Just Let Go.

 

What you run from only stays with you longer. When you fight something, you only make it stronger. 

—Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

My happiness grows in direct proportion to my acceptance, and in inverse proportion to my expectations.

—Michael J. Fox

💗

If you spend a lot of time at the ocean like our family does, you know the rules of rip currents like you know your own name. 

The fundamental truths of surviving a rip current are simple. 

Relax. 

Don't fight the current. Work with it. 

Be carried out to sea until you can swim parallel to the coastline.

Eventually, you will be led beyond the rip current's pull and reach a new current that will allow you to swim at an angle toward the shore.  

When we deeply understand how currents work, we instinctively move with the ocean, in accordance with its laws. We trust the predictability of the ebbs and flows. In the absence of fighting, we are carried. We are nudged back to the safety of the shore. 

Last year, I learned that skydiving works in much the same way.

I had the honor of skydiving with the Army Golden Knights. Much of my training leading up to my jump had to do with trusting and surrendering. I was told to tilt my head back, lean into the safety and security of my tandem jumper, and just let go. 

Just. Let. Go.

In the moment that I stood at the edge of our plane 13,500 feet above the Earth, my mind raced. It scrambled for a sense of control. It demanded that I do something to ensure my own safe return home. But beyond my mind's demands, there was a knowing that I was held. I was deeply safe. As my instructor and I descended to the ground below, I was filled with the excitement and giddiness of a child. 

Somehow, deep down, we all know that life tends to go more smoothly when we are not in resistance to it; when we are in flow with it. 

When we understand that each moment is here to be seen, we naturally let go of our need to control, manage, and figure it out. In the letting go, we are guided to the current that makes the most sense. We respond to each moment from a foundation of peace and security rather than from fear and judgment. Possibilities we had never considered suddenly present themselves from this space. 

In the spirit of letting go, I'd like to propose a little game. 

Think of a dramatic thought or story that your mind loves to play on repeat.  

You know the thoughts I'm talking about; the ones that say, "I should be doing better by now" and "I never should have done or said that thing" or "If only I had a different job/spouse/body/lifestyle, I would be better off" or "If only that person hadn't done that thing to me..." Or my absolute favorite: "This shouldn't be happening."

Got one? OK. Do you feel the thought in your body? Maybe it's in the form of tension, a stomach ache, or a racing heart. We feel the thoughts that seem true to us. What a brilliant design!

If you're a normal human being, your mind is probably saying, "Make it go away, now. It's uncomfortable. Seriously, it's been here long enough, now!" And in real life, if this wasn't a game, we might grab an alcoholic drink, scroll through our social media feed, or attempt to find a happy, positive thought to mask the icky one. And all of these things would make PERFECT SENSE. After all, we have had a lifetime of conditioning that tells us to avoid discomfort. Swim against the rip current. Fight the tandem jumper for control. 

But, for the sake of the game, let's do something different. Let's swim with the current. Let's imagine that the story—the one that tends to come up the most often—is made of same intelligent energy of the ocean.

As energy, your story simply wants to move through you and be on its way. But, as a normal human being, you have learned to hold onto, attach yourself to, and replay the story again and again. The story looks real, solid, stable, and true. So you stare at it. You shower it with attention. Then, you think of ways to subdue it, numb it, and distract yourself from it. You try in vain to control it. As a result, it can't move on through. 

This time, instead of stopping the flow of energy, allow your story to come all the way to the sunlight to be seen. Really seen. After all, it is energy—Life intelligence. It is not the scary thing your mind has made it out to be for all these months, years, or decades. It is coming up again and again so that it can finally move through. 

So, draw it closer. Pick it up and hold it the way you'd pick up a crying toddler to comfort her. See if you can let go of the need to change or modify the story. It's energy—it will move and change on its own, by design. It does not need a "positive-thought sticker" slapped on top of it. 

If discomfort arises in the body, just notice it. There is no need to form an attachment to it. Those sensations do not belong to you. They're not yours. Just watch them rise and fall, ebb and flow. Leave them alone and just notice them. 

As you spend more time playing the game of working with rather than against your stories, they will begin to lose their grip. The energy will move through you. 

In the absence of resisting your stories, THEY will let YOU go. 💗

If you'd like to watch the video of my Golden Knights experience, click here.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkPW08qoo1w

I hope you'll join me in September to discuss the stories behind the blog posts. Details about a fun and engaging zoom meet-up coming soon. 

How Do We See Who We Really Are?

 

In the external scheme of things, shining moments are as brief as the twinkling of an eye; yet such twinklings are what eternity is made of—moments when we human beings can say, 'I love you,' 'I'm proud of you,' 'I forgive you,' and 'I'm grateful for you.' That's what eternity is made of: invisible, imperishable good stuff. 

—Fred Rogers, The World According to Mister Rogers

We must not let ourselves be diverted from the truth by the strangeness of appearances. A fact is a fact even though it may upset our conception of the universe, for our conception of the universe is terribly infantile. 

—Charles Richet, 1913 Nobel Prize Winner for Physiology and Medicine

Years ago, I used to get such a kick out of watching people stare at those Magic Eye posters in the mall.  They would just stand there in front of them, trying as hard as they could to see the hidden images among the millions of squiggly lines and dots. 

And then... out of nowhere...their face would suddenly light up. They would smile. And I would know that they had finally SEEN it. It was magical.

Who knows why it took some people two minutes and others an hour for the image to "pop" for them. But the reaction was always the same. 

Delight. Joy. Awe. Amazement. 

The tension that had been building in their bodies for two or sixty minutes would suddenly release. There would be an exhale of triumph. 

"There it is! Right there!"

There were always those who wanted to know HOW to see the hidden images. They wanted to know specific techniques. Some would look slightly away from the poster while others would let their eyes get a little blurry.

But, in the end, there was no "how" to make the image show itself. It was seen when it was seen; often as soon as the person  gave up trying so hard. 

That's kind of how it goes when my clients and I talk about who-we-are beyond our mind's stories. 

In the beginning, most of my clients simply want to know HOW to see this. 

And, just like the Magic Eye posters, there is no solid, concrete "how." (And the mind HATES that!)

But there are some things that seem to make the journey to rediscovering who-you-are a little simpler and more enjoyable. 

First, it really helps to be curious and inquisitive, like a child or an anthropologist. When we look at conditioned thoughts and beliefs, we look at them with a beginner's mind, as if we honestly have NO idea if they're true or real. 

Second, it's incredibly beneficial to just play with the ideas of who-you-are beyond old stories and limiting beliefs. My clients and I play "what-if" games every week. We ask things like, "What if that thing you call a trigger is actually your greatest teacher?" and "What if that physical symptom you hate is the very thing that will walk you home to the truth of who-you-are?" By playing games and asking what-if questions, we allow for never-before-seen possibilities to show up. We become vast open spaces for brand new insights to appear.

Finally, it's helpful to be willing to be dead wrong. This may sound crazy and counterproductive. But it's a game-changer. My brilliant mentor, Dr. Amy Johnson, PhD, first introduced this idea to me. She said, "You don't need to believe anything I say. Just be open to the idea that what your mind is telling you is dead wrong." 

As my wise friend Carl Frazier said this year on Easter Sunday, "I am not asking you to believe. I am asking you to consider suspending your disbelief for a moment."

As you consider who-you-are beyond your labels and stories, be curious and playful. Be willing to be dead wrong. And consider suspending your disbelief for just a moment.

When you see....really SEE...what's there beyond your intellect's limited version of you, it will be like seeing that hidden image in the Magic Eye poster. Only a million times better. 

**Coming in September**

Have you been wanting to find out what all of this is about? Do you have specific questions about any of the blog posts? In September, I will be hosting a zoom call to dive a little more deeply into what is being pointed to here in this blog. I hope you'll join me!

The Physical Sensations of Overwhelm

 

Apple Fritters at Back Door Donuts

"You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus."

—Mark Twain

One of my favorite things about going on vacation is the anticipation of it. Right now, our family is just weeks away from heading back to our most cherished summer get-away in Martha's Vineyard. I have already spent countless hours lost in imagination, daydreaming of hot apple fritters at Back Door Donuts, sunsets at Menemsha Beach, and lazy strolls down Circuit Avenue with Mocha Motts coffee in my hand. 

It is such a gift to be able to fully experience these kinds of imagined scenarios as if they were really happening. Somehow, it seems to prolong the joy of the actual vacation. 

But what if my imagination is out of focus and, instead, the imagined scenario is scary or overwhelming? No one wants to experience those things as if they're really happening.  

And yet, we do.

We feel those out-of-focus imagined scenarios as physical sensations in our body. We've been taught to call them things like "stress-induced" tension, tightness, stomach aches, or even pain.

But what if those things are actually part of the kindness of our design?

For a very long season, my imagination ran wild with stories of overwhelm. The stories involved urgent, high-stakes scenarios that looked very real and true. My mind would say things like, "I've GOT to get this done. There is so much riding on this. Oh, God! Who am I kidding? There are not enough hours in the day. I'm not sure I can handle it." 

In the midst of my mind's stories, I would notice an uncomfortable tightness growing throughout my chest and neck, often accompanied by elevated blood pressure and a racing heart. Since I hated those symptoms, I added them to my list of things to work on and figure out. 

It was explained to me that the stories of overwhelm and the intense physical sensations were signs that I had too much on my plate, and that I needed to do a better job setting boundaries and saying no. OR, that I needed to do a better job managing those damn imagined stories in the first place! 

But, something seemed very off about that explanation.

I was curious about the fact that all imaginations are prone to dramatic, intense stories, AND there are millions of people who accomplish far more than I do without any sign of stress or overwhelm. Something didn't add up. What was different for them?

I set out to learn more about these people who are able to achieve great things while living with great ease. As it turns out, they have a few things in common.

First, they don't waste energy trying to figure out or manage the imaginary stories that involve scary or overwhelming themes. Even the shitty stories are just noticed. There is no attempt to modify or rationalize them. There is a simple understanding that all stories are safe, transient, and inherently neutral. These amazing groups of relaxed, productive people don't TRY to leave their stories alone—they just know it makes no sense to get involved. 

Second, they aren't obsessed with themselves or how they're doing, feeling, or measuring up. They don't view the world through a distorted me-centered lens. They know that they are part of something much larger than themselves. They are inextricably linked with an intangible, universal intelligence beyond what they can see, hear, or touch. As such, they know that they are held, carried, and guided.  

Third, they see that, at various points throughout life, every human will experience the things we call joy, grief, excitement, devastation, hope, failure, triumph, and humiliation. Since this is a given, they don't waste a single ounce of energy trying to hold any experience at bay. 

After all, all experience is simply Life arising in the moment. The people who live with the greatest ease seem to meet each experience as it unfolds, knowing that they are part of the unfolding. Experience is not separate from them or happening to them. It simply is. And it needs no management or figuring out. 

Finally, the people who live with the greatest sense of ease seem to know that the mind's ideas about what should and shouldn't be happening are incredibly biased and limited. So they don't hang their hat on outcomes. They do the very best they can in any situation, of course. But, then they release the outcomes to that same intangible yet trustworthy universal intelligence that is beyond their intellect's grasp. 

Identifying with out-of-focus stories such as, "I can't handle it," "It's too much," or "It's all on me" is SUPPOSED to feel awful. (Read that again)

If it didn't, what incentive would there be to wake up to the lies being believed?

Imagine if it felt GREAT to believe, "I can't cope" or "It's all on me to get this right."  You'd be compelled to stay stuck in that distorted reality indefinitely. 

Life is so much wiser and kinder than to allow you to identify with the scary, overwhelming stories in your imagination. It will always do its best to wake you up. It will arise as something you call a racing heart, a knot in your stomach, a pain in the base of your throat, a tension in your head and neck, or a myriad of other brilliant, perfectly-tailored sensations.

As bodily sensations are seen for the gifts they are, there will no longer be a need to fight them, manage them, or figure them out. 

 You are free from those chains. 

In the absence of managing and controlling, ease is revealed. It was there all along, just waiting for old, worn-out beliefs and concepts to fall away. 

From a place of ease, Life can look like absolutely anything. It can look like pulling all-nighters to seal a deal at work, or it can look like quitting work altogether to spend more time in the garden. It can look like hiring a personal assistant to give you more time to relax, or it can look like going back to school while keeping a full-time job and running the PTA.

Ease gets to look like anything because it's who-we-are when we're not identified with out-of-focus stories playing in our imagination. 

Imagination is a gift. We get to relish it, swim around in it, and savor it. 

And when it falls out-of-focus (which it will), the intelligence of those brilliant sensations and symptoms will wake us up and walk us back home to ease. 

Ease is our natural design. 

Worry and Rumination

 

Worry pretends to be necessary but serves no purpose. — Eckhart Tolle

Years ago, a good friend of mine walked me through the story of her husband's heart attack—how the morning unfolded, how she found herself calling 9-1-1, how she got herself to the hospital , and how she handled the medical decisions that had to be made. These are longtime friends of ours—our age—with whom we've raised our babies, survived potty-training, planned NYC trips, and celebrated milestone birthdays. I couldn't wrap my head around how this could even happen. 

I remember listening—heartsick— as she told her story, and thinking, "I could never handle that." In my wildest imagination, I could not fathom how I would get through something so unexpected and traumatic. I tried to picture scenarios in my mind in which I would be OK, but I only came up with images of myself crumbling, unable to do the things required of me.

And yet, as my friend continued her story, I heard how—in the moment—she did handle it. It was surreal and uncomfortable, but she did the things that needed to be done. And—in her words—she found moments of profound peace, comfort, and even humor throughout the unfolding of that day and subsequent weeks. 

What I saw that day and a hundred more times since then is this:

We have precisely the resources we need in the actual moments we need them—NOT in the midst of an imaginary movie playing in our head. 

Minds—ALL minds— tell compelling, dramatic stories. That's just what they do. They worry about imagined future events. They ruminate about past events and how things could have or should have gone differently.

Then, they say things like, "I can't relax and be at peace until I get the biopsy results." Or, "I'll finally get a good night's sleep after I see for myself how my dad is doing." 

The mind pretends that worry and rumination are helpful and relevant; that's how it keeps you on the hook to keep paying attention to it. 

But here's the thing:

Your mind will keep you on the hook for as long as you're willing to engage. Minds are designed for constant, never-ending activity. They have nothing better to do than spin stories in hopes that you will pay attention to them.

Your attempt to manage, suppress, and control the mind's stories provide the energy that keeps them going. It's the gasoline on the fire, so-to-speak. 

Two of the mind's favorite stories are "It could happen because it has happened before" and "Oh, this story must be really true and important because it keeps playing over and over again." 

Every time you fall for and attempt to manage stories like these, it will feel awful.

Believe it or not, the suffering is not a cruel design flaw of the mind and body. The racing heart, the pit in the stomach, and the pressure in the chest are BRILLIANT. 

The human body is ingenious in the way that it alerts us to the fact that we are lost in an imagined, made-up scary world in our head. The sensations and stress-related symptoms in the body are there to bring you back to reality, back to the this present moment in real life. The body's shitty sensations are GIFTS. (In my coaching forum, we call them the "shitty golden tickets").

Worry and rumination are never problems on their own. They don't need to be managed, silenced, or pushed aside.

The suffering we attribute to worry and rumination is actually the result of our fighting, resisting, and attempting to control them or make them go away. 

Telling dramatic—even scary—stories is just a healthy, normal mind's activity. I think of it like a puppy chewing endlessly on a bone just for the sake of chewing. It's an activity—not a problem. 

Once the mind is free to play any movie it wants, no matter how urgent or repetitive, the resistance to it and the attempt to manage it will end. In time, the movies will begin to fade away from lack of attention.

Your worry-movies have masqueraded as "helpers" for long enough. Let the movies of worry and rumination play as often as they'd like. Notice them. Smile because you're onto them. And then let them play, freely.

When the moment arises that an actual response is needed in real life, you will be moved, guided, and lived in the moment of requirement. 

A few months ago, I was visiting my parents for our weekly breakfast. My dad collapsed on the floor quite unexpectedly. In the moment of requirement, actions were taken and decisions were made. I found myself calling 9-1-1, leading the first responders to my dad, and then lying on the floor next to him, telling him stories about Martha's Vineyard as the paramedics did their job. There were moments of deep peace, gratitude, and love. As the events of the morning unfolded, I was held. I was lived. And so was my dad. 

Chronic Hives and Other Beautiful Gifts

 

"Once you begin to heal, what you discover will not be the new you, but the real you. The you that was there all along; born with love and joy."

—Desmond Tutu

In 2018, I found myself in an unexpected season of chronic hives, accompanied by relentless anxiety and depression. There were moments I felt like my life as I knew it was over. I lost hope of ever returning to the "me" I had been for 47 years. The thoughts and stories that played in my head day and night were filled with what I often described as "gun-to-the-head terror." I was consumed by fear and hatred of my physical symptoms. My world became very small. 

Ironically, that season turned out to be one of the greatest gifts of my entire life. 

I was given an opportunity to be still and get really curious about who I was beyond the habitual, repetitive stories my mind created. 

As a lifelong perfectionist and people-pleaser, it never occurred to me to question the narratives in my head. My head was where I lived! I was constantly planning, analyzing, comparing, projecting, and figuring things out. Vigilance was the name of my game. My mind was like a sonar on a submarine, continuously scanning for what might go wrong so that I could manage and control all potential outcomes. I embodied the mantra, "If it's to be, it's up to me!"

Thankfully, a prolonged season of hives, anxiety, and depression showed up as a brilliant course-corrector. 

I was given an opportunity to learn how to live in the world rather than in my head. 

With the help of some patient and compassionate mentors, I began an excavation—an un-learning of old beliefs and patterns.  

I began to understand that all experience is filtered through my mind—that I don't experience the world as it is; I experience it as I am—through a lifetime of unquestioned beliefs and conditioning. I saw that I would never be able to pin-down any experience long enough to stake my happiness and peace in it. 

As a result, I stopped trying to manage my experience—my thoughts, feelings, emotions, and physical sensations/symptoms. 

The first thing to fall away was vigilance. It no longer made any sense to track emotional states, symptoms, thoughts, and visceral sensations. My attempt to manage them had been exhausting. 

There was a palpable, physiological shift in the midst of that surrender. 

I found myself relaxing more in the natural momentum of Life. Instead of putting my faith in my mind's interpretation of  each moment, I began to see that there was something beyond my intellect's grasp that was more trustworthy and stable.  

Then, something interesting happened. I had moments of suddenly realizing I felt joyful again. There were moments of unexpected peace and bliss.  And then moments, weeks, and even months with no hives. 

In the absence of my attempt to control life, I was being lived. Effortlessly.

I realized how long I had been under the spell of belief that my experience was THE truth rather than my mind's clumsy interpretation of it. I had been buying into the dramatic stories of what my hives meant, and what my anxiety and depression said about me. 

I had been confusing my bodily sensations of overwhelm, urgency, and fear as evidence that my mind's stories were true and real. When I felt overwhelmed about an upcoming event, I assumed that the awful, visceral sensations that accompanied the story were saying, "Yes, the story is TRUE. Now, you must do everything in your power to get control of this situation. You must avoid the overwhelming thing at all costs." 

And then, thank God, I woke up from that 48-year-old belief. 

I realized that the uncomfortable sensations of overwhelm and urgency are NEVER an indication of the truth of my mind's stories. They are never pointing to anything outside of me. They are only and ever pointing me back to the truth of who I am.

They are saying, "Hey, you! You are identifying with a grossly inaccurate, me-centered, dramatic version of reality. Come home. Come back to the truth of who-you-are. You think this is somehow on you, but it's not."

There is a space that is untouched by our mind's stories. We can't intellectualize it, define it, manage it, or control it.

But we can be open to sensing it, knowing it, and trusting it. 

In that space beyond our mind's grabby reach, our bodies relax. Our nervous systems settle. Our hands stop gripping the proverbial wheel so tightly. 

We heal. 

It took a brilliant season of hives, depression, and wicked anxiety to wake me up to that ineffable space beyond my mind's narratives.

In the discomfort, I discovered that there is far less for me to do, figure out, or manage than I once believed.

Now that I understand what the discomfort is, it is welcome.

I am beautifully held in it. 

 

I'll Be OK When...

 

Let what comes come. Let what goes go. Find our what remains. 

—Ramana Maharshi

Your sacred space is where you can find yourself over and over again. 

—Joseph Campbell

Imagine standing at the ocean's edge with your bare feet planted securely on a stretch of firm, wet sand. As the waves lap onto the beach, your feet begin to sink  into the shifting ground below you. What appeared to be a stable, reliable foundation is now washing away beneath you. 

Just like the sand at the ocean's edge, everything in our perceptual world is continuously shifting, changing, and moving. Sights, sounds, tastes, and even thoughts are in unceasing motion; as impossible to secure as the sand beneath your feet. We couldn't hold our world in place if we wanted to. 

And yet, there is a belief that we can somehow pin our security and OK-ness on things that are always in motion. Things like health, money, image, weight, relationships, and emotional states. Our minds say, "I'll be OK when my children stop struggling, when the chemo ends, when the bills are paid, or when the anxiety abates."

Somehow we know not to trust the stability of the shifting sand, but we don't know not to trust our equally precarious thoughts and beliefs. 

We fall for the myth of relief—that fleeting, seductive feeling when a problem is resolved, health improves, or a child finally finds their way. 

But like the shifting sand at the ocean's edge, relief is already falling away as soon as it is felt. Your mind will never let you stay in the story of relief for very long. 

Why?

Because, to your mind, enough is never enough. 

The mind's fundamental job is to keep itself relevant. That voice-in-your-head, the one that narrates your day and makes meaning of everything, is designed to solve problems—even if it needs to create them. 

Among the mind's favorite narratives, "I'll be OK when..." is probably its most compelling. 

That little mind is so clever and so brilliant at its job that it always keeps you on the hook for just one more achievement or milestone.

It says, "I'll be OK as soon as I have...a partner, a baby, a financial security." And then it will let you relax and breathe for just a minute before it says, "Now I'll be OK when I have a college fund for the kids, a clean bill of health, a plan for my aging parents." 

Life becomes a never-ending narrative of, "I'll finally relax when..." 

And, here's the cosmic joke: That narrative never ends. 

It can't end because that would be the end of the story-teller. It would be the death of that little voice-in-your-head whose job it is to solve problems and keep its story of you relevant.

But, there is GOOD NEWS in all of this. 

That voice-in-your-head, the one that never stops talking, does not belong to you. Its stories are not personal, and they have no relevance to who-you-are. They are a product of a lifetime of conditioning and circumstances, processed through what amounts to a simple yet incredibly efficient machine. 

YOU—that complete, uncontaminated, resilient bundle of aliveness that you were on the day you were born—are simply a space for those stories to pass through like clouds passing through a blue sky. You are the timeless, stable, expansive space in which stories arise and dissolve. You get to watch the stories without becoming identified with them. 

The story, "I'll be OK when..." is remarkably predictable, so it's simple to notice when it arises. 

Just like your refrigerator predictably cools your food and your washing machine predictably washes your clothes—your mind can be counted on 100% of the time to tell you what you need in order to relax and be OK. It's just a machine doing its job.

When that meaning-making, problem-solving machine in your head tells you what you must have in order to be OK, you can simply observe it. You can thank it for doing its job so well. And then, you can watch how quickly that story passes all on its own, allowing space for the next story to arrive on its heels. When the story is seen for what it is—a cloud passing through the sky— it loses its power.

There is a quiet space that is untouched by the mind. That space is who-you-are, and it is always OK. 

I Don't Know.

"We don't realize that, somewhere within us all, there does exist a supreme self who is eternally at peace." 

—Elizabeth Gilbert

When my daughter Megan was 13 months old, we took her to visit her grandpa and two uncles—Andrew and Matthew—in Columbia, South Carolina. Shortly after we arrived at my father-in-law's home, there was a knock at the door. With Megan sound asleep in her car seat in the hall, I answered. There in front of me stood a police officer, a woman who appeared to be a minister, and two other people I did not know. 

The next few minutes remain a blur, but I distinctly remember my father-in-law, Lou, who had just lost his wife to pancreatic cancer a year earlier, crying out, "Why? Why is this happening?" His son —my brother-in-law Andrew— had drowned, caught in the undertow of the Saluda River at the age of 19. It was the day before Father's Day. 

The officer asked my husband Pete to accompany him to identify Andrew's body. After that, we did the things you do to plan a funeral. When the service was over, we sat together in alternating moments of numbness and despair. Why in the world did we lose Pete's mom and brother in a single year?

Why?

Today, I often talk with people who feel stuck in needing to understand why something awful has happened or is happening. It is as if their peace and ability to "let go" or relax is dependent on the answers to unanswerable questions. 

Why were six million Jews and five million prisoners-of-war allowed to be killed during the Holocaust? Why are human beings indiscriminately brutalized, lynched, or otherwise tortured simply because of the color of their skin? Why, today, are perfectly kind and wonderful young people targeted and made to feel broken simply because of their gender identity or sexual orientation? Why? 

I don't know. 

There are a million different experts who hypothesize a million different reasons for these things. But in truth, how do any of us really know why horrific things happen?

We are human beings living in a very human world. Since the dawn of time, there have been atrocities, injustices, and horrific, heart-shattering events. There have always been people who, because of what looks real and true in their minds, do unimaginable things to other people. 

And in the same moments as these atrocities, there have always been stories of exquisite kindness and compassion; stories of heroes brave enough to stand up for what is right at the risk of losing their reputation or life. In the midst of hatred, fear, and grief, Love has always been there, holding it all.

As I have grown more interested in what we all are beyond our bodies, minds, and psychology, I have seen the absolute wisdom and freedom in these three words: I don't know. 

I don't know why human beings do things to hurt other human beings. I don't know why babies get leukemia diagnoses or why fathers die before they get to walk their daughters down the aisle.

I don't know. 

But I do know this. Maybe we aren't meant to know some things right now (or ever). And the not-knowing has nothing to do with our ability to be completely at peace.

Believe it or not, the not-knowing is never the thing standing in the way of our peace. 

The only thing temporarily veiling our true peace in any moment is the belief in a story. The story, "I need to know why things happen" is one of our mind's favorite and most compelling narratives.

When it looks like our intellect is the thing that has gotten us this far in life, we tend to listen to it. So, we go to work figuring things out. 

But, when we have a sense of the momentum of Life that is always there—moving us forward, carrying us reliably from moment to moment—we rest in the not-knowing. We rest in the present moment, which is all we really ever have.

From a place of rest, we find ourselves naturally drawn to do the things that make sense in real-time (rather than in our imagined future). We donate money, help a friend, show up for the cancer treatment, join a peaceful protest, or lead a military combat mission. We bake a cake or plant a garden so that our joy can radiate out into a world desperate for more lightheartedness.

Our minds will never give up the search for answers to the unanswerable questions.

But, beyond our intellect, there is a space in which nothing needs to makes sense and, paradoxically, where everything does make sense. 

Thankfully, our true peace and our ability to show up in the world have nothing to do with our mind's stories and demands. 

Even in the unimaginable, we are immersed in the infinite peace and wellbeing of Life. 

I'll see you next week. 💗

Well-of-Being

"Each one has to find peace from within. And peace to be real must be unaffected by outside circumstances. " —Mahatma Gandhi

"Nothing external to you has any power over you." —Ralph Waldo Emmerson

In November 1873, wealthy New York attorney Horatio Spafford and his wife Anna planned a Christmas holiday in England. Delayed by business in New York, Horatio sent his wife and four young daughters ahead on the cruise ship Ville du Havre. Tragically, on November 22nd, their ship was struck by an iron sailing ship. All four daughters were lost. Anna was found unconscious, floating on a plank of wood. Upon receiving the tragic news by telegram, Horatio set sail for England. As his ship passed over the spot where the Ville du Havre had gone down, the captain called Horatio to the deck. He pointed Horatio to the area where his daughters' bodies most likely lay, some three miles below. 

But, instead of looking down into the abyss, Horatio looked out onto the dark rolling waves. He steadied himself, took out a pen, and began to write:

When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul. 

In the midst of an unimaginable experience of grief, Horatio Spafford knew deeply that he was not broken. There was an indescribable, unknowable space that was untouched by the storms of human experience. He witnessed the paradox of holding both anguish and peace together in the same space. 

This expansive, untouchable space is like a deep, immeasurable well. It is made of and suffused with aliveness, peace, joy, and love. This well-of-being is often referred to as the soul in religious language. Since every living being is fundamentally an expression of Life itself—a bundle of pure aliveness wrapped neatly in a costume called a body—then, by design, we are all part of that sacred well-of-being. 

Like most people, I spent the majority of my life unaware of this immaculate, immeasurable space. In my unawareness, my peace was tethered to my experience—to the circumstances of my life. There was a compelling story of "this experience is mine and says something about me." As a result, when there was an experience of sadness or fear, it looked like I was not OK. I believed that my peace and security were inextricably linked to things like my health, my financial status, my relationships, and my ever-changing emotions.

Being tethered to experience—much like a dog tethered to a leash—is exhausting and limiting. I found myself doing things for the sole purpose of avoiding particular flavors of experience while gripping tightly to others. Since image was profoundly important to me (Do they perceive me as competent, smart, and articulate? Am I successful? Do they think I look polished and presentable?), I avoided any situation that might bring an experience of embarrassment, shame, or vulnerability. In my attempt to hold my experience at bay, my world became smaller and smaller.

Here's the thing...

You were never designed to find your peace and security in experience. 

When you look to experience to find your peace, your OK-ness, and your wellbeing, it will feel restrictive and tight, by design. 

After all, experience is ephemeral and fleeting, morphing from one shape into the next, slipping through your fingers like warm, white sand. Even experience that carries the illusion of permanence is, in truth, always, always fluctuating. 

Naturally, you will immerse in experience. You will enjoy it, relish it, devour it, and love it. And at times, you will hate it, wallow in it, and wish it away. But, in either case, experience is just like the waves—rising up for a moment before dissolving back into the ocean to form a new shape. 

Beyond the fleeting and fluctuating—the rising and dissolving—there is something stable, secure, and timeless. There is a space where peace is found in the midst of the storms. 

That is who-you-are. 

Beyond the chatter of the mind, you are the well-of-being. 

Next week, we'll take a look at what it can feel like to stay in the moment, in life, rather than in your head. 

On The Day That You Were Born

 

"We are here to awaken from the illusion of separateness."

-Ram Dass

Last week, I wrote about how my fellow travelers and I look carefully at WHO we are; all of us.  I explained how we look at stories that arise in our minds and how we set the stories down. In setting them down, we get a clearer picture of our true selves hiding beneath and beyond them. 

But who is this true self? Who is this who-we-are that I keep mentioning? 

Who were you before anything was added to you—a gender or race identification, an Apgar score, a belief system, or a name? Who were you before your parents, teachers, and community helped create a story-of-you?

On the day that you were born, you were a pure, uncontaminated bundle of aliveness. Regardless of your medical status, your socio-economic status, or your mother's ability to care for or even keep you, you were Life's greatest expression.

You could not have been more worthy or valuable than you were in that moment. The abundance of Life itself animated your tiny body. You were a miracle, all wrapped up in a pink and blue hospital blanket. 

On the day that you were born, there was not yet any idea of separation from the world around you. There was no story-of-you yet, so there was no story of "other." You and the world were inextricably connected. YOU, the pure aliveness of you, were part of an infinite, stable flow of timeless, boundless energy. 

You were Life's perfect energy arising as a baby—as a dream-come-true.

Imagine waves rising up on the ocean's surface: billions of waves, each arising from the same majestic ocean waters, each taking shape for a very brief time before returning to its source. In a sense, each wave is "born" and then, at some point, it "dies." Each of the of waves has its own unique shape, size, and disposition. But, fundamentally, all waves are made of the same "stuff"—the same majestic ocean. When a wave dies, only its shape dies—that "stuff" doesn't. Instead, it returns to its source: Ocean into Waves; Waves back into Ocean. One single activity, repeating in its own breathtakingly perfect rhythm. 

Many of us have a sense of this oneness, this connectedness to each other and to something greater than our individual forms. Ancient wisdom traditions and religious traditions have created frameworks around this for thousands and thousands of years. 

This deep knowing that we are all fundamentally made of the same essence is often used in Christian doctrine, but it is certainly not limited to Christian or even religious traditions. Who-you-are precedes religion; it precedes all concepts and beliefs.

Perhaps Nobel Peace Prize winner Bishop Desmond Tutu explained it best when he said, "The God who existed before any religion counts on you to make the oneness of the human family known and celebrated."

When we have the eyes to see it, we find pointers to this oneness everywhere; in nature, in science, in ancient mystics and indigenous tribal customs, and—yes—in religions of all kinds. 

In Colossians 3:11, the apostle Paul states, "There is only Christ. He is everything and he is in everything."

Albert Einstein once wrote, "A person experiences life as something separated from the rest—a kind of optical delusion of consciousness. Our task must be to free ourselves from this self-imposed prison, and, through compassion, find the reality of Oneness."

American astronomer and astrophysicist Carl Sagan asserted that we are all made of the same intelligent energy that is the source of all life, declaring unequivocally that we are all "made of star stuff."

The Persian mystic Rumi, whose poetry has inspired humankind for more than 800 years, explains, "In things spiritual, there is no partition, no number, no individuals. How sweet is the oneness; unearth the treasure of unity."

International best-selling author Don Miguel Ruiz (The Four Agreements) wrote, "Everything in existence is a manifestation of the one living being we call God. Everything is God."

As we begin to have a greater sense for this who-we-are beneath our stories, the distinctions between you and me, between "us" and "other" begin to blur as if they had always been written in disappearing ink. We see that, beneath our mind's stories of "me" and "other," there is a stable, timeless river of energy expressing itself as everyone, everything. 

On the day that you were born, the ocean expressed itself as a perfect, new, miraculous wave. When that wave "dies" and returns to the ocean, nothing will be lost. How could it be? It's all One. It's all safe. And it's all who-you-are. 

As you begin to see with fresh eyes who you were before a lifetime of conditioning, you will get a better sense of just how safe, resilient, strong, and free Life is. All of the stories—the exciting, terrifying, unjust, horrific, and beautiful ones— will continue. But your position in relation to those stories will shift. 

And the world as you know it will never be the same. 

*******************************************************

Next week, we'll take a closer look at the space of peace and wellbeing that is present in the midst of all experience. 

Click here to go back to the beginning of this series of posts.

http://waitingforthereply.blogspot.com/

Holding Hands and Stargazing

 

There is an immense simplicity and joy in coaching from this understanding of who-we-are beyond our mind's story. My clients and I often refer to it as holding hands and stargazing. Together, we walk through a vast forest, led by the brilliance and intelligence of the stars. We talk about what looks real and true. We question the stories that arise to see if we can find the holes in them. And then we see where the stars lead us next. 

This is typically how the journey together begins...

My fellow traveler and I usually spend a small amount of time in the story of their suffering—their habit, addiction, circumstance, decision that must-be-made, depression, overwhelm, or anxiety—but we don't stay in the content for long. Typically, I ask them to "set it down," knowing they can pick it back up again after we have traveled for a little while together. 

Why do I ask my fellow travelers to set down the very thing they've come to coaching for? 

That's simple. 

Most of us have spent our lives obsessed with how we're doing. We check-in to see how we're feeling, how we're measuring up, and how we're being perceived by others. We've been conditioned to live as if we are the center of the world and everything happening is about us. 

We behave as if there is a little "me" inside the head pulling levers and pushing buttons like the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz. The belief that I am a separate little me, controlling things from some place behind the eyes, is an exhausting and never-ending  search for security and OK-ness. 

What if we were never meant to spend so much time and energy on how-we're-doing. After all, how we're doing changes like the wind. It literally never stops shifting. How-we're-doing is a function of a trillion different factors, most of which occur far below our level of consciousness. And consider this: the only thing telling you how you're doing is that little voice in your head. 

Think about that. The SAME voice that points out every possible worst-case scenario at three o'clock in the morning is the one you're relying on to tell you how you're doing. 

So, if my fellow traveler and I don't focus on the HOW, what do we talk about? 

We talk about the WHO. We begin getting a better sense of WHO we are; all of us.  We look at stories that arise for people and we poke holes in them until we see our true selves hiding underneath them. 

As we travel, we unlearn who the world told us we are. We learn to listen to the feelings of tension, overwhelm, anxiety, and "triggers" in a brand new way. We learn to trust the natural rhythms of our psychology (thoughts, feelings, emotions) without so much attachment.

We get comfortable feeling ALL the feelings, not because we get better at white-knuckling, but because we understand what all feelings are made of. The resistance to particular feelings dissipates. 

As a byproduct, our nervous systems are allowed to settle. As our nervous systems settle, we settle. As we settle, the need to check-in to see how-we're-doing diminishes. 

The lens through which we see "our issues" shifts. As a result, the issues themselves begin to shift. 

The beginning of the journey is simple. We set down the how-we're-doing and we get reacquainted with who-we-are. 

We hold hands. We walk. We stargaze. And we watch the miracles that unfold when our old stories begin to shimmer and fade. 

Thank you to my beautiful, immensely wise friend for sending this to me. 

**

This post was inspired by one of my fellow travelers, Harrison. Thank you for allowing me to hold your hand and stargaze with you. Watching you uncover who-you-are is beautiful. 

 **

Sandcastles of Belief: Part 2

 

If you haven't read Part 1, just click here 

http://waitingforthereply.blogspot.com/2022/02/sandcastles-of-belief-part-1.html

Last week, we looked at the concept of beliefs. We saw that the content—or story—of our individual beliefs are formed, in large part, far below our level of awareness. Billions of brilliant, lightning-speed transactions are continuously happening at the pre-conscious and sub-conscious levels of your mind. 

In any given moment, your conscious mind is presented with a tiny fraction of what is actually happening in the world. And then, that efficient, meaning-making voice-in-your-head says, "This is the Truth." Once that voice manages to string-together enough "truths," it forms a belief. It is such a sensational, award-winning production, complete with sound effects and deeply-felt bodily sensations and emotions. Blockbuster cinematography has nothing on our brains! Such magnificent story-telling and belief-making is the perfect design of our human experience.

We also looked at the "buffet" of choices that each conscious mind is presented in any given moment. It looks like we all have the same opportunities to make the same "good choices." But, thanks to neuroscience, we see the giant holes in that theory. If the choices we are consciously aware of are largely determined at a pre-conscious or subconscious level, then our "buffet" is just a fraction of what's actually on offer. The choices that appear to my conscious mind are vastly different from the choices that appear in someone else's conscious mind. We will each select the best option based on what looks TRUE and REAL to us in that moment.

Most of us can easily define the beliefs we hold most dear to our hearts. We proclaim them, defend them, and protect them. And none of that is inherently problematic. I have my own list of "mountains I am willing to die on." I can't imagine that will ever change. And I wouldn't want it to. 

But the beliefs that determine the way we experience life from moment to moment are not the obvious beliefs that we profess from the mountain tops. The beliefs that dictate how we show up in the world are the ones that hang-out far below our radar.

They're the beliefs that our clever ego covers up and protects itself from. (When I use the word ego, I am referring specifically to the story-of-you that the voice in your head has created). Our below-the-radar beliefs are the ones that our programming picked up along the way and held onto in an innocent attempt to keep our ego safe.

Most children, by the time they are four or five, experience something that grabs the attention of their internal programming. It could be something as small as disapproval or anger from a parent. Or it could be as dramatic as neglect, abuse, or loss. In the moment of that event, a new thread of programming is silently weaved-in. Although there are no clear words attached to the thread, it feels something along the lines of, "I am not safe. The world is not safe." Remember, this is not a choice the child makes. This is not a sign of weakness or frailty. It is a tiny thread of programming weaved-in to the larger system. 

If you're a normal, breathing, living human being, your unconscious beliefs most likely fall into one or more of these categories:

1. I am not safe/the world is not safe.

2. I am not worthy/I am not enough. 

3. I am unloved/unlovable.

4. I can't handle this/it’s too much. 

Just like that small child, none of these unconscious beliefs are a reflection of you. You don't own them, you didn't choose them, and you most likely don't even know they're there. The interesting thing is that most of us would say, "I know for sure I don't have those beliefs. Those thoughts have literally never crossed my mind." 

And for sure, I get that. Me too! My mind doesn't ever say those words, per se. Instead, my clever little ego, in its brilliant attempt to protect itself, says things like, "I can't stand those people; they're so hurtful and judgmental." Other egos may say, "There is no way I am interviewing for that job. I don't have what it takes." Or, "I can't be around her. She triggers me."

Our egos are so smart. They will come up with such compelling stories to cover up beliefs that don't keep it propped up and seemingly stable. An ego is never going to say, "I am not enough." or "I am unloved." Of course not. Instead, it will point to other people, past traumas, or world events and say, "That's the reason you feel anxious/depressed/overwhelmed/hopeless."  But that's just what an ego does to hold its story-of-you in place. 

But, as far as I can see, at some point, if you're lucky, you will fall just hard enough to reach the end of your emotional, physical, or material resources. Something deep inside will finally say, "There's got to be something more to life than this. This can't be all I am; all there is." THAT is the crack in the matrix, so-to-speak, that opens the door to getting curious about who you were before a lifetime of conditioning. 

When you are curious enough to take a peek behind the curtain—to see what has been driving a lifetime of choices—you begin to remember who you are beyond the story in your head. You get to rediscover where your worth, freedom, and security really come from. When you get curious about those below-the-radar beliefs, you discover just how expansive, free, resilient, strong, and complete you are. You begin to feel lighter.  

You spend less time in your head and more in Life. It's pretty amazing. 

Next week, we'll look at what it's like to hold hands and begin the adventure.