A different New Year’s suggestion

Watch, listen, or read down below :)

Hello again friends, happy new year to you! Have you made any resolutions this year? Maybe set some 2022 goals?

I haven’t.

And not because I think resolutions are bad. I don’t think they’re bad, I don’t think I’m better than you for not falling for them, and I bet I’ll make some again one day.

But not this year.

I think it’s because I’m in a very specific season of learning–can I share it with you?

~

I subtly shifted toward the window so my next-seat-neighbor couldn’t see my face on the flight home from Indiana. I didn’t want them to see the tears rolling down my cheeks every few pages as I read the little book Siddhartha. And they looked young, so I also wanted to hide the more adult pages, where Siddhartha’s lover teaches him “the game of love . . . one of the thirty or forty different games [she] knew,” like the one “which the textbooks call ‘climbing a tree.'” So yes, colorful book all around.

Exactly 100 years ago, a German-Swiss poet and painter authored the book Siddhartha. A story about a student of the Buddha. And not just a student of the Buddha, a student of life. Of business, of romance, of philosophy, of pleasure, of high society, of travel and exploration. In fact, Siddhartha’s study with the Buddha didn’t last that long. Can you imagine? Sitting and listening to the Buddha and eventually saying, “sorry, I love what you’re saying, it’s just lacking a little something for me.”

Siddhartha wanted life to make sense. He wanted to understand, to get it, to have meaning, to feel purpose–to be fulfilled as a human.

So he searched.

And tried.

He tried living with the Buddha. He took what worked for him and moved along to find more. He apprenticed with Kamaswami, a wealthy business owner, and became a massively successful financier. It wasn’t quite right. He traveled, explored, adventured. Still, there must be more. He met a woman named Kamala who opened him up to a world of passion, sex, romance. Even this wasn’t enough.

~

How many new strategies, practices, schedules, goals, and habits have you tried over the years, so that life can feel . . . right?

And how tired are you?

And again I’m wondering–which new way are you trying this year?

~

“It’s sort of a blessing–a gift–that life is so short.” My friend introduced this counterintuitive concept to me sitting in a coffee shop–the same coffee shop he keeps returning to for connection as year after year of life journals itself along.

I had just shared with him a roller coaster overview of some personal searching the last few years has held for me. A family wedding where I paid a visit to my old trauma stomping grounds. The cracks started forming, pressure building. Then a hike in the Rockies with a hat on–I never wear hats, so I’m not used to the brim blocking my peripheral of what’s above–lunging upward over a rock into a giant, unforgiving tree branch. A crack, blackness, stars, awake again, on the ground now, “F***!!!”, annoyed glances from parents of small children, looking around in a daze, one shoulder a little lower than the other, whiplash, dizzy, fuzzy, head throbbing. A concussion that just got nastier as the days passed. Powerfully knocking all the anxiety loose. The cracks widening, the dam bursting. Everything I’d internalized that had kept me “safe” in my quarter century on this planet suddenly falling apart. Therapy, more therapy, lots of therapy. Journaling. Denying. Realizing. Seething. Accepting. More therapy. Hoping to figure it all out and end up “all better” someday.

“Because we don’t have time to work on everything.”

My friend explained: “We feel this pressure to measure up, to be good enough, to make it all the way to our ideal version of acceptable or of healthy or of right or of whatever other way we think we’re supposed to be. Some arbitrary bar that we set for ourselves, or that was set for us. We keep trying and working and struggling to measure up. But eventually it becomes clear that life is too short–that there’s way more stuff than we’ll be able to work through–and that maybe we don’t have to figure it all out. Maybe we can’t. Maybe we’re not supposed to.”

~

What are you determined to figure all the way out this year? To beat this year? Achieve this year? Discover this year? Perfect this year?

And if you don’t reach that bar . . . is that okay? Are you enough? Is your now-life worth it anyway?

~

Do you watch The Office?

(It’s funny when a TV show becomes so legendary that it’s no longer “have you watched, but “do you watch?”)

If you’re an Office person, I know for sure three times you cried about it. Jim and Pam at Niagara, Michael saying goodbye at the airport, and the entire Finale episode.

In the Finale, goofy old Andy Bernard says something just outrageously profound that sums up the point of the whole show–a show full of different characters casting about in countless directions for meaning and growth and purpose and fulfillment. “I wish there was a way to know you were in the good old days before you actually left them.”

~

When Siddhartha embarked on his journey of self discovery, he was ferried across a river by an old man. After a long life of searching, Siddhartha again comes to the river, and finds the same old man–still radiating the same peace Siddhartha had seen in his eyes years before. Vasudeva, the ferryman, leads a simple life transporting travelers back and forth across the river. Having tried every different way in life, still feeling like he’s missing the point, Siddhartha decides to stay with Vasudeva–learn from him, see if he can find the peace and contentment the old man has found.

Vasudeva doesn’t have grand philosophies, programs, pleasures, practices, or opinions to share. Instead, he encourages Siddhartha to learn from the river.

As the years roll by, Siddhartha watches the river. The river just . . . flows. It keeps going. And going. And going. It is strong and soft. Steady and inevitable. The river doesn’t fight, and it can’t be fought. The water is carried to the ocean and brought back again by rain, birth and death without beginning or end. And without struggle, the river lives on–its various ripples and currents and waves and droplets all as one. One continuing, flowing one.

There is no perfecting the river. No molding its waves into the right shape. No struggle that will stop its currents.

The river flows.

The flow of life.

With all its bad and good, it’s happiness and sadness, it’s living and dying.

Life flows on.

And while one can learn peace and joy and beauty and love during life, one cannot master it, stop it, fix it, win it, or beat it.

One just . . . lives.

~

Nails on a chalkboard. I did not like what she was saying.

I’m a next level Scheduling guru. I can fit every different goal and passion and habit and session into a 7-day-excel-spreadsheet (color coded, too, because life is an adventure).

And then life’s currents do their thing and I have to rewrite the schedule. Every few days.

Over dinner, I was complaining to Lyssi that I just couldn’t figure out a realistic way to fit everything I want dependably into my day or my week. Running, yoga, meditation, breathwork, exercises, swimming, cooking, massage, reading, podcasts, languages, piano, movies, friends, journaling, reading some more, brushing my teeth. And on top of it all, actually writing for my blog again.

“I have a sort of strange idea,” she said. “What if you just didn’t follow a schedule at all? What if you just did what you wanted to do, when you wanted to do it? Just listening to your body and your heart? Like when you wake up in the morning, maybe it’s a reading day, maybe it’s a movement day, maybe it lasts five minutes or an hour, or maybe you just stay in bed?”

Um. No. That is . . . the worst. It will not work.

“I’m just worried that if I don’t schedule it, the stuff I really need and want that isn’t comfortable is what will slide. Like movement and exercise. I’m afraid I’ll always just go with what’s easy.”

As much as I hated the idea and knew there was no way it would work, I also tasted this little flavor of relief, and had to go back for more. So I threw out the planning, and just lived what life brought me.

It has turned out looking like a lot more movement and exercise–especially yoga and swimming, almost every day. I haven’t read any less, maybe more. I have grown more in touch with my body, its pain and its insecurity and also its freedom and its strength. The only thing I feel like I’ve lost is a sense of failure at not measuring up every day to the Peter I kept planning and re-planning to be.

~

“In this hour, Siddhartha stopped fighting his fate, stopped suffering. On his face flourished the cheerfulness of a knowledge, which is no longer opposed by any will, which knows perfection, which is in agreement with the flow of events, with the current of life, full of sympathy for the pain of others, full of sympathy for the pleasure of others, devoted to flow, belonging to the oneness.”

~

So what was your New Year’s resolution? And how are you measuring up? And will it be enough?

~

I feel like six months from now I’ll probably be writing something about how valuable schedules and habits and consistency are, and I don’t think it will be wrong. Schedules are wonderful. Planning is important. Repeated practice adds up to a lot of strength and joy and beauty and adventure and love.

Which is why I’ll probably set New Year’s goals or intentions again someday. But this year I’m learning to lay down that bar I’ve been desperately seeking to measure up to, year after year, struggle after struggle, interruption after interruption, disappointment after disappointment.

Which season are you in? Are you trying yet another strategy this year? And here’s a more helpful question: Are you tired about it?

Then maybe it’s time to give yourself over to life. To trust it. It will flow. It will bring love and pain and excitement and sadness and hugs and loneliness and movement and boredom and the whole time it will be beautiful and it will be yours and it will be right.

~

Sure, chase the adventure and meaning you want in life. That’s part of it and it’s worth scheduling and pushing now and then.

And also, you’re already living. It’s life. It’s weird. It’s exciting. It’s confusing. It’s beautiful. It’s allowed. And it’s enough.

~

As Siddhartha nears the end of his life, he speaks again to his childhood friend and fellow seeker, Govinda: “What should I possibly have to tell you[?] . . . Perhaps that in all that searching, you don’t find the time for finding?”

Can you let go of the Shoulds for a while? Can you just live? You may find that it’s enough. That you’re already enough. That you’re already there.

~

P.S. What’s funny is that after giving up completely on schedules and goals and Shoulds this new year, I’ve stumbled upon a clearer intention for this season of my life than I think I’ve ever felt. It’s a simple one and it’s helping. Ask me about it over coffee sometime. I’d love to share it.

~

Maybe I will write another tomorrow. Or maybe I will sleep in. If I write, would you like me to write for you?

Loneliness, stillness, and a North Shore adventure

It’s good to just go sometimes.

Adventure is always within reach.

The earth is bigger than your stress.

Nature is cleansing.

You’re allowed to take care of yourself.

“Ever more people today have the means to live, but no meaning to live for.” ~ Viktor Frankl

“With shortness of breath
You explained the infinite
And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist”

~ Saturn, Sleeping at Last

“I’d give anything to hear you say it one more time
That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes”

~ Saturn, Sleeping at Last

Life is, among other things, what you make it. Inner life, at least.

Sit completely still sometimes. Let time carry you and space wash over you. There is something more to this life.

You are safe.

When you take a real break–leaving your people and places and things–the deep down life-feelings will come in waves. Inspiration. Loneliness. Love. Uncertainty. Wonder. Pain. Acceptance. It’s your heart finally getting a turn to speak. Don’t run away from your heart. Make times to really come back to yourself.

Loneliness, when you sit with it, is a doorway.

Loneliness teaches you what you’ve grown dependent on, what controls your mind.

Loneliness shows you which parts of yourself need a tighter hug.

And on the other side of loneliness lies the powerful truth that we humans need each other.

Next time you have the chance, grab your earbuds, pick the most beautiful songs you know, and just watch the morning do its thing.

“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms–to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” ~ Viktor Frankl

Stillness can make one’s way clearer.

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” ~ Viktor Frankl

Learning to be okay with stillness gives you the time back, the presence back, to actually show up for that space in between stimulus and response, to actually recognize that you don’t have to be pulled along on a carousel of pre-determined conflict and coping–that you can slow down and mindfully choose your responses to the adventures life throws at you.

And you can always, always choose love.

~

Your disappearing place

Where is your disappearing place?

What place makes you remember your freedom, your self, your own breath?

Where can you truly feel “away from it all” for a soul-filling minute?

I’m free now

When I was a kid, I did have happy times. In fact a lot of my childhood memories feel happy. Even some of the stuff that, as an independent-minded adult, I now look back at as creepy or dysfunctional.

I wish people understood that just because someone has some happiness, or feels like things are also good, or has some of what they need (like food or clothes), or smiles sometimes–that doesn’t mean that their situation is okay.

All the dysfunction finally bubbled over. And now, as an adult, a pretty strong person, who has been on my own for years–the effects of my dysfunctional childhood leave me struggling some every day.

Even while I was finding some happiness as a teenager–listening to Ne-Yo and Fergie, watching Modern Family in my closet where my parents couldn’t know, playing out mental fantasies where I actually had friends I got to hang out and spend time with–even when finding my own happiness, I was simultaneously drowning in stress and fear and anger and hopelessness. And all the happiness volume in the world doesn’t somehow balance out toxicity.

It’s good to remind myself that I’ve come a long way.

Now, day to day stresses get to me. I feel frustrated when I can’t slow down and breathe or think, like when my phone rings fifty times in a day. It makes my heart beat harder. Or when I see yucky things on the news. Or can’t see friends face-to-face for the duration of a pandemic. Or keep having to take breaks from running with leg and back pain.

But.

And here’s where I want to sit today:

Now, I come home to someone who loves me. Someone who will hold my hands when things feel too big. Someone who lets me have feelings and needs and wants and dreams, and who encourages me to chase them all, even if they’re not her own. Someone who wants to hear me speak from my heart. Someone who deeply values me. And when I walk in the door from a long workday, I have a furry buddy who tells me, with all the whines and jumps and wags and licks, that I am so good and so important. And now I do have those beautiful, wonderful, amazing, fun friends in my life to hang out with that I wished I was allowed to have as a teenager. And now I have all these things in my life and about myself that don’t have a good-or-bad, wise-or-foolish, acceptable-or-unacceptable label to them. Now, I don’t feel like the most important people in my life are ashamed of me for watching my shows or staying up late with my friends or not-still-wanting-to-be-a-preacher-when-I-grow-up, and I never really have anyone raise their voice at me anymore (except, of course, the occasional experience in the any service industry). And nobody snaps at me when I’ve played the same piano piece too many times in a row. And nobody hits me anymore.

The people who don’t love me–I don’t have to be with them. I don’t have to take the phone calls, play the games, suffer through the holidays, bite my tongue at the cruel conversations.

Now, I’m free.

It’s easy to forget how free I am, because nobody graduates from all stress and hurt and struggle, and those things will probably always feel big. It’s easy to forget just how dark things were. Just how NOT free I have been.

Now, life–no matter how lifey it gets, is better. Now, I live with LOVE.

I am thankful for freedom.

I am proud of the courage to step out of toxicity, out into freedom. Proud when I see that courage in myself and proud when I see it in others.

And I am thankful for the life that freedom brings, that courage brings. It’s not too perfect, too fancy. It just has kindness and peace and boundaries and love.

That’s better.

Despite the day-to-day struggles that are a fact of life–has your life gotten better? Have you found some more freedom? Chosen more love? Grown? It’s easy to forget how far we’ve come. And it helps to remember it. Feels hopeful.

What about you?

~

P.S. I know navigating unhealthy family situations is a hard, scary, and misunderstood thing in our world. So much pressure. So many expectations. If it’s something you’re struggling with, I’m happy to listen. And if not me–there is someone else in your life, ready to talk, who has had to step out into freedom. Say your stuff, no matter how messy. Find your freedom and love. Rooting for you!

10 thoughts for your new year :)

Hi human.

At the end of a year, I like reflecting. Appreciating. Celebrating.

This year, I’m feeling happy about and thankful for and excited by my 7 years of blogging–how it’s grown, growing . . . I feel proud of myself, which didn’t used to be allowed. And I feel so, so, so thankful for all my friends–personally familiar or connected only by our shared humanity–who have read my blog, shared my posts, and let me know when words I’ve expressed have touched their soul in some way: Made to feel less alone, sparked with inspiration or energy, lent courage . . .

We’re all “just” humans–very real humans–(yes, all of us, even the put-together ones)–daily stumbling through the dark, awkwardly and beautifully figuring out this “Life” thing–together.

My passion in life has something to do with grabbing the hand of anyone-anywhere and saying “It’s okay that you’re stumbling through the dark . . . me, too . . . maybe we can help each other?”

Helping each other, I think, looks like listening and sharing. All the deep stuff. Thanks to all our own unique and odd adventures through life’s ups and downs, we’ve each acquired quite a lot of wisdom–often without even realizing it. And sometimes it seems oh-so-random whose wisdom helps who–whose experiences or perspectives or even unique language just happens to resonate, happens to be EXACTLY what “works” for someone in need.

So: Speak. And listen. Ask the deep questions. Share the deep feelings. Remember the humanity in each of us. Dare to connect. Be bravely real.

Anyway, friends, I’m so grateful to know in some ways I get to help some beautiful people stumble upon some of the wisdom they’ve been looking for. Writing makes me feel alive, it makes things makes sense to me, and once in a while I get to hear someone say “I needed to read this,” and that is about the most fulfilling sentence I ever, ever hear.

To celebrate, I’m wrapping up the last few days of 2020 by sharing my top 10 favorite blog posts I’ve written. If you click through the links below for some year-end reading over the next few days, I hope they speak to you in some helpful way–and if they do, I’d be honored if you pass it along, and I’d love to hear what exactly resonated.

Thanks for reading friends!



#10. The problem with growing up

This is an easy one. Very short. Like 33-words-and-a-Winnie-the-Pooh-quote short.

I love this one because it is the one thing I need need need to keep remembering every every every year, month, week, day.

Keep returning to your inner child, my friend.



#9. We eloped to Italy!

I usually write about “deep” or “important” topics–at least in my mind. So when I was trying to narrow down to my 9th favorite blog post I’ve ever written, this one jumps out at me. Because it’s not a “topic,” it’s a celebration. A shameless reveling in the most wonderful memories of the absolutely most bestest day of my life.

I love, love, love sharing about this day with anyone who will listen–not because it’s worth your time, but because it’s worth my whole life. So thanks for letting me share this biggest happiness thing with you. I don’t know that I’ll ever stop being excited about it.



#8. My 100th post: A few thoughts about writing

Do I have any writer friends out there? Or friends who sometimes write? Even if it is “just short” or “just silly” or “just on Facebook” and “doesn’t count”?

Maybe you don’t write, you “just” talk to people, or do meaningful projects at work, or give advice, or share your story . . .

People need your voice.

And your voice is so much more perfect than you think.

This is for you.



#7. Canadian Rockies adventure

The holidays and new year season reminds me of the adventure of life. Always. Times to remember, beautiful places we’ve gotten to explore, fun little life moments . . .

This–one of my favorites–is an adventure memory. In a year full of staying at home and not doing stuff, I hope these pictures scratch the wander itch for you.

Mountains again so soon!



#6. Death

Trudging through the snow with a good friend last Saturday, we talked about death. He told me about his own experiences. And I shared that it’s actually a topic I think about a lot. Like it even keeps me up at night sometimes. (That may be largely thanks to the way I grew up. It’s what kept 13-year-old me awake at night, too.)

We don’t usually admit or advertise that we think about the really sad, awful, unknown things (you do too sometimes, don’t you?). So we stay alone about them. Struggling silently.

When I wrote down and shuffled around my favorite things I’ve ever written, this landed high up on the list. Because it’s deeply honest and it’s . . . really, really, really BIG. . . . Because it’s a universal experience. It’s one we ALL face.

So maybe we can face it together?

I wrote this right after my friend died. I didn’t even realize it was sort of for him until I’d finished writing it–why it was so loud in my mind. Death is not easy.

Wishing you peace and warm hugs.



#5. Happy Thanksgiving 2019!

This is a peek into me. But more than that, it’s a peek into what it means to be human.

And it’s a little celebration of all the different freedoms we find as we learn health for our minds and our hearts.

Keep on finding freedom and finding You. 2021 will be a good year for it.



#4. Sad people

Do you feel like you HAVE to be a “happy” person?

This is one of the most personal things I’ve ever written, which feels . . . scary and good, all at once.

I love this blog post because it is about deep understanding and acceptance of ourselves and each other–even for those of us who have a lot of sadness . . . for a little while or a long, long time.

It also carries ten pieces of advice at the end that I think are some of the most helpful if you are sad or love someone who is.

Wishing you radical self-acceptance and self-love. And wishing your sad friends acceptance and love from YOU.



#3. What we got wrong about love

Can I ask you a question? I’d love to read your answer in the comments here or, if you have my contact–shoot me a message. I’d love to chat. Here’s the question: What dysfunctional things did you learn about love? Things that tell you you’re not “good enough” or “worthy.” Or that make you afraid you’ll lose your worth if you lose things like your health or skills or relationships? How has it impacted you? And how have you set out to re-learn real love?

This is my 3rd favorite thing I’ve ever written. You can read it, OR listen to it while you drive or do dishes or work out or whatever you do! It’s not short, because it goes deep. Deep into our deepest experiences that shape our hearts.

If my thoughts in this post are especially helpful to you–make you feel understood or help put a finger on what hasn’t felt right about your self-judgments . . . I’d love to hear, and I’d be honored if you share it with someone else you love.

“Love” is an important concept to not get backwards.

Wishing you all true, no-strings-attached LOVE in 2021!



#2. I have anxiety and that’s okay

I don’t want you to feel alone.

That is why I wrote this.

If it speaks to you, if it helps you–pass it on. Or, better yet: Write your own version. I know you have one.

You are not alone. And you are loved.



#1. If I could send a message to 18-year-old me

As a year turns over and we think about past and future, what we’ve lost and what we’ve found, and all the changes and roller coasters and adventures in life . . .

I want to share with you my FAVORITE thing I’ve ever ever written.

I hope this speaks to you.

It’s amazing how much alike we all are, isn’t it?

Maybe we could help each other . . . ?



LOVE TO YOU ALL THIS NEW YEAR!

Wishing you peace and presence and all the feelings in 2021.

<3

Cheers!

P.S. Thanks for being on my writing journey with me, friends. From the bottom of my heart. This is so special for me. I appreciate having your ear and hearing your thoughts. You and I are here to help each other. <3