B for Buoyancy

Everyone seems to be seeking work-life balance.  Google it – I got 191,000,000 results in 0.18 seconds.  But balance assumes an even distribution – half here, half there, a little here, a little there, oops, too much there, so more here.  Balance takes control, effort, and constant monitoring.  But life isn’t always so accommodating.

 My yesterday started out calmly enough, my plans laid out hour by hour.  I had a full list but no worries – I was confident I could get it all done.  We had a bathroom sink clogged and dinner guests coming at 7, but the plumber was to arrive at 3, he’d be long gone before the evening began.  I needed to go out at 5.  It was all going to work like a charm.  Until it didn’t.  At 3:30, his arrival was shifted to 6 and there was a new problem, water dripping from the living room ceiling.  My schedule fell apart.  Fortunately, I did not. 

That’s life.  Things happen.  A customer deal blows up and you need to be on a call at 3 AND you have to be at the dentist at 3 – you’ve canceled twice and this cracked crown isn’t going to let you ignore it much longer.  Or you’ve got a choice of how to spend the last 30 minutes of coherency you have left at the end of a particularly long day – finish your personal taxes, finalize an employee’s performance review that’s due the next day, or call and find out how your mom’s doctor’s appointment went today.  

There’s not a lot of balance.  Some days, work rules.  Okay, most days, work rules.  But that only makes the holidays, the family days, the self-care days that much sweeter.  We’re all doing the best we can, right?

So rather than struggle so hard for this work-life balance illusion, I propose we seek work-life buoyancy.  It has a much nicer feel to it.  Life as a river, always flowing, sometimes smoothly, sometimes swelling up, clear blue or murky gray, and me – a little buoy, bobbing along.  Yes, I’ll be overwhelmed at times, but I will bounce back up, I will continue the journey.  Humpty Dumpty was sitting on a wall, a true balancing act, especially for one of such ungainly proportions, and we all know how that turned out.  Nobody could put him back together again.    

But such will not befall us when we go bob, bob, bobbing along.  And did you know that buoyancy is improved when more of an object’s surface touches the water? Think about being in the water horizontally (more of you touching the surface) or vertically.  It takes much less effort horizontally and when you get positioned just right, it requires no effort.  It seems then the best way to get buoyant is to get fully engaged in the river of life – wholeheartedly, mentally, physically, spiritually – less struggling, more float.

A for Anxiety

As the first weekend of 2013 rolls around, I must admit (and Charlie will confirm) that I have been a crank since getting back to Singapore.  He might say that’s an understatement.  I’ve been edgy, irritable, almost itchy, like there’s something under my skin fighting to get out.  Yes, I have screamed aloud more than once.

I’ve decided it’s beginnings that rattle me.  Endings are easier – there’s something natural about conclusions – all good things must end is conventional wisdom, right? And in endings, the path is more clearly defined.  Beginnings are another matter.  So many possibilities, opportunities, choices.  It’s easy around about September or October to say – hey, next year, I’ll jump right on that.  January gleams safely in the distance, a fresh start glowing with great promise.  And then the New Year arrives, all those resolutions come home to roost and the coop gets pretty chaotic. 

So, in honor of Stella who is obsessed with the alphabet, the first week of 2013 is being sponsored by A for anxiety.  Kierkegaard says that anxiety is the dizziness of freedom. What I’m feeling then is just part of being human.  I’m free to choose – that’s the good news and the bad news.  It’s up to me.  It’s up to you.

What to do with this beginning. 

Fear Less, Love More

Some days I zip right by my calendar’s “quote of the day” and think “oh, that’s nice.” Other times, a quote sticks in my head, an ear worm of sorts, and loops back day after day, making me stop and think time and again, often directing my thinking and acting. This one by Eleanor Roosevelt is one of the stickers.

“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.”

The first time I read it, I dreamed of big things I could do to change the world. Why wasn’t I doing those? Starting up a charity. Writing a novel. Building a business. Something grand. Something huge. Something that proves I am fearless.

(Insert sound effect here – screeching brakes.)

Stop. Read it again. Look fear in the face. Do what I cannot do. What is fear? It has been defined as False Evidence Appearing Real. I think it’s the opposite of love. We live in fear. Or we live in love. Living in love requires fearlessness. We let go of our insecurities, our longings, our neediness. We love the other. Note the full stop at the end of that sentence. We love the other. No conditions.

Of course, we can never do this completely, it is a direction rather than a destination. But what a beautiful journey.

How do we begin? First, we accept that we are loved – by our Heavenly Father. Knowing that we are loved unconditionally and drawing upon that Perfect Limitless Love is the only way to move beyond fear. I am loved. I don’t deserve it, but I am. And so is every other human being. Every traveler I meet along the road is worthy of God’s love. Maybe we can’t love him or her – we all have someone in our life who stretches our limits - but God does love that person. So we pray that His Love be the spark that lights our way. And we remember what Paul told us – that we did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but we have received a spirit of adoption. We’ve been adopted by the Creator of the Universe! God says you’re not just a creature, you are my child. Meditating on that thought makes one fearless.

So back to Eleanor. What if the thing which I cannot do today is to love? What if the greatest fear I have is to accept and love that person who irritates me the most? What happens if I let go of judgment and condemnation, accept him/her as is, just as I am accepted? What if I lay down resentment, bitterness, regret, anger? What if all I have left is love?

The beautiful poet Rilke says it much more eloquently:

“Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.”

By God’s grace, we shall do that thing we think we cannot do.  We will do it today.  We will move boldly in the direction of light.  We will love.

Kindred spirits

Today as I walked home past the Winter Garden I saw a lady inside, settling onto a bench to read. The book in her hands was Eat, Pray, Love. I tried to sneak a peek to see how far along she was, wondering where she was at the moment. Italy. India. Indonesia. I felt a bond with her.

Not only because of her choice of reading – I enjoyed the book, but that’s not the point. She was traveling somewhere I had been so we had a shared experience. It collapsed our degrees of separation into a common plane. What surprised me was that I’ve typically thought of reading as a solitary activity. But I realized it’s not. We readers are kindred spirits journeying into a time and place at our own pace while creating shared experiences.

That’s why reading works for me better than movies. The latter presume that everyone is in the same mood at the same time. Off we go for a shared – somewhat contrived – experience. When it works, it’s magic. Like the time we saw “Marley and Me” – five of us – and we all connected with and through the movie and traveled together through the story. But there have been times – and if you’re honest, now come on, it’s happened to you – when I sit through 90 or 120 minutes, with my mind flitting about, thinking why am I here? And maybe the other person or people come out of the movie going – “Wow, was that great or what?” You realize the distance between you was much greater than the width of the armrest.

Maybe this is why so many book clubs don’t work. The whole concept is based on forcing a group of people to read the same story at the same time and then reflect on it – regardless of their mindset. And we all know – we have to be ready to encounter a book or it just won’t work. I’ve started books, put them down, picked them up – thought no, not my thing. And then the right time comes and that particular book is just what I need at that moment. Books can’t be forced upon us, they come to us. And we must be ready to receive.

When I’m ready – what an experience. A book can change me, help me grow, see the world in ways I would never have dreamed. Then when I meet someone else who has traveled those pages, we connect via our past experience, finding common ground in the moment from what we bring to it in our memories. It’s like when you’ve had a marvelous time in say, Paris. You get back home and you’re telling your stories. Someone (could be a total stranger) says – “Oh, I know that corner. I’ve stood in that exact same spot. Ah, I can still smell the croissants fresh from the oven.” Her eyes glaze over, you sigh in unison, it’s so real your mouths begin to water.

It’s the same with books. When I meet another fan of Alexander McCall Smith’s Sunday Philosophy Club, we can get lost in Scotland, though we’ve never been.

“Isn’t Bertie the cutest little fellow? Oh, but Irene. What a mother.”

“Oh, she is something. But I do love Isabel. Wouldn’t you love to have a cup of tea with her, sitting at the kitchen table. Maybe even catch a glimpse of the fox in the garden?”

And there you are in a mind-meld, the two of you sipping tea with a fictional character in a make-believe house, and it’s as real as the street you are standing on. That’s what books can do. So while reading may be a solitary venture, stories are bridges that bring us together.

Family Creed

About 12 years ago, when our family was going through a challenging time, Charlie and I decided to do a family mission statement. We both had certainly put lots of time into crafting such statements for our companies – where are we going, what do we value. Why not one for our family?

We set to work and ended up with one word. RELISH. An acronym for Respect, Encourage, Love, Inspire, Share, and Help. We posted it on the fridge and it helped to change our lives. But that’s a story for another day.

On the evening of the day we buried Dad, no one had much of an appetite for dinner. But no one was ready for sleep either. About 9 p.m., we set off for Steak ‘n Shake in Columbus. Sitting around the table – Jess and Josh opposite Charlie and me, Kate in a chair at the end of the booth, we talked about the hole in our family. Dad had been the glue – he kept us connected, made us laugh, brought perspective to the situations we encountered in life, loved us unconditionally. What did we look like without him? And how did we honor his memory and all that he had taught us?

We started around the table – what do we value? What do we choose? One by one, we shared our thoughts. As we did, our grief began its transformation – the sense of loss morphed into the realization of how much of Dad could never be gone, the things he gave us were embedded in our DNA. The sadness became hope realizing that we must, and would, go on, showing up in the world as responsible, loving people choosing to live in awareness, taking responsibility, cherishing each moment, and laughing as much as possible.

Out of that time and that conversation came our Family Creed. It is a visual reminder of two key facts – life is finite and we are responsible for what we do with the time we have. Carl Rogers says that “to recognize that ‘I am the one who chooses’ and ‘I am the one who determines the value of an experience for me’ is both an invigorating and a frightening realization.” Our Family Creed helps to take the fear out of this realization and allows us to embrace ambiguity and possibility and hopefully to bravely continue the process of becoming all that God created us to be, unique and precious individuals privileged to share this journey together and call each other family.

Fifty years on

Fifty years ago this past Sunday, my parents welcomed me into the world and into the family. At 5 lbs 13 oz, sporting a rather odd bump on the side of my head, I was the proverbial face only a mother could love. My dad was a little wary of touching me at first, lest I break. He soon overcame that fear, although he mostly left diaper duty to Mom.

Last night, Jessica gave birth to little Stella June Hendricks, the newest member of the family. Charlie and I savored every moment of the miracle thanks to Kate’s laptop and Skype video. We watched Jess struggle and push and persist – she was a real trooper – and Josh cheering her on. We laughed and cried as the head appeared and then the entire little bundle. In case you’re wondering, she is perfect, a beautiful, 6 lb 14 oz blessing.

We stayed on via Skype after the birth to stretch the moment as long as we could – it’s one of those times when eternity is not enough to take it all in. As I watched Josh holding Stella, peering into her eyes, devouring every feature of her tiny little face, trying to believe it was true, she had finally arrived after all the months of dreaming and planning, I thought of my own dad holding me fifty years ago and me being that little babe in his arms. A father’s love is priceless, and Stella is blessed to have such strong Daddy arms and abundant Daddy love to guide her through her earthly journey.

A few months ago, I saw life end. Last night, I watched life begin. I am humbled, overwhelmed, and amazed at the preciousness of life and the goodness of God. Remember Lester Burnham’s final words in American Beauty?

“… there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday.”

My someday is now.

State of Grace

Years ago, we hired a part-time nanny/housekeeper. Delia, as we’ll call her, started out strong, but things went south pretty quickly. Long about week three, she asked for a small loan – her car needed a few repairs. We had a vested interest in her having reliable transportation so we wrote the check. Before the first payment was made on the loan, Delia had another request – an advance on her pay. She needed cash for a family emergency. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, we wrote another check.

And then Delia disappeared. Didn’t show up for work the next week. Or the next. No phone calls to explain. Not a word. We weren’t surprised. Just disappointed.

But we were surprised when she rang a few months later. Yes, she needed money. Just a little. She was sorry for skipping out on us like that. Things were looking up, she would repay every penny.

You know what happened. Strike three. Yet she continued to call occasionally - there was no more money exchanged after that, we’re generous, not stupid – but we were always amazed at her gumption. How dare she expect more! Not long after that, we moved out-of-state and that was the last we heard from Delia.

Yesterday, I was at the MRT, just got off the train, was walking through the station. And a passerby ran into me. Hard. She had a big clunky bracelet on and it hit me right on the edge of that little bone on the inside of my wrist and reverberated up through my shoulder. She shot an ugly glance over her shoulder as she hurried on her way.

I started to cry like a baby. I’m not talking getting misty-eyed, or shedding a few tears. I mean a full-fledged, all out bawl. I dug through my purse for a tissue and my phone – I had to call Charlie and tell him how mean she had been.

Then it hit me. I’m still grieving. And grief has left me very fragile. I thought it was behind me, heaven knows I’ve had lots of tears for my dad. But I was confident the really hard cries were a thing of the past. Now, just like Delia, here was that greedy fellow, Grief, knocking at the door, expecting even more from me. How dare he.

I talked with Charlie, wiped my eyes, and climbed aboard bus 174 to continue my journey. There was only one seat open. A school girl, absorbed in her iPod, was closer to it. Just my luck, I thought. Then she glanced at me, loaded down with packages, nodded her head, and walked on, leaving the seat for me. I plopped down, dropped my bags at my feet, and smiled. It is amazing how much a little kindness can accomplish. My entire mood shifted.

As I sat there reframing, a mom and her two children boarded a few stops down the road. The seats beside me had since opened up, and they sat down, the little boy fussing terribly. The mom apologized – he was just hot and tired, she said. I assured her there was no need for apologies – I understood. We struck up a conversation – they are an American family here for a short-term assignment this summer, learning their way around. She was talking about the challenge of grocery shopping with no car so when I told her about the home delivery service offered free by most of the big supermarkets, she was pretty happy. I gave her my name and number, asked her to give me a call if I could help in any way, and exited at my stop.

Grief will still surprise me now and then – he can ask all he wants, but it’s mine to give, not his to take. You see I’ve relocated – to the state of Grace. Much harder for him to reach me there.

And, as I set out on this new day, I choose kindness – someone out there always needs it.