More than just child’s play

Have you heard about Caine Monroy? I hadn’t until a friend emailed me a link to a video about him with this subject line: “Take 10 minutes. This made me cry! (w/glee)”

Caine is a stubbornly creative little boy who built an arcade in the store front of his father’s auto parts shop in East Los Angeles. You could conclude that he is a crazy kid with way too much time on his hands. I left this 10-minute visit with Caine reassured that it only takes one belief – and one believer – to change the world.

I dare you not to smile as you visit Caine’s Arcade! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=faIFNkdq96U

What’s one thing you love so much that you are willing to give it your all even if no one seems to care? 

Pitching Sober Intentions

New Year’s Eve – a time to celebrate a year gone by and to begin making plans for another year. On the eve of what might be my last year or the gateway to 30 more, I plan to pop the cork on a bottle of chilled Korbel, then early to bed to dream new dreams and to resurrect dreams covered in cobwebs.

In the spirit of living without goals, I am intent on lightening up – discarding clutter, laughing more often, maybe even dropping a few pounds. Pondering this guiding principle, I remembered a poem I wrote at the John C. Campbell Folk School in October when I was “spinning words into gold” with Maureen Ryan Griffin and a band of inspiring writers. It seems like the perfect anthem for a year – and a life – lived wide awake.

Happy New Year…make it count!

Pitching Sober Intentions

Inspired by “Niagara” by Naomi Shihab Nye

Spring cleaning and summer planting over

Now it’s fall, harvest complete, a time to let go

Into winter’s frozen landscape.

 

In a blaze of falling leaves

I am surrounded by lists of sober intentions

They surge up -

Perennial regrets and recriminations

Old blames, not owned or rented

But inherited from a baptismal promise

To always be good, just never good enough.

 

To be wrong so many times

Prepares me to finally be right.

The season leads me where I need to go -

Deep inside, through the mist of obligation.

 

Blind to what lies ahead, my fingers trace a map

scratched into the stone walls of my heart.

 

Quickening with possibility

I am giddy, sober no more,

No less intent on living my one precious life.

The greatest gift

I had set a goal to post something before Christmas as a gift to those of you who are following Wake Up Call. I have scraps of papers filled with scribbled inspiration, any one of them a gem ready to be polished. They sit with other bits of paper – Christmas card to send, gifts to buy, phone calls to make, year-end work deadlines. I get weary just looking at the clutter of “to do’s.”

Instead of wearing myself out, I got an idea:  I decided to let someone else do what I wanted to do – inspire you.

I recently discovered two bloggers who have been sending me comforting and provocative wake up calls.

The first,  Leo Babauta, is the author of ZenHabits (http://zenhabits.net.) I was introduced to Leo and ZenHabits through Rebecca Gallo, a fellow writer and traveler. (http://renaissancerebecca.wordpress.com.) She drew me in through Leo’s post “100 Days with No Goals” (http://zenhabits.net/100-days.) No goals, ever? For 100 days? I will admit that I have not even gotten to 100 minutes without some tug to get something done. But I have been pondering the possibility of life with no goals. In fact, it was Leo’s urging to follow my heart toward success and happiness that helped me slough off the pressure of “I gotta get that post done before Christmas!”

Today, I discovered another blog through ZenHabits, when Leo featured a guest post from Chris Guillebeau, the author of The Art of Non-Conformity blog. In “The Parable of the Modern Farmer,” Chris talks about a farmer who wanted to change the world but didn’t know where to start.  The parable tells us, “(The farmer) wasn’t exactly sure which project he would choose, and he knew he might change his mind later. But in determining to begin something, the farmer felt a surge of confidence rush over him. The possibilities were as plentiful as the colors in the sunset he viewed each evening from the rocking chair on the porch.”

Thank you, Rebecca, Leo and Chris, for helping me remember that I don’t have to be driven by goals and that I don’t even need to know what is the next right thing to do. I am most grateful for the greatest gift – the reminder that I can reach out to others when I don’t have the energy or time to create something all by myself.

Here’s to no goals – or at least a few less “should’s” – and the confidence to do something that catches your heart on fire. Merry Christmas!

Haves and Have Nots

Being grateful for what I have seems easy. Yet I often take for granted what are unimaginable luxuries to people all around the world (even around the corner) – a warm, safe home; family and friends who love me even when they don’t always understand what I am up to; rewarding work; good health; and all of the “stuff” I think I need to be happy, safe and secure.

When I remember how great and full my life is, I bow my head and say a prayer of thanks. That’s easy…when I remember.

I have to think harder to be grateful for what I do not have.

It’s easy to start with the obvious. I’m glad I don’t have a life-threatening illness and that I don’t worry if I will eat tomorrow. I don’t face persecution for being a woman, a Catholic or a liberal Democrat – and for that and many other “don’t haves” I give thanks.

I have to open my imagination to find a “Thank you” for not having the money I’d like to have so that I can pack up and travel the world without saving and planning for months or years ahead. I’m less than appreciative for the gifts of aging – holes in my memory, bags under my eyes, aches in my joints. And gratitude for long hours of work that leave me too exhausted to play – I have to dig deep to come up with much more than a cursory, “At least I have a job.”

Further down the gratitude spiral is an even thornier question: Is it possible to appreciate the things that I have that I wish would go away?

You knows the ones I mean – those never-ending “growth opportunities” that show up as people, circumstances and surprises to test my patience and interrupt my plans.

Here’s one: When I step in dog puck – in my new shoes – when I’m rushing to get to work, can I appreciate the neighbor whose habit of throwing out his leftovers in the yard tempted my dog to scarf down turkey bones?

And, no matter how much I pray, I really have to stretch to thank the colleague whose failure to plan becomes my last minute crisis.

I wish I could turn these gripes into graces. I’m just not that evolved.

There is some small, awakening part of me, though, that understands that to be truly be grateful I must accept things as perfect just the way they are. Yep – just the way they are.

That doesn’t mean being satisfied or complacent. I can go next door and ask my neighbor to throw his turkey carcass in the trash so my dog doesn’t get sick. I can sit down with my co-worker to help her understand that I need a few days – not hours – to really be of help. 

Accepting things just the way they are is a starting place for all effective action. And sometimes I am more effective – and grateful – than others.

 On my better days, I remember to step back from anger and disappointment to ask, “What part am I playing to create this upset?”

Even at my lowest of lows, I can pause, take a breath and consider if what is about to come out of my mouth will cause unnecessary suffering. If my first impulse to speak is not a “thank you,” I may want to count to 10 before I say a word.

I don’t believe that there is a permanent record in the hereafter where demerits and stars mark the deeds of my life. I do like to believe, though, that the here and now may be a bit more peaceful if every request or complaint is outnumbered by a whispered “Thank you.”

 

Why Questions are Better than Answers

“Why?”

 My shoulders tense and my stomach flutters when I hear that one-word question.

 Why? Because, when someone asks me this question, I feel compelled to know something or to explain myself.

 “Why?” triggers the fight-or-flight syndrome and I have the urge to defend my position or to deflect a criticism. “Why?” puts people on the spot.

 “Why do like wine better than beer?” I just do.

 “Why do you write?” Because I must.

 ”Why did you paint your house that color?” None of your business. 

Is there a way to find out what motivates people, what excites them, what makes them tick without erecting walls of defensiveness?

One answer: Be a journalist. Reporters rarely asks “Why?” To get a good story, they look for the who, how, what, where and when. These are curious questions. They probe into the people, methods, purpose, place and time of a situation, an issue or an event.

 “Why?” probes for a cause or digs for a reason that may be too personal to explain. I admit that “Why?” does get the neurons firing.

“Why you go to church?” or “Why don’t you go to church?”

“Why are you a Republican?” (or a Democrat, or a Libertarian, or …)

Now those are REALLY none of your business!

 “Why?” can be a circular question, to which the only answer is another “Why?”

 “Why did you take a ‘working’ vacation?”

 Why not?

“What did you do on vacation?

“Who did you meet?”

“What did you learn?”

“How did you spend your days?”

These questions invite me to show and tell. They signal that the questioner wants to learn something about what is important to me.

There is one “why” question I can answer with ease: “Why are questions better than answers?”

No matter how they begin, questions are humble. They encourage curiosity and promote interaction. Research in the fields of neuroscience, psychology and coaching show that how we see the world around us affects the questions we ask. I suggest that the questions we ask change how we see the world.

The quest for answers – especially the “right” ones – narrows our focus. When we jump to respond or offer an opinion, we tell others, “I know something you don’t know; let me enlighten you…”

Even “Why?” – when posed with an open mind – says, “I am interested in you and what you have to say…tell me more, show me what you care about.”

When in doubt, wonder. Got the urge to offer advice or impress someone with what you know? Take a deep breath then ask a question.

Why? Because questions are full of surprise. Go ahead, ask a question. Let yourself be amazed at what you still have left to learn.

Spinning Words into Gold

Autumn morning in Brasstown, NC

When I looked at the date of my last blog post – September 8, 2010 – I felt like Rip Van Winkle waking up from a long, groggy sleep. Have I really been absent for more than a year? Where have I been? What have I missed? These are questions for another post.

For now, I want to let you know that my wake up call came at a writing workshop I attended last week at the John C Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, NC. When I decided to take a week’s vacation to visit a friend who is renting a house in Brasstown, I checked the Folk School’s catalogue. “Spinning Words into Gold” was the only writing workshop offered that week. I weighed my options for recovering from many long months of work, work work – I could spend a week sitting on the porch, staring at the mountains colored in their autumn finery, reading a book, drinking wine or I could stretch my imagination at a writing workshop. The adventurous side of me nudged, “Come on. Let’s have some fun!” So I signed up for “Spinning Words into Gold.”

And fun it was – five days of playing with words under the enthusiastic guidance of writing midwife Maureen Ryan Griffin. Maureen set the stage for our week by asking us to say one of our favorite words. “Crimson” was my choice. The other words offered by the group were sassafras, aplomb, sultry, paramount, sensual, glorify, improvisation. Maureen gave us five minutes to spin these unrelated verbs, nouns and adjectives into a response to the phrase “I have always known…”

I wrote without thinking…

I have always known 
That having fun was paramount
To glorifying the sensual
Side of a crimson star
Pinned high atop a report card

And I scribbled…

I have always known 
That I don’t know much
And all that I know is an improvisation
Of a greater play
In which I am a tiny part of a greater scheme

I went on and on, ending with…

I have always known…
And I keep forgetting
What I have always known
So I remember again…

That exercise set the stage for a week of discovery. I wrote poems and essays sparked by phrases such as “I remember…” and lists of people and incidents that formed who I am today. We read other writers’ poems, mining them for inspiration. We played with metaphors and memories. Smells (frying meatballs), tastes (peppermint stick ice cream) and sounds (Motown dance music) took me back decades to people and places that shaped my beliefs and habits. I wrote about cars I have driven (and the men who drove me to them.) We posed unanswerable questions then challenged ourselves to answer them.

I left my week at the Folk School reawakened and recommitted to a writing practice, just for fun. Here is the pledge I wrote to remind me to stay awake. Won’t you join me?

Starting Here
Inspired by William Stafford, You Reading This, Be Ready

Starting here, I pledge to stay awake

to my heart

its wanderings and wonderings

questions whispered in the dark

Where am I going?

How long will I stay?

Who will I meet?

Who do I leave behind?

Starting here, I make a living by living my life

and I know the way forward in starting here.

Here, now, I start what I have begun over and over –

to listen, to write, to read, to be who I am –

That’s a good place to start

and starting happens over and over again

here and now.

Starting here, I hoist my sails,

buoyed by courage

ballasted by fear

that I will start and fail

as I have done before when I started here.

The finish line is usually out far ahead.

Starting here, I leave the end point

at my back.

I am done being unfaithful

to being fruitful -

I bear ripe, juicy compostable fruit

leaving seeds of inspiration

in my wakefulness.

Starting here, I end and renew

Come with me or stay behind -

You choose.

I am starting here.

Because/For No Good Reason

Last weekend, I rode over 40 miles with a group of very vibrant and fit middle aged women. As we pedaled into the tail end of Hurricane Earl’s winds, one of my biking friends, Ann, commented that her daughter, who is a teacher, did not have school one day in early September because the air conditioning was broken. That sent us off on a “When I was a kid…” reverie of hot classrooms that led to silliness about walking to school in the snow for miles and doing our homework by candlelight. Ann said, “And now that we are middle aged women, we ride 50 miles for no good reason.” Her words lingered in my memory of our hours together and inspired this poem. Thanks, Ann!

Dixie, Ann and Linda ride the wind with Hurricane Earl…for no good reason.

 Because/For No Good Reason

Pioneer children walked 10 miles in the snow

to learn reading, writing and ‘rithmetic

because there were no carpools or school buses.

In the early days of the last century farmers walked

behind horse-drawn plows

because they had no tractors.

When we were young, we sat in hot classrooms

in the waxing and waning days of summer

because school buildings had no air conditioning.

As middle aged women we ride 50 miles on bikes

for no good reason.

Like the chicken who crossed the road

and footloose dogs that chase bike riders

we do it because we can.

A day may come – tomorrow or 30 years from now –

when a long bike ride will be a memory

that aches more than over-used muscles,

because memories of lost youth are the worst part of growing old.

So I ride for no good reason – because I can.