Oh, my. I just read a news story about a man who enlisted the help of his two friends in order to make $671,000. Their plan? Find a chain saw, strap it to a pole so the friends doing the cutting don’t have to stand too close (wouldn’t want this to get messy…) and use it to cut off the man’s hand. Are you kidding me? Sacrifice a limb for money? And if you do, somehow, manage to allow this to happen, you get what that man received… no hand and a felony charge, including 20 year prison sentence, for insurance fraud.

Although I am horrified by this story, I am not unaware of the fact that each of us face choices like these, every day. Ok, so maybe you’re not trying to decide which of your own eyes you will pluck out in order to collect disability, but you are making decisions that require you to answer, “How far will you go?” And, although some of those questions are about money, (like, “will you trade time with your family to stay later at the office,” or “will you risk $5000 in the stock market, in order to hope to make $10,000?”), some of our trades and choices are about less measurable things. Will you stay with a man who ignores your feelings so that you don’t have to be alone? Will you be less than honest so that your friend’s feelings aren’t hurt? Will you eat the third donut, because they taste really wonderful, eventhough you know you should go for a walk, instead?

It seems to me that the daily task of decision making boils down to a system of calculations: traded value vs. received value and risk vs. benefit. Does what we are trading have less value than what we are receiving? In the case of the trading of a hand for a little over $200,000 (remember, the sum they received has to be split over three people), and risking a felony conviction, we might think the answer is a resounding, “No!” For some reason, however, that imbalance wasn’t very clear to the guy in the news story. Just like, in the case of trading the time you could spend eating dinner with your family for more billable hours at the firm, the answer might not be as clear for you.

It makes me wonder which of the choices I make seem obviously imbalanced to others. Could the possible key to all of life be that we should get better at calculating trade values and risk vs. benefit? I would like to invite all of my friends to feel free to help me make these kinds of calculations in my life. And whatever I might say in the future, regardless of what case I make for it, please… never, ever tie a chain saw to a pole and help me cut off my hand.  

 

My mom forwarded me an email that was full of the prayers of little children. One four-year-old was saying the Lord’s prayer, and prayed,

“...forgive us our trash baskets, as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets...”

Deep.

It made me wonder how many trash baskets I was carrying around with me. Different than your average “baggage,” which might be bad enough, my trash baskets actually contain things that I have recognized as useless (like old psychological wounds, or a negative self-image… that kind of thing) and, therefore, discarded. Instead of walking away, however, I just picked up the whole basket to carry with me, as if I might need to sort through it and retrieve something, at some point. How many thoughts, self-concepts, worries of things long since passed, do I drag around in some invisible, but no less burdensome trash basket?

And what of the people who have added things to my baskets over the years? The garbage they tossed my way that soiled my self-esteem or made my load a little heavier, which made my life a little messier… Did they mean to use my basket? Or were they, more likely, just trying to rid themselves of the trash that they too were carrying? And how much of my own trash have I relocated into someone else’s basket, inadvertently or otherwise?

It seems reasonable to ask for forgiveness for this. Mostly because, in carrying around a bunch of old trash, we essentially deprive ourselves of a lightened journey. How are we to live in joy, to enjoy this playground that is life with all of the blessings and gifts life has to offer, if we are focused on keeping track of old trash and monitoring the trash others put in our baskets?

I think I like this analogy because it’s easy for me to picture myself digging through my old trash. And that envisioning makes it easy to just stop rooting and gathering and carrying, because it seems almost ridiculous to dig through old trash. So, please forgive me my trash baskets. They’ve gotten in the way. And forgive me, too, if I’ve ever put anything in your trash basket. Let’s just stop dragging them around, shall we? 

I love this time of year. It means holidays and holiday parties, getting together with friends and family, and having a reason to eat and shop! J I especially love that “The Holiday Season,” begins with Thanksgiving, passes through Christmas, and ends with a New Year. It seems to me like that should be the model for how we approach every day. In that spirit, here is how I want to spend the first 5 minutes of every morning of 2012:

First, I’m going to practice Thanksgiving by being thankful for another day to spend with friends, family, co-workers and other comrades who are essentially facing the same life-struggles and celebrations I am.

Then, like on Christmas day, I’m going to remind myself that I am loved, saved, and gifted, and I’m going to resolve to express my hope, joy and peace, wherever the day takes me.

Finally, as I do when I face the coming New Year, I’m going to rejoice in all of the possibilities that lie within the coming 24 hours: all of the things that I want to do differently, all of the things I’d like to keep the same, all of the miraculous events I cannot even imagine from where I stand at the beginning of my day.

Maybe this is what it means to “make every day a holiday.” From now on, I’m going to make every day three of them.

Thank you, so much, for your support and encouragement over this last year. I hope each of you and your families had a very merry Christmas, and will have a joyful and remarkable 2012!

_In the years from 1993 to 1999, I lived in a beautiful home. I had flower boxes and a garden I tended with care. I grew tomatoes, okra, and fresh spring lettuce that I lovingly prepared for my family in those summers. In the winter months, I’d spend most of my time in the kitchen, cooking lasagna, chili, stews, or roasts. We were blessed to always have food on the table, and when our friends dropped by to see us, which they did often, we had enough to share.

We also had a fluffy, friendly dog that stood by the door until we got home, or so it seemed, and we often lived with two little boys, who were my step sons. These boys played in their room, or in the big yard with the dog, or sat in the living room, watching sports and becoming Dolphin and Tiger Woods fans, because their dad was. The boys were fun and funny and rambunctious, and we got to see them every summer for at least six weeks and at least once during the holidays, despite the fact that they lived four states away. When they were 6 and 8, I started teaching them “dating manners,” and we would have fancy dinners at the house (crab legs and steak, table cloth and candles). They would pull out my chair for me, say grace, and keep their elbows off the table. The rest of the time, they were “all boy,” running and fighting and wrestling and riding their bikes until they were tired enough, or told, to get their baths and go to sleep.

Sometimes our bills were paid late, but they were always paid. I had a really good job that I enjoyed, and we had vehicles in the driveway that took us all the places we wanted to go... Florida for a vacation, Michigan to see my family, and four states away to get the boys.

I was very secure in the fact that the man-of-the-house loved me beyond words. There was not a night, for most of that time, when we did not hold hands as we fell asleep. He bragged about my cooking, and I was proud of him for trying to start his own business, but, when this man died tragically in November of 1999, this chapter of my life came to a close.

There was a man. During the years of 1993-1999, he lived in a mobile home that he felt was too small and too old. His ex-wife had taken his children from him, and out of spite it seemed, moved them hundreds of miles away. He felt that he rarely got to see his sons, and the separation made him angry. Actually, nearly everything made him angry… his finances, his lack of ability to see his children more often, his past, his future… His anger kept him from working for or with other people, so he was forced to try to work on his own.  He always suspected his live-in girlfriend was cheating on him, and he felt like a failure, driving a seven-year-old Ford Ranger that his 5-11 frame could barely fold itself into. This angry, unhappy man took his own life in November of 1999, and this chapter of his life came to a close.

In case you haven’t guessed, both stories are about the same man... and me. The same family, same home, same life… two sides of the same coin. Two completely different perspectives. The entire experience makes me wonder why anyone would choose to see the most negative aspects of a situation. Do some people not realize that there is a choice to be made? Does negative thinking become so habitual that it becomes difficult, or impossible, to see what is going right amidst all of the going wrongs?

This week, near the anniversary of the ending of one of the most significant chapters of my life, I ask you: which side of the coin, which story of your life, is your focus? Does it serve you, or serve to crush your spirit? If it’s the latter, I beg of you, turn the coin over. Intentionally stop yourself from looking for the worst of things, and start making it a habit to count your blessings.

If you will, you can start to see that we live on a rich playground in which to explore ourselves and our lives, and though we sometimes skin our knees and get hurt on this playground, sometimes we get to swing and slide and play and feel sunshine on our faces. It is during these times, if you will recognize them, that life feels very, very good. And all is well.

Joy and love to you.

I attended a beautiful wedding yesterday, where two of my favorite people (we’ll call them S and R) vowed to each other, and announced to the world, their mutual promise to love. Marriage may mean different things to different people, but I think the final analysis reveals that two people have decided to be in each other’s corners, to be the one safe place, to have the two ears that will listen when no one else will, for as long as they both shall live. After life has its chance to frustrate, exhaust, and discourage these two people; after the giddiness of the insecurity of a new relationship is gone and the calm surety of a seasoned friendship is what remains; after years of opportunities have presented themselves for these two to experience one another’s basic, human flaws, there will still be that decision to love that remains, because that is the promise.

After S proposed and R said, “Yes!” their wedding date was set. What most surprised everyone in this case was that the ceremony was scheduled for just two months away. “It’s so soon!” “What’s the hurry?” “Don’t you need time to plan?” Speculation abounded, and those who had suffered failed marriages in the past were skeptical. I wonder, though, if we can really say that the process was rushed.

I suppose if the decision to marry was made the day the ring was purchased, or the day the bride accepted, then, maybe, there wasn’t much time in between for planning or being sure. However, that’s not really when these decisions are made, are they? Instead, the decision to love was made every time, over the course of their two-year courtship, that they found out something new. At first, it was simple things: S wears a lot of jewelry… can I love him? R is taking her time about introducing me to her friends… can I love her? Then, as more of their individual personalities were revealed, they had more decision points: S is not always P.C. about his opinions… can I love him? R sometimes gets annoyed when I speak my mind… can I love her?

In the end, there must have been a thousand different times they said, “Yes,” until, finally, they said, “Yes,” in a public forum, in front of their friends and family, in an effort to confirm to the world and the Lord, that they had decided to love. There really was no reason to wait. It wasn’t very sudden at all.
Most of the major decisions we make in this life are like that… made one little step at a time. How our lives are structured, in all of our life areas: career, relationship, health, finance, etc., is a result of a thousand small decisions that either take us toward or away from our dreams. “I want this pair of shoes,” when chosen 25 times, can result in mountains of debt. “I am too tired to discuss my day with my wife,” when chosen 20 days in a row, can result in separation and distance in the relationship that’s hard to mend. Just as, “I will make a point to stop what I am doing and listen to my child when he speaks,” when done consistently, can build self-esteem and engineer strong bonds of trust.

Are you aware of the thousands of little decisions you make every day that are creating your future? If you are going to Live in Joy and create a life that is of your choosing, you need to be. Make a decision of who you want to be when you open your eyes every morning, “I will be loving. I will be available. I will be aware. I will be healthy. I will make financially sound decisions,” for example, and then make choices throughout your day that support your attainment of those dreams. One day, it will feel like your dreams are coming true, suddenly, after all.

Woo-hoo! I have been hired to conduct a Living in Joy workshop by one of the local colleges. It will be my first, official, paid gig as a public speaker. I did the Nashville workshop in August, but that one was a seminar that I organized, myself. This one is different, because I was the one invited, not the one doing the inviting, and that feels like a dream is coming true.

There are a lot of Living in Joy lessons, here, so let me share five of them with you.

1. Know what you want. It seems obvious, but the next time you are in the middle of something you clearly do NOT want, ask yourself what is it that you DO want? It may surprise you how much easier it is to identify the uncomfortable things and recoil from them, than to imagine the most fabulous things and run toward them.
2. Talk about it. My dream was to answer the question, “Shelly, how is it you always seem so happy?” and to help other people do that, too. Now, I get to try, because I started talking about it. You might be surprised at how many people are anxious to help you. We love winners. We love seeing people chase dreams and succeed, because it gives us all permission to do the same. And we love to think we are a part of someone else’s dream-living success. Give us the chance.
3. Go for it. Had I not conducted the Nashville workshop, the organizer at the college would not have known I am available for such things as seminars and workshops. Do you want a promotion? Start managing your current workload while also helping your superior meet his or her goals. Do you want to experience love in your life? Start loving. Do you want to be happier? Just start smiling as if you are already happy. (Actually, “feel good” endorphin hormones are released when your muscles contract in that way, so it really does make you feel happier.)
4. Appreciate Fear. I wrote a blog around the time of my Nashville seminar wherein I tried to explain how terrifying it felt to put myself out there, exposing my hopes and dreams, and putting myself in a position to fail. It wasn’t easy or fun. However, Fear is that emotion that warns us to prepare. Ultimately, it is meant to act like a flashing light to get us to pay attention to details, not like a closing gate to stand between us and our dreams. Prepare the best you can. Afterwards, make notes of what you can do better the next time. I know there were failure points in my Nashville seminar. The next one will be better. And much less frightening. 
5. Be content with the fact that dreams are unattainable. Now, I know you thought I would say, “attainable,” but the truth is that once we reach a certain goal of our choosing, we immediately fill it with another one. It’s one of the side-effects of being alive. As long as we are alive, as long as we intend to keep living, we want new experiences, and we keep dreaming bigger, better dreams. It seems that the small successes we have, the bits of reinforcement that we get when we reach a goal, serve only to inspire us. I am very, very excited about this seminar, but I am also aware that this does not mean I’ve reached the finish line. Quite the opposite. I’m barely at the starting gate.

I truly believe that Living in Joy regardless of your circumstances hinges on some of these core concepts. You really can be, have and do anything you want to do in this lifetime, if you will just start by imagining what that might be. I, myself, am imagining very big, full, wonderful things. I hope you are, too! Care to share what they are? You never know who might be reading and need exactly what you hope to do.

I just finished watching “Maid in Manhattan.” Cute movie. I always like Cinderella tales, however unbelievable. Have you seen it? One of my favorite lines in the movie is said when the heroine (played by Jennifer Lopez) has just been fired, and her mentor, the very wise butler (played by Bob Hoskins), walks to the security window just behind her and returns his badge, as well. Jennifer’s character is aghast, thinking that her behavior has resulted in him losing his job. As she is apologizing profusely, he tells her that he did not get fired, he quit. He then states,

“Sometimes we are forced into directions we ought to have found ourselves.”

Although I love that quote, although I appreciate its wisdom, although I applaud that “life” is structured in such a way as to, periodically, save us from ourselves, I also know that this particular concept can make us feel vulnerable and victimized. It is true that other people’s choices, or even the unforeseen consequences of our own, sometimes propel us into new directions. Friends move away, lovers grow bored and stop calling, companies downsize, rains bury homes in water… And it all feels as if it’s happening “to us,” not of our own accord, and certainly not “for us,” like some cosmic plan for our future delight. However, as someone who vehimently believes that we can be, have and do anything we choose in this life, I harbor a general distaste for all such feelings of vulnerability and victimization.

“Why is this happening to me?” is not generally a cry I endorse. I believe that it smothers our awareness of our own power: the power to choose the most amazing and delightful life we can imagine; and leaves us feeling punished, hurt, and terrified of what, out of our control, might be the blow that ends us. (Dramatic? Sure. But then, in these times, we feel just that overwhelmed, do we not?)

What if, however, instead of avoiding all of those feelings and stifling that lament, I recognize them as also being a part of the richest tastes and textures life has to offer? The questions then become, do I have the courage to feel those helpless, vulnerable feelings, swim in them, and let them nearly drown me? Will I have the fortitude, afterwards, to climb back out of the pit, taking the lessons of that experience with me, and resume my joyful life? Or will I find that it is a Devil’s Triangle, from which I can never return, and I am forever scarred and broken? And wouldn’t, given the general message I try to convey in my writings and seminars, crying out, “Why me? Why now? Why this?” be rather hypocritical of me?

Does my “Living in Joy” premise demand that I am never to feel defeated or desperate? That I am somehow wiser than to succumb to the desire to curl up into a ball, sit in a corner, and sob? I don’t think so. I think, in fact, that my point is exactly the opposite: that remaining in touch with your joy demands that you live honestly. When you're hurt, you cry. When you're happy, you dance. The joy is not found in avoiding pain. It is found in knowing that the places of suffering in which we find ourselves are not black holes from which there is no escape.
So, today, I will wallow in the suffering. And tomorrow (or sometime soon), I will sing. And I give myself permission to do both. After all, as the wise butler in the movie also said,

“What defines us is how well we rise after falling,” which, indeed, requires an initial decent.

Isn’t it amazing that even the most frivolous of tales can remind us of some of the greatest Truths?

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This weeks blog is in honor of those affected by 9-11-2001 who found the courage to wade into their sorrow, and then learn to swim, that they might reach the other side. Never will we be the same. Never will we forget. Always, we will send our love to you, that you might find the joy in knowing that there is life after...

If you’ve been reading my blog, regularly, you know I like to travel. So, as usual, I am sitting in an airport, and am once again, inspired. As I am sitting at my gate, patiently waiting for my delayed plane to land and allow us to board, a family has now sat down beside me. The mother, I presume, straggled behind the others, limping, and using a cane in an attempt to steady herself. She was unsuccessful at being wholly steady, but she had made it to the gate, nonetheless, and with no help from her family members.

I was thinking that the family should have been more aware of her, instead of giving no thought to her struggling behind them while they walked 20 paces ahead... I was thinking that she was unfortunate to be limping. I wondered if she was in pain. I worried that she might fall, and I hoped that she wouldn’t. I moved my book, pointedly making room for her in a closer spot than her family chose, and looking at her with an inviting “please feel free to sit here,” expression.

As I looked up at her with some bit of compassion and sympathy for her plight, she sat beside me and smiled. “This looks like a good spot for daydreaming,” she said, smiling even more broadly, adjusting herself in her chair and resting her cane between the two of us. In that moment, she became my hero, and my example. She wasn’t thinking any of those limiting thoughts I had cast on her. She was focused on new ideas. No wonder her family paid no mind to the limitations I saw. She paid no mind to them, either.

“Argue for a limitations, and sure enough, they’re yours.” – Richard Bach

“Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you are right.” – Henry Ford

These are quotes that govern much of my thought. I try to remember and teach that we can be, have, and do absolutely anything we choose. I am completely aware that my thoughts of my own limitations restrict me, unnecessarily. I wonder, though, about what we think others can do. How much of our perception of others’ limitations influence their abilities, their courage, and their determination?

As a nurse, I am careful to guard my words and keep them positive and encouraging, but my thoughts are not always congruent with that. Perhaps I need to guard my thoughts and perceptions as well. It seems plausible that we may just have a moral, social obligation to see the potential in someone and not focus on the apparent infirmity. If we could all see what others can do, instead of feeling pity for what they cannot, (or seemingly cannot), would we subconsciously send an encouraging message? Would our expressions enable them? Would our posture and our offering of opportunities change for the better?

Of course, always looking for the best seems like ignoring the obvious, or minimizing the potential for difficulties, or living in a dream world instead of the real world. But, hey. I’ve heard this is a good spot for daydreaming.

Most of us are familiar with the battle for independence that our country waged in the 1700’s. We wanted the right to speak our minds. We wanted our interests to be represented, without it costing us everything we owned. We wanted to be able to defend ourselves, without fear of recrimination…

I sometimes think about how difficult it must have been to make the decision to travel across an entire ocean, to a piece of land that was unsettled, unfamiliar, and foreign, and make a new life. The new world was wide-open, in every sense. New land, new laws, new challenges, new habits, …new everything! As exciting and full of potential as it was, it must have also been frightening, because independence has a price. And not just for the colonists. In fact, one of the greatest challenges of independence, whether you are a new country trying to set-up a legal system, a young adult heading off to college, or any person just recognizing a personal right to choose how to live your dreams, lies in determining what to do when anything can be done.

Marianne Williamson, author of “A Return to Love,” said, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.”

 As much as we want independence, the freedom to do, have or be anything at all, we also know that our limitlessness comes with a responsibility to achieve greatness. And that responsibility scares us. If we are, indeed, powerful beyond measure, then we are powerful enough to live our own dreams. We are powerful enough to have the families, the jobs, and the homes that we want. And if we are powerful enough to, but are not living out our dreams, then why aren’t we?

Our countries independence came with a price: the abandonment of the familiarity of one way of life, the leaving of the safety (however precarious) of the homeland, the trade of what was “known,” for the “unknown.” This is the same cost we endure when we exercise our independence in our lives, today. Because of this, we become afraid to exercise our independence, to choose what we want, to speak of our dreams, to share our thoughts and ideas, to excel. We are afraid of the cost.

What if we weren’t? What would each of our lives look like if we exercised our independence and just had faith that our richest lives could be ours and that the cost would be worth it? What if we recognized that we really do have the power to make our own choices, that we are not victims, and that we are free to chase our dreams? We are not subjects to any king… not our jobs, not our spouses, not our children, not our financial circumstances... We choose. We are independent to guide our own lives across deep waters and enter into a new world.

I hope for you this holiday that you are able to celebrate your own independence and your freedom to choose to live the life of your dreams. Happy Independence Day!

It always amazes me how some memories are as clear as if they had just happened, yesterday. Do you have those times that you remember, when you can feel the feelings again, almost smell the smells and see the events unfold in front of you? I remember one particular Saturday afternoon. I suppose I was seven or eight years old. My mom and I had spent the day in the kitchen, and it was my first attempt at baking a pie from scratch. I had mixed the flour and shortening, rolled it carefully, and patted it into the dish. Mom and I washed and prepared the black raspberries for the filling and wove the perfect lattice top. Mom even showed me how to pinch the edges, so that they looked fancy and store-bought. When my dad came through the back door, I was delighted to tell him that I had baked him a pie, almost all by myself! I can remember, so clearly, him smiling at me in approval and saying, “All-right!” as he walked through the kitchen and upstairs to take a shower before dinner.

I was delighted and proud. Until I attempted to take the fresh-baked pie out of the oven.  *SPLAT!* …upside down on the oven door. Ruined. Suddenly, I wasn’t the proud little girl, cooking something for her daddy that she knew he would love. Now, I was just the clumsy little girl, who always ruined everything.

My dad, probably hearing the commotion in the kitchen, walked-in from the living room. He must have noticed I had tears welling in my eyes, but if he did, I didn’t know it. Without missing a beat, he grabbed forks out of the drawer, exclaiming, “This is great! This is the best way to keep pie warm after it’s done baking!” He grabbed the ice cream out of the freezer, and I watched in disbelief as he scooped it out onto the pie, all of it running all over the oven door. I looked at mom, eyes wide, but she wasn’t upset about the mess, either. Instead, she was calling my brother to come eat dessert, though we hadn’t even had dinner, yet. I was dumbfounded.

We all sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, the oven door as our table, and ate warm pie a la mode until we were full. I suppose it was a major effort to clean the oven after the fact, but I don’t remember that part. What I remember is my dad, seemingly thrilled to eat pie and ice cream off of the oven door, as if it was what he had always wanted to do; my mom, looking at my dad with pure love just before she called my brother to the kitchen; and my brother and I, feeling like we were getting away with something, eating sweets without having first finished our vegetables. What a night!

People ask me, often, “How do you stay so positive?” That question has been the catalyst for this blog, my book, and the whole of the “Living in Joy,” project I’ve started, in an attempt to investigate and articulate some kind of answer. Most of the time, I attribute my joyful disposition to my decision, consciously made, to cling (if sometimes only by my fingernails) to optimism. On this day, Father’s Day, however, I would like to also celebrate the fact that my ability to find the best part of any situation was taught to me. My father had the miraculous and gracious ability to instantly see the opportunity in situations that others would consider difficult, if not disasterous.

Yes, I have to make my own conscious decision to look for the good, but once I make that decision, I have the tools and skills to find it. And I learned them from my father.

Thank you, Dad. I miss you.