Day 196

I have been very efficient lately - tearing through my to-do lists like a woman on fire. This is good, right?

There is one little problem. I suppose it can be labeled as a matter of pride. I have taken a great deal of pride in my recent small accomplishments - sternly patting myself on the back at every turn. I even bragged to a friend yesterday about how much I am getting done, excitedly describing the progress made toward my goals.

Now, I find my motivation waning. I want to take a break...take a slower pace....enjoy my friends and family...enjoy the summer and the freedom of being done with school. But I am addicted to my own praise. I find it hard to feel good about myself if I am not marking items off the list.

It's amazing how much power I have given a few words scribbled on a sheet of notebook paper. Perhaps I need to remind myself: I am not my to-do list. I am not defined by what I accomplish.

Day 195

Yesterday I went to the grocery store. Before I left I made a conscious decision to pay attention and see what I could learn from my experience.

I felt agitated before I ever left. I had a lot of things to do and I wanted to get my groceries and get home as quickly as possible. As I tried to make my way down the first aisle, I noticed a young man talking on a cell phone while he carelessly tried to maneuver his cart. It was difficult to get around him. I could hear my inner gremlins muttering, "For God's sake, what is wrong with this kid? Shop or talk: You obviously can't do both."

As I rounded the corner, I saw another person, a middle aged woman deep in conversation with someone on the other end of her wireless device. She was stopped directly in front of the tomatoes. What did I need? Tomatoes, of course. I managed to nudge my way in, an unwilling witness to one small drama pinging off a cell phone tower. The rest of my shopping experience was punctuated by an internal rant that started with: "What is the world coming to?" and ended with, "Have we all lost our minds?"

By the time I got to the checkout I had worked myself up into a bit of a frenzy. This was one of those grocery stores where you sack your own things. The man in front of me was about 80 years old. He had two half gallon cartons of ice cream. I found this endearing until he starting sacking them. He put each one in, not one, but two paper sacks. Then he put each one in a separate plastic bag. He did all of this at a snails pace while I stood there like an idiot waiting to bag my own things. It wasn't so much his slowness that bothered me. It was his lack of regard for me (not to mention the environment).

By the time I reached my car I was pissed off. I considered various coping strategies. I could sit in the car and eat everything I just purchased. Damn, why had I bought so many vegetables? I could take a few deep breaths. Okay, I tried that, better, but not enough. I needed a day off, or even just an afternoon off.

I went home and asked Bill to go out to lunch with me. We went to this Brewery where they serve bar food and play 70's rock at just the right volume. We ate and talked and talked and ate. I didn't think about the papers that needed to be graded or my son's upcoming move or the old man in the grocery store. It was just what I needed.

Maybe next time I'll offer to help the old guy. After all, a man with that much ice cream can't be all bad.

Day 194

We had wind storms yesterday with gusts up to 60 miles per hour. From my window, I could see trees straining under the pressure and debris dancing frantically in the air. My house creaked and swayed, threatening to come apart at the seams. The lights flickered as power lines were whipped about. I kept expecting the bad witch to fly by the window on her bicycle (the music from The Wizard of Oz playing in my ears).

It was all a little unsettling. I responded by closing all of my windows and doors and staying inside for the day. I was grateful to have that opportunity. I hunkered down and enjoyed the safety of my four walls.

Sometimes when I am hit by an emotional windstorm I feel emotionally tossed about, unable to get my footing. I used to try to confront the chaos head-on. I would charge into the eye of the storm and try to wrestle it into compliance, Don Quixote like. I usually emerged dazed and battered.

Today I am more inclined to seek refuge in the safe place I have created within myself. It is a place built on daily practice.

Day 193

I observed something interesting a few days ago and I keep returning to it in my mind. I was in a small group of people. One member of the group kept droning on about topics that appeared to be of little interest to the rest of us. There was very little response - only nervous smiles and polite nods. It was as if we were being held hostage - we didn't offer any resistance.

I heard an expert on crime once say that women are sometimes raped and/or killed because they are too nice. He offered this scenario: a woman in a mall parking lot is approached by a man who offers to help with her bags. She feels uneasy but acquiesces. She may even give him her car keys because she doesn't want to be rude. She makes herself vulnerable. His advice: listen to your fear.

I say listen not only to your fear; Listen to your boredom, your anger, your frustration, your sadness. They point to unmet needs. Marshall Rosenberg talks about being in meetings where his needs are not being met. Sometimes he gets up and leaves. Is he being rude or merely taking care of himself?

Day 192

I have a hard time trusting people who don't like fiction (or chocolate). It is our stories that give life meaning. My friend Barb, a writer, says that fiction is more honest than facts. I know exactly what she means.

Occasionally, I run across a writer who taps into the human experience in a way that reveals some rich truth. Lately I have been reading Elizabeth Berg. Today I read these words:

"...this was the way we all lived: full to the brim with gratitude and joy one day, wrecked on the rocks the next. Finding the balance between the two was the art and the salvation."

Why didn't I say that?

Day 191

I know that it is a little dangerous to talk about the voices in your head but I have one that has been increasingly persistent. I often hear this gentle voice saying in a whisper, "Pay attention."

Most of us have heard these words from parents and teachers. Very often it is issued as a command, "Pay attention!" What they mean is "Pay attention to me!" and "Show me that you were paying attention by doing what I told you to do."

I wonder how different the world would be if we told our children to pay attention to the world around them...everything...the earth, the sky, the people...their place in it all. What if we told them to pay attention to their own their own thoughts and feelings...the unique expression of their hearts and spirits?

I think that's what this little voice is telling me to do.

Day 190

When I was little, my mom used to say, "Debbie, you are always so afraid that you are going to miss something." I would sometimes stand with my legs crossed, avoiding a trip to the bathroom, for fear that some amazing truth would be revealed or some incredible event when take place in my absence.

Sometimes today I find myself at a meeting or event where my needs are not being met. I attend and stay because my friends are there. I want to be included; I want to belong. I don't want to miss anything.

The truth is: I miss a lot of things this way. There are endless choices and multiple paths to pursue. When I pursue a path that does not lead to my own fulfillment I cut myself off from other possibilities. As I get older I am less patient with squandering my time in this way.