Musing

One of my clients regularly sends me her “musings” and I find the term so delightful. It reminds me of “wandering”, not knowing for sure where we will end up. When she says it, it conjures visions of fairy wings.

So today, I am borrowing the term and I know she won’t mind.

Because really, this entry is not going anywhere, I am pretty sure. No conclusion, no bright epiphany, simply an observation, a musing.

I read today that when Natalie Cole was found to need a kidney transplant, dozens of fans emailed her saying that they were going to get tested to see if they could donate.

Such amazing generosity.

I wish my mind had stopped at being awed by the generosity but dang it, it didn’t. It kicked into what I call my “little mind.”

I am not too fond of my “little mind.” It is the one that forgets about our spiritual path for a while. The one that judges, that feels entitled to make assessments. Yuk.

Anyway... “it” went on to perceive some sort of injustice regarding all the everyday people, out there who get on a list and wait. A long, long time. No one volunteers to get tested to see if they can donate. Maybe ‘cause they can’t sing,“it” whispers to me in a syrupy way.

And then “it” goes on to wonder if all these nice people who are ready to give one of their really precious kidneys to someone they have never in person met would ... say ... cosign a loan for their neighbors to buy a car they need.

Then “it” goes on to ask a few other “small minded questions.”

(I told you I don’t like that little mind.)


Pretty soon I am thinking about how nice we can be
to the people who are not the closest to us.


For instance, I regularly hear from my clients (some of them whom I have never met in person) about how wonderful they think I am.

And yet, if you were to ask two of my three kids how they feel about me today ... wonderful would most likely not appear in their top 500 list.

Something feels weird about that.

So, that’s it.

No conclusion, no brilliant inspirational closing to this musing.

Maybe you will send me your own? 

I am Sorry

“I am sorry.”

Sometimes these words are so darn hard to say.

And sometimes they feel so, so - so - darn good to hear.

I have been thinking quite a bit about “I am sorry” lately.

I have said it, I have heard it, and I have begged for more of it.

And also (because apparently it is not just my job but also my nature) I have paid close attention to how it really works.

This is what I have found:

There are four phases to a truly effective apology.

Phase One - I am sorry
Phase Two - What can I do to make up for what I have done / said ?
Phase Three - I promise to try my very best to not do it again
Phase Four - Here is why I did it.

To me, this makes up a fully rounded apology which may or may not be accepted but which has been fully expressed.

One big mistake I see comes from the fact that two of these phases seem to often get blurred and blended together.

Which looks like this:

“I am sorry I did this (#1). I did it because ... (#2)”

And Bang! The explanation, which when it comes at the very end of the process (possibly a day later, even) acts as a way of saying “please know me better” all of sudden becomes a justification. It completely dilutes the “I am sorry” part.

This does not accomplish the goal of a clean apology which is to restore peace and healing within a situation where pain has occurred.

Because our languages, filters, backgrounds, triggers are different, if we get close enough to other humans, we are going to hurt one another, at some point. Forget avoiding that part.

Instead, let’s learn to turn these uncomfortable times into opportunities for knowing each other better. For “learning each other.”

Once I get hurt, I want to know that you see me being hurt. That it matters to you, even if you do not understand it (mostly because of your language, background, filters, triggers). I want to hear you tell me that you are sorry.

Then, I want to start healing the little strands of our relationship (no matter how small the relationship is), to restore our connection and trust by hearing you ask me what I need.

I also want you to tell me that you will try to not do this again. This helps me feel safer which allows the little strands to grow back faster.

Finally, once the little strands have begun to heal - which may or may not be in the same conversation - I want to hear about you. I want to learn you better. I want to hear why you did what you did. This is a very good thing.

And I want to do the same for you.

This does not need to take a long time nor does it need to take place in a teepee while smoking a peace pipe. It can be very simple.

So, for all the times when I quickly said “sorry” and then zoomed on to explain why I did what I did... I want to say: I am really sorry. Please tell me how I can make it up to you. I promise to try and not do this ever again. And if you’d like to hear why I did what I did, I can tell you about that, too.


Will you please do the same for me?

As for the First Time

He was staying with us for a few nights, a fellow couchsurfer and nice guy to boot.

Originally from Australia, he had been traveling (and couchsurfing) for a few months and was really taken by the work of Eckart Tolle’s: The Power of Now. He had carried the book with him all over the country and wanted to discuss its premise and concepts, thirsty for its essence.

Be present. Discover each moment as new.

This is Tolle’s message and I remember how powerfully they had hit me when I first read the book myself, almost ten years ago.

So there we were, on the deck, having finished a summer evening dinner (beautifully prepared by our guest) as the sun started to set over the water.

The oranges and the reds glowed like quiet fireworks and juxtaposed with the purple of the islands, they made me want to take it all in, in one big hug. I quickly climbed onto a chair to get closer to the sunset (!) and opened my arms wide, basking in the glory of it all.

Apparently surprised, our new friend asked: “Do you not usually see the sunset from here?”

Oh yes, we told him. Every night.

And every night it makes me want to fly.

A little while later we were all gathered in our sunny yellow kitchen, cleaning up and chatting some more.

I love what happens when a few friends prepare a meal together - or clean up from a meal well shared.

As everyone talked, I started loading the dishwasher and as is often the case, I felt a wave of simple gratitude for the appliance’s mere existence.

I have had a dishwasher for over twenty years (the first one was one of those funny moveable ones, gotten at a garage sale and which I rolled across the kitchen every night to hook it up to the sink) and yet I am always so thankful for it.

I am so thankful for the work it does, for the fact that it allows me to go to bed at night with a clean kitchen, for the fact that while I am sleeping, it scrubs and rinses and dries. I am so thankful for its support.

I love my dishwasher.

And so, I said just that.

As we were all cleaning up, I said “I love my dishwasher.”

My kids and Chris are used to me regularly professing my undying love for various strange things and they thought nothing of it.

Our guest asked: “Did you just get this dishwasher?” 

ARRGGHH!

So here it is:

While I was in labor for the first time, 17 years (minus 22 days) ago, I - seriously - asked my doctor if we could stop for just a little while.

Given the look on his face, I quickly understood that “we”, in fact, couldn’t.

Tonight, under the assault of my 17 years (minus 22 days) old daughter’s vocal attacks, I am wondering the same thing.

Given the look on Chris’ face, I am guessing probably not.

Oh well.

Time - and Arm Wrestling

Come on Mom, let's arm wrestle!

Over the past couple of years, my oldest son Marco had enjoyed testing his growing strength against me. So had I. It was fun to feel him resist my pull and it was also fun to lay his arm flat on the table, shortly thereafter. 

Last night, he asked again and I walked over to the table with him, feeling warm with the anticipation of this familiar ritual. Come to think of it, last night was a full moon and we all seemed a little giddier than usual.

So, there we were. Ready to start, eyes locked and smiling. 

And then it happened. In one tiny second. 

As I flexed my muscle against his, he effortlessly flattened my arm on the table. 

We were both shocked. 

Time stopped for a moment as we looked at each other without talking and this time there was a little bit of something like fear in our eyes. 

Could things have changed this dramatically in the last few months? 

In an instant, we acknowledged time. Time that had made his arm start to look like a man's. Time that was slowly melting a little bit of muscle away from mine. 

We were still holding hands when he snapped out of it and asked me to do it again.

Ready to fight harder this time, I braced myself. 

No difference at all. 

And that is when he embraced it; when he hooted, did a little happy dance, his eyes shining bright.

It was a huge moment for both of us. A little bit like giving birth to him again.

My love for this kid has grown so deep over the past couple of years. Watching him dive into teenage-hood while remaining open to his intrinsic goodness, spirit of fun and wit. He fills my cup - and yes he often drives me nuts. 

And now he kicks my butt at arm wrestling. 

Forever, I am sure.

(oh, as soon as the excitement was over, I quietly walked over to the phone and called the gym to inquire about memberships. As it turns out Marco - and his sister Tanissa - are joining with me. There is no escaping time, only loving it for its sweet assortment of gifts)

"La Tete Sous le Robinet" WTF?????

A few days ago, on a walk, Chris and I arrived at a beautiful spot on one of our favorite beaches. 

We walked to the end of the pier and Chris decided to pick me up and lift me onto the rail. 

As he explained (much) later, "he had a vision." 

My guess is that he wanted for us to enjoy this moment fully and liked the idea of holding me close while we watched the view. Being about a foot and a half taller than I am, this would look something like that famous romantic Titanic scene. 

I would have none of it. 

As soon as my feet left the ground, I asked him to put me down. Intent on savoring the moment, he did not hear me fully. I asked again and he again did not hear me fully. The third time, I demanded. By the fourth time, I am a little embarrassed to say that I kicked him out of my way. Heart racing, I screamed past him and ran down the pier, stopping only when I was very far away. 

I knew my reaction was strange and somewhat extreme and yet it was not unfamiliar. Several times, in the past, I had found myself in a similar panic. 

I always reasoned that "he had a control issue" and just had to use his big body in an effort to overpower mine. 

Last night, as we were falling asleep, an image came back to me. Along with a sentence. A French sentence. 

"La Tete Sous le Robinet." 

This translates, roughly to "The Head Under the Faucet."

And it refers to a practice (apparently not hugely uncommon in France) of calming an hysterical child by picking her up and forcing her head under a faucet of cold water. 

From what I now remember my mom saying, it works great. 

From what I am guessing, it should: the kid goes into shock, quits crying as he or she becomes more invested in survival, quiet returns and everyone is happy. 

Until forty years later when being picked off the ground triggers similar survival mechanisms. 

So here I am today. Outraged, shocked, embarrassed and a little enlightened. 

I understand better why, when my daughter was three days old and her dad picked her up gently to wash her under the kitchen faucet, I panicked. Why, until this morning, I still resented him for what I somehow perceived as abusive behavior. That was 16 years ago. 

There is more I could say about this, including the fact that even today, knowing why my reaction was so strong, I still feel that it is important for people (esp. people with larger bodies) to pay attention to other people's requests about their own bodies. This is how safety is created and fostered and as Al Turtle wisely says "Safety is the number one need in human relationships."

But I am still too triggered. 

So I will simply hit "send."

Permission to Paint

A cold got a hold of me. 

I think it had been chasing me for a few years and was possibly so glad to have finally caught me (I like the idea that a cold caught me!) that it decided that it would pack a wallop. And that it did. 

So, this is day 3.

And it is also Monday. 

I love Mondays. 

I love the open expanse of a week ahead of me, of calls to make, calls to take, things to create ... I guess I love my work. 

But this morning, there was no way I would make or take any calls. No way I would create anything. 

Energy, of which I am usually blessed oodles, is barely here. 

So, I am "forced" to look at my list and I am "forced" to admit that, really, none of it HAS to get done today. 

It is almost shocking to think that I can actually postpone all of it with no problem. 

So, now, what do I want to do? 

I want to go paint. 

That's right. On a Monday. 

And I know that I just learned something important, here. Something bigger than I can glimpse right now. But my brain is too fuzzy to articulate it. 

So I will later. 

For now, I am going to paint...