Traveling on 287

     Super Soul Saturday was the retreat I attended last week in Princeton, NJ.  The east coast contingent of Service Space met for a day of mindfulness, meditation, and rich conversations.  It was so perfect!  We were all swimming in an ocean of love and support, so it was effortless and comforting to share stories with each other about life's challenges and rewards.  The theme was service in everyday life.  How do we show up for it?  Surrender to it?  What happens when our fears conflict with the desire to trust that what we are doing is right and necessary though conventional wisdom would tell us otherwise?  The day was full of such stories, and with it the laughter, hugs, knowing glances that assure us that we are in this together; and the road we travel is taking us home to our highest consciousness.
     I stayed later than I intended to so I could spend time with Bela who'd be moving across the country days later.  In hindsight, I'm so glad I did and would not have chosen differently.  It was a gorgeous time of sharing.  And this meant leaving at 8:15pm for a two and a half hour trip back home.  It would be a long, dark drive.  
     Things started to go quirky when I made two turns out of the neighborhood and immediately lost my bearings.  Darn!  I should have printed out the reverse directions rather than try to think backwards, a talent that is not in my repertoire.  But I made it to my first service station and got my bearings again from the attendant.  The streets were obviously unfamiliar, but the darkness made it difficult to read the signs, compounding my dilemma.  I made it another few miles, but no signs were evident.  I backtracked once again to a second service station to get confirmation of the route I needed to travel, and was gratified that my intuition was correct.  I then needed to travel up route 1 to the Garden State Parkway.  The trip was longer than it was coming down.  Did I miss a sign?  I began to panic about how the sign might read.  Would it tell me north or south?  Or would it just say To Trenton or Newark?  I have no idea where those places are in relationship to me!  I pulled into a third service station for yet more confirmation.  I was assured the sign would indicate north.  Whew!  On the road again, counting all the miles I thought I needed to be aware of when the sign might appear.  In a moment of doubt I saw a GSP sign tacked onto an exit, thinking that was the exit I needed to take.  Instead it was just a cheap way of posting that the turnoff was yet to come.  I stuffed my heart back down into my chest.  There!  Ahead of me was the easy turn off to the road I wanted.  Now, on to 287 and Westchester Avenue.  As a blessing along the way, I had the good fortune to pay a toll to an attendant with a warm, enveloping smile.  "Good evening, sister!  How are you?"  He got back as good as he gave.  I thanked God for sending me a highway angel.  I was heartened.
     These two roads converge for a small span before hooking up to the Tappan Zee Bridge and the Hutchinson River Parkway.  That would seamlessly meld into the Merritt Parkway which I knew like the back of my hand.  The Hutch meant I was safe and on my way home.  So I carefully counted the miles to where I'd see the signs for 287.  There it was right on time, and with it Westchester Ave.  I took the exit.  But wait.  Something was wrong.  The road I took coming down was a highway.  This was a secondary street with traffic lights.  The signs kept saying 287 with a forward arrow, but the road was not the one I remembered this morning.  Where was I?!?!  The road went on and on.  It was now 10pm, and it would be difficult to find places to drive into and ask for directions.  Light after light I traveled, doubting the signs that promised what I needed but conflicted with what I had known before.  I saw a bus pulled over to the side.  I wondered if I should ask the driver for directions.  But the light changed, and I chose to move forward...up over a rise...and FINALLY!  There before me was the exit for 287, and with it one that broadcast the coming of the Tappan Zee Bridge.  I knew just over the bridge I'd connect with the Hutch, and it would be a straight shot home.  
     The relief was overwhelming because the panic had been so persistent.  I relaxed my shoulders and loosened my white-knuckled fingers on the steering wheel.  Why did this have to happen right after such a magical day at the retreat?  I was annoyed that all those good vibes went right out the window.  A high had been replaced by fear.  But then I realized this trip home was a perfect metaphor for everything we had talked about that day:  traveling an unknown road, in the dark, hoping to get "home."  So frequently during my week, I strain to see signs that the way I am choosing to live is "right," that it will lead me to my destination, the fulfillment of my purpose.  Home.  I talk with others to compare notes and get confirmation.  "Did you have to pass through this challenge?  Good, so did I!"  My life is just like traveling on 287.  And the only way I got through it was on faith.  Sure, I have help along the way, but some stretches it's just me, doubt and faith battling it out, and the road.  Worst case scenario, I could have just driven around all night or stayed at a hotel.  But eventually I would have made it home.  I believe we all do.  It's just that some routes are harder than others.
     Anyway, one piece of advice.  Make sure your tolls are in quarters in case you get into the wrong toll lane.  It didn't happen to me, but it'll be one less thing for you to worry about on your path!

Pax tecum.

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.

 

     

An Ill Wind That Blew Some Good

     This is my neighborhood post blizzard.  See that teeny black sliver above the railing?  That's the only sign of my car which was completely buried in snow.  Three--count 'em THREE--feet in one storm.  Nor'easters are a force to be reckoned with.    

      My male neighbors lent their muscles to the task of clearing my driveway.  It was exhausting mentally as well as physically as we had to figure out where to put the darn stuff.  We'd work a couple of hours, go back inside for coffee and ibuprofen, then go out and tackle it some more.
        After three days of this paralysis, a payloader finally broke through the street.  Those people worked round the clock, getting stuck themselves, dodging pedestrians and shrouded vehicles.   It was nerve-wracking, mind-numbing, and heroic.   But he couldn't clear the entire road, just past my driveway.  There he stopped.  I'm guessing someone else was in charge of that other portion.  You have to stop plowing somewhere, or you end up circumnavigating the Earth.
     Up the street, Amy stepped out of her house and observed that she was still snow bound.  I was just wrapping up days of back-breaking work when she saw me and, yelling over the sound of a snow blower, expressed her astonishment.  "How come they didn't plow me out?!?!  I'll never be able to get to work!"  
     Spent and aching, I mustered as much goodwill as I could.  "Think of it as a vacation!"
     "How could they be so stupid!?!?!  What idiots!!!"
     That's my hot-button.  When I know someone has given their all to an effort and hear criticism of him, I lose it.  I rarely lose it.  But I lost it at that moment and made a very impatient and frankly irrational reply before stomping into my house.
     Then the inevitable guilt set in.  I handled it really badly.  I was insensitive to her situation and made myself look like a jerk as well.  I had to clean it up.  I chose to go over to her house the next day and apologize, then offer to take her grocery shopping with me.  "Go over."  I write that so glibly.  She is maybe 20 yards away from me.  But it meant I had to swim through waves of hip-deep snow to get there.  Every step was a booby trap.  In an act of poetic justice, I fell on my face a couple of times.  I arrived soaked with cold water and knocked on her door.
     She greeted me warmly, and then I stated my reason for coming, offering a sincere apology for my remark.
    "What remark?"
     "You didn't hear what I said?"
     "No, I thought you were just complaining about shoveling.  What did you say?"
     "Amy, if you didn't hear me, I'm not going to repeat it!"  And we both laughed.  
     Then she turned quite somber.  "No, I don't need to go grocery shopping, but thanks for the offer.  It was good of you to come over.  It's been a hard week for me.  It's the anniversary of my mother's death, and my sister attempted suicide.  It's too much...."  She broke down after that.  I simply stood there, giving her my full attention, sending as much love to her as I could.  Since I was not invited in, I figured she did not wish to dwell in this place.  Then pulling herself together she said, "I just needed someone to tell that to."  
     I gave her my deepest condolences, she thanked me, and I returned home to send up a prayer for her.   Never in a million years would I have guessed that doing something stupid could provide a means to connect with someone in need.  If I hadn't blown so rudely, I would never have been moved to visit with her.  Amy just isn't one of those neighbors I hang out with.
     So I wonder if there are times when being less than perfect opens up opportunities for grace.  Maybe the Universe uses our mistakes for a higher good if we are brave enough to own up to them.   Maybe storms leave some good in their wake after all.

Pax tecum