New Beginnings…Starting over anytime, anywhere.

A Beginning is the start of something. It is possible to multiple new beginnings. Take for example our interactions with the close people in our lives. I see my family every single day, but something my son said the other day made me realize that I should begin (again) paying close attention to what he  likes to do instead of just getting him involved in what I feel he should be doing. In that moment, I realized that I had just began a new way of approaching conversations with my son.

new beginning

We often put off for later things we know we ought to change in our lives and then spend most of our time feeling discontented with the way our lives are turning out. Having a new beginning at any time makes it possible to make an instant change in your life.

My most recent new beginning at work….to smile more often. It sure helps cover up for certain inefficiencies.

Have a new beginning won’t you?

The Middle Way…

 

The Middle Way is not always the Smoothest way

I was watching a documentary on the conflict between China and Tibet. Intense anguish was clearly evident as the exiled Tibetans  struggled with bleak dissonance as the Dalai Lama urged for the Middle Way (finding a peaceful solution that works for all parties); which was in  direct  contrast with the driving desire for complete independence from China as evidenced by the rioting in Tibet.

As the documentary progressed, it was clear that in practice, the Middle Way, is as difficult and alien a concept even to a people who have been practicing it for eons. And as I watched each of the Dalai Lama’s efforts at a peaceful resolution, get thwarted by the indomitable China, I couldn’t help but wonder as to whether the Middle Way was just a option exercised by those who have options. After all, when all else fails, when all effort at peaceful resolution fails, is it even possible to find a Middle Way to finding a solution?

Time and time again, we find ourselves in the position when there is no choice other than to lose our cool. To yell, or just ‘tell it like it is’. You know that moment when the composed you gives way to the impulsive you and the conciliatory -Middle Way-you is gone.  And after you have said or done the thing which you wish you could take back or that you cannot change, what then?

Sometimes, there is no Middle Way, there is just moving on and accepting that what has happened has happened. Or that there is more suffering to come before you can enjoy the luxury of exercising the Middle Way.

Related articles

• Dalai Lama speaks of dilemma on spreading self-immolations (thehindu.com)
• ‘Meaningful autonomy is the only realistic solution’ (thehindu.com)
• THE DALAI LAMA…Holy or Slipping Fool? (ericpgranada1.wordpress.com)

 

Walking Away; The Best Way to Come Back

Not too long ago I experienced an overwhelming urge to quit bloggingall together. I found myself asking “What is it all for?” and”Why bother?” I mean every time I looked around I saw perfectly happy people going about life doing very little but seeming being very happy about it.

St. Augustine writing, revising, and re-writing

A month went by without my writing a single word. Thoroughly committed to curbing my love of writing, I  ceased all leisure reading in an effort to dull my senses into ‘not’ writing. I found myself actively ignoring the myriad topics floating around in my head jostling and begging for a chance to be immortalized in the form of words.

What ended up happening instead was that I found writing content everywhere.  In the bits of information as I passed people in the trail running. In the mall as I watched the disgruntled service agents struggling to reflect interest in whatever mundane request they had to respond to. Content was even in the dialogue between myself and my son as I tried to explain why it wasn’t the worst thing in the world if he didn’t get all the Pokemon cards he wanted.

In the end I found that walking away from blogging  gave me all the content and affirmation I had wanted to come back to writing. It is true what they say; letting something go is the surest way to know if it truly belongs to you. Blogging before  had been infused with an underlying desire for recognition, comments, likes, thumbs up..and whatever other incentives are in place to induce one to continue posting. In walking away, I was able to go back to the place where I once was. The place where I had enjoyed writing for writing alone.

I hope everyone takes time in their day to do what they like most.

I know I do.

Getting to the Finish Line

Slosh Your Way to the finish Line

Why did I think this was a great idea again?

I repeatedly asked myself for the umpteenth time as I hoisted my leaded legs on the gravel track in Umpstead park this past Sunday on May 20^th, 2012.  It was a beautiful morning and I was on mile 8 of the 13 miles of the Roadrunner half marathon in Cary, NC. What had been a moderately enjoyable run, filled with appreciation of the majestic beech trees that provided much needed shade as the summer rays filtered through, had turned into a maddening repetitious beat as I drummed my own personal torment on the never ending trail in the woods.

This was my first half marathon of the year. Having participated in a half marathon last year, I had somehow created a romanticized recollection of the experience from last year. As time had passed, I had conveniently forgotten the pain in joints that never usually made their presence known; or the heaviness of my butt which seemed to double with every mile; or the fact that breathing was an integral piece of running; or that the mind had a way of creating a stream of thoughts all generally designed to encourage quitting.

The first 8 miles had been enjoyable. The camaraderie of crazy runners made it fun. There were smiles all around, even cheering as the first of the fast runners started passing us on their way back.  Few if any of us partook of the nourishment offered on the first water stop.

Why would we? We had no time to waste.

Snippets of lively conversation floated by as paired groups conversed. Slowly like ants on a mission we traversed the trail. Snaking our way across the woods we tattooed our commitment to self inflicted misery in the hopes that in the end, we would be rewarded by the pride and joy that follows a particularly difficult exercise that didn’t make much sense few ever want to undertake.

Somewhere between mile 6 and 7, things became quiet. There were no more groups of people having conversations. The trail seemed to be hillier than I remembered, and at certain points, I gave up and walked up the hill before running down to save time. Trees that had previously wrapped themselves lovingly offering shade now seemed mocking, hiding the promise of an ending to the pain. The winding trail was now purposefully designed to keep me from ever coming out of the woods. Labored breathing of other runners only added weight to my legs which by mile 9 had, on their own volition, decided to move in miniscule steps.

Somewhere at mile 10 or maybe 11, I realized I wasn’t running anymore. I was walking. All thought had ceased and my legs were dragging on the asphalt. Past the point of caring, I watched with dull curiosity as first one, and then a few more people passed me. I didn’t care anymore. It all came down to finishing. I needed to finish in a bad way. Quitting was not an option. My husband and my son were waiting for me at the finish line. We had somewhere to be later and I couldn’t afford not to finish.

I ran a little, gave up, ran a little again, gave up again then with a last burst of energy ran a little more. The last ¼ mile had a hill leading into the finish line. Incredulously, I weighed the merits of gunning it for the last bit but even as I swung my arms to propel myself forward, I knew that something else was going to come in the way. My legs, finally having created their own alternate personality, insisted on walking and despite my willing myself forward, they persisted in walking defiantly across the finish line. So it was that I finished my half marathon in 2 hours 20 minutes.

It didn’t matter what time I finished though, the joy that flooded into my chest made me realize why I had run the half marathon in the first place. Running a half marathon had been a reminder of how elevating and yet difficult life could be. Somewhere in the woods, I had realized, like I always do when I run, that I am part of a bigger picture. As the trees bore silent witness to my struggles, I was reminded of the fact that even as we jostle and leave our mark on the world, there is silent life going on around us, oblivious to our never ending grasping.

Watching people running, slowing down, walking, resting, even quitting, reminded me that we are all in our own personal journey to the finish line of life. No matter how hard life could be, everything will come to pass eventually, some of us just walk across the finish line while others sprint across it and while yet others quit in the middle of life, and others just never get started.

Either way, it will all come to pass and we all get to the finish line…… sometime.

 

 

On Being Most Ordinarily…. Extraordinary

I doubt anyone  wakes up thinking all they want to do is Be Ordinary. I certainly don’t. But there are times when everything I do seems just….ordinary…compared to everything else going on in the world. At those times, even people who are doing nothing seem pretty excited about doing nothing which makes me wonder, 

              ‘are they truly as excited about doing nothing as they really seem to be?’

I was watching a friend describe her job to me and her eyes lit up as she went into minute detail about what she did for her job, what irritated her about it and where she thought she would be in the near future. Her blue eyes radiated supreme pleasure at having an audience listen to her life and her energy was static with satisfaction with her choices. Knowing that people get most excited when talking about themselves, I let her tell me all about the extraordinary things she was doing. It wasn’t long before I too, felt she was indeed living an extraordinary life. Her contagious enthusiasm about a job I never would want to do in my life, left me feeling I had been sitting down with someone special.

When my turn came to share, my energy level was not anywhere close to hers. I just didn’t have it in me to describe my goings on and it wasn’t long before my friend’s eyes lost the glitter and took on the murky respectful tones of one who is gearing up to listen to an ordinary account of something. Losing steam, I opted for the always handy, ” I haven’t been up to much really.” Relief was evident because I had released her from having to listen to what would have been a lackluster report of what I had been up to.

I went home, feeling a little hollow about my life but at the same time, knew that it was up to me to decide if what I do in my daily lifeis extraordinary. Without having enthusiasm for my own life, how could I expect others to think it extraordinary? It takes energy and an appreciation of the

Ordinarily… Extraordinary

day-to-day things we take for granted. The little things that make our lives like the errands, the bills, the jobs, the children have character and we need to breathe life into them. Being a fan of your own life will give these ordinary things, the extraordinary shine they need.

I can’t say its easy, there are days when I simply want to get things done and couldn’t care less if I have the enthusiasm for them. But on the most part I would love it if I could have the energy to give my ordinary life some much-needed extraordinary shine.

Even the most ordinary things can be extraordinary.

Have a most extraordinary day!

Related articles

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• Doing the Extraordinary (deepakdheer.wordpress.com)
• Don’t Settle for the Ordinary, Do the Extraordinary (greenlivingpeace.com)

An ‘Interesting Choice’…

Make it Interesting

“When was the last time I made an interesting choice?”

This was a comment from a contestant in my guilty pleasure show, “The Voice”. Former Mickey Mouse Tony Lucca was telling Adam Levine in response to the question why he thinks it took him so long to get to where he was as singer.

Making safe choices is common sense. Or is it?  The most interesting events in history have always resulted from ‘interesting choices’.  Blogging has been an interesting choice for me. Running a half marathon when I never considered myself a runner was another interesting choice. Going back to school to follow my passion is an interesting choice I hope pays off. Great innovators of our generation, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg all had to make interesting choices in order to get an interesting result.

And now that comment by Tony Lucca has been haunting me all week which is why I feel duty bound to pass it on to you.

“When was the last time You made an interesting choice?

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What Copperheads and Control have in Common

ooooooh it's a snake

“WHAT IS THAAAAAT?” I knew I was almost shouting.  I also couldn’t help myself.

I was trying very hard not to sound too alarmed. Several pairs of round orbs sought my face for a reaction. I knew this was make or break time. I also knew if I over reacted, it would be just another extreme reaction from a parent and they wouldn’t listen. My 7 year old son and a group of his friends were dangling a baby copper head on a stick and I resisted the urge to run.

“Are you scared?” They waited for my reaction.

“What?…nnn…oooh?” I hedged.

One of the other kid’s dads standing next to me piped in. “Do you know what that is?”

“A BABY COPPER HEAD!!!” They chorused.

“And do you know what could happen if you got bit by one of those?” His incredulous voice reverberated sternly into the Spring pollen filled air of North Carolina.

“Yeah! You could die!” One of the older kids chimed in.

He then descended into a litany of things that could happen if they played around with snakes. For good measure he pointed out all the areas they were Never to  play in on the neighborhood playground. Their ever-widening eyes  took in the terrible news as they realized we were basically telling them to avoid all the fun areas on the playground. They were not to play in the stream flowing next to the playground. They were not to turn over rocks in the stream. They were to stay away from the tunnel through which the stream flowed. They were also to avoid the trees beyond the playground housing little coves where they often pretended to hide treasure in.

The multiple pairs of eyes soon took on the all too familiar hooded expression of one who has ceased listening to the terrible news being delivered to them. I knew that look. My son gave it to me all the time. It meant, ‘I will listen to you because you told me it’s respectful but as soon as you turn your back, I will do exactly what you are telling me not to do.’  At that point, I knew I didn’t have much control but we still had to tell them the dangers of digging up copper heads in the snake filled environs of North Carolina.

Control, or lack thereof is very much part of our daily lives. We make plans in an effort to control outcomes. The making of plans and in this case, the issuing of warnings was really an act of trust. There is inherent trust in what the future will unfold once we have made our plans. My hope of course that day was that my son would heed our warnings. I also knew if he didn’t, he most likely wouldn’t tell me and it was completely beyond my control what he would decide to do when faced with the delectable choice of digging up snakes. But the alternative was to never let him play with his friends in that playground. This would ensure he didn’t get bitten by a snake and he wouldn’t have to make a choice to dig one up with his friends. But then again there are many other places to find Copperheads in the snake riddled state we call home. So alas! I would have to give up control and let him play with his friends under my watchful eye and trust he would heed our warnings.

The desire for control is the reason most of us are at a loss when events transpire reminding us we are really not in control of the future. Plans help us have a hand in the outcome. But in the end the outcome is not of our making.

Related articles

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