Broken

Broken: Adjective: reduced to fragments; fragmented, ruptured; torn; fractured,not functioning properly; out of working order.

When my son, Josh, was a toddler, Cheerios's came out with a new twist on their oat cereal. Instead of just having the famous and signature "O", they also came out with "X's". It was cute. It was clever. It tasted the same and had all the same healthy reasons for putting the new gimmick on my shopping list. Josh, however, was duly horrified, as only an 18 month old can be. I thought it was so charming to put the X's and O's on the tray of his high chair. Josh looked at the cereal, looked at me, and then began precisely picking up the X's, tossing them off the tray to the waiting vultures (masquerading as dogs). With each flick of his chubby baby wrist, he'd say "Broken!". Nothing I could do would persuade him to even taste one. In his one year frame of reference, his beloved "O-eee-o's" were not supposed to look like that.

This was a parenting annoyance at the time. But, now, 19 years later, I can understand completely how Josh felt. There was a way that his neatly ordered world was supposed to be. He was accustomed to his snack looking a particular way. It gave Josh stability knowing what he should expect. His passionate rejection of the 'different' was not unlike how an adult might feel when her world is turned upside down. What Josh experienced as baby, on a much smaller scale, many of us discover, to our horror, as grown ups. "Broken" can mean a wide variety of things to us. It might be that a marriage fails. Or a family member dies. Or a debilitating, scary illness is diagnosed. It may be being downsized from a career. It could mean that our belief system is shattered, our hearts are crushed, our friendships aren't steady and our mind can't grasp the changes. Broken can mean that the worlds we work so hard to create for ourselves are in nothing more than a gossamer scarf, holding together the fragile pieces that fit together within the delicate folds. 

Over the past year, I've been exploring the concept of brokenness, as it applies to body, mind and spirit. This wasn't intentional. I had no choice in the matter of my body. Cancer is an all powerful, indiscriminate leveler, particularly when one has had the disease more than once. My strength through yoga failed me. I was physically broken, emotionally drained and intellectually flummoxed. How does a non-smoking, organic eating yogini get a rare form of cancer more than once? I was angry. I wanted to power through, to be the little engine that could", to deny that this disease would have any long term effects on me. I refused to allow myself to be broken. I wouldn't stand for it. How very wrong I was! How naive, and how foolish. I wish I could back in time. I wish I could take myself by the hand and say, "You will be broken. You will be challenged. Nothing will be easy. With every step forward, there will be two steps back and to the side. You will not reemerge the same woman. You will be different. You will be changed. You will be splintered. But, you will survive and create something new from the pieces."

After yet another setback last week, I wanted to cry out to the heavens, "Seriously?" But, I realize that there is still more for me to learn. There is always more for me to learn. Perhaps that's the lesson in all of this; no matter how well I think I've put the pieces back together, they seem to twirl out of my hands, crashing to the floor and creating even more fragments for me to contemplate. It's not the breaking that matters. Regardless of how I feel about it, I'm beginning to realize that the brokenness itself may very well be the lesson. It may be that I need to continuously learn humility; that I must deliberately look at each fragment and wonder what it has to teach me. It may also just be a crappy deal that I'm stuck with, and if I don't want to end up as a bitter, hate-filled old biddy, I'd better learn how to dwell with what is, rather than focusing on what is not.

Like a mosaic work of art, made from bits of shattered glass, I need to learn how to see the beauty in brokenness. I need to appreciate what is broken. Why? Because it's healthier than the alternative. One never knows: something exquisite may yet be created. I just have the humbling task of trying to discern what 'it' will be.

Nobility and Humility

"Whatever comes," she said, "cannot alter one thing. If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it.  ~ "A Little Princess", Frances Hodgson Burnett


We have had a challenging month or two. My health has gone from adequately recovering from my December cancer surgery to being in debilitating pain. I have suffered through complex neurological issues that have not only taken all my strength to muddle through, but my dignity, as well. My husband, who has always been a hard working provider for our family, has lost his career. We went from looking forward to spending an extraordinary year planning out our next steps as recent "empty nesters" to just worrying about what the next day will bring. I wait from moment to moment, terrified when, and where, my next bout of seething pain will strike. I am deeply concerned about the unpredictability of our financial situation. There are times I want to be impatient, snappish, angry, bitter, jealous and downright mean spirited. I want to smack the hands of the nurses who can't start my IV's (after three tries). I want to kick the shins of the doctors who don't meet my eyes while telling me "We just don't know" about my medical saga's answers. I am seething when I see less qualified, and less competent, people who are still working in their same positions...and who want to buy bigger houses...when I worry about how we're even going to pay to heat ours.These are not thoughts I'm particularly proud of. In fact, I'm ashamed to be such a grumpy, churlish shrew. For better or worse, I'm exhausted. I'm too worn out from pain, from worry and from fear to be concerned about the social niceties.


Yet, when I think of the woman I want to be "when I grow up", this is not she. The woman I want to imbue is not a despicable harpy. She is a noble, kind, humble, loving gentlewoman. The "fully realized" Ellen of my imagination is about as far as I can travel from my current state of resentful harridan. Somehow, I need to make this transition from one of angry terror to one of gracious acceptance. It isn't easy. If I'm not physically in pain, I'm emotionally distraught. I do realize, however, that it's up to me to rise above these present circumstances and move into being the woman I choose to be. One of my mother's favorites quotes, from St. John of the Cross, keeps coming to my mind again and again: "I am not made, or unmade, by the circumstances in my life, but by my reactions to them".  If I judge myself in this light, I am thoroughly abashed. I have allowed myself to be 'made' by the circumstances in my life...both the good and the bad. I have taken pride in areas which were really no more than good fortune. I have basked in the glory of praise. Because I allowed myself to get caught up in believing I was 'made' by the good circumstances, I know that it's no wonder that I have been 'unmade' by the poor ones. I am ashamed.  Mea culpa.


I believe that this is my chance to grow up at last.I need to let go of letting my situation dictate how I feel. I must "put the ways of childhood" behind me and move into adulthood. The inspiration for desired transformation, ironically, is from my one of my favorite children's books, "A little Princess" by Frances Hodgson Burnett. The protagonist, Sara Crewe, shows exceptional courage and strength as layer, by layer, her carefree, beautiful life is stripped away from her. She's left with nothing, quite literally. And yet, her angelic, compassionate, noble soul shines through. It doesn't matter if she's wearing the latest fashions from Paris, or the rags of a street urchin. Sara Crewe, even as a fictional character in a child's book, embodies the woman I hope to be. She is unfailingly kind. She is loving to those who are wretched to her.  She is generous with what little she has. She is altruistic, accepting, satisfied and humane. 


Therefore, I've set my goal: I want to be a princess. Not the spoiled, nasty type that one sees on "reality television"...no, I want to be a princess 'on the inside'.  I may be in pain. I may be embarrassed. I may be frightened. I may be living with an unspeakable number of unknowns. But, I can be kind. I can be loving. I can remember that if I behave in a way that shows strength, courage, gratitude, peacefulness, acceptance and joy, perhaps that will come true. As Sara Crewe pointed out: it's easy to be noble when everyone knows it. The challenge comes in creating that gentle nobility within myself that is immovable regardless of what happens to me. 


I won't be wearing a tiara. I have never owned a pair of Manolo Blahnik's. My wedding did not take place at Westminster Abbey. Yet, I can be a princess all the time. Perhaps, if I think about how a princess should behave, when confronted with adversity, it will be reminder to emulate one.

Laughter through tears

"Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." ~ Dolly Parton as Truvy, in "Steel Magnolias".


There's an absolutely wonderful short film by European filmmaker Christine Rabette entitled "Merci". In this exceptional 8 minute movie, not a word is spoken. Emotions, however, are conveyed with powerful imagery. The scene opens with an underground rail system and moves into a Metro car. The riders are nearly colorless...bland, beige, drab and downtrodden. Every face has a frown upon it. Every eye is downcast. It's a gloomy, depressing scene. The viewer feels the degradation, the monotony and the bleakness of the lives of the riders.


At the next Metro stop a smiling, robust, jolly man steps onto the train. Despite his grin, no one meets his gaze. He begins to chuckle, at first. Then guffaws. The train riders look aghast initially, or even disgusted. Yet, his laughter is infectious. Before long, the woman next to him is laughing along with him. The serious, stern riders further away begin to smile to themselves. Within an instant they, too, are giggling. A moment passes and the entire train is filled with optimistic, joyful mirth. As the Metro pulls into another stop, The Laughing Bodhisattva departs. But he leaves behind a much happier car.


For the past few weeks, I've felt quite a bit like the discouraged riders on that subway. One situation after another has left me depleted. Once again, I'm unwell. Although we don't have a diagnosis yet, I'm in nearly constant severe pain and am suffering from other ailments. It's been extremely difficult to get a doctor to return  my calls. In the hospital, it was nearly impossible to find anyone to even really listen to me. They were simply too busy to meet my gaze. In a sense, those health care professionals were riding on this same sad Metro car along with me. Additionally, my husband just lost his job. More than that, he lost his career, due to downsizing. He's a well educated, hard working man and has always been employed. This blow has also been extremely demoralizing...not to mention that it's terrifying in this economy. My heart has been so heavy, it's been close to breaking for good.


Yet, I had my own personal Bodhisattva appear, in canine form, this morning. My dog, Dakota, is a rescue. She's a beautiful Shiloh Shepherd. She came to us with many fears and has slowly been emerging from her personal troubled subway ride. As Dakota has gained in confidence, a mischievous sprite has taken form. I woke up to find her snuggling with me in bed. This isn't surprising. Dakota is very cuddly. What was unexpected, at any rate, was that my entire bed was covered in toilet paper. Not only was Dakota wrapped up like a mummy, but my other dog, Murphy (a Newfoundland-Golden Retriever mix) also was quietly bearing the binds of his wrappings. My lamps were covered. My robe, next to the bed, was covered. Somehow, my Kindle was completely wrapped up in its own package, as was the remote control to the television. There was toilet paper from headboard to the end of my bed, draping us all in a cocoon. It was as if I woke up in a canopy bed made of toilet paper. Miraculously, none of it was really broken. It was all looping, long, entire rolls. And, I'd slept through the entire construction. My crimson and gold bedding was lost in a sea of white. Seeing through the curtains of toilet paper, I saw two beautiful, mirthful eyes. Dakota had been waiting for me to wake up.


Although Dakota couldn't begin laughing herself, I knew that this was her gift to me. Her sprightly, goofy antics were the medicine I needed. I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Dakota got up and rollicked around with the now destroyed toilet paper castle. She jumped. She whirled. She nearly pulled me out of bed with her merry shenanigans. I loved every second.


Are our problems solved? No. Do we have any answers to the fearful question we face? Also, no. But Dakota gave me a precious treat: the ability to look at the present moment with joy in my heart. When you think about it, isn't that what we all need?  Life isn't about the long term; it's about loving each day as if comes, finding the bright spots and steering your course towards them. It's also about laughter through tears. If we can't laugh during our times of trial, then we won't see the miracles that are right in front of us...even if those miracles are created by a dog with a penchant for toilet paper.

The Fine Line

Practicing compassion, caring for others and sharing their problems, lays the foundation for a meaningful life, not only at the level of the individual, family or community, but also for humanity as a whole. ~ His Holiness, the Dalai Lama


People say that there are only three seasons here in Maine: Summer, Autumn and Winter. Summer is glorious and we revel in it. The long hours of sunlight, filling our days with the beach or boating. Lovely picnics and laughter well into the warm evenings. Autumn is nothing short of magical. The trees turn colors we only see in gemstones; rich ruby, glimmering topaz and vibrant amber. Winter, while seemingly endless, takes on a rhythm and sense of coziness. The snow blankets every surface and shines like diamonds each morning. Spring, however, remains elusive. Gray skies, torrential rains and fields growing nothing but mud seem to be the norm. The past few days, however, have been exceptional. I have taken to walking my dog, Murphy, and have taken full advantage of the sunshine to get back into shape following my surgeries. Walking has been therapeutic for both my own health, and for Murphy's...as he tends to look more like a Hippopotamus, than a Retriever mix. 


Our long walks have taken us into town, exploring streets we don't normally travel. It's been a bit of an adventure for the two of us.We love setting out in the morning, with no particular destination in mind. We may not be ready for a 10K walkathon, but we are definitely improving our stamina. 


However, a recent walk left me shaken, not from over-exercising, but from my own fears. As Murphy and I lumbered along in our usual mediocre pace, I saw a young man on the road ahead of us. He had a tattered coat, an over-sized backpack that was bursting at the seams and a very long, shaggy beard.  His entire demeanor gave off a threatening vibe. I looked around and didn't see another soul on the road, either in a car or on foot. In short, I was scared to death. I was a woman alone with a dork of a dog on an isolated country lane. 


My conversations with my friend, Jennifer, immediately sprung to mind. Jen is a gifted social worker and teacher on womens' issues of  personal safety. I have learned more from her than from anyone else on this subject. Jen taught me to scream "FIRE!", rather than "Help!" in an emergency....people being who they are are far more likely to respond to the former plea than they are to the latter. I learned that, if someone tries to pull me into a car to hold onto something solid, like a telephone pole or, when biking, to my bicycle. Jen explained a number of ways to incapacitate a would-be abductor. All of these scenarios flashed through my mind in an instant. I felt my heart pounding in my throat as the scary fellow approached. I seriously considered turning my dog around and running as fast as I could in the opposite direction.


In the next instant, I was filled with shame. Here was someone clearly down on his luck, and walking to his next destination. My recent theology class discussion about compassion rang in my ears, and I was horrified to have judged harshly when I espouse kindness above all else. Are my lessons in practicing hospitality, generosity, graciousness and consideration just empty ideals, with no place in my real life? Can I say one thing in an abstract setting and another when faced someone in need? My face burned red with embarrassment.


So, where is the fine line between ensuring our personal safety and practicing altruism? How can we remain grounded in a dangerous world, and be mindful of our own vulnerabilities, while still showing tenderness to those in need? With my thoughts on ways to keep myself (and Murphy) safe, I continued walking towards the intimidating man. I made eye contact, I smiled and said a cheerful, "Good Morning!" to him. He stopped and looked right at me. His gentle blue eyes showed nothing of the 'keep away' signs I'd seen before I spoke to him. Though bedraggled, his entire persona seemed to shift before my eyes, transforming him into a handsome, albeit world weary, traveler. He reached down and patted Murphy's immense head before looking up at me and saying, "And, good morning to you, Ma'am" with such kindness in his face. We exchanged another smile, and then went each in our own direction.


I was reminded of the verse from the book of Hebrews in the New Testament, "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing, some people have entertained angels without knowing it."  I didn't entertain the young man, nor did I invite him home. I knew that that would be foolish of me. But, I am happy that I showed kindness, rather than rudeness, and a peaceful heart, rather than a fearful one.


Who knows? Perhaps I just 'entertained an angel'. Or, at least, brightened someone else's day. In either scenario, I feel both blessed and grateful for the encounter.

Passion

Chase down your passion like it's the last bus of the night. ~Glade Byron Addams

One of my greatest frustrations about Valentine's Day is how dreadful the holiday makes people who aren't deeply in love feel about themselves. The not-terribly subtle message is "You have to have a partner with whom to share this day of passion or you are left out of the club". I find that both offensive and condescending. It's a wonderful and beautiful experience to be in love, particularly in those heady days of early romance. One's heart beats faster at the mere thought of the object of one's affection. Pondering all the daydreams, the "What if's?" and the meanderings of an idyllic fairy tale can be even more magical than the romance itself. When one isn't in love, it's difficult to envision passion on a grand scale. Additionally, when one has been in a relationship for many years, the day to day practicality of bills, schedules, parenting, chores and jobs can overshadow the illusionary enchantment.

It's my firm belief that passion should have far less to do with wooing the object of one's desire. In my own mind and heart, it should be the wooing of our own deepest dreams for our own lives. Living a life of passion doesn't have to either involve, or negate, another human being. Rather, it means kindling the fires the lie within each of us to lead a life filled with purpose and confidence. A passionate life doesn't need to signal an immoral one. It can mean an existence in which one seeks out her dreams, discovers her hidden talents, and loses herself in the present moment. A passionate life can mean not allowing opportunities to fall by the wayside, but embracing each chance to learn something new. Achieving this can also mean asking yourself "What do I love?", "What makes me the happiest?" and "What can I do to feel jazzed about being alive?".

Far too much time is spent worrying about our failures. I am terribly guilty of this issue. I have allowed my anxiety over disappointing others, as well as myself, keep me from experiences, goals and seeking out my heart's desire. I have felt that, as long as I've secretly nurturing and daydreamed about my future, I would never be disillusioned. I was afraid that if I should try and then fail, I would have nothing left to look forward to. But, what's happened is that I've squandered my time...I've allowed decades to slip away from me because I was too nervous that I'd be rejected. Therefore, I want to commit myself to living more passionately. I want to submit more articles to magazines, to keep working on my book, and to expand upon pieces I've already finished. It's terrifying. But, unless I proceed with courage and confidence, I will never achieve my goals. I will only wonder what might have been in my life.

Passion can also apply to how we take on obstacles that lie in our path. We can decide to retreat and go back into our shells of complacency. Or, we can venture forward with William Wordsworth's "Might Yawp" and passionately defeat those troubles that create the blockages in our lives. We can choose to work around people who are naysayers. We can decide to face our fears. We can adopt a resilience that will enable us to keep moving forward...with passion and determination.

If you received candy and flowers from the love of your life, be appreciative but look for your inner ecstasy too. If not, fear not! A passionate life depends far more on how we meet life head on, than how others make us feel.

Liberation

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask oursleves, "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?" Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our prescence automatically liberates others...."~ Nelson Mandela, quoting Marianne Williamson

It isn't often that I use a quote, as the foundation and inspiration for my blog posts, to be as long as the one Nelson Mandela spoke at his inagural address, as the one above. And yet, a great part of me feels that I could simply leave the quote, and allow this space to be empty. The fact is there is very little I can add to such a statement, very little enlightenment I can share and very few thoughts I can pass along to bring this sentiment's meaning with further clarity. The idea of viewing ourselves in this way is both liberating and terrifying. How can we step back and view ourselves as wonderful and meaningful creatures, filled with all the potential in the universe, when we are beset with self-doubt, weighed down by years of criticism and fear of failure? Hypothetically, it is potentially life changing to release all of those chains of bondage we wear in the place of success. And yet, we find comfort in those chains, don't we?

Most of us are comfortable with the familiar. We like to know what is expected of us. We operate well within parameters. This isn't to say we don't have moments of creative inspiration or act as mindless drones all the time. But, we tend to view the world, both our own personal one as well as the wider one, in familiar terms. Over the years we build up our chains, binding our potential and keeping us thinking of ourselves in certain, 'never altering' terms. What do I mean by chains? Surely none of us are physically bound by linked metal. Still, the ways in which we keep our potential locked up can be just as limiting as those ropes of iron. After a while we fail to notice that they even exist. Like Jacob Marley, Ebenezeer Scrooge's doomed ghost of a partner, we rattle our chains and wear them for eternity. While ours may be metaphorically, they are every bit as heavy and oppressive as Jacob Marley's. Marley came back to show Scrooge a different way...a chance to redeem himself from a life of selfishness, hard heartedness and cruelty. What is fascinating about Dickens' portrayal of Scrooge's journey is not the various ghosts that visit him, but rather, the way that Scrooge releases his fears based on past hurts of his own. We learn that Scrooge did not set out in life to be an angry, bitter, greedy man. We understand that he picked up that mantle as a method of self-presevation. He came to see his chains as a way to protect himself.

Most of us pick up our chains through very little fault of our own. We are told by teachers that we're stupid, lazy or undesirable. We internalize peer pressure to conform our very thoughts to the standards currently in vogue. We suppress our talents because experience teaches that putting ourselves 'out there', we risk immense hurt, humiliation and failure. Once we have had our hearts broken and our inadequacies are exposed, we are far more likely to don figuartive bullet proof vests, shutting out even more than chains. When we have been told 'no' enough times, we stop asking. We forget that we loved to sing, or to write, or to dance. We distance ourselves from our passions because keeping them close risks exposing our desire for them. We deny ourselves the pleasure of possibility because of the chance for frustration and defeat. As Mark Twain said, over 100 years ago, "Once a cat sits on a hot stove, he won't ever do it again. But, he also won't sit on a cold one." Like cats in fear of sitting on a hot stove, we suppress our hopes and dreams. We feel deficient and remain uncompleted.

So, what do we do next? How do take that first scary step of releasing our chains? What do we need to do to feel those hints of liberation? We must simply begin with our hearts in our throats and just do it. We take chances, create new prospects and risk embarrasment. For most of us, the fear of dreading humiliation is much worse than the mortification proves to be. We begin by asking for help from people whose talents we admire. We start by taking a stab at something new. We simply aspire to do more, to be more and to experience more than our current limitations allow. As a writer, I'm opening myself up to learning from more experienced mentors. It's terrifying. I'm afraid my mentor will tell me that I am a talentless hack. And yet, even if that's what I'm told, I feel grateful that I have the chance to even try. If the worst case scenario is being unsuccessful, then I will be no worse off than I am...always wondering. My mother once told me not to be afraid: that the worst someone can say is "no". What we all need to do, myself especially included, is to be okay with the possibility of "no", but to prepare for the chance of "yes".

In my yoga classes, I will often begin with an invitation to my students. We will focus on one area in our lives that we would like to improve. We breathe and focus all of our thoughts on achieving that hope. Then, bringing our hands, palm up, to our mouths, we blow those hopes into the universe, asking God to help us find the path that makes those hopes come to fruition. This exercise is not about opening up a fortune cookie or reading a horoscope. It's giving us a mental, tangible way to release those feelings we bind to ourselves, but also embracing the proactive approach to attaining the next step. One of my own mentors has told me that sometimes I need to get out of my own way. In sharing this with my students, not only am I passing this wise life approach forward, but I'm learning to live it as I share it. I have found the best teachers are those who are, themselves, constantly learning to be more open. I hope that, as I learn to release the bonds of insecurity and doubt that plague my own journey, both personally and professionally, I can show my students that they, too, can release...and then begin to soar.

As we meditate on Nelson Mandela's words, I hope that each of you can find one area in which to let go of your apprehension and invite in assurance that all will be well. As you do so, you may find that you encourage all those around you to do the same...or even grow beyond you. To me, the mark of a life well lived isn't what we do ourselves, but what we can inspire in others.