Play: The Rx to Happiness

When did playing become taboo?  That’s what I want to know.  As children, play is an integral part of both physical, mental and social growth.  As we rounded up our neighbors for a good game of Kick the Can we learned to cooperate, to follow rules, to encourage our peers, not to mention the chance to try out your new ‘tennies’ as we ran like greased lightening hoping, for at least for this round, to be ‘safe’.  Play taught us creativity and self confidence, hoola-hooping while singing a made up song about chocolate bars and Cheerios, or rolling down grassy hills for the simple pleasure of getting dizzy.  When did this pure expression of unfettered joy become unacceptable?  And, why?

What I See When I Look At You

It’s time.  I have watched from the side lines and waited for it to happen.  I see glimmers now and then, breakthrough moments, like the sunshine peeking through the clouds after a storm.  But, I want more. I want to feel the awakening, like the boom of the grand finale at the fireworks display on the 4th of July.  I want to feel the celebration as if John Phillip Susa is leading an elegantly clad marching band right through main street, trumpets blaring and cymbals crashing.  Just like the brightest beacon on the tallest lighthouse.  I want to see you shine.  Because, it’s time.

The Rude Awakening: June Cleaver’s Retirement Plan

Apparently, I’m a newborn to this whole Women’s Revolution thing. I continue to be totally unprepared for the extent to which I have followed the path of the age old ‘typical female’. I readily admit to being overwhelmed by the situation I currently find myself in. I’m angry with myself, and wish I could place blame on someone else's shoulders.  However, the reality is, I hold all the responsibility for my current mental state. I must own that I alone gave over my power and learn from the experience. 

The Power Woman Years

Rock climbing, snowboarding, long-boarding, road cycling.  It seems like no matter what activity I’m doing the majority of the women around me are at least 30 years younger than I am.  Limber, loose, lean and lithe they scramble, fly, glide and pedal with an ease and energy I can only dream of.  Yet, as I watch them going through the machinations of being 20 something I feel nothing but joy for the life I have grown into as a 54 year old, bodacious woman.

There's No Such Thing as Too Old to Change

I’m not sure I understand the phrase Too Old to Change.  I guess because to me it sounds like defeat.  To me, if I uttered those words, it would mean I was giving up ‘The Possibility Of’.  Which just doesn’t work for me.  I’m a firm believer in possibility.  It is what gives me hope that I can re-create myself at 54, 64 and 74.  That I can change my career and my attitudes.  It is what allows me to participate in activities and adventure sports that usually attract people more than half my age.  ‘The Possibility Of’ is my lifeline to contentment.

The Joy of a Letter

Today, I am overwhelmed by how easy it is to have a positive impact on someone’s life.  Generally, when we think about helping others we think about the big picture, feeding hungry children in 3rd world countries, housing the homeless in our own home city, big things that require big money and big time.  At least, I do.  Yes, I’m familiar with the ‘smile at a stranger’ practice. But, that’s simple, it comes naturally to me.  I just don’t think of those kinds of things when I think of helping out my fellow man.  I always think it has to be big.

The Quiet That Cleanses My Spirit

It’s so easy to get sucked into the pull of life, to become a bobber being tugged with life’s currents this way and that.  I know what I need to do to maintain the inner calm I have grown to cherish, the quiet that anchors me to my inner peace.  However, I don’t always remember to fit it into the flow that life creates around me.

Fearless Voices: Stories Safely Shared

The other day I was blessed to be surrounded by brave, creative women, all shapes and sizes, a variety of ages, backgrounds and careers.  We came together to celebrate, support, eat and share.  The food was wonderful, as it usually is when women get together, with lots of new combinations of ingredients that I don’t use, and vegetarian dishes I’m just learning to cook.  We were celebrating a journey of sorts, as we had all written a story about ourselves, a small snippet of our lives, from our timeline, a glimpse into what made us who we are today.  

A Perfection's Manifesto Of Freedom

This morning started pretty much like any morning. I walked into my ‘dressing room’, a 9X9 converted bedroom, where we now house our dressers.  It makes a perfect dressing room, with a nice big window, closet, wall space to hold 2 dressers and a mirror.  As I entered the room, like I do several times a day, I was assailed by my life long inability to put away my clothes.  There is some order to the chaos; stacks of clean are housed on top of the short faux-dresser under the window, winter wear (snowboarding clothes) religiously flung over the IKEA twin, futon-chair, dirties can always be counted on to be cascading down the outsides of the hamper in the corner, and the ‘maybe’s’ live contentedly in a small pile in front of the dresser.  Truthfully, there is not enough drawer space to hold the clothes easily, and I cling dearly to this thought as a way of assuaging my guilt and minimalizing my obvious shortcoming. 'Well..' I say to myself 'I'm definitely not perfect!'

The Value of Just Saying Thank You

How many times have you heard “Gee, you did a nice job.”  And, you’ve replied back “It was nothing. Any one could have done it.  No big deal.” Or, ‘Thanks.  But, ...was perfect, and   ...wasn’t really right.’

You might not have heard that exact compliment, or uttered that exact response. The point is that someone said something nice to you and instead of saying ‘Thank you’ and reveling in the praise, you play’d it down, or denied it’s validity.  You failed to accept the gift of a compliment either because you felt you weren’t worthy, you felt what you did wasn’t that special,  or you feared appearing vain.

A Tea and Toast Kind of Day

Today I am not inspired.  I don’t have a great passion roaring through my veins desperately seeking an outlet.  Today, I am just me.  I’m the ‘me’ that sits in my jammies until 9, sipping Vanilla Rooibos (how do you pronounce that, anyway?) and battling the internal conflict of oat bran over buttery, sweet, cinnamon toast.  (If I could eat sugary cakie yumminess all day long, every single day, I would be the happiest of woman.)  

Red Flags, and The Voice

Red flags, the mental type, are funny things.  Opportunities cross our path, dangled in front of us like the proverbial carrot before the rabbit. And, if we’re hungry enough we take off running, blinded by a free, sweet treat. In retrospect, that’s how I feel about my recent interview by a local newspaper reporter.  I was so caught up in the excitement of promoting my newly started, public speaking club that I didn’t pay attention to the little red flags waving in my brain, calling out, ‘Something’s not right here.  She’s talking over your answers.’

In The Service of Others : Who Really Needs the Care?

I recently read a facebook post by a woman encouraging women to be loving and tolerant in the service of others, an admirable reminder in these hectic times when women are attempting to balance all the demands on their lives.  But, I don’t wonder if we aren’t doing the women themselves the disservice.  It is my experience that women spend the majority of their time in the service of others.  We are taught (and possibly biologically wired) at a very young age to be the nurturers, the care givers, the comfort providers.  

An Old Tale For a New Year

There’s a traditional tale of an innkeeper, of the Old West, who’s lodge is perched just on the outskirts of a pioneer settlement.  One day a couple arrives, tired and dusty, having traveled all the way across the country.  “How are the people in the valley down the way?” the man asks the innkeeper. 

“How did you find the people in the village you just left?” the innkeeper asks in return.

“Lovely!” the man and women respond in unison. “They were kind and friendly.  So welcoming and warm. We really hated to leave.”

Breaking the Approval-Loop : Taking the Real Me for a Test Drive

Expectation and approval, possibly, two of the most disruptive of human mental ‘states’ we possess.  They continue to confound me both personally and societally.  Even when collecting my thoughts for a way in which to describe them I wrestled with the impact, effect and power they hold over our being, both mental and emotional.

Today I was struck by a feeling of new-found freedom, that was driven by an equally new-found lack of expectation, in my lifelong pursuit of approval from a parent.  Recently, I chose, for my emotional self-preservation, to cut off verbal (voice) communication with my father.  It was done respectfully.  I’m sure it was as painful for him as it was for me.  My request for blocking phone conversations came with a caveat. (in this case, an olive branch of sorts)  I offered that I was willing to receive letters from him, and would write, thus providing us an alternative venue in which to forge a new relationship based on respect, and the honoring of my feelings and opinions, as well as his.

Everything is Different : Coping With Change

I opened my eyes and immediately thought ‘It’s different.  Everything is different.’  It is Christmas morning and there are no kids here.  There is no flutter of excitement in my stomach, no anticipation of youthful exuberance and joy over treasures wished for and received.  No talk of Santa coming...no need to put floured boot prints on the carpet.  One more mile marker honoring the passage of the most golden time of my life.  I can’t help but tear up.  A most precious era has past, never to be experienced again.

It’s Just a Stupid Pot of Coffee. Or is it?

I was a card carrying “Hearth & Home Maniac-tress”.  A made up title, but a perfect description of my blind over-devotion to husband, sons, and home.  The level of perfection I demanded from myself is staggering.  My identity and self worth was defined by a made up list of qualifications as to what a good wife and mother did and how well I could fulfill each and every item on it.  There was never an either-or.  It was all or nothing.  If it wasn’t perfect I was a failure, and probably unloveable.

A Time for Change (or Enlightenment Comes in Dog Pose)

Today I went to yoga class.  It’s the same class I always go to, the same teacher, the same time.  I expected the same yoga-rific experience.  Lot’s of Downward Dogs, and Warrior poses, the combination of movement and mental focus a perfectly choreographed dance of meditation and movement, where I am in the zone and nothing outside my body exists.

Step #7 Share the load, accepting things will not be done 'your way'.

You are just about ready to lead your first Town Meeting.  Be prepared.  Read through this entire document before beginning.  Take time to imagine how the meeting will feel.  You will be given tools to rely on if you feel overwhelmed, outnumbered or behavior becomes a problem.  Imagine how you will handle conflict, if or when it arises. Imagine yourself remaining, and in control.  

Step #5 Schedule all activities as though they were business appointments.

Using a calendar, schedule all items with a number 1 next to them, assuring that you allot sufficient time to complete the task.  These are appointments with you.  Treat them with the reverence of a doctors appointment.

Taking the time to actually pencil all expectations onto your calendar will assures 4 things:

1. You visually see the number of expectations thus far
2. You have estimated how long each task is going to take
3. It provides a visual, non-emotional accounting as to whether all the 'must-do's will realistically fit in the upcoming weeks
4. You gain peace of mind knowing that they will get done.