IT COMES CRASHING DOWN

We all know people see through their own lens and process based on their own experience.  Just ask five people in the same room what happened and you will likely get five different stories.  The interesting thing about relationships is not that we observe and process with our unique filters.  What is more interesting is what we WANT to see.  When she wants him to be brave, she seems to notice the actions that hint at courage.  When she wants him to be a nice guy, she will give him the benefit of the doubt, at least a few times, when the “asshole” warning goes off.  When she wants him to be badass, she will focus on his moments of defiance.  When he wants her to be a player, he thinks she must be sleeping with every man she talks to.  When he wants her to be a saint, he will come up with a reasonable explanation for every wrongdoing.  What is the point?  Be who you are because everyone—and I truly mean everyone—will see you as they want you to be rather than as you are.  They will believe their story, and they will interact with you based on their story.  We WANT our desires to be true, so we lay the foundation of belief that becomes our reality; it is not necessarily the other person’s reality, but our own illusion.  

True, we are different things to different people.  While I may be different things to my family, friends, lovers, acquaintances, neighbors or colleagues, I will fundamentally still be the same core person.  Some may see my tenderness and others may know my temper, but it does not change who I am.  The trouble in interpersonal relationships starts when we want someone to be something they are not.  Sometimes the other person may even help perpetuate the problem because they want to be the illusion.  Ultimately, though, these fantasies make a person delusional about who they are with and the relationship is doomed to come crashing down to a painful reality.  Are we capable of seeing people for who they truly are rather than what we, or they, want them to be?  

FAILING

He walks over to me, smiles and says, “I haven’t seen you fall.”  Although I do not know him, his demeanor is friendly and I hear kindness in his voice.  Instantly I know, like most of the guys who ride remarkably, he is trying to teach me something.  This man, I would later learn, is a local legend. 

“I fall all the time!”  I proclaim, as I reply with a smile and a slightly defiant look.

“I haven’t seen you fall even once,” he persists.  He knows I have a lot more to give.  I know he is right.  I am not pushing myself.  I am being apprehensive.  So I begin to put effort into it and actually try.  I start to have a lot of fun and begin taking risks.  I run faster, I try to go farther and I try to stay on longer.  Sure enough, I am now flying off my board and I fall splat into the water.  I smash down into the sand, face first.  I stand up and, as I bend my head to the left and then to the right to stretch my neck, I assess I am OK.  I adjust my wetsuit jacket as I walk over to pick-up my board, and then I look over at him.  He is smiling again. 

I smile and humbly say to him, “Free sand exfoliation.”

He responds, apparently proud of my effort, “If you don’t fall, you’re not trying hard enough.”

This type of encouragement is one of the things I love about the skim community: they want you to succeed.  To succeed in this sport, though, you have to first fail.  You have to fall—a lot—to learn how to do it right. Just as in life and with relationships, you have to fail in order to succeed.  Why?  Because failing means you are trying; failing means you are learning.  When you learn from failure, you gain perspective and an understanding of what you can do better.  Failing also provides motivation to succeed.  Do you stop because you were not successful the first time, or do you get your ass back up and try again?

Let me be clear, when I talk about failing, I am talking about moments of failure.  Michael Jordan famously talks about how many times he failed, but he failed in making specific shots—he succeeded as the greatest basketball player.  Even in interpersonal relationships, when you learn from a moment of failure, you make the relationship more successful.  When you persevere through trials and improve yourself, you can relish in success.     

WHAT WAS I THINKING?!

Do you ever look back and wonder, “What was I thinking?”  I frequently amuse myself with the thought.  Sometimes, it is about something I have done.  Something that was, perhaps, not the wisest decision I could have made.  Other times, it is about something I wanted to have or wanted to do, but I could not have or did not get.  Reflecting back on these moments is not about playing Monday morning quarterback.  Rather, it is about living in the moment and recognizing I might not be on the path I had wanted, but I am on the path I need to be on.  It is as simple as it sounds.  What happened is over and done; and what did not happen, well, that moment is over and done too.   Did you really miss an opportunity to do something, or were you actually fortunate enough to have avoided it?  Whichever course I actively or passively decide to take, I will end-up where I need to be.  Though it might not always be where I want to be, it is where I am and, accordingly, exactly where I need to be.

It is easy to feed fear and dwell on analysis.  It is just as easy to feed fantasy and dwell on desire.  All that is needed, though, is a pause for reflection.  It is healthy to learn from our choices and understand our decisions.  It is not useful to live with regret, and it is not productive to live in the past or the future.  I am more peaceful when I remember, where I have been and where I am right now is my journey.  I might sprint straight ahead sometimes, and other times I might take a more circuitous path by going up, around and down.  Loved ones might provide a helping hand when I falter, companionship when I am lonely, encouragement when I am unsure and love whether I fail or succeed.  They will travel on various parts of my journey with me, but ultimately, I am responsible for making my journey—as it is.     

A HERO TO THE RESCUE

As soon as the engine stopped and the “fasten seat belt” light was turned off, she unbuckled her seat belt and stood-up.  She casually, but deliberately, played with her blond hair.  She fluttered her dark eyelashes, heavy with black mascara, and spread her lips, painted perfectly in a deep shade of red, into a broad smile.  She made eye contact with her target, and instantly realized it was going to be easy.  He had clearly noticed her and wanted to be her hero long before her entirely unnecessary display of charm.  If he had been a dog, his tail would have been wagging back and forth so hard it would have made a very audible thump with each smack of the seat. 

“It’s the black one,” she purred.

The wrinkles around his eyes merely provided an illusion of wisdom.  The man eagerly proceeded, like a silly little boy, to remove her carry-on bag from the storage compartment above his head.  As he handed her bag to her, he pulled his shoulders back, sucked in his gut and pushed his chest out. 

“Thanks,” she sweetly said to him, and turned away.  Her mission was accomplished:  she had been saved.  She knew I was watching, turned to me and gave me a, “That’s how it’s done!” look.  I smiled back at her, but it was not a congratulatory smile. 

I looked at the man.  He was giddy with a foolish sense of accomplishment—he had, after all, just come to the rescue of a helpless woman.  She had needed him to help her.  He was a hero for assisting her.

A few minutes later at the baggage carousel, another woman flipped her long, silky, straight black hair behind her left shoulder and turned her body toward the man near her.  With theatrical expertise, she made just enough of a movement toward her luggage to let the hero by her side know it was time for him to spring to action.  As she feigned her attempt to retrieve her luggage; she looked, for just a moment, directly at her hero and offered him a sweet, shy smile.  Dutifully, he moved faster than her, and with speed and precision had the woman’s suitcase next to her.  He had the same smug look of accomplishment as the man with the carry-on bag.  Another hero saved the day.

Why does society teach women they need to be rescued, and tell men they need to rescue women?   I do not need to be rescued.   I do not need a man to save me.  If I need any fucking saving, I will do it myself.  

Often, men see me using all 5’7” of my height to lift and leverage my 10’6” long paddleboard onto the roof of my SUV, and they offer to help me.  I am strong, which I clearly have to be to get my board on and off my car.  Nothing about me says I cannot do this, yet the passing hero wants to save the woman.  Why does his manliness have to be defined by his ability to save a woman? 

Once, I let a friend quietly help me with my board because he was simply helping an exhausted person.  He knew I was returning from a very long paddle, and he understood I was spent and hypoglycemic.  When he offered to help, I said, “Thanks, I’ve got it.”  However, when I stopped with my board partially and precariously on the roof, to gather strength to push it completely onto the roof, he noticed I was struggling.  Without a word, from behind, he placed his hand on the nose of my board and gently pushed once I had resumed my pushing.   

I accepted the help because this man was not trying to be a hero; rather, he was just being empathetic and kind.  I turned to him before I secured the straps and admitted gratitude with a softly spoken, “thanks.”  Without pride, he looked at me and politely nodded before resuming rinsing the salt and sand off his board.  No hero, no rescue, no roles to play, no picket fences, nothing to prove.  Just two people, as they were.

JUST FRIENDS?

Can a woman and a man just be friends?  I am talking about a true friendship with confidence that neither person wants to get into the other person’s pants.  It is indeed possible.  I have close male friends—men I can trust to be my friends.  They are men with depth and character, who do not view all women as sexual objects. 

I was discussing the subject with one of my cherished male friends over a spicy Mexican lunch.  I savored the flavors of the Spanish rice, as the small salty grains extinguished the jalapeno-induced fire on my tongue, while my friend tried to help me better understand the typical male thought process.   I had expressed my annoyance with men who misinterpret a woman’s friendliness as romantic or sexual interest, when it is absolutely nothing other than friendliness; and with men who are seemingly nice guys, but not interested in just being friends. 

My friend explained sometimes men are simply on missions.  Whether the mission is finding a wife, a girlfriend or just getting laid, man tends to focus on his mission only.   “So an otherwise nice guy cannot just be friends with a woman who is not interested in him because he is on a mission to get laid?”  Correct.  Apparently, a man on a mission is, well, on a mission.  It would be nice if these men had a sign on their forehead indicating their mission, similar to the sign on the front of a bus showing its destination.  Or perhaps like a parking lot sign; but instead of, “Lot Full” their sign could read, “Friendships Full, Space Only for Girlfriend.”

What is the solution for women?  Do not be friendly to any men you are not interested in?  First of all, being generally unfriendly to men would be sexist and amount to acting just like the above mentioned narrow-minded men on their missions.  Secondly, if I had not been open to becoming friends with another human, regardless of gender, I would never have met some great friends.  The friendships I do have with male friends are worth having to deal with the annoying, and occasionally amusing, men on their missions.  

THE RIGHT PERSON

When someone surprisingly gave me a glimpse into “the other side of the story” about a friend of mine, I listened very carefully.  Initially, I was shocked.  How did this kind, enthusiastic person act so cold and careless?  How could this great guy have been such a crappy husband?  We are who we are, but who we are with does impact how we behave.  When a person is happy, she/he is free to be involved and intimate.  When a person is unhappy, she/he might be more detached and distant.  Cheating and beating aside, a person is not necessarily a bad person because she/he was not a good match for another person. 

The same friend, who was not going to win a husband-of-the-year award in his first marriage, has been pretty impressive in his second marriage.  Sure, he has matured and changed; but he has also found a woman who is a much better partner for him, allowing him to thrive in the second relationship. 

Whether it has been nine months or 19 years, when you realize you are with someone you are not best suited to be with, what do you do?  Can you stay content in the plush and secure, but unimpassioned life you have?  Will resentment set in for you, or the other person?  Do you reluctantly stay because of the family?  What are you teaching your child?  Is happiness worth the journey away from comfort?  What makes you happy?

THE UPSIDE OF VULNERABLE

What does it mean to make oneself vulnerable?  Exposing oneself to the possibility of being hurt, of feeling pain?  Obviously, I want to protect myself from pain.  Sometimes, though, allowing myself to be vulnerable and accepting the risk of suffering allows for new possibilities that might include pain, but also provide tremendous joy. 

It is not always easy to do what one wants to do, specially when others think you should not or cannot do it.  I am unwilling, though, to let anyone tell me what I should or should not do.  So when the opportunity presented itself, on the eve of my forty-first birthday, I hopped onto a skimboard—something I had been dying to do.  Of course, I was immediately on my ass.  My leg twisted, testing the stability of the ligaments and tendons supporting my knee joint.  I felt girly, which caused me more suffering than the sand exfoliation or the severe pain in my leg.

I limped back up the beach with the pro skimboarder, who was being kind and politely patient about my obvious inability to put any weight on my left leg without excruciating pain.  I took a deep breath, exhaled and shook-out my leg before my rapidly tightening knee became too stiff.  I looked him in the eye and responded, “Yeah, I’m O.K.  I’m ready to go again.”  Focusing on executing the technical instruction I had just received, I forgot all about the pain and experienced the thrill of skimming. 

Skimming is dominated by strong and brave twenty-something year old men.  I was the only woman on the beach, clearly past twenty-something, learning how to skim.  I was allowing myself to be vulnerable.  It was very scary.  For every look of disbelief, I had complete strangers come up and commend my effort.  A “friend” made a negative comment that stung, but actual friends encouraged me.  During the first week, as I practiced, I felt insecure and conscious; yet, the fun of skimming, the challenge and the support of friends kept me going.

After a few days of experiencing the risk and accompanying moments of embarrassment, anger and frustration, I overcame the feeling of vulnerability.  Now, I truly do not care who sees me and what he or she thinks.  I laugh when I find my face planted in the sand.  I shake it off when I hurt, and much of my body hurts.  Every single time I fall, I get up and try again.

This afternoon, as the first wave of the set receded, I started running across the sand.  I felt the traction pad under my right foot, then under my left foot.  In position on the board, I crouched down.  The sore muscles in my lower back, quads and glutes let me know I had hit my sweet spot.  As I glided on the surface of the water, I delighted in the feeling of riding my board, liberated from the confines of fear and expectation.

WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IN?

Driving south on Pacific Coast Highway, I am lost in my thoughts. The music on the radio is pulsing in the background, but I have no idea what is playing.  I feel the cool breeze on my brown skin and take a deep breath, inhaling the salty smell of the ocean.  I look west and smile as I notice the bright sunlight bursting against the rapidly retreating marine layer.  Suddenly, the music in the background catches my attention.  I hear one line from a song, “Just praying to a God that I don’t believe in.”  My smile broadens.

In the white picket fenced world, you are supposed to believe in God and marriage.  If you believe in God, is it because you truly have faith?  Do you believe just because you are supposed to?  Do you, perhaps, believe out of fear?  Is it easier to be rescued, than to face your demons on your own?  We all have our own pickets to tear down. 

My personal path to freedom from the confines of the white picket fenced world included admitting I was praying to a God I did not believe in, and realizing I have tremendous faith in Love.  What do you believe in?

MY SECRET DRUG

Too many times, I have found myself being kind to people I did not want to be kind to—people who excelled in earning my ire.  I found myself displaying kindness and understanding in situations I did not want to be kind and understanding about.

The asshole should not have been treated kindly.  Was my kindness an acceptance of the futility of trying to correct someone else’s behavior?   Maybe, but I realized there was more.  A quick list of unwanted kind behavior exposed a pattern.

When I should have been asking, “Why the fuck are you talking to me?” instead of answering, “I’m fine thanks.  How are you?” and making polite conversation; when I returned a high-five instead of turning away;  or when I chose to ignore a comment, rather than land a right hook; I had just finished a high-intensity work-out.  There lies the secret: endorphins!  Endorphins, we all know, are our very own, personally manufactured, natural narcotic.  Endorphins make us happy, they numb us to pain, and apparently they cause us to be kind.   

Being kind is uncontrollable when I am high on endorphins.  My physiology is peace.  In the moment endorphins are surging through my body, I simply do not give a shit about how I had been wronged or what a jackass the person in front of me is.  Rather, I am all Buddha-like with compassion for all sentient beings.  One Love is ringing in my ears, and is all I know.

How do you practice kindness when you seriously dislike your in-laws, but are headed over to their house for a family dinner?  Easy answer now that we know the secret.  Do sprints immediately before heading over.  You do not want to be kind to the lying sack of shit?  No problem.  Completely avoid him or her immediately after your endorphin fix.

Be warned, though, some acts of kindness under the influence of your post-work-out high will sometimes result in delayed disbelief and annoyance.  Our mind creates uproar because it was left out.  “Why didn’t I say this or that instead?  What the hell was I thinking?”  Kindness does not come from thinking.  Kindness comes from feeling.  So go have a fun, intense work-out.  Run, climb, bike, swim, surf, fight, jump, pull, push until your heart feels like it will pound out of your chest, or until you puke, and practice kindness.  

ACROBATS & DANCERS

I sit on my cushiony red velvet seat, ten rows from the center of the Mystere stage, with my eyes fixed on every fascinating movement displayed before me.  The artists performing these feats remind me almost anything is possible with hard work and determination.

In an incredible demonstration of strength and balance, two male acrobats hold each other in mind-boggling positions.  The larger man is always on the ground, holding the smaller man, providing a counter-balance for his partner, or simply providing an interesting platform.  As I watch these two men in their carefully choreographed routine, I realize they have created the perfect visual for what I used to think relationships were all about.  I used to think a relationship meant balancing each other by intertwining into one, just like the acrobats.  How many cheesy love songs go on about, “two hearts beat as one?”  Living within the white picket fence and blaming the irrationality of romantic love, I had believed 1 + 1 = 1.  

Relationships are not a Cirque Du Soleil act.  A much better visual than acrobatics is dancing.  Dancers are responsible for their own balance in their own space.  When dancing together, a dancer allows her partner into her space.  She connects with him, but she does not hold him up.  They dance together as two distinct people—they dance with each other.   A healthy relationship does not require assimilation.  1 + 1 = 2.

WIN OR LOSE?

A friend recently commented to me, “You win some. You lose some.”  Some people view everything in life as a game, even interpersonal relationships.  The prevalence of game-approach in mainstream society is regrettable.   I used to think game theory was limited to brief academic discussion during studies of politics and conflict.  Practically, I thought game strategies were used while learning an actual game, like chess or poker. 

While many of us consider most reality shows comical, the digital age has made it clear too many people have actually mistaken the ridiculous win-lose games played by the “stars” of these shows as behavior to be emulated.   (Rather than the partying wannabes on television, I am impressed with the success of the innovating twenty-something year old who recently developed the app the wannabes and their followers cannot live without.)

Even with the popularity of win-lose games, winning has lost its significance.  Sometimes I think people do not know or care what they are winning, they just want to win.  What did the team truly win when they cheated to get the winning goal?  What did the man win when he broke-up with the woman he really liked, just to beat her to the break-up?  What did the meddling and disapproving mother-in-law win when her son got divorced?

In sharp contrast to the theatrics, a great fighter kneeled down and looked my young son in the eye, after my son had lost his jiu-jitsu fight.  He emphatically spoke the words of Master Carlos Gracie,

 “There is no losing in jiu-jitsu: there is winning or learning.”

Those words resonate with me because they are applicable beyond sports.  Life is not a win-lose game.  Relationships are not win-lose games.  We learn about ourselves and others from relationships.  We learn who we are, what we want, what we need, what we can give and how far we can go.  Sometimes we learn what we can do better.  We make mistakes and we grow.   When we learn, we cannot lose.    

THE GAME

There are some reasonable generalizations that are more likely to describe behavior by gender.  After all, women and men are such different beings.  Everyone can hear and listen equally, but women and men often process the information in their own way: what data is retained, how it is analyzed and what conclusion are drawn

Man says, “It’s green.”

Woman hears it is green, and she likely wonders if it was blue or yellow to begin with, which color was there first and why it was changed.

Woman says, “It was blue.  I wanted a change, so I added yellow to make it green.”

Man hears it is green and wonders what the football score is.

How useful are these generalizations?  Is it smart to anticipate how someone will behave, and base your actions on those assumptions?  How about the classic example we have all heard: if you do not show interest, he or she will be more interested in you.  Probably, but do you want to take action or just be a reaction? 

The people who are experts at playing “the game” certainly have a good grasp on typical human and gender-based behaviors.  If you like to play the game, you are probably out there in a predictable pattern with predictable people.  After all, predictability is the point. 

Not relying on expected behaviors, as common as they are, and having an open mind to the uniqueness of an individual is a scary, bumpy path: a path that will often cause us to suffer.  For those of us who do not like to play the game, unpredictability is what excites us.  We will dismiss our guidelines, we will scare people, we will get burned, and we will hurt.   However, we will make our way past the games and we will find real Love.

PERFECTLY HUMAN

Standing on the soft, wet sand, I watched the ocean rise, sparkle in the sun, curl-up, crest and come crashing back down in a burst of thick white froth in front of me.  The wind carried the cool mist into my face.  I am in love with the ocean.  The ocean brings me happiness and peace.  Surprisingly, it can get better:  my children are with me finding the same joy and peace from the ocean.  With skimboards in hand, they are waiting, watching, learning and understanding the movements of the ocean.   I start to let go of the thoughts and feel the calmness.

Abruptly, a woman starts talking to me.  I am not sure exactly what she has said.  Annoyed at her for disturbing me, I turn and look directly at her.  All I hear is, “blah, blah, blah, surfing, blah, blah, blah.”  I look at her as if she is insane.  I am trying to make out the words, but my anger is rising and stealing my focus.  Rudely, I clarify, “They’re learning to skimboard.”  She does not understand.  Her friend is just as confused as her, but senses my irritation.  I am not sure if the woman is clueless or determined to obtain clarity.  Regardless, she continues with her questions.  Impatiently and impolitely, I explain.  Painfully, the conversation ends.  At first, I am relieved.  Quickly, though, I begin to feel like the asshole I had just been.  The woman was simply being friendly and inquisitive, and I was a complete jerk to her.

Ms. Peace, Love and Happiness, as difficult as it is to admit, had just been downright mean.  My anger was refocused on myself, which helped snap me back to the reality of the moment.  Recognizing my anger, I walked away and sat down by myself.  I looked at the ocean; my kids; the two women, who had rejoined their group of a third woman and a man; the beach and everyone around me.  I remembered I was a human being, sitting here along with all these other human beings, trying to enjoy nature and life.  Equally important, I realized I was perfectly human in my imperfection.  I had made a mistake, and it was O.K. that I made a mistake. 

I still had an opportunity to share kindness.  Before long, I apologized and was sitting with the women having a lovely, friendly time with them.   Just like when I am playing a game of tennis, I made a bad shot.  That shot is over, finished, history.  If I think about the bad shot, I am not going to be focused on the shot I am currently facing.  We will make mistakes because we are imperfect.  It is important to understand; accept; correct and apologize, if possible; and move on.  So often we focus on forgiving others, but we forget to forgive ourselves.

LOVE

At first, I would patiently explain to my kids the change I received at the store was actually my money, and there was no need to be so excited about getting my money back.  It was just my money being returned to me.  Eventually, we got into math lessons and it became evident the children had comprehended the mathematics.  They could tell me what my change should be.  They understood the change was my money and was due back to me.  Yet, the kids were totally thrilled to get change.  Both my boys wanted to go buy things with cash just to get change.  I was perplexed.

One day while playing Bugopoly (a twist on Monopoly with properties like “Cockroach Crevice” and “Stinkbug Street”), I watched the kids consistently and purposely pay with large notes in order to get change.  Perhaps it was the almost-empty glass of the Snap Dragon cabernet sauvignon, allowing me to take a step back; or my fatigue at the end of a busy day, demanding a deep breath and extra patience.  Regardless, I saw what was unfolding in front of me with an entirely different lens.  Actually, for the first time, I saw it without judgment.  Getting change was all about receiving a gift, whether it was already theirs or not.

In the true sense of one love, it was not about what is mine or what you owe me.  It was simply about the pure joy of giving and receiving.  I confirmed my realization with the kids and they replied, “Yeah, it’s just fun.”  When I subtracted my expectations from the equation and looked at what they were doing, it was so simple and completely clear.

Whether it is something material or emotional, as adults, we judge and place value, which makes us want to possess.  We create expectations.  What if we simply give and receive for the joy of the exchange, rather than for what we think is due to us or we want to have?  I do this with my children—I love them without expecting them to love me—and it is liberating.  Being able to love free of expectations breaks down all the fences, and truly becomes one love.  Can I give a man my love without expecting his love in return?  Do you love without needing him or her to be yours?  Can you give without expectation?  Can you receive without expectation?  

ANGER

I talk a lot about peace because peace is love; and peace actually is joyful.  Sometimes, though, all I want to do is be angry and emphatically say, “Fuck you!”  It feels good in the moment.  But after about five minutes, it does not feel so good.  I am still angry.  Anger is not a crazy monster in itself that appears when someone antagonizes me.  I am anger.  Anger is part of my wholeness—not a piece of me or something that is hidden in a compartment, but an integral part of the energy that makes up this human.  We are not little pieces of this and that glued together to create a complete picture.  A person is a whole energy with many aspects.

I used to think anger was bad, and being angry was unacceptable.  Anger is natural.  Taking action with anger is what is bad.   Experiencing my anger and taking care of the anger actually brings lasting peace. The more I deny anger, the more I dwell and suffer in the spiraling and destructive tornado of anger.  It is not just anger that I have to take care of, rather it is every aspect of my energy.  Anger, because of the unpleasantness, is quite difficult to accept and needs extra care. 

There is a fantastic book by Gail Silver called, Anh’s Anger.  It is a children’s book, but has a simplified message most adults can benefit from understanding.  In the story, a boy becomes very angry and is sent to his room, where he meets his anger.  The visualization of his anger; represented as an almost-endearing, crazy-looking, hairy, red creature; helps make the concept less abstract.  The boy takes care of his anger by experiencing it: he welcomes his anger, plays with his anger, and finally sits and breathes with his anger.  As the boy tires and focuses on his breathing, his anger becomes smaller and smaller, and finally fades away. 

“Don’t worry, Anh, I’m not a stranger.  I’m the part of you that comes out when things don’t go your way.  I’m right here every time you get angry.  I know you feel scared when I’m around.  I can make you cry and want to hit things.  I can even make you say mean things to people you love…  But I’m also your friend.  Whenever you feel angry, you should come sit with me.  After we spend some time together, you might feel better.”

  

It is easy to become angry when things do not go our way.  Instead of accepting life as it is, we want to control life and we become angry when things do not go our way.  It is OK to feel angry, but what we do next is critical.  In her book, Nothing Special, Joko Beck explains, “…our practice is to become the anger itself, to experience it fully, without separation or rejection.  When we work this way, our lives settle down.”  Everyday I get to practice accepting my anger.  I do not always do a good job, but life is positively better when I am my anger.

FEAR

A very wise friend of mine recently advised me, “Let your fear shake you.”   It is not so easy to actually practice.  I had been trying to understand how to let my fear shake me since my conversation with her.  It was not working very well for me.  I decided I needed a less abstract and more practical application.  I am an open water swimmer.  Today was my first swim in the ocean after a big swell.  Although the swell had mostly faded, there were still some good sets coming in.  The surf was stirring-up the sand, which caused the visibility in the water to be poor.  In addition, two people had separately brought-up local shark stories this weekend.  To top it off, as I sat down to breakfast this morning, right in front of me was the kids’ new book with a picture of a Great White with its sharp, triangular teeth exposed and ready to devour.  I dismissed the shark theme until as I was about to get in the water this morning, a friend spotted a seal frolicking in the water.  He commented he liked swimming with seals because they are so playful, but all I could think about was that seals were favored items on the shark menu. 

Of course, I got in the water and went on my swim.  I spent the first few minutes focusing on getting out and acclimating to the cold water.  Next, I got set on my course and thought about my stroke.  I settled into the rhythm of the ocean.  I practiced my sighting as I passed the surfers.  Then, when I was out there alone and I could not see beyond my hand, it hit: fear.  Fear of what I cannot see.  Fear of sharks.  Typically when I get scared in the water in Hawaii, I remind myself the proven-awesome Lifeguards are my friends, they know I am out there and are keeping an extra watchful eye on me.  In California, however, I no longer typically swim where or when there are Lifeguards.   However, I regularly paddle where I swim and I know there is nothing dangerous in the area, so I remind myself to trust in this knowledge.  It is rationalizing the fear away.  It works most of the time.  Today, though, I was emotionally raw and I wanted something tangible to apply the, “Let the fear shake you” theory.  So I did not rationalize the fear away.  Instead, I let myself get scared. I let myself flash through the requisite thought of being an irresponsible mother by not being more cautious with my life.  I felt my heart race and my lungs tighten, as I gasped for more air with each breath.  I felt my stomach knot-up as I suddenly found myself wrapped in the kelp.  I calmly unraveled from the kelp, but I felt a little nauseous.   I kept going and even though I was still swimming “blind,” the fear magically disappeared.  Suddenly, I felt relaxed and strong.  With my breathing back to normal, I smoothly picked-up my pace with power and courage. 

Immediately after my swim, I had to face what previously had me feeling emotionally raw.  What unfolded was scary, and it was something I had never experienced before.  After learning how to overcome my fear on my swim, I allowed myself to truly feel afraid, disappointed, frustrated, angry and sad.  I embraced the intense rush of feelings as they exposed themselves one by one.  I accepted the reality of what happened, and I let the fear and the pain shake me.  I spent the rest of the day being completely present in my activities.  What I did not realize until later, was that I was able to be present because I had genuinely accepted my horrible experience and it was no longer horrible.  There was no pain to dwell on, and there was no fear to feed.  I only understood this at the end of the day, when I stopped to actually think about how I had such a lovely day despite what had occurred earlier.  Only by accepting my hurt, was I able to overcome the pain, and appreciate the understanding of a new experience and my confidence that I am more than my fear.

What are you afraid of?  Are you afraid of loneliness?  Are you afraid you will never find your ideal partner? Are you afraid of trying something new?  Are you afraid of change?  Are you afraid of failure?  Are you afraid of leaving?  Are you afraid of staying?  Are you afraid of the unknown world outside your fence?  Whatever your fear is, feel it, let it shake you, and see that you are more than your fear!

PEACE LIST

About a decade ago, I was trying to find peace.  I had recently had a miscarriage and realized if I was going to start a family, I needed a break from the intensity of my fast-paced life.   It was easy to slow down the work schedule and the globe-trotting; however, my passion for justice and fairness in everything from interpersonal to global kept me fired-up.  I compiled a list of ideas to bring calm and comfort: a peace list.   The ideas have been taken from stories, music, people and experiences.   I picked up an old, but special book last night, and my Peace List fell out.  I smiled as I read the simplicity of the words.  Peace truly is quite simple.  The 10 ideas (not in any particular order):

1. How you were raised is an explanation not an excuse.
2. Try to look at it from the other person’s perspective.
3. Don’t take things personally.  People act because of their own wounds—empathize with them.
4. Validate others when they do good things.
5. Relax and breathe.
6. Material things can be replaced.
7. It’s OK to not have control.  The only things you can control are your actions and reactions.
8. If someone does not listen, try explaining in a different way instead of getting angry.
9. Laugh.
10. Love.

I used to read this list everyday.  It did help me calm my mind and my soul.  Today, though, I find something glaringly missing from the Peace List.  In the words of Yoko Beck, in her book Everyday Zen, “Trust in things being as they are.”  Peace!

SUBMISSIVE?

With her new book, My Foot Is Too Big For The Glass Slipper, Gabby Reece has created a stir about a woman’s role in marriage.  She managed this with one word:  submissive.  As a fan of Gabby, I was initially very disappointed.  Did she truly mean “submissive?”  She is a strong, successful woman with a thriving family and career.  She declares herself “the opposite of subservient,” yet she busts out this ugly word. 

Clearly, her choice of words was poor.  Her idea, I hope, is more about the concept of a woman’s wholeness.  A woman can be a powerful, competitive charger; and she can also be kind, compassionate, loving and giving.   I do not accept that a woman should be submissive.  I do, though, believe that a healthy relationship must include both people giving themselves to each other—giving in balance and in love. 

To do anything, one must first be balanced.   A balanced woman is one who is aware of her wholeness.  Being whole is acknowledging one’s spectrum of qualities and capabilities.  For example, we are not whole if we only know our strengths and weaknesses.  What about everything in between strongest and weakest?   Knowing we are whole means being able to be fierce in competition, yet tender in love.  Being whole is taking and giving.   If you give or take too much or too little—if you are submissive or dominating—you lose your individual balance.  In addition to individual partners being balanced, the relationship between two people must also be balanced, with both people giving and taking with love and respect for themselves and for one another. 

Perhaps exposing her vulnerabilities and submitting herself to love is what Gabby was trying to convey.  Love is all about giving, opening, embracing and serving; and it is unequivocally not about obeying, dominating, being submissive or subservient.

PERFECTLY UGLY

Within the confines of the white picket fenced world, if it is not pretty, it must surely be ugly.  When people refer to my ex-husband as “your husband,” I smile and let them know he is my ex-husband.  Sometimes I encounter people who are delighted to see a friendly relationship between divorced parents.  These open-minded people are genuinely pleased to see happy children thriving with both parents peacefully in their presence.  Often, though, I get a very different reaction—a reaction of suspicion and displeasure.

When the perfect life falls apart, a lot of people want life to be perfectly ugly.  The fear of the ugly keeps it pretty.  This is how marriage and divorce should be according to mainstream society.   You should not leave the white picket fence.  If you make the mistake of leaving, you should be miserable.  When life does not follow these expectations, people get uncomfortable.  People have looked at me in complete disbelief and frustration when I have answered; yes, he is the children’s father; yes, we are divorced; yes, we get along; in fact, we are friends; no, we are not getting back together.

The people who cannot accept my cooperative situation actually want blame and drama.  It is easy to expect blame, but difficult to accept blame.  Those old clichés, “it takes two to tango” or “it takes two hands to clap,” have some merit.  Whatever happened or did not happen, a relationship is between two people.  Of course I blame my ex-husband for certain things, but I also accept responsibility for my actions.  I could have chosen to spend my life hating and blaming him.  Rather, I chose to accept my choices and my role in the situation, and focus on living my life.  I chose to continue on with my story, rather than dwell in his.

In tandem with blame comes drama.  He did what?  He said what?  People want to know something terrible happened.  I often get puzzled looks accompanied with the question, “So nothing happened?”  Yeah, nothing happened.  They do not get that.  Where is the drama?  How were you wronged?  Who can I blame?  People thrive on drama.  There must be someone to accuse, someone to sympathize with, someone to talk about and someone to rescue.  What if we change the norm?  What if we create a society that desires amicability and cooperation when a marriage falls apart?  Perhaps divorce will not be so traumatic.  Perhaps families will become stronger because relationships will continue in love rather than hate.  Imagine this kind of world for your children… 

WHAT'S LOVE GOT TO DO WITH IT?

Often, I sit down with my kids to paint an image we have imagined, or capture an adventure we have had.  Sometimes, we just sit and paint without definition.  We let our energy flow through the brush, freely spreading color in whatever shape or design we are feeling.  The last time we sat down to “just” paint, I found myself painting a heart.  When I was done, I stopped to reflect on the sheet of watercolor paper in front of me.  My son asked me about my painting.  I looked up and told him I had painted the spectrum of love.   Of course, the puzzled look from a six year old prompted me to continue explaining the colorful heart in front of us. 

The colors on the left side of the heart were lively, with sunny yellow, bright orange and pretty pink.  This cheery side of the heart was free, happy love.  Happy love blended into a sure and vibrant red in the center of the heart.  At this red core was the power of love.  The red became more forceful as it blended into the right side of the heart, filled with darker colors.  The right side of the heart had deep shades of strong blue and powerful purple.  This side of the heart was destructive love--when love becomes controlling and confined.  Love, I explained to my son, is so powerful that it is in everything we do, feel and say.  I told him when we allow love to be, we can enjoy the brilliance of love; but when we try to control love, we experience the dark side of love. 

Love has everything to do with it.  Our ability to love is our greatest gift.  Love can hurt, but love will fulfill.  Like life itself, love flourishes with freedom.  Love!