Parsely, Sage, Rosemary, and Time

     When you see an opportunity to lend a hand and something steps between you and the recipient to prevent it, the feeling is one of deep loss.  This happened to me recently while at my local supermarket.  And it has preyed on my mind for the last day.
     The young woman in front of me seemed very pleasant.  She had purchased a few items, but the cashier was telling her she had the wrong kind of peanut butter by the time I took my place in line.  I was oblivious to the import of all this as the assistant manager, Rosemary, sent the cashier off to find "creamy" instead of "chunky."  I was wiling away the minutes rolling my eyes at some tabloid headline.  Rosemary then turned to the woman to say, "You can get 2% or skim milk but not whole.  You can't get the parsely with these either," and put the produce aside.  The young woman smiled and nodded pleasantly.  It was then that I noticed what she had--food stamps.  I suddenly felt a wave of sorrow for her.  In this program apparently one is not entitled to anything that has a whisper of luxury to it.  No rich-tasting whole milk.  No fun-to-crunch chunky peanut butter.  No perky parsely to liven up whatever paltry meal you are preparing.  
     So great was my own discomfort at seeing one item after another removed from the conveyer belt that I attempted to engage the woman in conversation just to make her feel like part of the human race.  I made a comment about the weather and looked at her with a smile.  She spoke very little English, and she made motions to convey that information to me, smiling back pleasantly, like one who is striving to keep her last shred of dignity intact.  Maybe I was overestimating the situation.  Nevertheless, I desperately wanted her to have that parsely, that emblem of something fresh, flavorful, and special.  I spoke to Rosemary, "I'll pay for this woman's parsely," as I reached into my wallet.  Her response astounded me.  Barely looking up from tapping keys into the register she glanced at the bundle and said, "She doesn't want it.  But thanks."
     She doesn't want it?!?!  If she didn't want it why would she have put it in her carriage?  I wanted to say just that in response and insist on paying for it, but I stood there stunned by her insensitivity.  The young woman finished her transaction, moved on, and I did as well.  My anger rose at Rosemary as well as myself for not taking charge of that opportunity to do something lovely for the customer.  Why would anyone be so thoughtless?  Anger was going to be useless now, but this was an opportunity to tap into my inner sage.  What wisdom and compassion could I possibly draw from this painful episode.  Could I find a better story with which to interpret this?  My sage did not fail me.  Rosemary was a victim too.  A victim of time.  Hers is a busy job: cashing checks, canceling out purchases, managing the cashiers, referreeing over a coupon dispute.  She was so focused on getting the task at hand completed that she literally did not see the opportunity to be compassionate.  She probably could not deal with me giving her money for an order that was being transacted with food stamps.  The whole business may have been so bloated with rules and protocols that is was better to let this opportunity go.  And in that moment, she lost herself.
     My sage realized that all three of us lost something in that moment, a moment crushed by the man-made demands of time...or at least how we perceive time.  You and I are often victims of this circumstance. At my recent retreat someone offered a definition of love.  It is not a feeling or an act.  It is simply seeing and being seen.  And out of seeing compassion grows.   We reconnect with our true self.  If I can wish you anything in those stressful times of your day it is the ability to see, just for a moment, the suffering of another.  If all you can do is smile or say a prayer, do it.  And, to paraphrase the rest of the song, Remember yourself with the one who lives there.

Now

     Lately I've been thinking a lot about now....because it is inextricably linked with time...and I've been thinking a lot about time, too.  Now that I am freelancing my time is my own.  I can chose to work at any time of day or night, which means I can do other things whenever I want.  So I pay attention to when I feel pressure, and pressure is usually about being anyplace but now.  My mind goes back to the past to reinforce a belief that may no longer be useful; it projects into the future and frets upon how things will work out.  But when I'm in now, my mind goes in a whole different direction--toward my heart.

     Here it is May, and while there are definitely signs of spring, it has been a long time coming, and I don't think it has decided to take residence completely.  We came close to frost last night!  But that also means that flowers are blooming later and staying longer.  I marveled at the countless buds that appeared on my lilac bushes this year.  Part of me couldn't wait for them to bloom.  But a larger part of me wanted to hold that moment off.  Once they bloom they will begin their inexorable decline toward death.  So I began to appreciate anticipation in a way I had not done before.   Tommy is another next door neighbor all of nine years old.  He is rather small for his age but a dynamo!  He helps me shovel snow and now wants to mow my lawn.  No, he's serious.  He is also the sweetest soul on Earth.  He'll stop by just to sit on my porch to talk to me.  And every time I look into his smiling golden-green eyes I am convinced that behind them is a mighty and gracious spiritual entity.  Yet I know some day he will shoot up like a bean stalk, get a part-time job, fall in love, go to college, move away....  And in that thought my heart breaks that this perfect now cannot go on forever.
     On the other hand, I push so hard for things to happen now.  I just planted vegetables and am boggled that they are taking so long to grow.  I get frustrated when it takes me so much longer to learn something than I think it should.  I feel deep in my bones that I will be in great shape financially, but the operative word is in the future tense.  I want it now!  
     Yet when I sit down and breathe and observe how time and seasons unfold, I feel myself to be in a very safe place.  I will ruminate over my fears until I can sit down on the porch beside the lilacs and breathe in their elixir.  I can observe my cucumbers and be equally boggled that in less than 12 hours another leaf has emerged off my radar.  I can feel the joy of working with my clients.  I am slowly learning that now can be an eternity in itself.  And life is a string of nows.  Seen in that way we can develop more patience with life and ourselves, we can trust, and we can savor our own becoming.
  

Party Like It's 1939

ER  hosting Easter egg hunt at White House

     It was my belief that back in the Great Depression there was a lot more generosity going around than at any time in my life.   The 70's were "me" focused and fashion challenged.  The 90's brought the scourge of greed and technology.  The millennium and 9/11--the world's axis shifted, and nothing has been the same since.  

     But whenever my parents, aunts, and uncles--second generation Americans--spoke about the Great Depression in which they grew up, they always mentioned people's generosity.  They didn't gloss over the hardships.  But stories of sharing and invention abounded.  So you can understand why the 1930s, as grueling as they were, still stand out in my mind as kinder days than those I've lived through.  Until now.

     While greed and indifference exist in abundance to be sure, I am heartened by what doesn't make the headlines because, as they say in the news biz, it doesn't bleed.  I am seeing a lot of caring folks in the world who make a difference for the better.  And I try daily to amplify that generosity every chance I get.  Life is beautiful when I do.  I sport a perpetual smile on my face, and other shoppers respond in kind.  I stop and talk to strangers for no good reason other than to connect with them for a moment, and they light up.  I do things I love, saying "yes!" to people ask to use my talents.  It proves to me that how we show up in the world actually affects our environment.  So how do we want to do that?  With cynicism?  Fear?  Suspicion?  Exhaustion?  

     If you read my last blog (you did read it, didn't you?), you know I am imperfect.  But I'm telling you, the extra effort I make to show up as my better angel is paying off.  My friend Audrey Lin echoes this experience.  At a recent conference, she was losing energy.  The trip, the sitting, the shlepping of stuff, all the talk talk talk.  So she and a friend decided to perform random acts of kindness.  As she enthusiastically describes it in a recent blog posting of her own: 

“As we went around giving out snacks, something shifted, in me and in the people we were interacting with. Suddenly, it was as if we were all becoming family. Giving out snacks, giving group hugs, learning each others' names-- there is something powerful about connecting over kindness rather than connecting over a project or ideology or agenda. When you connect with someone over an act of kindness, you make a heart-to-heart connection--a human connection-- that is a reflection and reminder of the human spirit. Of our interconnectedness!”

(Read more)

     So given all I've told you, you are hereby invited to a virtual party!  I invite you to commit random acts of kindness for the next few days.  You don't have to volunteer in a soup kitchen or write out a check.  Just pay attention!  Yes, that means getting off your devices--and you know I'm all for that.  What is going on around you that allows you to make a moment of positive impact?  Carry little toys in your pocket for restless children in a doctor's office.  In a check-out line turn around and compliment someone on her scarf.   Walk around your street and pick up garbage.  Need more ideas?  Go to HelpOthers.org, a great website!
     Then--THEN--come back here and tell us what you did, and what the experience did for you.  If you do this often enough, you'll notice how you are transforming.  You are becoming a change agent in the world.  But you have to come back and comment about it, or we won't have a party.  And you don't want to be a party pooper, do you?  In fact, forward this posting and bring others along with you.
     Just think.  If this were 1939, you might be sharing sugar rations or tomatoes from your victory garden.  Gee, isn't it swell?  Everything old is new again.  

Pax tecum.

 

     

Simply Complex

Only recently--that would be within the past 30 minutes--have I realized how much I love complexity despite my desire for simplicity.  It struck me as I stalled on an opening for a chapter I am writing on the latter.  Boy, does that drip with irony!  I believe that simplicity is a virtue: things neatly put away, owning only what I need, doing things mindfully.  It is refreshing to go through my day fully present, which also means I'm available to others in more civil ways.

But then I look at my interests.  They are anything but simple.  I much prefer Mahler over Hayden because his music is quirky.  I'll take Indian food with its rich mixture of spices over a burger and fries any day.  Rather than formulaic romance novels, I prefer reading adventures in science and philosophy.  Then there's how I make decisions.  Thoughts ricochet between my right and left brains.  How does this feel vs is this logical? Clearly this is a case of too much information.

More important is what does simplicity mean for others?  Is there a universal meaning for that word? We all know people who stock up because they want to live with more economic simplicity.  We can make our lives complicated trying to achieve temporal simplicity (this is why I say multitasking is not a virtue).  We may want to be environmentally simple, but when shopping, do we buy the cage free eggs in the plastic carton or the organic eggs in the cardboard carton?  Suddenly, simplicity is not so simple!

Maybe it comes down to this:  Simplicity is sanity.  If we can do what we need to do, be as we need to be, use our time, energy, and money in ways that satisfy our values at a particular moment, maybe this is as simple as it gets.  And what are our values?  Money in the bank?  Community activism?  Caring for loved ones?  When we clear out the superfluous--and your definition of that will be different from mine--our values direct our lives.  We have a plainer path to walk upon.  If we pursue the complex--determining the best medical procedure for an illness, writing a play, crafting an economic policy--we do so with more sanity when we cut a swath through our mental space at least.  Complexity is wonderful sometimes.  But we need openness for the elements to float through, connect, disengage, reassemble until the right combination of knowledge, inspiration, and actions reveals itself in a perfect whole.  When I clear my mind of fears and distractions, I function much better in the world.  When my values are reflected in my outer world, I feel congruent. And now I just had a brain storm.  Excuse me while I tap out the next chapter of my book.  Thanks for listening to me.  It helped a lot!

Pax tecum.

Strawberry Fields Impermanently

"Let me take you down 'cause I'm going to..."

...Jones Family Farms in this case.  It was the end of the season, and I wanted to be sure to get some fresh strawberries. I'm always amazed that fresh-picked strawberries are so juicy, unlike store bought which tend more toward crunchy. 

The folks at Jones will give you a large box before you go out into the field.  But this single chick figured better take just one plastic container of my own, and when it was full, that was it.

While it was a hot and sticky day downtown, up on Pumpkin Seed Hill the wind blew refreshingly over those of us picking in between the rows.  You have to be very careful not to step on trailing vines or bump into overly ripe fruit.  In this approach to the task, I experienced something like reverence.  The act of kneeling, moving slowly, and gingerly pinching the stems made me mindful not only of the berries but of the day and those around me.  The leaves felt leathery and hearty.   I could hear a mother with her children giggling through the rows with evidence of sampling on their chins.

The picking became a meditation that I did not wish to end.  Everything was so perfect.  But my container was filling up.  A dialog began in my head.  "I wish I had another container."  "Why?"  "I'd like to pick more!"  "But you know you can't eat more. They'll just go bad, and you'll throw them out."  "True.  When the container is full I will stop and have just what I need and want."  "Enough" is a difficult concept for our consumer society.  We don't want to run out of things or let go of gorgeous experiences.  But if they are always there, they becomes commonplace.  We miss what made them special.  We toss the unused portions into the compost bin.

The next time you go to a store, just check in with yourself without judgments.  Are you shopping  only for necessities?  If something not on the list strikes your fancy, do you put it in the carriage?  Are you standing in front of the jam section looking at the ten different brands trying to decide which to buy?  Do you remember when your city had a power outage, and you were staring at the last jar of mint jelly on the shelf?  Permanence.  Impermanence.  Enough.  Too much.  Not enough.  I just offer this as an idea to play with.  You may find by exploring these words you examine whether you are living a particular moment on purpose or on autopilot, in the past, future, or present.  Nothing more.  But maybe the awareness is enough.  Savor your awareness.  It's so juicy!

Pax tecum.