A few weeks ago while driving from NY to MA, I spotted the back end of an abandoned shopping mall from the passenger window.  The cracks in the pavement were sprouting weeds, as if an earthquake had shifted the plates just enough to let in sunlight and water.  I often wonder why we don’t have a system for reclaiming land from defunct development, so large tracts of greenery could be used again for growing, playing or nothing at all.  It’s been a cold start to spring here, so between the cement lot and grey skies, my mood began to mirror the landscape.

Later that same day I heard a Wendell Berry quote for the very first time:

“Under the pavement, the dirt is dreaming of grass.”

I loved it because it felt so hopeful, and as we’re get ready to sow seeds and plants for this year’s garden I know it’s only a matter of days before I feel the warm sun on my back.  Although I can’t reclaim abandoned parking lots, I can make the best of what we have, and take pleasure in our little slice of New England heaven.  What a powerful transformation from such a small shift of perspective. Thank you Wendell Berry.

Happy springtime!

Joan

It’s hard to believe spring is on its way since we have 2 feet of snow on the ground today.  But the clocks were set ahead last night and when I think of spring I can’t help but think of our porch.  The house where I grew up had a front porch, and in warm weather it’s where meals were eaten, friends gathered, games were played, books and newspapers read.  When we built our own home, you can bet the first thing on my list was a porch.

Today the porch is where my own family gathers and the first place where visitors land. It really isn’t a place as much as a feeling.  In the spring the dogs and cats claim the porch as their lookout perch.  I begin bringing my coffee outside, and before long it becomes the center of our home.  There are so many associations I have with porches. In many ways, sitting on any porch is like coming home.

What does coming home look like to you?

Talk about vulnerability—I have just come from my annual mammogram.  All tucked into our Johnny gowns sitting side by side in the waiting room, each woman with her own story, and each with her own way of waiting.  Some are thumbing through the dog-eared magazines dating back to March and some are breathing deeply.  One woman brought her sister, and another listened to music; each woman her own warrior as I look around and observe valor, strength and courage.  For me, it doesn’t feel like courage.  It feels like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.  If a gust of wind comes along, down I go.  If not, I get to stand in the warm sunshine and admire the view.  This is vulnerability.

My own story is that I am now the same age that my mother was when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.  Rationally, that really doesn’t mean much.  But telling my stomach and my heart to be rational is another story.  As I wait for the technician to tell me everything is fine, I’m attempting to practice mindfulness by breathing deeply, having my 2 feet planted on the ground and trying to keep my head connected to the rest of my body. I’ve also created rituals around this annual event:  I make sure my appointment is the first one on the schedule in the morning as this minimizes wait time.  I also send an APB out to my posse with a text that says “Waiting…” This morning my dear friend Lisa waited with me, even though she was in NY and still in bed at that hour. And finally, in honor of my mother and to celebrate the good news, I take myself to Kupel’s Bakery in Brookline for a delicious breakfast.

To see the courage women muster in the face of a mammogram is really quite extraordinary. In our selves we feel weakness, but in someone else we see courage… that’s the interesting part about vulnerability. We take great pains to “suck it up” because our culture honors stoicism, but might we lessen its discomfort and even grow during these times by bringing it into the light?  I look forward to the day when I can see beauty and courage in my own vulnerability.

In one-way or another every one of us will find our selves in a waiting room of sorts.  How do you navigate that vulnerable feeling?  Would you share any of your rituals or creative coping skills that help you get through the tough moments?

Wishing you very good health,

Joan

In my last post, I discussed Brené Brown’s definition of shame and its prevalence in our culture.  Shame is a very isolating emotion, as we tend not to express it for fear of being seen as weak, soft or less-than.   The irony of hiding shame is that when we choose not to bring it into the light, we give it more power  –  like leaving the petrie dish in the closet to wait for bacteria to grow.  So, what would life look like without shame?

What if we let go of our cool, and let our freak flags fly?  What if, our lives didn’t look so neat and tidy, but showed-up a little messy and real?  Do you think the people who love you would care?  I’m not suggesting we hang our dirty laundry for the entire world to see.  I am talking about showing up as you, vulnerable, sharing openly with close connections or trying something you’re not necessarily good at.  We tend to admire this kind of courage in others, yet we cringe at the thought of exposing our selves.  We expend so much effort pleasing others, not making waves, shying away from a passion and “doing the right thing”.  When we’re busy hiding our wounds, our essence or true self goes into hiding.

Brené Brown asked the same question as above:  “What happens when we stop living in shame, fear and disconnection, and start living with courage, compassion and connection”?  Her research uncovered that our deepest search is for a life lived with three elements: 1.) Authenticity, 2.) Love and belonging, and 3.) Resilient spirit.  Brown coined this “WholeHearted Living”.

For some people, these concepts are no mystery; opening-up, practicing love, and vulnerability are accessed fairly easily.  For those who’ve struggled or been shamed by parents, bosses, or partners; shame resiliency is so foreign that it seems nearly impossible.

But wait… there’s hope!  WholeHearted Living is within our reach… for some it may take more work and much of it painful. For everyone however, (and we all need reminders) there are practices for bringing more joy and gratitude into our lives… the first step toward WholeHearted Living:

*  Here’s a sample of some of these practices:

• Accepting the ordinary and imperfect parts of our selves.
• Practicing forgiveness and self-compassion.
• Accepting that we are worthy of love.
• Telling our stories to those we trust.
• Embracing our vulnerability.

These are lofty but oh-so worthwhile goals.  I’d like to pass onto you the possibility for bringing more vibrancy and authenticity into your life.

If you could push the shame away, is there something you’ve always wanted to do or try?  What would you need to feel courageous enough to give it a try?

Yahoo!!!

Joan

* based on “Connections: A 12-Session Psychoeducational Shame-Resilience Curriculum”.  Brene Brown, Ph.D. 2009