Today is June 1st, which means that in less than a week - 6 days to be precise - I will celebrate my 50th birthday. This one is working me a bit. I remember feeling thrilled at the prospect of turning 40, but 50 doesn't feel quite the same. I remind myself often that many, many people have expanded their creativity and sense of deep fulfillment in their 50s and beyond, and that our true age is measured not by numbers but by our capacity to love and be loved. And 50 is, after all, just a number.
It's a rather big one, though.
So I'm giving myself time this week to reflect on the past decade, reflect on my life, and reflect on the life I long to create. As part of that reflection, I'm rereading one of the journals I kept which, conveniently, covers the period from June 2009 to June 2010. Most of it is my usual stuff - exploring doubts and fear, ideas and inspirations - but one entry called to me from a deeper place. I had a sense of gratitude and "rightness" as I read it, and knew right away I wanted to share it with you. It is very brief.
The journal entry was an exploration of a dream I'd had the night before, in August of last year. I won't describe in detail the many delightful oddities that peppered my dreamscape, but I will say that the dream was quite stirring and evoked in me feelings of trust, appreciation, intrigue, safety and peace. Quite a diverse and satisfying range! Yet I wasn't quite sure of its meaning as I awoke, which prompted me to write about it so I could dig a little deeper.
At one point in the dream a beautiful man, who was riding along with several others in the back seat of my car, leaned his head out of the window and sang an exquisite song. It was breathtaking in its beauty, poignancy and clarity. I was spellbound. When he finished singing, all was quiet. It was as if we knew that any other sound would disrupt the magic his song had cast upon our gathering.
The beautiful singer spoke first. He made some self-deprecating remarks about his singing, referring to something highly technical that made no sense to anyone but him. To us, the song was flawless. So I asked him, in typical coach fashion, "So what did you like about the song?"
And his reply was as profound and moving as the music itself. He said, simply, "I like that I did it."
I am moved again even as I write his words. "I like that I did it."
As I contemplate these words I am reminded of a particular experience I had as a student at the Barbara Brennan School of Healing, one that expanded my awareness in an instant and has stayed with me to this day, even if it's often obscured by layers of doubt and disbelief. On that day the whole junior class was in a big room, and the teachers were leading us through an exercise designed to connect us energetically with our souls' deepest longings. We were exploring the technique of toning, finding and expressing a sound that intuitively matched the vibration of our longings. We made beautiful music together, and I was graced with a sense of being completely myself and yet deeply connected to each person in the room.
At one point as I toned, I was struck by a flash of insight: "The longing itself is its own fulfillment." It was as clear as a bell and I knew, at a level far beyond my intellect, exactly what it meant. And in that moment, I was fulfilled. Even though every circumstance of my life was exactly as it had been prior to this exercise - and I was facing many challenging circumstances at the time - I felt fully alive and at peace. The simple act of acknowledging and expressing my longing had brought a sense of completion to me that I find difficult to put into words.
Since that time I've contemplated this insight and have earnestly sought to integrate it into my life. I know it has multiple levels of meaning, not all of which I've discovered at this point. At the simplest level, I think it reminds us that our longings are real and they are deserving of our acknowledgment and recognition. Certainly our longings cannot be fulfilled if we ignore or repress them.
But I think the deeper message is that our longings, in a fundamental way, express who we are. They are what make us unique, and uniquely able to contribute our gifts to Life in a way that blesses and serves us all. The paradoxical aspect of the insight - that the longing is its own fulfillment, and needs nothing more than expression - is a reminder to give our gifts freely, without attachment to specific outcomes. Like the beautiful man in my dream, we are called to sing our song because we want to sing, and for no other reason. The longing itself is the reason.
I am grateful for this reminder as I head into a new decade. It is a time my fear-based self is tempted to take score, to judge what I have done and what I have not done, and to point out how little time I have to do everything I want to do with my life. Yet this graceful truth holds a different perspective and a different promise. It reminds me that my real work is to connect with my soul's longings, which lead me unfailingly to my highest self. It reminds me to give simply, authentically and fully - and to trust that is enough. It reminds me that, even when following my longings doesn't seem to yield an outcome my rational mind deems successful, the very act of following my longings is success. It summons the life force through me and keeps me alive on every level.
I hope, like me, you'll take this to heart and make a renewed commitment to sing your song. I hope you'll acknowledge, honor and express your deepest longings. And like the beautiful man in my dream, I hope you'll like that you did it.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The Trouble with Boundaries
Most of us on a path of personal growth and transformation have learned our lessons about setting boundaries. We've discovered that, in our misguided attempts to garner appreciation and win others' approval, we've said "yes" to far too many things and have confused or depleted ourselves. Without boundaries, it seems we lose ourselves in the day-to-day demands on our time and attention.
And so we learn, finally, to say No! And we relish the freedom that opens up when we do, recognizing we have possibilities for nourishment, growth and learning that were obscured by all of our Yes's to other people. It's a truly liberating experience.
And yet...what often happens is we associate that liberation with the No rather than with our choice to say No. We want to protect that feeling of freedom and liberation, so we cling staunchly to our No. The No becomes a boundary, and the one thing most of us do with boudaries is we defend them. And defending anything requires energy, so the more rigidly we defend our No, the less energy we have for our Yes.
That's why I have come to see that, as helpful and essential as it is to learn to say No when we mean No, it is not helpful to see that No as a boundary. Boundaries create separation, and separation leads to isolation, misunderstanding and skepticism. Hardly the qualites we want to cultivate on a path of expanding consciousness!
Here is how it might look: a friend asks you, for the umpteenth time, to join her at a meeting sponsored by a multi-level marketing company. She is genuinely enthused about the company's product and her decision to distribute it, and is encouraged by the company to recruit as many customers and distributors as she can. You have absolutely no interest in the product or in becoming a distributor, but you have great love for your friend. You are thrilled that she is so happy - and you have no desire to attend one of the company's meetings.
In your boundary-less past you may have agreed, grudgingly, to attend the meeting with her so as not to hurt her feelings. And you would sit through it impatiently, thinking all the while of the many productive things you could be doing if you weren't wasting your time on that hard folding chair in a drafty hotel ballroom. You would hurry out at the first opportunity, telling your friend you'd call her later. And then of course, you would have to tell her then that you simply weren't interested. You would still have to say No.
Fast-forward to the brave new world of setting boundaries. In this scenario you boldly - almost defiantly - say No right away when your friend invites you to the meeting. But you still feel badly about saying it. There are all kinds of thoughts going on inside, things such as, "I wish she would just quit asking me so I wouldn't have to say No!" or "I hope I'm not letting her down. I wish I could be a better friend." Notice that these kinds of thoughts are judgments, either of her or of yourself. Judgments always feel bad, and they always separate. It is because of the judgment that we think we need the boundary. We are defending ourselves against being taken advantage of, either by the friend (whom we've judged as insensitive) or by ourselves (whom we've judged as a pushover). We draw the line to protect ourselves from unsavory outcomes, and we must defend that line at all costs.
In the absence of judgment, we wouldn't need a boundary. We would simply need to make a choice. We would recognize our friend's earnest desire to share her enthusiasm with us, and we'd also recognize that her path is not our path. And so our choice would be to say No, but we would do so with an open heart.
This "open-hearted No" calls on a simple yet profound shift in orientation: one in which we see the No not as a boundary, but as an expression of our Truth. And that, fundamentally, is why it is so liberating, because truth really does set us free. From this perspective the No is really a Yes - a Yes to honesty and a Yes to self-care. We choose not to participate in the specific activity, but we bless our friend and wish her great success. We hold a clear intention to love our friend and to love ourselves. In the example we've been examining here, the open-hearted No might sound something like, "I am so happy that you love selling this product, yet it's just not something I feel at all called to do. I hope you understand."
Will this guarantee that your friend's feelings won't be hurt? No, it won't. But not speaking your truth will guarantee that intimacy and trust will be diminished between the two of you. So instead of setting - and defending - boundaries, hold an intention to connect with and speak your truth, moment to moment. Sometimes that will be a Yes, sometimes a No. But remember that your freedom arises from the freshness of the choice that reflects your authentic needs, your willingness and your energy. Your liberation lies in your Truth, spoken with kindness and clarity.
And so we learn, finally, to say No! And we relish the freedom that opens up when we do, recognizing we have possibilities for nourishment, growth and learning that were obscured by all of our Yes's to other people. It's a truly liberating experience.
And yet...what often happens is we associate that liberation with the No rather than with our choice to say No. We want to protect that feeling of freedom and liberation, so we cling staunchly to our No. The No becomes a boundary, and the one thing most of us do with boudaries is we defend them. And defending anything requires energy, so the more rigidly we defend our No, the less energy we have for our Yes.
That's why I have come to see that, as helpful and essential as it is to learn to say No when we mean No, it is not helpful to see that No as a boundary. Boundaries create separation, and separation leads to isolation, misunderstanding and skepticism. Hardly the qualites we want to cultivate on a path of expanding consciousness!
Here is how it might look: a friend asks you, for the umpteenth time, to join her at a meeting sponsored by a multi-level marketing company. She is genuinely enthused about the company's product and her decision to distribute it, and is encouraged by the company to recruit as many customers and distributors as she can. You have absolutely no interest in the product or in becoming a distributor, but you have great love for your friend. You are thrilled that she is so happy - and you have no desire to attend one of the company's meetings.
In your boundary-less past you may have agreed, grudgingly, to attend the meeting with her so as not to hurt her feelings. And you would sit through it impatiently, thinking all the while of the many productive things you could be doing if you weren't wasting your time on that hard folding chair in a drafty hotel ballroom. You would hurry out at the first opportunity, telling your friend you'd call her later. And then of course, you would have to tell her then that you simply weren't interested. You would still have to say No.
Fast-forward to the brave new world of setting boundaries. In this scenario you boldly - almost defiantly - say No right away when your friend invites you to the meeting. But you still feel badly about saying it. There are all kinds of thoughts going on inside, things such as, "I wish she would just quit asking me so I wouldn't have to say No!" or "I hope I'm not letting her down. I wish I could be a better friend." Notice that these kinds of thoughts are judgments, either of her or of yourself. Judgments always feel bad, and they always separate. It is because of the judgment that we think we need the boundary. We are defending ourselves against being taken advantage of, either by the friend (whom we've judged as insensitive) or by ourselves (whom we've judged as a pushover). We draw the line to protect ourselves from unsavory outcomes, and we must defend that line at all costs.
In the absence of judgment, we wouldn't need a boundary. We would simply need to make a choice. We would recognize our friend's earnest desire to share her enthusiasm with us, and we'd also recognize that her path is not our path. And so our choice would be to say No, but we would do so with an open heart.
This "open-hearted No" calls on a simple yet profound shift in orientation: one in which we see the No not as a boundary, but as an expression of our Truth. And that, fundamentally, is why it is so liberating, because truth really does set us free. From this perspective the No is really a Yes - a Yes to honesty and a Yes to self-care. We choose not to participate in the specific activity, but we bless our friend and wish her great success. We hold a clear intention to love our friend and to love ourselves. In the example we've been examining here, the open-hearted No might sound something like, "I am so happy that you love selling this product, yet it's just not something I feel at all called to do. I hope you understand."
Will this guarantee that your friend's feelings won't be hurt? No, it won't. But not speaking your truth will guarantee that intimacy and trust will be diminished between the two of you. So instead of setting - and defending - boundaries, hold an intention to connect with and speak your truth, moment to moment. Sometimes that will be a Yes, sometimes a No. But remember that your freedom arises from the freshness of the choice that reflects your authentic needs, your willingness and your energy. Your liberation lies in your Truth, spoken with kindness and clarity.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
The Good, The Bad and The Ugly
On Thursday evening of this past week I attended an awards dinner hosted by the Delaware Press Association. And I'm delighted to share with you that I won a first-place award, for the second year in row, for my column in Living.Well magazine. (I also discovered I'd won an "honorable mention" award for another piece I'd submitted - happy surprise!) The dinner was lovely, the speaker was truly inspiring, and I had a welcome opportunity to connect with my fellow writers at the magazine. As we were called forward one by one to receive our certificates, the judges' comments about each winning entry were read aloud. I was honored and humbled by their kind and generous words about my writing. As you can imagine, it was a wonderful evening and I floated home on a cloud of contentment.
Once home I opened the envelopes that contained copies of all the entries I'd submitted along with the entry forms on which the judges had recorded their comments. I reread the comments about my first-place column, basking in the glow of appreciation. Then I noticed an envelope I hadn't opened - the one that contained my book, which had not won an award. I pulled the book and judge's comments out of the envelope and began reading. My glow vanished and was quickly replaced by a heavy, dank cloud of anger and shame as I read the damning words. This particular judge - unlike the one who had offered such rich and affirming comments about my column - did not like my writing. At all. Words and phrases such as, "...fails to live up to its potential..." "...amorphous..." "...readers will be confused or put off..." "...New Age jargon..." floated off the page and assaulted me with their acrid smell. The review was lengthy and unkind, and suddenly I had difficulty breathing.
I stared in numb disbelief at the comments. After an initial puff of anger and disdain I fell headlong into self-doubt. My God, maybe my book is just terrible and I should stop promoting it immediately! I'm probably embarrassing myself personally and professionally and queering any chance I might have of successfully publishing my second book! In a blinding instant I went from feeling affirmed and confident in my work to believing that I was a certain failure. I would have to rethink everything, it seemed, since clearly I couldn't succeed on this path.
A little current of energy zapped me out of my paralzying malaise - anger again, tinged with a familiar self-righteousness. I began an inner debate with the judge, defending my skill and my choices and proving how wrong he was, how obtuse! I challenged his comments one by one, trying to satisfy myself that they were completely without merit. I didn't quite succeed.
Throughout this personal drama a part of me remained apart, watching. She is the wise one, and she knew that my reactions were coming from ego. She let me rant and rave and call home for a little comfort, but then she gently reminded me that I had some work to do. I had to find the learning and the healing in this situation, and she was ready to guide me through it. I decided to let her take charge.
She asked me gently to remind myself what I know is true about all painful situations. I took several deep breaths and said what I've said countless times to my clients: "This is an opportunity to love yourself more deeply." The wise me knows that hurt can only be felt when we turn away from love, and so I vowed to turn toward love. And with just that simple inner choice I began to feel more at peace. But there was more to do.
From this new perspective I read the comments again. In all honesty they baffled me. They just didn't make sense. Which is not to say that I believe there is no room for improvement in my book - there is plenty. I've got a laundry list of inner criticisms about it, but none of the judge's comments mirrored my own. They seemed illogical to me, and I realized that my writing seemed that way to him. We simply didn't understand each other.
As I sat with the comments a bit longer, I was able to experience them as a whole. When I stopped challenging each statement one by one, what emerged was a complete picture of his confusion, especially with the book's title. The book is called, 10 Ways to Find Peace Rather Than Panic (When the World Has Gone a Little Crazy), and I realized that he'd been expecting a how-to guide, a step-by-step instruction manual that leads one from panic to peace. But the book I wrote doesn't offer that; it offers ten perspectives we can hold as we navigate the unknown, which are intended to suggest different ways of relating to our fear and different priorities for making choices as we move through transitions in life. It is not so much a how-to book as a how-not-to-book: a book about how not to cave into fear.
And so I found the merit in his comments, a possible source of his confusion and an important consideration as I develop titles for future books and articles. (Coming up with great titles has always been a challenge for me!) That may not be the merit he wanted me to find - he may have wanted me to agree that I'm a terrible writer. But I have a choice about what I take from this situation, and this is where the opportunity to love myself more deeply comes sharply into focus. Am I going to let another person's opinion of my writing distract me from my soul's longings to teach and write? Or am I going to let them strengthen my commitment instead?
I choose the latter. I realize I have a long way to go before I master the art of writing, yet it is the journey itself that enlivens me. And the only way I can develop mastery of writing is...to write! So I will continue to write, to practice, to sharpen my skills. I will continue to blog! And I will continue working on my next book. And I hope you'll continue reading.
It's funny, as I was contemplating this post the phrase "thick skin" came to mind. We are often told that in order to be successful, we need to develop a thick skin so that others' criticisms don't derail us. And while I can understand how that perspective originated, I think it's misguided. We don't need thick skin, for thick skin is a barrier to connection and engagement. What we need is a greater depth of compassion for ourselves and others, a willingness to see our work - and their criticism - in the highest light. And to know that criticism can never degrade the true brilliance of our soul.
Once home I opened the envelopes that contained copies of all the entries I'd submitted along with the entry forms on which the judges had recorded their comments. I reread the comments about my first-place column, basking in the glow of appreciation. Then I noticed an envelope I hadn't opened - the one that contained my book, which had not won an award. I pulled the book and judge's comments out of the envelope and began reading. My glow vanished and was quickly replaced by a heavy, dank cloud of anger and shame as I read the damning words. This particular judge - unlike the one who had offered such rich and affirming comments about my column - did not like my writing. At all. Words and phrases such as, "...fails to live up to its potential..." "...amorphous..." "...readers will be confused or put off..." "...New Age jargon..." floated off the page and assaulted me with their acrid smell. The review was lengthy and unkind, and suddenly I had difficulty breathing.
I stared in numb disbelief at the comments. After an initial puff of anger and disdain I fell headlong into self-doubt. My God, maybe my book is just terrible and I should stop promoting it immediately! I'm probably embarrassing myself personally and professionally and queering any chance I might have of successfully publishing my second book! In a blinding instant I went from feeling affirmed and confident in my work to believing that I was a certain failure. I would have to rethink everything, it seemed, since clearly I couldn't succeed on this path.
A little current of energy zapped me out of my paralzying malaise - anger again, tinged with a familiar self-righteousness. I began an inner debate with the judge, defending my skill and my choices and proving how wrong he was, how obtuse! I challenged his comments one by one, trying to satisfy myself that they were completely without merit. I didn't quite succeed.
Throughout this personal drama a part of me remained apart, watching. She is the wise one, and she knew that my reactions were coming from ego. She let me rant and rave and call home for a little comfort, but then she gently reminded me that I had some work to do. I had to find the learning and the healing in this situation, and she was ready to guide me through it. I decided to let her take charge.
She asked me gently to remind myself what I know is true about all painful situations. I took several deep breaths and said what I've said countless times to my clients: "This is an opportunity to love yourself more deeply." The wise me knows that hurt can only be felt when we turn away from love, and so I vowed to turn toward love. And with just that simple inner choice I began to feel more at peace. But there was more to do.
From this new perspective I read the comments again. In all honesty they baffled me. They just didn't make sense. Which is not to say that I believe there is no room for improvement in my book - there is plenty. I've got a laundry list of inner criticisms about it, but none of the judge's comments mirrored my own. They seemed illogical to me, and I realized that my writing seemed that way to him. We simply didn't understand each other.
As I sat with the comments a bit longer, I was able to experience them as a whole. When I stopped challenging each statement one by one, what emerged was a complete picture of his confusion, especially with the book's title. The book is called, 10 Ways to Find Peace Rather Than Panic (When the World Has Gone a Little Crazy), and I realized that he'd been expecting a how-to guide, a step-by-step instruction manual that leads one from panic to peace. But the book I wrote doesn't offer that; it offers ten perspectives we can hold as we navigate the unknown, which are intended to suggest different ways of relating to our fear and different priorities for making choices as we move through transitions in life. It is not so much a how-to book as a how-not-to-book: a book about how not to cave into fear.
And so I found the merit in his comments, a possible source of his confusion and an important consideration as I develop titles for future books and articles. (Coming up with great titles has always been a challenge for me!) That may not be the merit he wanted me to find - he may have wanted me to agree that I'm a terrible writer. But I have a choice about what I take from this situation, and this is where the opportunity to love myself more deeply comes sharply into focus. Am I going to let another person's opinion of my writing distract me from my soul's longings to teach and write? Or am I going to let them strengthen my commitment instead?
I choose the latter. I realize I have a long way to go before I master the art of writing, yet it is the journey itself that enlivens me. And the only way I can develop mastery of writing is...to write! So I will continue to write, to practice, to sharpen my skills. I will continue to blog! And I will continue working on my next book. And I hope you'll continue reading.
It's funny, as I was contemplating this post the phrase "thick skin" came to mind. We are often told that in order to be successful, we need to develop a thick skin so that others' criticisms don't derail us. And while I can understand how that perspective originated, I think it's misguided. We don't need thick skin, for thick skin is a barrier to connection and engagement. What we need is a greater depth of compassion for ourselves and others, a willingness to see our work - and their criticism - in the highest light. And to know that criticism can never degrade the true brilliance of our soul.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
What About Money?
I've been thinking a lot about money lately. Not only has the lingering recession kept the subject forefront in my mind - will I be able to expand my client base with everyone so skittish about their finances? - I'm also writing a book about money. The idea for the book evolved with my coaching practice, as time and again clients would declare their dreams off-limits because of money. Either they didn't have enough to do what they wanted to do, or they couldn't make enough money doing what they wanted to do. Or both.
I find it fascinating that, when money becomes our primary consideration or goal, our true goals are often buried or ignored. I think this is because, in separating money as an object to be pursued, obtained and accumulated, we separate it from the very process that confers its value: the process of giving and receiving, creating and sharing. Money's primary purpose is to facilitate the creative process, and its value is inextricably linked to that process. When we see it as an object divorced from our creativity - when we pursue it as a goal - we divorce ourselves from our creativity as well.
When money is not only the primary goal but is also seen as the true measure of our worth and success, more is always seen as better. We choose jobs and careers on the basis of their money-making potential rather than on their fit with our innate strengths and talents, and we hold ourselves back from investing in things that would move us toward the realization of our dreams. We expend lots of energy on finding "deals" that help us spend as little money as possible - just think of all the creative energy that's focused on trying to minimize or avoid taxes, all the time spent researching the absolute lowest cost of a planned purchase and all the hours spent cutting coupons. (I'm not saying we shouldn't be mindful about the cost of things; I'm just saying that our preoccupation with money as the sole basis for making decisions blinds us to so much that is worthwhile and satisfying, including other ways we could be focusing our creative energy and attention.)
In my own life I've fallen prey to the "money is king" mindset. As an accountant and financial analyst I learned all the money rules our culture has laid out, and did my best to follow them. Along the way I became cynical, resigned and unfulfilled. I was making "good money" but wasn't making anything of my life that actually reflected who I am. And so I began the journey of discovering who I am and how my soul wanted to express herself in the world. The journey continues.
And yes, I still want to make good money. It's just that I don't want to make good money at the expense of living an awake, inspired and authentic life. So a big part of this journey is discovering new ways of relating to money that honor its value and importance without making it the reason for our existence. And that's why I decided to write the book. I know many of us want a healthier relationship with money: we don't want money to be our god, but nor do we want to be starving artists. We want to invite money to its rightful place in our lives. I'll be talking more about that in future posts...and in my book, of course!
And speaking of books - as part of the market research for the one I'm currently writing, I've read a lot of books about money and, particularly, about how to make money from a more enlightened, spiritual perspective. Many of them are quite good and helpful, yet several of them are grounded in a certain perspective that, for me, is at once appealing and repellant. They speak of money as a force for good, and in fact exhort readers to want it - lots of it. It's almost as if there is something wrong with you if you don't aspire to be a millionaire, because there is so much good you can do in the world when you make lots of money and you can give lots of it away to charity. These books talk about making money ethically and managing it responsibly and creatively, yet the underlying premise is: make as much money as possible, as fast as you can.
And that's the very premise I think needs to be challenged. I realize there have been, and continue to be, great philanthropists whose gargantuan monetary contributions have laid the foundation for innumerable works of great consequence. I also realize that the smaller contributions each of us make keep our favorite charities alive and able to do their important work. Yet I believe that, if we weren't living in a culture that drives us toward money as the main goal, there would be far less need for charity in the first place. A more natural balance would be restored in the flow of giving and receiving, creating and sharing, in the absence of the relentless push for more. If we focused on the creative process itself and what we're called to give, we would live from our talent and generosity and the world would benefit directly from our gifts. We wouldn't need to "make money" in order to give; we would be naturally giving, and enjoying the benefits of money as a facilitator of the exchange process.
I realize this may seem idealistic or even patently absurd to many, yet surely we can see the obvious distortions that our fear-based, greed-sanctioned culture has spawned. At the very least I think now is the time to take a time-out, to pause and examine all the rules about money that have ruled us for so long. Some may still serve us, some may not. But we disempower ourselves when we allow our quest for money, or our fear of not having enough of it, squelch our creativity and passion.
Let's invite money back to its rightful place in our lives...and let's be the ones who decide what that is.
I find it fascinating that, when money becomes our primary consideration or goal, our true goals are often buried or ignored. I think this is because, in separating money as an object to be pursued, obtained and accumulated, we separate it from the very process that confers its value: the process of giving and receiving, creating and sharing. Money's primary purpose is to facilitate the creative process, and its value is inextricably linked to that process. When we see it as an object divorced from our creativity - when we pursue it as a goal - we divorce ourselves from our creativity as well.
When money is not only the primary goal but is also seen as the true measure of our worth and success, more is always seen as better. We choose jobs and careers on the basis of their money-making potential rather than on their fit with our innate strengths and talents, and we hold ourselves back from investing in things that would move us toward the realization of our dreams. We expend lots of energy on finding "deals" that help us spend as little money as possible - just think of all the creative energy that's focused on trying to minimize or avoid taxes, all the time spent researching the absolute lowest cost of a planned purchase and all the hours spent cutting coupons. (I'm not saying we shouldn't be mindful about the cost of things; I'm just saying that our preoccupation with money as the sole basis for making decisions blinds us to so much that is worthwhile and satisfying, including other ways we could be focusing our creative energy and attention.)
In my own life I've fallen prey to the "money is king" mindset. As an accountant and financial analyst I learned all the money rules our culture has laid out, and did my best to follow them. Along the way I became cynical, resigned and unfulfilled. I was making "good money" but wasn't making anything of my life that actually reflected who I am. And so I began the journey of discovering who I am and how my soul wanted to express herself in the world. The journey continues.
And yes, I still want to make good money. It's just that I don't want to make good money at the expense of living an awake, inspired and authentic life. So a big part of this journey is discovering new ways of relating to money that honor its value and importance without making it the reason for our existence. And that's why I decided to write the book. I know many of us want a healthier relationship with money: we don't want money to be our god, but nor do we want to be starving artists. We want to invite money to its rightful place in our lives. I'll be talking more about that in future posts...and in my book, of course!
And speaking of books - as part of the market research for the one I'm currently writing, I've read a lot of books about money and, particularly, about how to make money from a more enlightened, spiritual perspective. Many of them are quite good and helpful, yet several of them are grounded in a certain perspective that, for me, is at once appealing and repellant. They speak of money as a force for good, and in fact exhort readers to want it - lots of it. It's almost as if there is something wrong with you if you don't aspire to be a millionaire, because there is so much good you can do in the world when you make lots of money and you can give lots of it away to charity. These books talk about making money ethically and managing it responsibly and creatively, yet the underlying premise is: make as much money as possible, as fast as you can.
And that's the very premise I think needs to be challenged. I realize there have been, and continue to be, great philanthropists whose gargantuan monetary contributions have laid the foundation for innumerable works of great consequence. I also realize that the smaller contributions each of us make keep our favorite charities alive and able to do their important work. Yet I believe that, if we weren't living in a culture that drives us toward money as the main goal, there would be far less need for charity in the first place. A more natural balance would be restored in the flow of giving and receiving, creating and sharing, in the absence of the relentless push for more. If we focused on the creative process itself and what we're called to give, we would live from our talent and generosity and the world would benefit directly from our gifts. We wouldn't need to "make money" in order to give; we would be naturally giving, and enjoying the benefits of money as a facilitator of the exchange process.
I realize this may seem idealistic or even patently absurd to many, yet surely we can see the obvious distortions that our fear-based, greed-sanctioned culture has spawned. At the very least I think now is the time to take a time-out, to pause and examine all the rules about money that have ruled us for so long. Some may still serve us, some may not. But we disempower ourselves when we allow our quest for money, or our fear of not having enough of it, squelch our creativity and passion.
Let's invite money back to its rightful place in our lives...and let's be the ones who decide what that is.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Giving It Up
When I was a little girl, Lent was a serious, somber time. We were expected to "give something up," to make a sacrifice that symbolized our understanding and appreciation of Christ's ultimate sacrifice for us. We had to choose something that we really, really liked so that it would be really, really hard to give it up. That was a critical aspect of the choice: it had to be a painful one. After all, given the unimaginable, unspeakable pain Christ endured on the cross, this was the least we could do. There was a certain nobility to the gesture, but also more than a whiff of martyrdom. We were meant to give ourselves a small taste of suffering.
As I write this I feel almost stunned: how could we have come to believe that self-inflicted suffering is a path to wholeness and healing? I'm reminded of a recent article I read, which reported that the former Pope, John Paul II, routinely beat himself with a belt and, during lent, would sleep without any blankets or padding on a cold, hard floor. These acts of self-mortification were described as instruments of "Christian perfection" (1-26-10 posting on Time website). I cannot find the words to convey my profound sadness that any thinking, loving person could view self-punishment as a means to elevated spiritual consciousness.
And while giving something up for Lent is hardly as dramatic and painful as beating oneself with a belt, its underlying purpose is still rooted in the intention to create and experience suffering. It's entirely possible, of course, that I've misunderstood the true intention behind this practice, and that I'm misrepresenting it now. Yet even if that is so, I don't think I am alone. I have spoken with many people over the years whose experience of Lent was virtually identical to mine, and who struggle with it to this day. And so I wanted to offer a perspective on "giving something up" that I've adopted as I've walked a path of spirituality and expanded consciousness, one that - for me - makes deep, intuitive sense and provides true guidance for living a love-centered life.
Here it is in a nutshell: I think the most important thing we can give up, during the season of Lent and all year long, is judgment. Judgment in its many forms and guises - criticism, blame, cynicism, righteousness, doubt - and judgment directed both inwardly and outwardly. Judgment of ourselves, our leaders, our experiences, our histories. Judgment of our food choices, our friends' boyfriends, our parents, our children, and even that inexplicably confusing movie we just saw. Let's suspend judgment of everything, and see what happens.
Given how conditioned we are to judge everything - how judgment infiltrates virtually every waking moment, often in the guise of suggestions or opinions - this is actually a difficult thing to do. But its difficulty is not meant to cause suffering; paradoxically, it is meant to free us from suffering. Judgment is the original cause of suffering, and so in releasing it we release ourselves from its damning constraints. We free ourselves to see with innocence and trust and an open, loving heart. We begin to perceive the world through a lens of abundance and fresh possibilities. We live and let live.
Thanks to my education at the Barbara Brennan School of Healing, I've been trained to think of things in terms of energy. And from that perspective it's easy to see that the energy of judgment is defeating. That's fairly obvious when we're judging ourselves: it feels bad. As we sit in self-judgment we are deflated and depleted; we are paralyzed into numbness, resignation and inactivity. Even if there is a kernel of truth in our concerns, the painful energy of judgment prevents us from addressing it in a whole and loving way. For example, I may want to reach and sustain a healthy weight. And that may translate into the need to lose a few pounds. But if I judge myself as fat or lazy, the chances of my actually losing the weight are far lower, because self-judgment is a form of self-identity: I see myself as incapable. And that self-image will severely limit my thoughts and choices, virtually guaranteeing that I will prove myself right.
Judging others may initially feel good - righteousness is very seductive, masquerading itself as a feeling of power or competence - but if we're very mindful and honest with ourselves, we discover that judging others really doesn't feel good. Often it leads to feeling isolated, misunderstood, defiant or stuck, as a client of mine recently experienced.
She had been in a fender-bender several weeks ago. A young man - a "punk" in her telling of the story - had pulled out from a gas station without having clear visibility, crossing three lanes of traffic and landing in front of her. She hit the brakes, of course, but the roads were wet and she slid into him anyway. There was virtually no damage to her car, but a moderate amount to his. She was, understandably, upset.
Weeks later, she was sitting with me fuming about it. They had agreed not to call the police at the time, and had simply exchanged contact and insurance information. She now felt resentful that he had contacted her insurance company, and her insurance agent had suggested she call the young man directly and speak with him before deciding whether to file any claims. She didn't want to do that because she knew he would ask her for money, and she didn't want to give him any money because she felt the accident was his fault. She saw him as an irresponsible, money-grubbing punk who had caused great inconvenience to her. (Those were her words, not mine.)
What she didn't see, at least initially, was that her judgment of him as irresponsible and money-grubbing was the cause of her distress. As she held those thoughts of him, her stomach tightened into a knot, her breathing became shallow, and her mind kept swirling in the same pattern - "It's his fault!" She was unable to see a path forward because she was stuck in her story about the past, a story built on judgment. The energy of it was confining, chaotic and confusing.
Together we worked on seeing the experience for what it was, without embellishment - two cars collided on a rainy day. As we stripped away the drama, the fault-finding and the name-calling, she was able to see the simplest truth: it happened. The event happened, and her judgment of all the reasons why it shouldn't have happened was simply keeping her stuck. I could literally see her body relax and her face brighten as she released the judgments and sat with the simplicity of truth. She said she felt tingly and alive - and greatly relieved.
From that place she found a willingness to call him, to find out what he truly wanted and to share her perspective with him. Without viewing him as the enemy, she could see him as the person with whom she had this experience, and with whom she must now negotiate to resolve the question of how to pay for the damage to his car. She could also see the possibility of his filing a claim with his own insurance company, something she hadn't even considered in her reactiveness to his apparent "money grubbing."
The need to take steps and resolve the situation did not change, but in releasing judgment she freed herself to take those steps with a calm and peaceful mind. So when I speak of releasing judgment, I am not speaking of ignoring injustices or becoming a doormat for others to walk on. Yet we do ourselves and others a great service when we remember that it is possible to retain discernment and to make wise, healthy choices without smearing on that extra layer of "wrongness" or "badness." It's the difference between saying, "I see things differently and need to act from my own truth," vs. "I am right and he is wrong (or bad...or a punk!) for seeing things his way."
So I say, let's get out of the judgment business. Let's focus on the simplest of truths in any situation - "Just the facts, Ma'am" - and free ourselves from the icky, sticky energy of finding fault and placing blame. Let's recognize that judgment escalates fear, rebellion, defensiveness and reactiveness - it stimulates the very behaviors that give rise to the experiences we are judging! And we cannot heal the painful consequences of judgment with more judgment. We can only heal our suffering with acceptance, curiosity, understanding, willingness and compassion. And we can only release those qualities in ourselves by giving up our fear-based tendency to judge.
So...let's give it up.
As I write this I feel almost stunned: how could we have come to believe that self-inflicted suffering is a path to wholeness and healing? I'm reminded of a recent article I read, which reported that the former Pope, John Paul II, routinely beat himself with a belt and, during lent, would sleep without any blankets or padding on a cold, hard floor. These acts of self-mortification were described as instruments of "Christian perfection" (1-26-10 posting on Time website). I cannot find the words to convey my profound sadness that any thinking, loving person could view self-punishment as a means to elevated spiritual consciousness.
And while giving something up for Lent is hardly as dramatic and painful as beating oneself with a belt, its underlying purpose is still rooted in the intention to create and experience suffering. It's entirely possible, of course, that I've misunderstood the true intention behind this practice, and that I'm misrepresenting it now. Yet even if that is so, I don't think I am alone. I have spoken with many people over the years whose experience of Lent was virtually identical to mine, and who struggle with it to this day. And so I wanted to offer a perspective on "giving something up" that I've adopted as I've walked a path of spirituality and expanded consciousness, one that - for me - makes deep, intuitive sense and provides true guidance for living a love-centered life.
Here it is in a nutshell: I think the most important thing we can give up, during the season of Lent and all year long, is judgment. Judgment in its many forms and guises - criticism, blame, cynicism, righteousness, doubt - and judgment directed both inwardly and outwardly. Judgment of ourselves, our leaders, our experiences, our histories. Judgment of our food choices, our friends' boyfriends, our parents, our children, and even that inexplicably confusing movie we just saw. Let's suspend judgment of everything, and see what happens.
Given how conditioned we are to judge everything - how judgment infiltrates virtually every waking moment, often in the guise of suggestions or opinions - this is actually a difficult thing to do. But its difficulty is not meant to cause suffering; paradoxically, it is meant to free us from suffering. Judgment is the original cause of suffering, and so in releasing it we release ourselves from its damning constraints. We free ourselves to see with innocence and trust and an open, loving heart. We begin to perceive the world through a lens of abundance and fresh possibilities. We live and let live.
Thanks to my education at the Barbara Brennan School of Healing, I've been trained to think of things in terms of energy. And from that perspective it's easy to see that the energy of judgment is defeating. That's fairly obvious when we're judging ourselves: it feels bad. As we sit in self-judgment we are deflated and depleted; we are paralyzed into numbness, resignation and inactivity. Even if there is a kernel of truth in our concerns, the painful energy of judgment prevents us from addressing it in a whole and loving way. For example, I may want to reach and sustain a healthy weight. And that may translate into the need to lose a few pounds. But if I judge myself as fat or lazy, the chances of my actually losing the weight are far lower, because self-judgment is a form of self-identity: I see myself as incapable. And that self-image will severely limit my thoughts and choices, virtually guaranteeing that I will prove myself right.
Judging others may initially feel good - righteousness is very seductive, masquerading itself as a feeling of power or competence - but if we're very mindful and honest with ourselves, we discover that judging others really doesn't feel good. Often it leads to feeling isolated, misunderstood, defiant or stuck, as a client of mine recently experienced.
She had been in a fender-bender several weeks ago. A young man - a "punk" in her telling of the story - had pulled out from a gas station without having clear visibility, crossing three lanes of traffic and landing in front of her. She hit the brakes, of course, but the roads were wet and she slid into him anyway. There was virtually no damage to her car, but a moderate amount to his. She was, understandably, upset.
Weeks later, she was sitting with me fuming about it. They had agreed not to call the police at the time, and had simply exchanged contact and insurance information. She now felt resentful that he had contacted her insurance company, and her insurance agent had suggested she call the young man directly and speak with him before deciding whether to file any claims. She didn't want to do that because she knew he would ask her for money, and she didn't want to give him any money because she felt the accident was his fault. She saw him as an irresponsible, money-grubbing punk who had caused great inconvenience to her. (Those were her words, not mine.)
What she didn't see, at least initially, was that her judgment of him as irresponsible and money-grubbing was the cause of her distress. As she held those thoughts of him, her stomach tightened into a knot, her breathing became shallow, and her mind kept swirling in the same pattern - "It's his fault!" She was unable to see a path forward because she was stuck in her story about the past, a story built on judgment. The energy of it was confining, chaotic and confusing.
Together we worked on seeing the experience for what it was, without embellishment - two cars collided on a rainy day. As we stripped away the drama, the fault-finding and the name-calling, she was able to see the simplest truth: it happened. The event happened, and her judgment of all the reasons why it shouldn't have happened was simply keeping her stuck. I could literally see her body relax and her face brighten as she released the judgments and sat with the simplicity of truth. She said she felt tingly and alive - and greatly relieved.
From that place she found a willingness to call him, to find out what he truly wanted and to share her perspective with him. Without viewing him as the enemy, she could see him as the person with whom she had this experience, and with whom she must now negotiate to resolve the question of how to pay for the damage to his car. She could also see the possibility of his filing a claim with his own insurance company, something she hadn't even considered in her reactiveness to his apparent "money grubbing."
The need to take steps and resolve the situation did not change, but in releasing judgment she freed herself to take those steps with a calm and peaceful mind. So when I speak of releasing judgment, I am not speaking of ignoring injustices or becoming a doormat for others to walk on. Yet we do ourselves and others a great service when we remember that it is possible to retain discernment and to make wise, healthy choices without smearing on that extra layer of "wrongness" or "badness." It's the difference between saying, "I see things differently and need to act from my own truth," vs. "I am right and he is wrong (or bad...or a punk!) for seeing things his way."
So I say, let's get out of the judgment business. Let's focus on the simplest of truths in any situation - "Just the facts, Ma'am" - and free ourselves from the icky, sticky energy of finding fault and placing blame. Let's recognize that judgment escalates fear, rebellion, defensiveness and reactiveness - it stimulates the very behaviors that give rise to the experiences we are judging! And we cannot heal the painful consequences of judgment with more judgment. We can only heal our suffering with acceptance, curiosity, understanding, willingness and compassion. And we can only release those qualities in ourselves by giving up our fear-based tendency to judge.
So...let's give it up.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Intelligence of Life
Once again all my plans are suspended as the second blizzard in less than a week visits the East Coast. The breathtaking beauty of the all-white landscape is at odds with the messy turmoil of my thoughts - thoughts about lost business, thoughts about wading through thigh-high, wet and very cold snow to get to my heat pumps and shovel them out, thoughts about how to "be productive" during this enforced time-out, thoughts about the treacherous conditions of the city streets for days to come, which means even more lost business...
Deep breath. I reach for my journal - the special one, the one in which I practice writing about my life and myself in the most compassionate, loving way I can. I start with the obvious: on the life pulse of creation - stasis, expansion, stasis, contraction - I am in the contraction phase. Everything is slowing down or stopping, and my job is not to judge or resist that movement, but to allow it, to honor it and harvest its riches. I write in my journal, "This is a time of gathering and consolidating, especially consolidating my energy around the vision I hold for my life rather than letting it dissipate into the ethers of doubt and anxiety. It is a time for quiet focus and for taking small, deliberate steps. It is a time to surrender more fully to my longings."
I glance through my journal and my eyes land on an affirmation I created several days ago: "I allow the intelligence of Life itself to guide my life." I look outside at the falling snow, at the intelligence of Life itself in motion. It is stunning in its richness, clarity and generosity, and I want nothing more than to drink it in with all my senses. I have a sudden impulse to write a poem. And even though I am not a poet, I pick up my pen and write.
Snow Wisdom
The quiet benediction of the snow
settles the anxious hum of my thoughts.
Gentle, inexorable, soft
Inevitable.
A tender dance of stillness and movement
revealing the paradox and perfection of Being:
We are the many and the One.
Be still, the snow says.
And I am still.
Deep breath. I reach for my journal - the special one, the one in which I practice writing about my life and myself in the most compassionate, loving way I can. I start with the obvious: on the life pulse of creation - stasis, expansion, stasis, contraction - I am in the contraction phase. Everything is slowing down or stopping, and my job is not to judge or resist that movement, but to allow it, to honor it and harvest its riches. I write in my journal, "This is a time of gathering and consolidating, especially consolidating my energy around the vision I hold for my life rather than letting it dissipate into the ethers of doubt and anxiety. It is a time for quiet focus and for taking small, deliberate steps. It is a time to surrender more fully to my longings."
I glance through my journal and my eyes land on an affirmation I created several days ago: "I allow the intelligence of Life itself to guide my life." I look outside at the falling snow, at the intelligence of Life itself in motion. It is stunning in its richness, clarity and generosity, and I want nothing more than to drink it in with all my senses. I have a sudden impulse to write a poem. And even though I am not a poet, I pick up my pen and write.
Snow Wisdom
The quiet benediction of the snow
settles the anxious hum of my thoughts.
Gentle, inexorable, soft
Inevitable.
A tender dance of stillness and movement
revealing the paradox and perfection of Being:
We are the many and the One.
Be still, the snow says.
And I am still.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Breaking a Few Rules
I just finished reading a column in the most recent issue of More magazine titled, "How to Afford Your Next Chapter" (February 2010). The article offers several suggestions for financing a career transition in midlife. Its advice is thorough, logical, practical - and deadening. Don't get me wrong - I know the author wrote it thoughtfully and with every intention of offering support to those who want to pursue more satisfying careers. And yet, coming as it does from a certain worldview that elevates so-called "financial security" above virtually everything else, it inadvertently reinforces the very fears and beliefs that hold us hostage in unsatisfactory jobs to begin with.
One element of this commonly held worldview is that a job, or even a career, is primarily something we pursue to make money. Which, at one level, it is. Yet when we remain focused on that level only, we miss the greater truth that our work is really an expression of ourselves, an opportunity to create something of value and to participate in the giving and receiving of the creative process. From that level, we see that money is a flexible medium of exchange that greatly facilitates giving and receiving in diverse and personalized forms. It supports our creativity, but has no value outside its role in the creative process itself.
And this ultimate creative process of creating work we love is not just about finding a less stressful job or experiencing greater satisfaction in our lives - although it certainly offers both of those things - it is a courageous healing path to our truest Self. It is a spiritual journey.
I've come to understand that what we most long to create is what the world most needs from us, yet too often we are told that our longings are impractical; in fear and resignation we take on work that pays the bills but leaves our souls completely unnourished. We think we are being "responsible," but our true responsibility is to the great spirit within us that is bursting with talent and aliveness and a genuine desire to be of service in the world. When we continually ignore that spirit, we are not being true to ourselves. We are compromising our integrity and our ability to live authentic, passionate lives.
The choice to create work we love requires that we revisit all the fears and false beliefs that led us away from out truth in the first place - to challenge our worldview. That is why it is a courageous choice. Facing fear and dismantling limiting beliefs is not easy work! But it is the work we must do in order to live what I call an awake and inspired life. What makes it particularly challenging is that we are inundated on every level and in every moment with the rigid, fear-based rules of our culture that seduced us into ignoring our hearts in the first place.They are very, very convincing, and of course they "work" within a worldview that says we are separate beings competing for scarce resources, that the future is separate from the present, and that money is a separate object that must be pursued, obtained and accumulated.
The true nature of our universe is one of unity and connectedness, aliveness and endless creativity. From quantum physicists to the great spiritual masters, we learn that a divinely intelligent, unified field or matrix gives rise to, and supports, all life in the universe. It is omnipresent, eternal, endless - as are the possibilities for creation that it engenders. We are connected through and by this eternal field of consciousness, and our creativity is limited only by our imagination. Far from being separate beings competing for scarce resources, we are glorious, individuated expressions of a magnificent and abundant whole - and it is our very uniqueness that defines our essential contribution to the whole.
Both science and spiritual traditions tell us that our minds - our intentions, beliefs and thoughts - have fundamental creative power. And so when we believe in separateness and scarcity, that is the world we create. That is the world we have created. Yet when we dare to challenge those beliefs, when we dare to live from the trusting heart instead of from fear, we can change our world.
Which brings me back to the More column. It suggests, among other things, that anyone considering a new career have at least twelve months of living expenses tucked away in a savings account - but "do not even think about robbing your retirement accounts" - and that you have an exit strategy in case of failure. I recognize these are sound recommendations when preserving financial capital is the main goal. But when the intention is to be fully alive, to live your best and truest life and unleash your passion, rules such as this may stand squarely in the way. Preservation of capital arises clearly from a worldview of scarcity; living your passion does not.
Interestingly, in the same magazine five women were profiled who had successfully transitioned into new fields of work they absolutely loved, work that fed their souls and gave meaning to their lives. Almost all of them had broken at least one of the rules. One had raided her retirement account, another had used high-interest credit cards to gain access to funds. The latter was a woman who is now the owner of an award-winning vineyard. She said, "Everyone thought we were nuts. If we'd had a business plan, we never would have bought the property." In other words, if they'd had - and followed - a sensible plan, they would not be growing a thriving business and living their dreams.
I'm not saying that we should break the rules just for the sake of breaking rules - far from it. Often the rules can protect us from diving headlong into something that is not an expression of our truth, or they help us move at a pace that is comfortable and doesn't plunge us into paralyzing fear. But just as often, the rules become rigid prescriptions for how things are supposed to be done, creating fear-encrusted obstacles to following our true path.
Yet breaking the rules is an artful process.The one thing that stands out in the profiles of those women profiled in More, in my own life and in the lives of clients I have coached, is that a choice to break some rules comes not from rebellion, but from a deep-seated inner knowing of "rightness." I refer to this as inner guidance, and I believe it comes directly from that divinely intelligent, unifed field of consciousness I mentioned earlier. This guidance has access to a kind of wisdom that transcends our linear projections and materially-based assumptions. It understands paradox and flow and the interconnectedness of all things, and will guide us to the choices that honor our wholeness - present and future.
I'll be the first to admit that learning to identify, listen to, trust and act on that guidance is challenging; it is a skill that has atrophied in many of us and needs to be cultivated. In the absence of clear inner guidance, following the rules makes all the sense in the world. But when your heart is holding a vision for your life and that still, small voice within is quietly encouraging you to step forward into that vision, don't let our culture's man-made rules stand in the way. Be willing to challenge them. Be willing to turn away from outside experts and listen to the only real expert on how to live the life you came here to live: You.
One element of this commonly held worldview is that a job, or even a career, is primarily something we pursue to make money. Which, at one level, it is. Yet when we remain focused on that level only, we miss the greater truth that our work is really an expression of ourselves, an opportunity to create something of value and to participate in the giving and receiving of the creative process. From that level, we see that money is a flexible medium of exchange that greatly facilitates giving and receiving in diverse and personalized forms. It supports our creativity, but has no value outside its role in the creative process itself.
And this ultimate creative process of creating work we love is not just about finding a less stressful job or experiencing greater satisfaction in our lives - although it certainly offers both of those things - it is a courageous healing path to our truest Self. It is a spiritual journey.
I've come to understand that what we most long to create is what the world most needs from us, yet too often we are told that our longings are impractical; in fear and resignation we take on work that pays the bills but leaves our souls completely unnourished. We think we are being "responsible," but our true responsibility is to the great spirit within us that is bursting with talent and aliveness and a genuine desire to be of service in the world. When we continually ignore that spirit, we are not being true to ourselves. We are compromising our integrity and our ability to live authentic, passionate lives.
The choice to create work we love requires that we revisit all the fears and false beliefs that led us away from out truth in the first place - to challenge our worldview. That is why it is a courageous choice. Facing fear and dismantling limiting beliefs is not easy work! But it is the work we must do in order to live what I call an awake and inspired life. What makes it particularly challenging is that we are inundated on every level and in every moment with the rigid, fear-based rules of our culture that seduced us into ignoring our hearts in the first place.They are very, very convincing, and of course they "work" within a worldview that says we are separate beings competing for scarce resources, that the future is separate from the present, and that money is a separate object that must be pursued, obtained and accumulated.
The true nature of our universe is one of unity and connectedness, aliveness and endless creativity. From quantum physicists to the great spiritual masters, we learn that a divinely intelligent, unified field or matrix gives rise to, and supports, all life in the universe. It is omnipresent, eternal, endless - as are the possibilities for creation that it engenders. We are connected through and by this eternal field of consciousness, and our creativity is limited only by our imagination. Far from being separate beings competing for scarce resources, we are glorious, individuated expressions of a magnificent and abundant whole - and it is our very uniqueness that defines our essential contribution to the whole.
Both science and spiritual traditions tell us that our minds - our intentions, beliefs and thoughts - have fundamental creative power. And so when we believe in separateness and scarcity, that is the world we create. That is the world we have created. Yet when we dare to challenge those beliefs, when we dare to live from the trusting heart instead of from fear, we can change our world.
Which brings me back to the More column. It suggests, among other things, that anyone considering a new career have at least twelve months of living expenses tucked away in a savings account - but "do not even think about robbing your retirement accounts" - and that you have an exit strategy in case of failure. I recognize these are sound recommendations when preserving financial capital is the main goal. But when the intention is to be fully alive, to live your best and truest life and unleash your passion, rules such as this may stand squarely in the way. Preservation of capital arises clearly from a worldview of scarcity; living your passion does not.
Interestingly, in the same magazine five women were profiled who had successfully transitioned into new fields of work they absolutely loved, work that fed their souls and gave meaning to their lives. Almost all of them had broken at least one of the rules. One had raided her retirement account, another had used high-interest credit cards to gain access to funds. The latter was a woman who is now the owner of an award-winning vineyard. She said, "Everyone thought we were nuts. If we'd had a business plan, we never would have bought the property." In other words, if they'd had - and followed - a sensible plan, they would not be growing a thriving business and living their dreams.
I'm not saying that we should break the rules just for the sake of breaking rules - far from it. Often the rules can protect us from diving headlong into something that is not an expression of our truth, or they help us move at a pace that is comfortable and doesn't plunge us into paralyzing fear. But just as often, the rules become rigid prescriptions for how things are supposed to be done, creating fear-encrusted obstacles to following our true path.
Yet breaking the rules is an artful process.The one thing that stands out in the profiles of those women profiled in More, in my own life and in the lives of clients I have coached, is that a choice to break some rules comes not from rebellion, but from a deep-seated inner knowing of "rightness." I refer to this as inner guidance, and I believe it comes directly from that divinely intelligent, unifed field of consciousness I mentioned earlier. This guidance has access to a kind of wisdom that transcends our linear projections and materially-based assumptions. It understands paradox and flow and the interconnectedness of all things, and will guide us to the choices that honor our wholeness - present and future.
I'll be the first to admit that learning to identify, listen to, trust and act on that guidance is challenging; it is a skill that has atrophied in many of us and needs to be cultivated. In the absence of clear inner guidance, following the rules makes all the sense in the world. But when your heart is holding a vision for your life and that still, small voice within is quietly encouraging you to step forward into that vision, don't let our culture's man-made rules stand in the way. Be willing to challenge them. Be willing to turn away from outside experts and listen to the only real expert on how to live the life you came here to live: You.
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