WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH … I TIDY

After a five month stay in the hospital, I returned home so weak I could barely stand. My worried husband found me folding towels and sheets in front of the linen closet. I didn’t have an answer for his shocked demand to know what the h I was doing. It took several days and a plethora of sorting and tidying to realize I was taking back control in the only way I could. My body had let me down repeatedly over the past five years. Crohns had taken over my life. At any time, I could experience a new and frightening symptom. Sorting my linen gave me a sense of control – a least  my towels were all folded the same way.

Early this year, a friend lost her husband quite unexpectedly – a great shock. When I asked her how she was doing a week later, she told me she was tidying her kitchen cabinets, the next week it was painting the trim in her condo. I identified immediately with her need to reassure herself she had control over something.

Proponents of the chaos theory would say that disease, death, even a pandemic are part of the complex and confounding behaviour that comes from simple pattern of events. Probably one of the simple patterns Henri Poincare identified was our human need for control.

Covid -19 has left many people feeling control is out of range. Employees have lost control of their work situation, parents of their children, students of their set goals, others their finances, and many people of all ages fear they are losing control of their mental health. Nurses and doctors have little control over the hours they work and are unable to keep a healthy balance in their lives.

This past year government recommendations, social mores, individual principles, and time have acted as intangible controls; while border closings, limited transportation, and social distancing controlled tangibles like our locations and movements. It is no wonder, when we dip our net into the control pool, we most often come up empty. We search for a sense of control in strange places and peculiar ways. An exercise regime, eating program, timetable or ritual around how one gets dressed are all ways of maintaining a semblance of control. The athlete who must wear his lucky green socks, and put the left one on first, fights the chaos theory with superstition.

Chaos is not a great look on me. I often have my toe just touching the line of OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder). A place for everything and everything in its place keeps me content. When I put pepper on my egg yesterday morning, instead of getting the soft sprinkle I expected I got a shower of black. My left-handed husband had put the cooking shaker down backward – and I assumed I still had control over the placing of items in my kitchen – foolish me! These unexpected happenings convince us we have little or no control.

Possibly, control over environment or your life isn’t an issue with you. You easily surrender to ‘what is’ – while driving the control freaks around you into a frenzy. I have never met a person who isn’t fighting for control. I believe it is hard-wired into us as much as our fight and flight response. When people tease me about needing control, I respond, “I don’t want to control anyone, I just don’t want anyone controlling me.” But then we tell ourselves all kinds of stories!

THE QUIET ONES

There is a Victorian adage, “Children should be seen but not heard.” Our grandparents learned it from their parents, passed it along to our parents, and, to some extent, kept it alive while we were raised. Anyone who had this idea drummed into them during childhood, has a voice in their adult mind whispering things like, “don’t talk too much, don’t have an opinion on everything, don’t interrupt, don’t speak too loudly” — and many more. The sibilant echo of our parent’s teaching often quiets our voice.  Females received a double whammy of ‘hush’ with the aphorism “girls must act like young ladies”. My mother’s body language and warning look hit me hard whenever I became too exuberant with excitement, or as an adult when I spoke passionately on a subject. Young ladies didn’t draw attention to themselves. This tested me daily, as my job description as a middle child was compete for attention constantly.

I have listened while people shared with each other how they don’t feel heard. These quiet ones have soft voices, are unable to insert themselves into a conversation, are talked over at gatherings and overlooked in meetings. “My adult children are so loud when we get together, I can’t get a word in,” one man said. I happen to know he is witty, funny and has a plethora of great stories – but he can’t beat the competition. “Finally, I raise my voice and then I just sound mad,” he concludes. How can the soft spoken compete when others are louder, faster, and more aggressive?

Some quiet ones told me they don’t want to be heard. “I’m too shy.” “I have nothing to say on the topic.” “I just like to listen, not show up on the radar.” That’s fair, as long as they don’t complain about not being heard later. The quiet ones who flummox me every time are those, who, when offered an opening for their opinion, idea, thought, say, “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” Frustrated, I’d say, well think about it now. Since I’ve concluded it is their way of saying they don’t want a piece of the action.

Quiet is often used as a weapon. The passive aggressive sharpen silence into a weapon, with which they stab you in the back when you least expect it. Women using silence as a punishment is a cliché.

A quiet mind is most often a blessing, bringing inner peace and a calm persona that attracts others. People of all religions and ethnicities work hard to attain this state.

Men and women choose quiet as they gain wisdom. They know the value of words — nuggets of gold, rubies beyond price, pearls of wisdom — and they dole them out sparingly. What they offer is of such value, people anticipate stop everything to listen. These quiet ones are highly respected.

I’m excited about ideas, love learning and have a dozen thoughts I want to share at any one time. I’m impulsive, as my mind leaps ahead, and so I can interject so often I throw off the balance in a group dynamic or monopolize airtime. My mind connects dots so quickly I don’t have patience with someone who is slower – even have the audacity to finish sentences for people to hurry them along. None of these are good practices. A racing mind prevents new synapses from forming, a racing mouth can hurt others. I must practice awareness during every interaction, so I don’t verbally step on others’ words.

How can we help the quiet ones be heard? Invite their thoughts without being pushy. Cue them if we know they have something they want to contribute. Curb our need to ‘one-up’ on a story. Take a deep breathe before speaking, leaving time for someone else to go first. Be open and alert making room for a quiet one’s thoughts.

There is always a reward for patience. You might gain knowledge, a great idea for your project, a new understanding of a person – or a quiet one’s smile because they’ve been heard.

WHAT GIVES YOU GOOSEBUMPS?

‘A goose walked over my grave’ is an American version of the old folk legend stating a cold sensation over one’s body indicated someone walking over the place your grave would eventually be. Introducing a goose to the story is explained by the goosebumps associated with this sudden chill. Scientists today conclude the instantaneous shuddering and formation of bumps/pimples over the skin is a subconscious release of adrenaline. This stress hormone is generally connected to our fight or flight response. Yes, there is the cliché of the hair rising on the back of our neck and goosebumps shivering up our spine as we face something truly scary – a stalking coyote, a knife wielding man, a person who refuses to wear a mask getting too close, during the pandemic. This primitive warning system alerts us to danger. I recall the frightening sensation when I thought a burglar had broken into the house one night.

We also release adrenaline as a response to a poignant memory – the sudden flash of remembrance that breaks us out in goosebumps – and often causes a visible shiver as we say, “A goose walked over my grave.” Sometimes we call the brief flashback a déjà vu.

Most often goosebumps are the result of an emotional reaction. This type of response visits my flesh more than any other. The most recent goosey moment I recall happened when Lady Gaga sang the American national anthem at Biden’s inauguration. I get the same shivers when I stand in a group and sing O Canada.

Goosebumps are an omen of something rare I am experiencing, something so beautiful, pure, profound I carry the image through life. Goosebumps pebble my arms when I see a display of the highest excellence like our Snowbirds flying in formation or the RCMP on their magnificent black horses performing the musical ride.

I think music has given me the greatest amount of goosebumps over the years. Leonard Cohen’s Alleluia sends bumps up my arms, no matter who sings it. Listening to 10-year-old Amira Willighagen sing O Mio Babbino evokes not just goosebumps but tears. Recognizing a God given talent is a stunning, shivery moment.

Images, however, can have just as powerful an impact. I remember camping and looking toward the lake as the sun lowered in the west. Our kayaks lined up on the bank radiated a golden glow so beautiful my heart stuttered and gooseflesh covered my upper body. Towards sunset one summer I swam in the river with a friend. We floated on our backs watching as the bright light softened, then turned a mystic combination of pinks and mauves. Suddenly, a flock of birds wheeled above us. The sun turned their breast a brilliant white as they circled overhead like a message from the universe. Awe inspiring, you bet. Goosebumps riddled my skin, then they disappeared as suddenly as they’d come.

Anything patriotic produces the same result. I get bumps when our troops march in formation; when thousands of individuals place their poppy on the tomb of the unknown soldier in Ottawa, when our Canadian flag rises behind an Olympic gold medalist.

Right now, I think we need our goosebumps moments more than ever. I urge you to recall yours, spend a little time revisiting such special experiences. Even better open your conscious, so you can discover new moments. Awareness brings us reward, whether we are waiting, breathless, for the monster to pounce on the hero, or the sweet voice of our daughter crooning a lullaby to her doll. You are in the moment, fully participating in life. Goosebumps? You bet.

NO SAYS IT ALL

I walked home after attending a leisurewear house party, guts churning, angry at my friend for inviting me, the other party goers for existing, but mainly myself for going when I loathed such events. Compounding my snit, the bag weighing down my arm. Inside an expensive outfit in which I looked like an overripe eggplant. The short trip while my mind spewed out an armoury full of negativity became a turning point.

In my sunroom, calmed by a lime margarita — or was it a pitcher full? Memory fails — I assessed my situation. Fifty years old and still acting against my wishes, acceding to others instead of pleasing myself. This must change.

I looked back on the many examples of planning family events with excitement, full of ideas of how to make it special, until the inevitable happened, “but we’d rather have it on this day,” “why don’t we do barbeque instead of fine-dining” “let’s ask all the in-laws, too”. When I’d planned and issued the invitations, I had purposefully chosen the best time for me, the food I wished to prepare, and what people I wanted there. By the time I changed all the elements out of love for the person who requested them, or because I was outmaneuvered or manipulated, I ended up hosting an event I didn’t want to attend. Recalling how badly I felt at those times, and with tequila induced conviction, I pledged my better judgement would make my choices from now on. I would say NO if it wasn’t in my best interest.

Several months later the phone rang. “It’s a Tupperware party. I’m counting on you. Please come.” Finally, I did what a true friend would. I told her the truth. Told her crowds made me anxious – particularly a crowd of strangers. The pressure of purchasing something I didn’t want or need, made me uncomfortable. I’d rather use those precious hours for something I would enjoy. “No, I can’t come. I have a paddle planned for that time.” I spoke with the authority of finally taking command of my life. Wishing her a happy event and every success, I requested she strike me from her list. And guess what? The sky didn’t fall. She remained my friend. I had a stress-free time on the water, with no negative aftereffects.

So, no – used judiciously – became the newest device for fine-tuning my life. No to Tupperware, no to my brother-in-law’s annual Christmas party of 300 people. No to driving 800 kilometres to kayak a small mosquito invested lake in 32-degree heat. Saying no triggered the memory of other times when I had used the word effectively and found freedom in my choice. When I felt ill, I disappointed my sister with a NO, I can’t spend a week at the cabin with you. I said no to volunteering for the Heart & Stroke drive because wanted the time with my teenage children who would be leaving home soon.

One other lesson, I learned when saying no, is that I didn’t owe anyone an explanation, as long as my decision sat right in my gut. I was entitled to my choice. This concept was reinforced when I volunteered to get helpers for a charitable event at the kids’ school. So many no’s and with them a long list of excuses. Why the person couldn’t be there, or help was irrelevant. I just wanted off the phone so I could make the next call. Listening while they justified their choice to themselves, wasted my time. I thought of the occasions I’d rambled through a list of excuses, armpits soaking, while some other volunteer could care less. Another freeing insight.

I learned the lesson of saying no to me, when I found myself driving the hundred kilometres to visit my mom, yet again. Resentment accompanied me like a bitter passenger. I’d been running between my mother and stepfather, and mother-in-law fifty kilometres in the opposite direction, for several years, as they increasingly needed help. They never made demands on me, but love is a strong motivator. I felt burned out. One evening I arrived home having spent the day settling my mom after a health emergency. I flopped into bed at 9:00 pm, then jerked awake when the phone shrilled at midnight. My mother-in-law had been taken by ambulance to the hospital. After a long trip through the dark, I stayed with her in ER most of the next day. Basically, she’d had a panic attack. I took her home and settled her in. Exhausted, I felt like I ran through thigh high water the entire time. Pile on frustrated, angry, and the top-notch pity party I threw for myself and you find me in purgatory. I felt so dreadful I took a hard look at why? Then I said NO to me. You are not running between them feeling resentful or guilty. If you can’t visit or help them with love in your heart, you shouldn’t be there. The next time I prepared for a trip and registered my sighs of poor me, my dragging heels attitude, I put my things away and went for a walk, instead. I gave myself a three-week sabbatical (thank heavens no emergencies arose) and looked after my needs. My next visits were happy events. I could enjoy being with them again, having lost all the negativity.

Before I say no, I assess my resistance. I run my decision through a sieve of 3 questions? Will this cause harm? (Not hurt feelings, not inconvenience – actually, do harm) Will this make things better for me? (physically, mentally, spiritually) Will my choice cause negativity in the future (destroy a relationship, limit opportunities, cause emotional fallout). Straining out the false reasons we say yes against our wishes, distils the elements in the choice to their essence. I realize if I want people in my life, compromise is necessary, but balancing my needs against the other persons is a must.

Like me, you may have been taught that saying no is selfish. We are putting our needs ahead of the many. Christ says, “Love your neighbour as yourself.” But if we always put our neighbours needs first, we sacrifice our needs. In that case, we may not even know what loving ourselves feels like, so how can we gift the same love to a neighbour? One thing my long illness taught me is that if I don’t look after myself first, I can’t be there for my children, parents, or friends in crisis. Saying no is a form of self care.

NO is the superpower I now call up with confidence. This power was always present, but many times I didn’t use it and paid the price. Our learning, through our life, happens in an upward spiral form, spinning round and round in ever smaller circles, so a lesson spins past us many times. Then, in one moment we lock it in. My moment for learning the power of no happened walking home from that party. Emancipating myself took decades too long, but I forgive my slow progress. I don’t have time for regret because owning my freedom of choice brings me such joy.

WE CAN”T GET THERE

Type A personality, the medical establishment determined forty years ago, contributes to invisible diseases like Crohns, colitis, multiple sclerosis etc. I certainly know believing I must excel at everything factored heavily into my struggle with Crohns for many years. The harm doesn’t come with the desire for perfection, but in judging I had fallen short of perfect. I spent as much time mentally impaling myself on pointed hooks and beating my spirit raw with acid tipped whips for not reaching the standard I expected, as I did in attempting a textbook result.

Like the carrot swaying in front of the donkey, perfection appears reachable, yet remains just short of our bite. We may visualize what a perfect result would be, but like an artist, fall short of the picture in our mind when we execute. We may have witnessed or experienced timing, ability, situation, and conditions all coming together in a perfect storm. The moment lives on in our memory as a consummate achievement. The ace fired across the net at Wimbledon that wins the game, an extreme kayaker maneuvering through a set of class five rapids, a baker creating an impeccable cake, each live a moment of near perfection. The emphasis is on near.

At age fifty – yes fifty! I am one slow learner – I sat on the edge of my bed crying about a goal I’d fallen short in reaching. “If I’d only done this or said that … it would have been perfect.” “Madelon, there is no such thing as perfection.” My mother’s no-nonsense voice coming through the phone stopped the tears. My head tilted sideways as I thought her words through. No perfect state meant I constantly reached for the impossible, then castigated myself for failing. This revelation turned my life in a new, far healthier direction.

Enacting a flawless moment, will always leave us coming up short. Yet, eschewing perfection doesn’t mean we don’t keep trying. Instead, we work toward our absolute best, and that is achievable. A violinist born with a special gift performs at a higher level than a hard-working amateur, but the amateur improves as he practices. A surgeon who puts in hundreds of ours of practice might perform a near flawless operation but still searches for better techniques. Gladwell’s 10,000-hour rule asserts achieving true expertise in any skill is simply a matter of practicing, albeit in the correct way, for at least 10,000 hours. This thinking put in play raises a person through the ranks from beginner to adequate, good, better, best. I am certainly a better writer after thousands of hours of wordsmithing.

Accepting perfection as unreachable minimizes the mental lash of the whip. We’ve done well. We deserve the pat on the back for success, not the flagellation of failure. Perfection is an ideal hard-wired into our psyche. Bottom-line, its purpose is to motivate, challenge, inspire and keep humankind striving for better. We have a perception the world is getting worse, our choices poorer. Yet, Hans Rosling spent years showing the world, through data, that in fact we have made huge inroads in decreasing poverty, raising living conditions in third-world countries, furthering women’s rights, eliminating diseases and many other areas. His book Factfulness, coauthored by his children after his death is an international bestseller. I highly recommend this positive take on our progress.

Possibly, you’ve never strived for perfection (do you know how smart you are), or maybe, you don’t accept my belief that perfection is unattainable, and will continue chasing it while developing an ulcer. I know my experience of letting go of the ideal of perfection bettered my life. Knowing the carrot isn’t half as tasty as it looks, I find joy in the process, and the end result is what it is —usually pretty darn good.

FLOATING MY MANTRA

Years ago, floating lazily with a friend on a tube at my childhood lake, I spouted off about something that hadn’t gone my way. (I majored in spouting.) My friend, probably in her early 30’s said, “Madelon, expectation is the road to disappointment.” Not the there, there … sentiments I wanted. Her words struck hard and burrowed into me so deeply they are part of me. I often counsel myself and others with the phrase.

I’m sure as your daily routines explode, or you quietly implode due to Covid – 19, many of you are walking that road. You expected your child would have a Grade 12 graduation ceremony. You expected a live-in university experience for your daughter, or your son would be travelling in Europe instead of gaming in your basement. You expected to go to your granddaughter’s wedding, still go into work, have a social life, visit relatives in the states. You expected your steady income, took for granted paying your rent and buying groceries. Disappointment? You bet!

Aside from our experience of life to date, history has demonstrated there are no guarantees. We didn’t expect our country would get drawn into war, or the ozone layer around our planet would become so thin it affects our weather. I’m sure when Leo Baekeland created Bakelite, the first real synthetic, mass-produced plastic, in 1907 he did not expect it would become one of the greatest problems of the 21^st century.

So, if expectation is the road to disappointment, what road can we travel safely? Years ago, I started identifying a human characteristic I would develop further in the year ahead. Each January I named my focus for the year: patience, balance, humility, gratitude, and so on. I worked my way through a list, even repeating one because I just couldn’t get it. (A dog waiting for his food bowl has more patience than I.) Three years ago, and already three weeks into January with my word unchosen, I expressed my concern to a friend over the phone. “Maybe, you’re not supposed to have a word, but a phrase,” she suggested. Oh, the irony. Again, my expectation of one word had led straight to disappointment. Talk about tunnel-vision. “I’ll think about that,” I answered. I came up with a phrase that delighted me. A phrase that held possibility with no promise, commitment with no specific outcome – a phrase that soared and excited, while energizing. ANTICIPATE THE BEST. It allows for hope without the disappointment of expectation. It creates opportunity – inviting me to be part of the best. I can help make something the best, see the best in others, find the best in myself, and know through those actions the best is happening all around.

With elation, I told my friend how she had helped me. In return, I received an emailed drawing of a three-dimensional maze. A person on a ladder, peers over the top of the winding rows with binoculars. Whenever my mind wanders into the future, and my ego stages its amateur performance of anxiety, fear, anger – I say, “I anticipate the best.” A dentist appointment. A reading in front of a large audience. Waiting on lab results – you name it. I go into the situation floating my mantra, and the excitement of feeling all will be well. Without the leverage of expectation, I can’t heft disappointment. Instead, positivity elevates the best result. I colour in one piece of my maze and name the incident and date. By the end of December, my picture is a rainbow display of all the best moments in the year.

With thanks to Laurie Peck for her hard hitting, priceless advice. I did not have the coin to pay, but hope I bartered something.

THE FIGHT FOR INNER PEACE

Just after spending a week reading inspirational material and deciding a thought-provoking blog would help others address the issues in their lives, I started a workshop on Eckart Tolle’s The Power of Now. The thrust of the first chapter focused on NOT THINKING. Thinking, he said, is our ego taking over. If we want a life of peace and joy, we must focus on not thinking – on being!

Well, having already published two (what I hoped would be) thought provoking blogs, I chuckled at the irony. Caught in the pincer between thinking and being, I tried thinking my way out, then silencing my mind and meditating into a state of being. If you recognize this conflict, I’m sure, like me, you are laughing. Adding punch to my dilemma I had just listened to an interview with Dr. Sanjay Gupta on his book Keep Sharp: Build a Better Brain at Any Age. In it he emphasized the importance of movement and change to keep one’s brain young. I had decided my big change would be doing things with my left hand.

So now we have Tolle arguing for stillness and a state of being – Gupta extoling motion to keep us thinking, so the controversy expands.

This morning convinced recognizing my children and comprehending the contents of a book was of paramount importance as I aged, I deliberately did everything with my left hand, beginning with eating my breakfast. I am so right-hand dominant a two-year-old could beat me in a left-hand arm wrestle, so this meant every task took longer. I dropped, spilled, fumbled, even took a fork in the lip – all time-consuming acts. I called patience, usually far behind the lines in my life, up to the front, and battled on. Cleaning my teeth left-handed took tremendous concentration, turning over the 1000 pieces of the new puzzle I started demanded patience. As I focused on the task at hand, my brain quieted. Thinking crept across the line waving a white flag. Being accepted the surrender. Things I concluded opposed each other, came together in an unexpected way, helping me grow new brain cells, while I quieted those already at work. Doing the tasks left-handed had bonuses like body building my patience, and by requiring total focus, silencing my thoughts. Thus my presence emerged, conquering ego. How delightful! What joy I felt as my essence – the energy that is me, emerged from the conflict between thinking and being.

Others in the Tolle workshop expressed their futile attempts at quieting their minds. I’m a worrier, list maker, cogitator some described. Others said they talked out loud to themselves throughout the day. Yet another concluded her thoughts were needed for stimulation and to fill time. Hmm. Any of these habits makes turning off the faucet of your mind difficult. Yet, if you can suppress the flow of thinking to the odd drip, you find quiet and inner peace. I suggest you change something you do so the act requires your total attention. Gupta advised picking a new route for your commute or a walk through the woods. You might alter the type of material you read or try playing a different game. I know I will continue picking up my fork with my left hand, until eating that way no longer requires total focus and quiets my mind. I hope you, too, make a change and discover the joy of being.