So it was good that happened?

I’ve got these–wait–I had these click-together wire mesh storage cubes in my closet.  Bought them I-don’t-know-when because I didn’t have money for a chest of drawers.  They’ve moved with me from place to place, and by the time I got a chest of drawers, I had too many clothes to fit in them, so they were used for things that don’t fold on a shelf, and all my folding clothes have gone in the wire cubes.

Then this guy–this amazing guy–came into my life last year and before I know it, he’s here all the time and I’ve got to find space for him to keep some clothes around because even engineers will notice if you come into work in one set of clothes and come back from lunch in another.  I had no idea how.  I’d combined drawers to make some room- but now I had drawers so crammed I could hardly get them opened or closed.

So a closet already over-stuffed with hanging clothes, folding clothes, shoes, bags, purses and scarves needed to hold just a little bit more… especially since I’d taken to buying him sweaters on a fairly regular basis.

The cubes are, well, were stacked about 7′ high on one wall of my closet.  They’re bound together with things like hairbands and long twisty-ties.  Its all very scientific and precise. High Klass. Nothing but High Klass.  There’s a shoe organizer that’s more stable (slightly more) propping it all up on the door side.  I know its propping it up because when I wanted to move said shoe organizer to the downstairs closet so I’d stop having pairs of shoes all over the place, the cube-topia groaned.  The shoe tree is a load-bearing wall. It would have to stay, and I’d renew my vow to carry shoes upstairs every night. Again. Even if it meant two trips.

Last week, as we rushed to get out of the house before paying guests arrived, the button on the back of my jeans caught on the corner of one of the cubes. I stopped immediately, but I knew.  I knew it was too late.  It was.  There was a groan as I turned around… it waited for me to fully turn before collapsing so that I could see it happen in play-by-play, agonizing, slow motion.

“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

I just wanted to cry.  I was stressed out. Tired. Exhausted. Had way too much to do and far too little time to do it in.  I wanted to give up.  I didn’t want to go to the wine-tasting event my friend was having, I just wanted to go to J’s and lay in my pajamas and watch “The Vicar of Dibley” and cry into a glass of wine.

“No. No. No. No, you can’t. You just can’t!”

J came running up the stairs to make sure I was okay.  He rubbed between my shoulder blades- soothing the back door of my heart. Its what he does when I’m freaking out. He’s very good at it.

It worked.  I didn’t collapse into a similar pile on the floor.

“Well. Its not going to clean itself,”  I sighed.

I tried to pull it up. Tried to sort it out.  We hadn’t even finished packing to spend the week at his place. I realized that there was no cleaning this up quickly.  Everything would have to be toted out before any sense could be made of it.

We began pulling out the cube walls we could get to so that I could at least get at some of the clothes.  They were stacked under the bed and the corner knobs tossed in the nightstand drawer.  I managed to pull some clothes out and get them into my carpet bag.  No matching all packed components this time.  It was grab what-cha-can. I made sure I had at least one matching business-appropriate outfit for my Monday appointments and would just have to search more when I came round to scoop the cat box.

Being who I am, doing what I do, the metaphor of this collapsing closet didn’t escape me.  I spent the week mulling and meditating on it… a system that was not designed to handle the load it was being asked to carry collapsed.  At the worst possible time (as they do).

After the guests checked out, I went hunting for organizational systems.  “This time I’ll get something more substantial.  I’ll really organize it the way I’d like,” I thought.  I spent time on the interwebs looking at all sorts of closet organizing ideas.  Closets so cute you could live in them. Work in them.  I thought I’d do something not so cute, but equally drawer-y, shelf-y, pull-out-rack-y.  Til I saw that we could spend the weekend in SanFran for what that’d set me back.  My vision became more minimalistic.  Sturdiness was the central requirement.

Even my minimalistic revisions were further amended standing in the discount aisles looking at storage systems.  I settled for two plastic 4-shelf racks intended for the garage, a clear 3-drawer caddy, 3 shower rods, and some packages of s-hooks.

Standing before the aftermath, I felt completely overwhelmed.  Where to start? I started hauling clothes out of the closet and sorting them into (wrinkled, chaotic) piles on the bed.  That’s all it took. Getting started.  Once I started moving, the momentum kept me going.  Ideas started popping. Things were shifted. Scooted.  Moved. Rearranged.

By the time it was all done, all my shoes, purses, and scarves were now housed in the downstairs shower.  It didn’t get used anymore since my son moved out and I converted the downstairs bedroom into my office.  Perfect.  Now I wouldn’t have to haul shoes, scarves & purses upstairs anymore.  They could get changed and donned downstairs- which is where it always happened anyway.

The shifts opened up two racks and four drawers for J to use.  My closet was so open I had room to put a folding chair in there so I wouldn’t have to sit on the bed to wriggle into hose if getting ready before J had to be up.  The space! The air!  Now I could organize my clothes again by type then color– as I liked to– instead of by length, which the old system had required.  Did I mention that moving the shoes downstairs meant I could use the over-the-door  shoe organizer for hosiery and hats? Well, I did. Also organized by type and color so that I could find what I need without turning on a light for early-morning appointments.

I’m not a clothes-hoarder if things are neat and systematically organized, right?

When J got home from work, I couldn’t wait to show him the results of my day.  I wanted him to behold the order I’d shaped from the chaos.  He was shown the coat closet, then the shower-now-accessory closet, then taken upstairs to see the spare drawers and racks in the armoire, to the glory of my closet.  No pjs on the floor.  No shoes thrown in the back. Rainbows of color. All the skirts together, all the sweaters together, all the shirts together, all the dresses together. Order.

“So it’s good it collapsed, huh?” he said, rubbing my back.

“Yes.  Yes, it is.”

(There’s a metaphor in there… apply where needed.)

Looking back to go forward

Watched this short film this morning called “Overview” about astronauts’ experience of seeing planet earth from space.

I couldn’t help but be struck by how the first trip to the moon, the focus was all about the moon; folks didn’t think about how turning around to see our planet, let alone how it would impact them.

In the age of the Facebook meme, we see many truisms about not looking back, going boldly forward in order to succeed, to live the life of our dreams… yet that has not been my experience.  Looking back over my life from the right perspective infuses past pains with great meaning and clarifies my sense of purpose, rejuvenating my passion and enthusiasm, or sometimes even redirecting my path.

Looking back from the right altitude cultivates this sense of reverence for the path I’ve led, the suffering I’ve survived, the decisions I’ve made along the way, and gives me the courage to face whatever is in front of me.  It helps me clearly see what work needs to be done, as well as what dross needs to be cleared away.

 

Registration is still open for the web class “Planning with Vision & Values” at http://www.lifelinedevelopmentcoaching.com/planning-with-vision–values.html

What does it all mean?

Monday evening, returning from one of my partner’s performances and setting my alarm for shortly after 5am the next morning, I sighed heavily at the prospect of so few hours of sleep only to have to fight traffic to get downtown for a  University of Arizona public lecture on Healing Ceremonies.  In business for myself, I do my best to avoid traffic as well as appointments before 9:30 am.  Had I not just seen a FB post touting “Most people miss out on opportunity because it shows up wearing overalls and looks like work”, I may have just skipped over the invitation that landed in my inbox.  The loss of sleep would be worth my while in this instance, though, I was sure.  An MD giving a talk about the healing power of ceremony and the blend of science and mysticism it would likely cover is my favorite place.

It was well worth the short night and the long drive.

There are many things that Howard Silverman, MD  covered in the lecture that were affirmations of the experiences I’d had with the power of ceremony and ritual.  One of the comments that he made that was particularly insightful was in his discussion of the material component of a ceremony– specifically the sacraments.  He defined sacraments as those things that affect the senses: incense, candles, scents would all be examples.  Due to the heightened awareness and imbued meaning created within the context of the ceremony, he explained, very little is needed to achieve the desired effect.  Ceremonial tobacco or even peyote used in a ceremony is minimal.  “When we lose touch with meaning, we need more and more of the material to achieve the same effect.” he explained, and went on to reflect on the impact this has on social issues and addiction rates.

Imbuing meaning is one of the primary functions of healers, he shared.  I couldn’t help but reflect on how many of our ills–emotional, physical, and societal–can be traced to a lack of meaning in our lives, or even worse- a connection to a meaning that is degrading and demeaning and erodes our dignity and honor as human beings.

Stories are the oldest tool I know of to imbue meaning- which is why they are the center point of both religion and (popular) culture.  Unfortunately, our culture doesn’t know how stories work anymore.  We teach them to our children when they’re in concrete operations- the stage where they are interested in learning character names and plot lines.  Yet when they reach the age where their thinking begins to develop, when they have the capacity to truly start working with stories and turning around the characters, asking questions, delving deeper into emotional drives and the symbolism of the story’s elements, we call them “fairy tales” and shelve them.  Instead of teaching our children how to use the stories to help them navigate the difficult places in their lives–as they were intended–we call them fantasies (or buy into Disney-ized or overly simplistic versions/interpretations) and refuse to engage with them on any real level.

Problem? The meaning we took at the time isn’t erased from us.  Stories are powerful and are the key programming agents of our subconscious.  They’re baked in to us on a very deep level and that meaning continues to drive the patterns we repeatedly find ourselves in.  Ever moved/divorced/changed jobs just to find yourself in the precise situation you worked so hard to leave behind?  That’s those unconscious patterns at work.

I’ve seen that if the stories we tell ourselves increase our shame, reduce our sense of self-worth, disconnect us from the world and those around us, they feed addiction.  Shame is the fuel of addiction’s engine.

How does that fit in with Dr. Silverman’s insight about how little of a substance is needed within ceremony, and how we want more and more outside of that space?  How does our sense of meaning in our lives interact with our levels of shame? How does connection with our community affect meaning in our lives?  What in our lives, in our society erode that connection?

One of the first things that comes to mind for me is how we as a culture eat: alone. Disconnected from the preparation of our food. Eating while watching TV (both mindlessly). How much farther away can we get from the elements of healing ceremony where there is a shared/meaningful purpose, shared/meaningful preparation, and community? Is there any wonder that our portions are getting bigger and bigger? Our sense of satisfaction less and less?

Looking back to move ahead

After all the bustle and festivities of the holiday season in December, January can feel a bit like a hangover.  The twinkling lights that brought so much pleasure are the source of frustration and scratches and scrapes as they have to be pulled from trees and bushes, the ornaments wrapped safely so they’ll be there next year, the garland twirled at the bottom of the box to act as a cushion.

Many people set to making resolutions; others seem equally invested in denouncing these promises to ourselves as fruitless, seeing them as an exercise in self-flagellation instead of a call to our higher selves. How and why do our resolutions turn into instruments of self-torture?  Why don’t we keep our promises to ourselves?

Janus, the two-faced god of beginnings and transitions

January takes its name from Janus, the Roman god of beginnings and transitions who is also seen as the god of doorways, thresholds and gates.  Perched at the beginning of the year, one face looks behind at the past, the next is set on the future.  In ancient times, he was invoked at the beginning of most rituals, as he held watch over heaven and all the other gods, and was an important part of harvest and marriage ceremonies.

Janus is also reported to have minted the first coins- a nod towards the importance of our invoking what he represents for all of our transactions and manifestations.  Yet how many of us cross the threshold of a new year, open the gate to a new era in our lives, or move through the doorway into a new venture or relationship and want to “never look back”?  Does it really work like that? Why don’t we want to look back? Are we afraid of something? Do we think that looking at the past will somehow suck us back in to it?

How does this approach to a new year show up in our daily lives? So often in my work with clients, I urge them to develop a Janus perspective when setting goals.  It becomes very easy to get bogged down when only focusing on all that needs to be done. When that to-do list is long, it can be incredibly easy to become disheartened and feel like we’re making no progress at all because the list never seems to get any shorter.

Its when we look behind us and recognize what we’ve accomplished and how far we’ve come that we become encouraged to keep moving forward and empowered to take the requisite steps to achieve our goals.  It cultivates gratitude, and builds self-esteem.  We’re gathering proof of what we’re capable of, writing a story where we take care of business and figure out solutions to problems that threatened to overwhelm us.

I’ve found that incorporating recognition of my achievements into my weekly goal setting session not only inspires me and builds my confidence, but helps me in setting realistic and attainable goals.  How many negative stories I’d get caught in and pull myself down with simply because I wasn’t taking the time to really look at how my time was being spent, how many components were actually involved in a project, and the reality of how I moved through my week and my life!

It’s important to examine our mindset at beginnings.  So often, we think that changing our material circumstances is the answer to our problems, not recognizing that, actually, our mindset interprets and thus creates our circumstances.  How upsetting it is to see how many people posted negatively about 2012 on Facebook, then layed out expectations for 2013 to be better…  sorry, ya’ll, but if you’re not finishing the year mining for the good to bring with you to the next, you’ll find little good to come.

There is a story about a man that was sitting on the porch of a general store at the entrance of a small town.  A family on vacation pulled in to stretch and get snacks.  The father approached the man and said “What are people like around here? We’re thinking of moving somewhere before the kids start school.”

“Well,” thought the man, “what are people like where you are now?”

“Oh, they’re terrible!  They’re cold and selfish and would just as soon kick you in the teeth than help you.”

“That’s what they’re like here,” the man replied.

The father thanked him for his insight and they moved on.

A little while later, another family pulled in to the general store.  While the mother took the daughter inside to go to the bathroom, the father wandered over to the man on the front porch.

“You from here?” he asked the man.

“Yes, I am.”

“What are folks like in these parts?  Sometimes we think we’d like to leave the city.”

“Well, what are folks like where you are?” the man asked.

“Oh, we’re in a great neighborhood.  People are friendly and look after each other.”

“That’s what they’re like here, too.” the man replied.

What stories are you telling yourself about what people are like, who you are, what you’re capable of? What stories have you bought in to about what is possible or even likely?  How does that effect what you see and how you interpret what you experience?  Pausing at the beginning to take a look back before we move forward can help us to keep what’s working and fix or leave behind what isn’t. It raises our awareness of ourselves and our lives so we don’t move forward on autopilot, then wonder why we keep finding ourselves back where we’d worked so hard to leave behind.