on the possibility that one or two people might read the book, dislike it or disagree with it, and thus not only would I feel like a failure, but a liar and fool, as well.

Sales have slowed after a really great August and September, which is depressing. But I do have an event coming up in November, the 11th.  I am working on setting up other signings and events.  And truthfully, after a big push in late August and early September, I haven't done much to promote or advertise it.  Partly that has been because I was dealing with a flu or other medical condition that left me exhausted and brain-dead most of the time. And partly that's because I've been gone and had company much of the last six weeks.  It has felt good to dig back in and try to generate interest again.

I was thinking today about artists who spend their lives creating works that may never be discovered or the value of which is not recognized until after they are dead. How sad to spend your life and energy on something and never enjoy the fruits of your labors.  But ultimately, if you are doing what you feel you are called to do, if your creative work flows from a spiritual well, then it isn't completely in your hands. I tell myself this often: If God wants this to get out there, God will guide me in the process, will open doors for me.  It is my own negative self-talk that keeps me from walking through those open doors. It is my fear of rejection and failure battling with my pride, wanting to be admired because of ME, because of MY words and gifts, and what I have done, not because I view myself merely as an instrument of God's grace and love.  If I can take my ego out, perhaps I can better see myself as doing God's work instead of my own.

Not everyone who writes a book makes it to the New York Times bestseller list in the first couple of months. No matter how well written people tell me the book is, no matter how much people who've read it love it, if the world doesn't hear about it, it will be limited in the value and good it can provide. Perhaps this is my life's work. It clearly doesn't end with the writing; the journey itself would have done little good if I hadn't spend two years reviewing and reflecting on my experiences, bringing them more fully into my consciousness through writing about them. The book that resulted is now sending me on another journey and I continue to learn more about myself and the graces that encircle my life through friends -- old and new -- and family and because of the love of a generous God.

That's What Friends Are For

I think my weekend with a certain group of friends is becoming a tradition. This year six of us gathered at a beach house in Oceanside, west of Tillamook. For some reason, nearly every time I go there it is beautiful. This weekend it was raining when we arrived on Friday but by Saturday afternoon we had blue skies and sun that carried into Sunday.

It is the friendships and the wisdom shared that really warms our hearts and souls, along with the wonderful food we always bring or prepare.

In the course of our conversations, I sometimes find myself withdrawing emotionally; one friend said she noticed there was even a subtle physical withdrawal. This has nothing to do with the love and kindness and acceptance of these women. It has everything to do with my own ways of judging me and how I fall short. First of all, I'm not married. These women all have been married many years and have adult children my children's ages. I was married for 33 years and understand marriages are not always happy and easy; but not having a husband puts me in a different place from many of my friends. At least I feel different and sometimes awkward; I'm not sure if it feels awkward to them. They didn't know me when I was married. Odd to think that many of my good friends now did not know John at all or know me as a wife.

Sunday was the 7th anniversary of John's accident and death and a good time to reflect on my life. It occurs to me that I might not even be friends with these women if John were still alive. It also occurs to me often that I would likely not have written "42 States of Grace" if John had lived; it certainly would have been a different book if I had. The journey of my life has taken a significant detour from what I expected years ago. Mostly it's been a good ride, and when I can get past my own self-criticism and judging, I am happy and content with my life.

Another thing that leads me to withdraw emotionally is my sense of status. These women are married to professionials; all of them are professionals themselves. Most grew up in professional, fairly privileged families; all had the experience of going away to college after high school, of obtaining their degrees and beginning their careers as young single women. I grew up pretty poor, lower middle class, my parents were not professionals, nor was anyone in their families. I married very young, after attending community college and living at home, and didn't complete my degree until my children were in grade school and I was in my mid-30s. I spent my early career working in the secretarial field before obtaining my degree in communications and beginning my career as a writer.

Many of these friends have traveled extensively. I never left North America until after John died; and though I have traveled some since, my experiences are much more limited than theirs.

Several of them live in an area of Portland where the "movers and shakers" of Portland and Oregon live, the progressive thinkers, the people whose names crop up in the news fairly often. It is "the place" to live if you consider yourself politically active and liberal or progressive. I could never afford to live there. Even though I worked for a U.S. Senator for 10 years, he was of the "wrong stripe" for most of these women. Though I know many of the people they know, I am no longer actively involved in political or community activities. When I left the Senator's office in 2007 most of my community connections were lost and my political status disappeared.

So I often feel like the odd person out. Their actions never make me feel this way; I feel this way all by myself, with my own negative self-talk. Sometimes it just feels like I have nothing to add to the group conversations because my life and experiences are so different from theirs. They accept me with open arms; I seem to have a hard time accepting myself, how I grew up, where I came from.

Funny thing is, if I talked to them individually, I would probably discover that each one of them feels like they, too, are different and don't fit in in some ways. The truth is, we are all different, but we are also all the same in so many ways. We all are loved and we love, we are deeply spiritual women who care about each other, our families and our world. We may go about it in different ways because our paths are all slightly different. I need to remember that. It helps when I get notes from people who've read my book and tell me how much it has touched them, how much our journeys are similar. It seems no matter how or where you grew up, where you live, what you do, we all have insecurities, raw places that feel mismatched with the world. But we are all beloved, we all have a place at the table, we all have a path to follow. Sometimes that path intersects with others' and we journey with them for awhile. And when we can reach out and help each other see how lovable and loved we all are, we are doing God's work, no matter how or where or with whom.