Say Yes Each Day

844. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

There is now a poem on my desktop by e.e. cummings. It’s entitled, “i thank You God for most this amazing.” I’ve read it every morning since the poem found its way to my desktop. I read it to remind myself to say Yes to each day; to say Yes to each moment of each day.

One of the themes that appeared in my conversations these past several weeks is the realization of each precious moment of life. My friends are losing friends to death. We know that we likely have less life in front of us than behind us. And, so we talk of our lives with the kind of appreciation that only a limit can bring. Here’s the poem for your desktop if you are so inclined:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping green spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Step Beyond The Woe

843. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Somehow, somewhere, I lost my debit card. I used it last night in the grocery store when I sprinted across the street to get some food before the store closed. I didn’t discover the missing card(s) until this morning. In retrospect I wish I’d had a camera trained on my panicked search-and-rescue response. Although the missing card could only have fallen from the wallet resting on the shelf, I opened drawers, dug through pockets, lifted papers (evidently those pesky cards can crawl), opened drawers again, looked inside coffee cups, crawled on the floor, dug through the garbage, opened and closed the door three times (I can’t explain it so don’t ask), and am certain I performed a perfect triple flip and stuck the landing (unassisted).

During my panic I told myself a horror story and had myself convinced that my survival depended on those cards. It was the zealousness of the story that brought me back into my body and my senses. When I heard the narrative I was whipping up in my mind I came to a full stop and started to laugh. Our thoughts are indeed the mother lode of comedy.

I crawled out of my drama hole and took care of it. The cards were gone. No one had attempted to buy a yacht with my vast holdings. I went across the street to the store, inquired with the lost and found, and then went into the branch of my bank that was conveniently attached to the store. It was simple. The people at the bank were pleasant, funny, and very helpful. They laughed at my panic reenactment (I didn’t attempt the triple flip but reenacted it with full body gesture), and in a few moments the old cards were cancelled and the new cards were on the way.

My survival was never at risk. There was no tragedy. Even if someone had taken every dime from my accounts, my survival was never at risk and there would have been no tragedy. The necessary actions are never hard; it is the story that we attach to our experiences that make life a struggle. There are legitimate struggles in this world and I’ve very rarely actually encountered them though you’d never know it by my inner monologue. How hard is your life really? Really? What would the day look like if you dropped the story of woe and simply took the necessary actions? And, what might your story become if you looked at your tale of woe from the lens of the ridiculous? I was a Keystone Cop this morning. I had the people at the bank looking under their coffee cups in mock search for my debit card. We had a great time.

This week I have been prone to telling myself a story of difficulty. After leaving the bank I crossed the street and was, for a moment, grateful that I lost my card(s). It was just the dope slap I needed to see beyond the story of woe and step again into a quiet center.

Pick Up Your Ordinary

842. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

In his book, The Pilgrimage, Paulo Coehlo writes that the path to wisdom can be identified by three things: 1) it must involve agape (love), 2) it must have practical application in your life, 3) it has to be a path that can be followed by anyone. My pilgrimage this winter has brought me face-to-face with the third characteristic.

I’ve many times taught the phrase, “Put down your clever and pick up your ordinary.” This concept comes from the world of improvisation and it reveals the path to full uninhibited expression. What you label in yourself as “ordinary” is actually your most extraordinary and potent gift. You think it is ordinary because it is natural to you. Because it is natural to you, you assume that everyone has it. They don’t. In addition, trying to be clever or smart pulls you out of the moment. It creates a façade. It pulls you away from your extraordinary gift. To put down the need to be clever or right actually allows you to show up. It’s a paradox, to put down your clever and pick up your ordinary is the route to extraordinary fulfillment. It is the route to presence.

The path of the ordinary is a path that can be followed by anyone. To distinguish or attempt to be above the herd is an excellent way to block the flow. It is a remarkably effective strategy for creating inner poverty. This winter I have been summarily stripped of my many devices for distinguishing myself. I have been expert at keeping myself aloof and above it all. I have preached a path of unity while investing in a devoted separation. I isolate myself in a studio, walk like a ghost across a city each day, belong nowhere and refuse to join. And since I desire to walk a path of wisdom I have necessarily been crushed and ground into a fine powder. I have, in the process, crushed others in my confusion, acted poorly and been reintroduced to the ugly side of my nature – the part that makes me ordinary and human. I have been messy and brutal and can no longer be above it all.

I have no clever left to heft. All that remains is basic, essential and very ordinary. And now, because there is no more illusion of “special” or “different,” perhaps I can begin. Perhaps my artistry will find its community because I am no longer attempting to be distinct. Artistry is about joining. And this brings me back to the first characteristic, agape. Love cannot exist in a world of better or worse. Love is never found in the separations; separations preclude agape. Agape must include everyone, no exceptions, even when the exceptions are self-imposed.

Who Really Knows?

841. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

My inner anthropologist rubbed his eyes and sat up as I walked across the city this morning. For some reason he took an interest in the phrases that people wear on their clothing or that adorn their bags. The phrase that woke him was, “I eat cake for breakfast.” It was stenciled prominently across a woman’s shoulder bag. He looked around his study for a pencil because he wanted to write the phrase in his notebook. He asked, “Does eating cake for breakfast signify that you are breaker of rules?” I didn’t respond so he continued, “Or does the fact that you have to announce it imply that you are a ruler follower and want to be seen as a breaker of rules?” She was clearly on her way to work in an office tower (we watched her enter the building) so I told him it was an excellent question but remained noncommittal. Who really knows?

He huffed at me but then immediately spied a man in a black shirt with the phrase “Turn That Sh*t Up!” emblazoned in bold green letters. The message was aggressive but the man was meek. He wore a matching hat and pressed shorts. He also wore white socks with black sandals – it is a common sight in Seattle in the winter but frowned upon in the summer. He was self conscious of his clothes. My inner anthropologist was thrilled with this find. It was a fashion contradiction, a betrayal of message and messenger. “Look at that!” chirped my inner anthropologist! Such a bold message scrawled on a less than bold messenger! Perhaps it is aspirational statement!” he posited as he scribbled in his notebook. “Why do people wear specific phrases on their clothes?” he asked. “Identity,” I offered, knowing that could mean anything. Each of us chooses our hairstyle, we pick our clothes, and design how we want to be seen. Clothes in any form and combination are a statement. We are essentially saying, “This is who I am.” Or more specifically, “This is who I want to be.”

“Yes, yes, I know all of that,” my inner anthropologist sneered in frustration. “Why the phrases?” Just then a man walked by with messages tattooed on his arms. “Better and better!” my inner anthropologist exclaimed. “Follow him!” he commanded. “See what message he’s tattooed on his body!” There was a symbol, a cross, covered by a circle-slash, and the words “anti-Christ” adjacent to the symbol. “Oh my!” my inner anthropologist said, setting down his pencil, “Well we know what he’s against. I wonder what he’s for?” I remained quiet. Who really knows?

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Why do people work so hard to tell the world how they want to be seen?” I thought of Quinn. Many years ago he told me that if someone told me that they were an expert, it was a sure sign that they weren’t. He said, “Someone who really knows what they are doing has no need to tell you. They don’t need you to know.” My inner anthropologist returned to his couch and lay down saying, “I wonder what phrase I would choose for my t-shirt if I wanted to claim an identity?” I remained quiet. Who really knows?

Step In Front Of The Wall

840. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

K. is an entrepreneur and asked me to help her with her investor pitch. We met in a small conference room and the moment she stood before me to give her pitch she disappeared. She retreated behind a wall of words that had no real meaning. She is a vital, dynamic woman so it was startling to see how far behind the wall she fled.

We did a few exercises designed to help her laugh and bring her self back into her body. Language is a physical act, speaking requires embodiment and she needed to be coaxed back into her body. Once she felt safe and stepped in front of the wall, we talked. She told me that she wanted to be powerful and I asked her what that meant to her. She used phrases like “owning the room” and “captivating my audience,” phrases that she picked up along the way but had no real meaning for her. When I asked her what she meant by “owning the room” she blinked and stammered. She blinked again when I asked, “Instead of owning the room, why not own your self?” Owning the room is an abstraction. Owning yourself is doable. It is concrete.

It is common to give away the power when standing in front of other people. It is common to believe that “they” are judges and grant “them” all of the power. As judges, their opinion matters more than your opinion. It is common to step in front of others oriented according to what you might get from them. Approval, being liked, funding, applause,…, the list of what you might get is endless and ultimately a commitment to a power-give-away.

K. and I talked about reorienting according to what she might bring to the world. The investors have no power over her dream. The investors are one route among many routes. I asked if she believed in her business and she was enthusiastic. “Yes!” she smiled. Why then, I asked, would she believe that the investors had the power to make or break her business? It was her idea. It was her passion. It was her work. Was she dedicated to bringing her dream to life? She was. I could see it in her eyes. So I asked her to own the dream and give up the illusion that investors (or anyone else, for that matter) have the capacity to make or break her business. Bring it with all of the love and passion and commitment that she feels for her dream. I asked her what she would have to change to orient according to what she brings and bring it with all her heart.

There is no room for judges when you orient according to what you bring. There is no need for a wall of words or a cave in which to retreat.

Be Very Human

839. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Being human is messy. We are a mass of contradictions. We say one thing and mean another. We hold others to standards that we do not ourselves hold. We change our minds. We often hear but rarely listen. We misunderstand, miscommunicate, mistake, and simply miss. We judge and run and hide and then pretend that we have courage and conviction. Sometimes we do. Mostly we have courage when we don’t try to have it; courage usually feels like terror. Conviction shows up when there is a distinct absence of dogma.

And we learn. We try again. And again. We gaze at the next hill and wonder what is beyond it. We get back up after being knocked to the ground. We are eternally hopeful even if we do not see it. We reach. We take another step. We desire to get better, be better. We want to know. We read self help books and aspire to create a better world. We want fulfillment and peace.

Recently I watched an irate woman frost a birthday cake. I thought the cake looked fine but she was fuming with herself, thinking she should have done better. When I asked why she was so upset she cried, “Because it matters!” It is the little things that matter. It is the small stuff that rings our humanity.

Another day and I wade through the muck. In the mire I had a conversation that upset me. She saw me retreat and said, “Come back out again.”

I said, “No!” and pouted like a five year old refusing to eat broccoli. I shook my head to emphasize my resolve.

She said, “Please. Please come out.” I looked up and realized that she was not trying to hurt me and that I was being silly. I stepped out from behind my steely resolve. No one wants to be in a shell. We reach toward each other even when it looks like refusal.

We humans are optimistic. We tip toward love even in the midst of the murkiest moments. Lurking beneath the phrase, “I don’t know how I am going to get through it,” is the faith that transformation is not only possible but it is imminent. We get through it every time and we never know how. We understand how only after we have done it. The stuff of life is in forging the path through it. And then we are changed; we are better for the slog.

“Step into the love. Move toward it.” I said. She was hurting. When she scowled I added, “It is all that I know how to do.”

She said, “That sounds like a phrase from Saint Michael! It’s not very human.”

In fact, it is the very thing that makes us human. To step the other way is a path to nowhere. And I know in her despair that she said one thing and meant another. We are both humans. We are messy. Transformation is imminent.

Look Both Ways

838. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

“The poet and the engineer look at things through much different eyes,” said Saul-the-Chi-Lantern. “When you say, ‘One moves, all move’ the poet understands immediately. Not so with the engineer!” He laughed. “The engineer will challenge the statement and require proof beyond the visual. The engineer will hear the statement as literal. The poet will accept without question that all things move when one thing moves because the poet lives with metaphor. The engineer does not.”

“The engineer will see the body as a structure. The poet will see something divine. Stand still and take a breath and notice how much of your body moves with a simple inhalation. It all moves! It never stops moving. The engineer will see the breath as mechanism. The poet will see breath as inspiration.”

Saul returned to the beginning position of the tai chi form and prepared to lead us through a round. Another thought occurred to him so before beginning the form he turned back to us saying, “One is not better than the other. An engineer sees what is most interesting to her. A poet sees what is most interesting to him. Different lenses. Different purposes. Different passions. Both are responding according to their need.”

Many years ago in a movement class the professor asked us to stand very still and pay attention to the way our body maintains balance. What became immediately apparent is that balance is not an achievement. One is never balanced. One is always balancing. Balance is a constant adjustment and readjustment. Balance is a dynamic physical, mental and spiritual relationship with the movement of the planet, the pull of gravity, the workings of the inner ear, and the tug of the moon creating our inner tides. One moves, all move. Follow that ripple and you’ll get lost in space; every star cluster dances with you.

I thought of Saul’s words as I walked home after class. All are responding according to their need. All are responding according to their purpose. These are statements of individual necessity. One moves, all move is a statement of interconnectivity; individual necessity is a move that moves all and is moved by all. Both/and. Engineer mind perceives separation. Poet mind seeks unity. Neither is right or wrong; they dance.

Weave A Conscious Story

837. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Sitting on the plane returning to Seattle I was surrounded by an extended family. They occupied the seats next to me, across the aisle, and the entire row behind me. I was the only non-family member in the immediate 12 seats on the flight and it afforded me the opportunity to revisit an old theme: in telling your self the story of yourself, you are literally creating your world. And what a world this clan created!

I was privy to some inner circle family negotiations and although I tried to be invisible, some of the conversations took place with me in the middle. I was the net to the family volley. Excited exchanges between the parents and children whistled over the net. And then the children huddled and debated their perceptions while the parents wrestled with the details of their version of the story. The story creation on my left bore little resemblance to the story brewing on my right. There were grandparents, too (sitting behind and to my right) and their commentary added another spin to the narrative. A single event in their lives inspired a wide range of interpretations and they were haggling over which story they would tell as the official version. There was little or no agreement and so the heat of the story spin was intense. It was like watching competitive weavers shuttle their thread while pulling apart the pattern of their competition. Their wrangling was rapidly becoming the central pattern of their family tapestry. They were the Fox News and MSNBC of family dynamics; whose narrative would be central and therefore designated as truth (answer: neither)?

Story is relationship. Relationship is story.

Try this game: as you move through the day or the week, see the relationships of your life as story creations. Story creation is a collaborative art; no one does it alone. Together with the clerk at the grocery story you are creating a relationship. You are creating relationship with your coworkers in each and every moment. The relevant question: is this the relationship that you want to create? Just for a day, entertain the idea that you are the relationships that you create. Entertain the notion that you are a relationship creator and what you create is a shared story. Red state/Blue state is a shared narrative. Most antagonistic relationships are built upon an agreement of enmity. What story are you agreeing to tell?

What is the common story that you create? What is the common story that we create? The old theme: it’s not happening to us. We create it.

Take One Single Step

836. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I am thinking today about loss. Every path taken leaves a life path unexplored and therefore unknown. Sometimes that feels like loss. Sometimes it feels like extraordinary loss. Sometimes the grief of the loss is crushing and it reduces you to nothing. And, it is from nothing that the new has space to take shape and grow. It’s a cliché until you live it.

A simple dip into the thesaurus gives me four options: Damage. Defeat. Bereavement. Deficit. The dictionary tells me that loss is a fact: the fact of no longer having something. I think the dictionary is wrong because it assumes possession. It assumes that the loss is a “thing.” Loss, real loss, has nothing to do with possession.

A year ago I sat on a lakeside beach in New Hampshire. I was alone and had a troubled heart because I did not want to do the thing that I knew I needed to do. I did not want to start walking the path of loss. Donna emerged from the woods and sat beside me. She is wise and somehow knew what I was struggling with. She helped me see that my reticence was about the hurt that my choice would bring to others. She helped me see that the hurt was necessary and would begin a path of growth for all involved. When I left the beach that day I knew what I had to do and although it took a few more months to work up my courage, I did it. And the trail of loss began. The trail of growth began.

Little did I know that the trail would take me to a loss at the far end that would be greater – exponentially greater – than the loss that began on the shores of the lake in New Hampshire. Along the way, each successive loss has been like a layer falling off, like the rings of a tree dropping away until only the core remains. This last and greatest loss-layer has brought me to a core. My core. There is no more armor, no more deflection, no more pretense, no more masking, no more illusion. There is only this raw exposed core and an intense amount of gratitude for the first step, for Donna coming out of the woods and all the guides and friends that appeared along the way, and mostly for the clay that for a brief and special time formed a container for heat, healing, exploration, laughter, and a desire to learn to pray. It is in that desire that a new step beckons. It is a call that requires one single step out of this loss and into the space that the new has space to take shape and grow.

Where Are You Going?

835. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

1) Pastor Tom’s father died quite suddenly during a family gathering. He was sitting in a room filled with family and play and laughter. When death came for him he was surrounded by his children and grandchildren. The last thing he saw on this earth was the people in this life that he most loved.

2) Late night at the train station in Chicago the ticket master asked, “Did you have a good time?”

“Yes. We had a great time.”

He said, “You have to take advantage of every moment in this life!”

“Yes,” we said. “Every moment.”

“Life is short!” he smiled. “You can’t let a moment slip by unnoticed.”

We smiled. No you can’t.

“It’s all about spreading the love. Keep on spreading the love!” he called after us as we walked toward the train.

3) It’s late at night in the Seattle airport. I have a very early morning flight and decided not to sleep. I’ve come to the airport to spend the night writing. The Starbucks is open 24 hours in the main atrium and as I approach the counter I say, “It must be hard to work here all night.” The barista responds, “I love the night.” I tell her that I do, too. She continues, “We’re all on our way from here to somewhere and just don’t know it. Working here at night I see it. Life is a journey,” she says, aware of her cliché. I smile at her. She adds, “This life is all one big continuous trip. I love it!” I do, too. Then she asks, “So where are you going?” I’m going to the same place as Pastor Tom’s father. But I don’t say that. I tell her that I’m going on an adventure. She smiles and says, “Me, too!”