Day 127

When I was in the twenties I read books about witchcraft. I suppose I wanted to conjure up the stuff of my dreams, cast spells to manifest my desires. Now, in mid-life as I look back, I realize that my most sincere wishes have been granted.

When I was in my thirties I wanted to be in a committed relationship with a man who was my equal. Bill may not look like he arrived via fairy godmother, but my relationship with him is everything I wished for. In my forties I wished for a home, a place to belong, soil in which to plant deep roots. Living in the Palouse is sometimes like living in a fairy tale for me. I am enchanted by the coffee houses and the people and the magical way the light hits the surrounding hills.

I am only now becoming aware of just how powerful wishes can be. When I was younger I thought that making dreams come true was all about finding the right strategy and employing it effectively. I am starting to realize that there are no magic spells, only clear intentions.

Day 126

I used to work for a psychiatric hospital. I didn't care much for the work but I loved the language. One of my favorite psychiatric terms is free floating anxiety. Like a toxic gas it lingers and persists. I prefer the term free flitting to describe my own anxiety. It is like a hummingbird that flits from one thought to the next. It will feed on my fears about the oil spill in the gulf for a few moments before moving on to thoughts of my son's progress in college.

I hate this little bird that flits in and out of my consciousness. It makes me reluctant to sit or otherwise quiet down; I do not want to be alone with it. I want to capture and eradicate it, although all of my previous efforts have failed. I read a story once about a man who invited his Doppelganger for tea. Perhaps I need to invite the little hummingbird, my anxiety, to tea. Perhaps I need to embrace it, accept it, allow it to be; Perhaps it has something to teach me. Maybe I will stop resisting and start paying attention.

Day 125

I was listening to a friend yesterday recount the struggles she has had with her sister. I was pleased to realized that I am not currently involved in any conflicts with anyone. My family relationships are harmonious, I love and enjoy my friends, and since I work at home it's easy to avoid office conflict. I started to feel a little smug. I must be approaching enlightenment; I am a beacon of peace; Gandhi would be proud.

This morning I sent off a short story to my writing group. I felt good about the piece and looked forward to their feedback. A few hours later I received an email from another member of the group. She also wrote a short piece for consideration by the group. I immediately opened the document and read every word. It wasn't just good; it was breathtaking. I appointed myself judge in an imaginary writing contest between the two of us. Clearly I was the loser. How dare she submit such a beautiful piece of prose?

It really is that easy for me to move from a position of peace and tranquility to imaginary combat. I so want to be the winner, even if it means alienating myself from other people. When will I stop trying to prove how special I am?

Day 124

I was sitting yesterday in meditation while a wind storm, with gusts up to 60 miles per hour, howled outside my window. There was the unmistakable sound of empty milk cartons and other escaped debris crashing against the side of my house. I tried to focus only on my breathing but I could feel my anxiety rise. I seemed to internalize the storm.

This is so often the case with me. If someone close to me is angry I take on that anger and assume responsibility. If someone I love feels sad or lonely or depressed, I find my own mood waning. I am learning that I need to detach. When I separate myself from the other person I avoid getting emotionally flooded and I can more effectively empathize with them. Paradoxically, it is only when I detach that I am able to truly connect. I become the calm in the eye of the storm.

Day 123

"Debbie, you have the most beautiful smiling eyes." This was the compliment I received from a teacher when I was in the seventh grade. I still think that it was the best compliment I ever received. I felt like she really saw me, that she saw right through to my soul.

A few years ago in the midst of my grief and depression I remember looking in the mirror and thinking, "Where did that girl go, the one with the smiling eyes?" It was sad to peer in the mirror and see such weariness and despair. I thought that maybe my eyes would never smile again.

Yesterday I was looking in the mirror and I saw something entirely new. My eyes were neither smiling nor empty. What I saw when I looked into my own eyes was peace. There is a softness in my eyes that was never there before. I suppose that is both the advantage and cost of middle age, everything seems to soften.

Day 122

My most important resource is time. I don't always spend it wisely. This is something I am trying to change.

My intention is to get up each day and decide what feels most alive for me today. What activities do I feel most inspired by? How do I want to spend these precious few hours that lay in front of me?

I will probably never get rich this way, unless I refuse to define wealth by the size of my bank account.

Day 121

Can you see the beauty? What if that was a guiding question in my life? What if I asked myself this question when I am in an argument with my partner? What if this was the question I pondered when I am absorbed in self flagellation? What if I replaced by criticism of others with this question? I have spent a lot of time and energy focused on the ugliness in the world: crime, poverty, conflict. What if I focused on the beauty instead?

I used to work with juvenile offenders, kids locked up in detention facilities and group homes. I was asked to give a speech about my work. It was the morning of my presentation and I still had not prepared any notes. I was standing at my backdoor looking out at the field that bordered my backyard. I would often stand there and curse the person who owned and refused to care for this plot of land. I resented the weeds that threatened to encroach on my property. On this day, however, I saw something different. There were huge sunflowers standing at attention just adjacent to my lawn. How had I missed them before? It was as if they had appeared overnight. I was in awe. My presentation that evening compared the kids I worked with to the weeds that grew in that field, because that's the way most people saw them, as a nuisance, ugly, invasive and dangerous. But if you look closer, you see can see something beautiful in each of them.

Even the most difficult situations hold seeds of beauty. I remember watching the news about the famine in Ethiopia in 1984. It was devastating to see malnourished children dying in their mothers' arms. My own son was a baby at the time and I could feel the pain of those mothers. After days of watching the news, with image after image of those forlorn eyes and swollen bellies, I broke down, sobbing, not only over their misery, but also over my own inability to act. Then I started noticing the response. People from all over the world donated money and supplies. Remember We Are the World? The human response to suffering is a beautiful thing.

The Buddhist say that life is suffering. I don't know why we suffer. I do know that awareness and compassion can transform suffering. It is in the midst of suffering that we most need to ask ourselves: Can you see the beauty?