Category Archives: Transformation

Emptying my cup(s)

12 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by in Sabbatical, Transformation

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You are a gift to this world! (shine)

This is one of my favorite coffee mugs. I got it in the Minneapolis airport on my way to Virginia when I started my new job here.  I used it every day at the office, and since I’ve been home I rotate it with some of my other mugs. I choose one depending on whether I am having coffee or tea (or occasionally hot mulled wine), and whether it’s morning or afternoon or evening, how much I expect to drink, if I’m sipping or drinking, and who-knows-what-else as the mood strikes me.  Sometimes I use my mugs as décor, holding pens or markers or other things in my work space. Here are some more of my favorites.

 

Then yesterday I came across this story:  A student goes to see a Zen Master one morning. She wants to learn Zen.  She talks on and on and on, telling the Master what she already knows about Zen, and sharing her life experiences. While she is talking, the Master offers her some tea.  She nods acceptance and continues on with her stories as the Master begins pouring the tea.  The student keeps talking. And the Zen Master keeps pouring.  The teacup fills up and begins to overflow. The student is still talking but watching the Master who is still pouring. Finally, annoyed, the student stops talking and gestures to the Master to notice that the cup is overflowing.  “What are you doing? No more will go in!” The Master looks at her and gently replies to her, “Like this cup, you are full of your own notions, habits, opinions, thoughts, and judgments.  In order to learn Zen, you must start by emptying  your cup, emptying your mind, and creating space for new ideas, thoughts, and possibilities.”

Aha!  I think my cup(s) is (are) full right now. The purpose of my sabbatical is to rest, which I can’t do very well if I am too busy filling my cup.  I also want to learn new things, but there isn’t much room.  I want to prepare for the Next Big Thing, but I’m lacking clarity still. I have to create the necessary space for the new ideas and opportunities.  I’ve been slowly clearing clutter and reorganizing the stuff in my house, and I’m sleeping so much better, but I’m still keeping myself busy…so I don’t get bored, so I don’t get lonely, so I don’t feel lazy and undeserving of this break.  I think it’s time I stop pouring and start emptying my mind.  (As soon as I finish this last book I’m reading, The Success Principles by Jack Canfield. I am on #54, and there are 67.  I have about 100 pages to go.)

So I have a new plan. When I go camping next weekend, I will not take any books or projects that are looking for space in my mind.  I will give myself time to reflect and empty out … while walking, sitting by a fire, watching the sunset, listing to the birds, maybe coloring at a picnic table. And if I get overwhelmed with the silence, I will write in my journal to satisfy myself that my thoughts are recorded somewhere so I can let go of them and create space for new thoughts.  I will stop trying so hard to justify this sabbatical or prove myself, and I will just let myself “be” for a while.

I will think again about what might be in the way of my having more clarity about the path I am on and where I am headed. I need all my energy intact, and to know where my energy is going.  That’s what I think clarity is about, having my energy directed deliberately instead of leaking out slowly because of inattention.

I’ll be sure to take a mug along to remind me of this.

The Swiss Cheese Remedy

10 Wednesday Feb 2016

Posted by in Dreaming, Gratitude, Sabbatical, Transformation, Uncategorized

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Well, I AM feeling better today, thankfully.  And yesterday was better than the weekend’s funky days, too.  If you read to the bottom, you’ll see why…or at least, what helped.

I’m one of those people who has a bit of trouble trying to just let things be; I usually have an urge to fix things.  If that doesn’t work, I avoid it completely, usually with some kind of distraction like retail therapy or running away.  Running away doesn’t usually help, because you can’t run away from yourself; wherever you go, you’re still there!

That’s why Kevin was such a great partner; he helped me keep it between the ditches of the crooked roads. When I was tempted to wallow, he wouldn’t let me get away with that. When I wanted to try a zillion things to find a cure, he pulled me back and encouraged me to focus on a reasonable one or two.  So in this recent funk, I again turned to him for advice.

What came to me while I was making myself a cheese sandwich for lunch (yes, true story) was that I needed to break this down .. this feeling of being overwhelmed and down and out.  I wanted to figure out if there was a trigger that I could disable for the future.  I didn’t come up with anything specific, but I did have some productive outcomes from my efforts.

First, I made a breakfast date with my friend Diane.  A chocolate chip pancake is always a good idea!  Having someone to bounce ideas off of is also a good idea.  She was telling me about her recent trip to see her mother, who was evaluating options for moving into senior living center.  Ultimately, they mind-mapped what it would take for Mom to feel joyful if she stayed in her own home.  (Key words: feel, joyful.) They then added dates for certain things to be done, and voila! they are already making progress.

That gave me an idea, which became my second step.  I have used mind-mapping and vision board techniques in the past, so I came up with a hybrid plan, sort of.  On March 15 of 2015, almost a year ago, as I was fighting to see a solo future for myself, I had written in my journal what my dream life might be like, what a great day would be like.  I described my bedroom when I woke up, the weather outside, how I would begin my day, who my friends were and what I did for family time, the kind of meals I ate, the activities of the day, my work, etc.  Yesterday I got out a different colored pen from what I had written in, and I checked off those things that I have in place already: getting up between 7 and 8 am, in a spacious, comfortable, calm, restful bedroom that is one of 4 bedrooms in a spacious, comfortable, calm, restful house; walking for an hour with the dogs, not in a hurry to get home to get ready for work; meditating or reading for a while; no commute except to walk down the hall to my home office for work that didn’t feel like work.  You get the idea.  By and large, I could check off nearly all of the things on that list.  Among what is still waiting for fulfillment is the engaged, positive, productive clientele I have in my coaching business, or the financial serenity of a reliable income stream and nice cushion in my bank account.

I decided for now to first focus on what I have, not on what I don’t have.  I headed to the tubs I keep my vision board supplies in.  While I listened to Simon & Garfunkel sing Bridge Over Troubled Water, I cut out pictures of houses with pools and green yards; a healthy looking, active woman; a few whimsical things to enhance my yard appeal.  I spent some time imagining what it would feel like to be in those pictures. I wanted to imprint those feelings.

Then I moved on to the business I don’t have yet, the future that can and will be mine now that it’s all up to me.  I had actually recently done a vision board for a speaker’s academy that I enrolled in. Here is what that looks like.vision board

Because I had the time, I spent a couple of hours skimming through magazines, Facebook and Pinterest. I had another fun idea.  I made myself an affirmation slideshow (using PowerPoint) that I can click on and watch any time I want to.  Click below if you want to see that.  (Once PowerPoint opens, click on “slide show” and then “from the beginning.”  It’s not Academy-Award footage, but it makes me smile.  You can guess what the theme was.

Pat’s affirmation show.

The important thing is that taking action, but not too much at one time, helped me push my way forward.  By poking holes (like Swiss cheese) in my funk, I gained more clarity about what I want.  Sometimes it’s productive to help other people so you don’t dwell on your own problems, but sometimes you have to help yourself. I woke up feeling good today.

In a funk

08 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by in Grief, Transformation

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(Spoiler alert: this post is a downer, even to me.)

Today has not been a great day (except that I had a great phone call with my friend Karn this afternoon, and I did take a walk with the dogs this morning before it got cool, windy, and cloudy).  And yesterday wasn’t that great, nor the day before that.  I’ve been in a funk and am struggling to get out of it. I am on the verge of crying all the time and feeling stressed. Proof: another fever blister has started.  And I don’t have anything to be stressed about.  And no reason to cry either.

This is what grief does to me. I think it’s only fair to let you know that there isn’t some turn in the road where the potholes are all fixed and it’s only smooth riding ahead.  I’m not the only one to have days like this, I’ve had them before, and I’ll probably have them again some day.  It must be an important part of the transition from who I was to who I am becoming, that I’m even aware there doesn’t have to be a known reason for these growing pains. But it sucks to be me right now.

I start to think to myself that FINALLY I’m moving on, making plans, things are getting pretty steady, and … then I wake up one day and can’t beat the blues.  Something inside me is blocking something else.  Suddenly, the little things set me off, one right after another.  The computer loses it’s connection every 30 seconds, the DMV wants me to appear in person to retitle my vehicles, I got a $20 charge for “self installation” of a “free” mini box on my cable tv.  The weight of the world has caught up with the me who has been strong for quite a while, and I guess I’m tired of being strong and don’t want to be that anymore.  At least not today.

Karn told me I should–I must– go ahead and cry, that I need to release something even if I don’t know what it is.  Crying is cleansing, it’s healing, it’s good for the soul.  It feels like if I start, though, I might not be able to stop.  I know she’s right, but it’s scary in it’s own way.  It’s a crazy conundrum: I’m losing control, but control is an illusion.  Right?!? So I’m chasing my tail.  What is behind this funk?  On some level I must have a fear of not being able to keep it together and get on with my life.  Or fear of some other kind of failure.  Or maybe I just think too damn much, which is what Kevin would say if he were here. Come here and have your cry and it will sort itself out, he would tell me, and hold me so I was safe.  He was never afraid of my tears.

So I have been leaking tears most of the day.  Which is exhausting.  But not as draining as carrying out this funk for three days straight.

This is not an invitation to a pity party.  It’s an expression of where I am in the grieving process.  There are definitely way more good days than bad ones, and for that I’m grateful.  I thank God I have friends I can talk to, dogs I can cuddle with, and a warm bed to cry myself to sleep in since the shoulder is not available.

I hope tomorrow is brighter.

More than a sassy new haircut

25 Monday Jan 2016

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I can’t just sit home any longer.  I’m itching to DO something.  I need to put my reflections and loose conclusions about my life into some context; that is what is at the heart of a sabbatical.  So I am thinking of a solo (+2 dogs) road trip  across the USA , or possibly a Road Scholar (travel & learn) trip to Cuba for a few weeks.  I think there needs to be some adventure aspect to all this, not only because it gives you good stories to tell (ha!) but because that’s how we know we are alive and remember what is important and a priority.  Being alive is what it’s all about for me – I MUST prove to myself that even though Kevin is gone, I have a life here on Earth yet, and it’s a good one.  So today I took a step in the right direction.  Women might relate – I went to a new hairdresser today.

New place, a somewhat random choice (although I don’t really believe in that kind of randomness), certainly a spontaneous stop (another thing I don’t really believe, i.e., there are no accidents). This place is called Jon’s Salon. I passed it on the way to the Veterinarian Clinic this morning to take in dog “samples” for testing (another story).  Jon is  normally closed on Mondays. He normally only takes 2016-01-25 18-22-47appointments, not walk-ins. His salon is next door to the place I was thinking I’d go.  (Get all the dots connected here?)  So Jon welcomes me in while he is finishing up another woman (the one he opened for specifically), tells me I look like I need to “get some sass back!”  and invites me to have a seat.  He tells me he does not like my current haircut and that he can fix it if I want but I have to ask him to fix it. So I do.  The man was incredible.  He showed me why he was using a razor instead of a scissors, how he was doing things, asking about my life and making sure the cut would be appropriate.  He was funny and inspiring and quite a playful guy.  I like the cut – it’s not wild and crazy, just a little spunkier than I’ve had it in a while. He does not like the conservative look on me, and I’d better plan to keep the silver because he LOVES it!! He is sure that this new look says I am “mod, confident, and sassy now.”   I left there feeling like a million bucks, for the price of  $40. 

I actually do feel like I want to go out and be seen.  Is it the cut, or Jon’s enthusiasm, or my belief in my good decision to stop there?  Even little moments like this,  just being open to new people and new experiences, help us know we are on the right track to aliveness. I don’t want to jump out of an airplane or sail around the Cape, but I am ready to take some small risks.  It’s amazing what a haircut and a fabulous stylist can do.  People have said my sabbatical was a bold act.  I may just feel brave enough right now to put some things in motion.  After all, Jon saw zest in me and wanted to help it come out (he said that!). 

I was reminded that our lives need texture to show us we are alive, to inspire us to put our thoughts in context, to keep things simple, and to reach deep for our feelings. Those things Kevin and I were planning to do were all set aside last year; I thought I wouldn’t want to do them alone. Kevin used to call me sassy when I beat him at Scrabble.  I think he sent me to Jon’s door today, to tell me it’s time. I’m not like Stella looking to get her groove back; I’m just feeling … ready.  Ah, it’s been a very good day.

Winning the Lottery

13 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by in Budgeting, Dreaming, Sabbatical, Transformation

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My late husband’s financial plan always relied on winning the lottery, and he faithfully bought a ticket when the numbers got high enough.  If he ever won more, I never knew about it! I very rarely bought a ticket, but now that the possible payout is over $1 Billion (yes, billion with a “b”), I bought 4 tickets the other day. I only had $8 on me after I bought gas, so 4 was it.  Besides, you only need 1 to win, right?

Last night I sat down and decided to come up my list of how I’m going to spend my winnings when I get the money in hand.  I had barely finished when my brother called, and we talked about how we would spend the money if either of us won.  No surprise, we had vastly different plans. After the taxes were paid, and I gave 10% to charity (I do remember he said he wouldn’t do this – he’d prefer to give it directly to people rather than to let someone else decide who it goes to), I struggled to figure out what to do with all the remainder.  I could only come up with another $6 million or so in expenditures.  I would set up education trust funds for each of my grandchildren, pay off my kids’ student loans (and otherwise equalize this distribution since at least one no longer has student loans), and then I would buy a hobby farm and open a pet rescue (probably for beagles) operation. After that, I would make sure each of my kids had a nice-enough house (no mini-mansions necessary) and reliable vehicles. And then I’d take my kids, grandkids, siblings, in-laws and outlaws, nieces and nephews (and their kids), on an around-the-world trip, which is the best education of all.  And a girlfriend trip is in the mix, too. In a nutshell, this reflects my pre-lottery priorities: education, humanity,  and travel.  (It’s good know the money won’t change me that much.)

My sister Theresa has a grand idea. She said the first thing she would do if she wins (note: she said “if” she wins, and I think in terms of “when” I win) isto take a long vacation and then call her kids to tell them where she is!  I think that’s what I will do also; maybe I’ll invite her to come along…sounds like she could use a break.

But then I remembered another conversation I had yesterday with a girlfriend who  lamented that she “didn’t have a Kevin,” and I knew what she meant.  I had already won the lottery back in the summer of 2001 when I met Kevin.  He was exactly the right guy for me, at the right time.  My idea of marriage was a partnership between friends who fell in love, who worked every day at being in relationship, practicing  acceptance and  honesty, sharing and giving, and caring.  He treated me so very, very well, with geArkansas Apr 2012nerosity and laughter and openness.  What more could a girl ask for?  The fact that he’s passed away now doesn’t mean I’m at a dead end (NO pun intended).  Because of the great experience I had of loving him and being loved by him, I am a better person, with happy memories and improved interpersonal skills that enhance all my relationships – whether with my children and grandkids or Toastmaster friends or co-workers or neighbors or new people I have yet to meet or anyone else I come into contact with.  I lived that love for 13 years, and it will continue to pay residual dividends for the rest of my life.  That’s winning!!

I read somewhere recently that if you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need. I can relate to that, and I do have those.  It would be nice to have my Kevin to share those with me, but as that other saying goes, better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all.  It’s comforting to know that I don’t need a Billion dollars to make me happy.  I can’t even spend in my mind.  I told my brother that $100,000 would give me financial serenity, given my sabbatical and limited funds right now.  But I’m doing good anyway, so if the winning ticket isn’t hanging on my refrigerator, I won’t miss the money much.  I’ve already won more than many people.

 

A few truths I’ve accepted

08 Friday Jan 2016

Posted by in Grief, Transformation, Uncategorized

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I read a posting on Facebook the other day.  It said:

When I look back on my life, I see pain, mistakes and heartache.

                When I look in the mirror, I see strength, learned lessons, and pride in myself.

The author is anonymous, and it was posted by trustyourjourney.com.  I could have written that, except that I see a whole lot more than just pain when I look back on my life…and yes, I’ve had my share (and then some) of hard times along the way.  I remember good, easy, soft times as well.  It takes more than mistakes or heartache to shape a strong, bold, brave woman!  Regardless of the path you’ve taken, here are a few truths I’ve learned and held on to, through a divorce, a child’s long hospitalization, a second marriage, having both of my parents pass away, and now “solowing” for the past year.

 1. Love doesn’t die.

I still love my husband and my parents, all of whom have died.  I even hold a special place in my heart for my ex-husband, because of the good times we did share. We had 3 lovely babies  who have all become wonderful young adults,, so it wasn’t ALL bad.  Which is in itself proof that we can love more than one person at a time.  The dreams will change, the reality will change, but the treasured feelings of having been loved, accepted, cared for, trusted, and supported do not change. I can’t see Kevin or my parents the way I used to, but I can talk to them and feel their presence. I also am not unloved, as proven by the family and friends who continue to be in my life, actively.

 2. Grief doesn’t have to last forever.

I know people who continue to grieve 10 and 20 and more years after a significant loss in their lives.  I hurt for them, because it doesn’t have to be that way.  I’m not saying grieve and forget.  I’m saying that the work of grief can be productive and run its course, so to speak.  Here is what I have discovered in the past year.

Grief is a solo journey, an individual process.  It starts when you experience some kind of ending, and then you wander along an emotional path through hills and valleys, until you have a new beginning of another kind.  The ending can take some time, as in a deteriorating marriage or through an illness, or it can be abrupt as in that phone call in the middle of the night that changes everything.  The wandering time takes quite a bit longer.  Maybe you remember, or maybe you try to forget; you cry, you get angry, you are confused, you feel out of sorts; auto-pilot takes over for a bit and it’s hard to regain control.  You might experience guilt, insecurity, or any number of other emotions…including occasional happiness, relaxation, calmness, forgiveness, focus, anticipation.  Even when you start to feel some energy, some confidence, some optimism about the future, there’s not a straight path, but it does get easier…if you let it.  And then you’ll start thinking about what’s next, and making plans, and getting on with the business of life.  It’s when you can let go of the person you used to be and the way your life used to be, that you can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  It’s the new beginning. It may not be clear, but it’s there.  Will there still be times when a song remembers when, and you’ll feel sad? Or a new wedding reminds you of the daddy that won’t walk down the aisle?  Or the new baby that reminds you you’re still going to have to face this other grandparent on and on and on at birthdays and baseball games? Sure.  But that shouldn’t  sustain  continued, ongoing, grieving. Unless maybe you tried to take a shortcut on the wandering path (by ignoring your feelings, for example) or  never completed your letting go of who you used to be (the anger took up too much room maybe?).

3. The grief experience is a gift.

A gift of time, of freedom to feel your feelings when everyone else will understand – at least for a while, an opportunity to reflect and repriortize and reorganize your Self and your life.  I would bet that the majority of people spend at least a few days planning a vacation, depending on where they are going.  And I would bet that most people spend at least a few days researching good deals when buying a car or a washing machine.  But how much time do you spend considering whether or not your life is On Purpose, what makes you happy, why you do what you do every day?

This past year of grieving has taught me more about myself. I have been confronted with who I am without him, with what is really important, with how valuable time is.  I am more deliberate right now, I think more critically, and I live more deeply.  I appreciate more, I am more selective.  I know I used to spend a lot of time complaining about trivial things and did nothing about them.  I know I also spent time whining about bigger things – and also did nothing about that.  I used to think I had time to figure it all out someday, so I was a pro at fulfilling obligations at work, conforming to society’s expectations, seeking approval, doing my duty.  And it wasn’t as if that was bad, but it didn’t have enough meaning for me or leave any room for what I wanted to do.  I was given a clear message when my husband died that my clock is ticking too.  I don’t know when my time will be up here, and so if there are things I’d rather do, people I’d rather be with, places I’d rather go, then that time is now. This awareness, this clarity, this no-doubt-about-it confidence is a gift unlike any other.

 4.  Finally, there is life after life.

For him, and for me.  My belief is that my husband is in a better place, a place his spirit  needed to be more than here.  His life was about him; he was the lead actor, and I had a supporting role.  My life is about me, and I get to play the lead.  I am still here.  It’s up to me what the rest of my life will be like.  I want to be happy, do meaningful work, be a blessing to someone every day.  No one wants me to forget him, or for me to get on with things so it’s easier for them. We all want to know that we all will be okay, and the way to prove this is for me to get on with my life.

I’ve learned more than these 4 truths, but these are the main ones: Love Doesn’t Die; Grief Doesn’t Have to Last Forever; Grief is a Gift; and There Is Life After Life.  If you are grieving or know someone who is, be encouraged that every ending is followed by a new beginning. The wandering time in between may be longer or shorter because of all the many variables that affect individual grief, but the outcome will be similar.  Remember, all who wander are not lost!

Another woman’s grief

01 Tuesday Dec 2015

Posted by in Grief, Transformation

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I saw  a post on Facebook this morning from Humans of New York. It was a story about a woman whose husband has died; it doesn’t say when, but I had the impression it was a while ago. The woman says that she sleeps on a mat on the floor rather than in the bed they shared, she hasn’t changed anything in their apartment, she doesn’t even walk down the streets they used to walk.  I was struck by this, as it is so very, very different from my experience of grieving.

Kevin died in our bed, and I have slept there every night (when I’m home) – often on his side of the bed, sometimes in the middle, and occasionally on my old side.  I changed his man cave room furniture and decor, and painted every room on the first floor of the house. I sold his motorcycle and boat. I go places we used to go and walk down memory lane, as well as seek out some new places. I watch movies we watched together. I talk about him and us to whoever will listen. I write him letters and talk to him every single day. In the global sense, I have changed everything except where I live, and I feel closer to him than ever.

So that’s one thing. But then I read some of the Comments on that Facebook page. One after another after another said it was heartbreaking, and what a tribute to have “that kind of love.”  My own reaction was, Poor Thing! She’s stuck. How could I help her?  I know there are no magic, one-size-fits-all words, but I hope that when I finish writing my story, I will help someone somewhere.  To cling to “that kind of love” would seem to encourage the heartbreak status quo.

My grief has been an amazing time of reflection, remembrance, and growth. It isn’t exactly the same for any two people in the details, although the end result is often comparable at some point in the future. If I could sit with that woman for an hour over a cup of coffee, I think that is what I’d say: I  don’t know what your grief is like, because all grief is different. But I do know that moving on is scary, filled with worry that things will change and you’ll forget him or the way you felt with him at your side.  Instead, think of it as moving along, step by step, day by day.  Remember the good times, talk to him while walking those streets you walked together, show him you are okay by resting in your own bed, so that he, too, can rest in peace.  Your love story does not have to end because he’s gone, nor does it stay exactly the same because he is, in fact, gone.

But then, who am I to tell someone else about grieving? To judge whether or not she is stuck? To tell her she should walk those street again? It is me who has something to learn from her: that it’s all good, we all get to choose how we grieve and do it on our own terms. Thank you, lady in New York, for reminding me of this.

One year has gone by

23 Monday Nov 2015

Posted by in Grief, Transformation

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I don’t have the right words now, and I didn’t have them then. I don’t know what to do now, anymore than I knew what to do then.  A year has not made it any more clear what the future holds, but I’m learning to let go of the need for certainty and open up to the possibilities.  And I know this much is true: the angel on my shoulder, the whisper tickling my ear, the drifting of the leaves, the flicker in the fireplace, the tears I don’t stop, the smiles I can’t stop…everywhere I look, there is evidence you are still here with me.  As the days continue to unfold, I get a little stronger, a little more brave, a little more me again.  I wish moving on was somehow different …well, I know you know what I mean.   You’ve moved on, too, in your way.

 

It’s all about me now

30 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by in Grief, Sabbatical, Transformation

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This blog is going to be about me and the transformation I am undergoing due to the grief I experienced since my husband Kevin died last year. Naturally, I have had to do things I didn’t use to do, like take out the trash. I’ve also had to do more of the chores we used to share, such as feeding the dogs or cooking or washing dishes.  And I have done less of some things I used to do, like ride my motorcycle because it’s just not as fun any longer. Oh, and I’ve done some things again I hadn’t done in a long time, like coloring.  But I have yet to get acquainted with this woman I am becoming, the one who wants to learn to play piano and practice yoga, for example.  Now that I’m flying solo, I need to understand who I am, choose who I am becoming, think about what I want to do and where I want to go.  He gave me one of the greatest of gifts – that of a new life to be designed by me now –  and so as a result, I am giving myself the gift of a year – a personal, unpaid sabbatical – to just be, and to think about these big life questions. I resigned my permanent, paid position and will be that solo-widow-single (solowing) person starting at 5:01 pm on Friday, November 20.