Honey Help YourSelf

There’s no better place to witness renewal at work than to watch it play out in nature. It’s as simple as that refreshed feeling we get after a good rainstorm, or the relief we feel at the appearance of new growth in the aftermath of wildfire. Whether we get caught in a downpour, or if we’re watching natural disaster unfold around us, we know that no matter the inconvenience to our lives, Nature will have her way; we know the sun is always somewhere shining and will make its way around to us again soon enough. Weathering our own storms, however, isn’t nearly as easy. Sometimes waves of grief can wash over us with the force of a tsunami and level our emotions. In flashes of anger, we may burn bridges that leave us feeling stranded at the dead ends of fear. Clouds of uncertainty can cast a pall over our own good judgment and throw us off the path. In Nature, the only agenda is growth, and natural disasters are an important part of renewal. Providing we’re emotionally resourceful enough, the same holds true for us as well. I told you already: last year kicked my ass and gutted me good. There were times I felt like Rocky Balboa on the ropes, taking hit after hit, cauliflower ears and all. Ultimately, I recognized my struggles were clearing a path for the next phase of my growth. All of which got me thinking about renewal. In terms of your own energy, refusing to let go of emotional pain and the weight of other people’s issues is like writing yourself a prescription for disaster, i.e., nervous breakdown, fits of self-pity, passive aggressiveness, and garden variety bad behavior. Lugging old energy like grudges, judgment, and wounds everywhere you go takes a toll on you—and your relationships. If you need proof, just take an honest look around your life. That’s the tricky bit: it’s not easy to look at less flattering aspects of ourselves because, not only is it unflattering, but acknowledging the hand you may have unwittingly played in your own sabotage will require you to take responsibility for your cleanup. In my case, I kept seeing ways I’d been playing small and way too safe (stuck) in various areas of my life. That’s the other thing: identifying one issue often leads to others. But, bearing in mind the rainstorm, the renewal wasn’t far behind. So, all this talk of renewal. Why, honey? Well, because it’s what comes after the excavation and clearing. Rather than leave this idea on the drawing board, I decided to share it with you instead. I’m calling this project RENEWAL, of course, and it will run for 10 weeks. There’s no cost to participate, and comments will be hosted on the Honey Help YourSelf Facebook page. The idea is simple and it breaks down to 3 main parts: 1.) to help you become more aware of your own energy. 2.) to invite participation, because why go it alone? 3.) to facilitate deeper connection—however it unfolds. Bonus points: - There’s a one-word theme for each week accompanied by a question for reflection and/or a practice. - You can engage with this project in whatever way feels right for you. There is no wrong way to do it. If you want to journal and set intentions for other areas of renewal, go for it. - You’ll get out of it what you put in. Feeling curious about an idea that pops up during the process? Look into it if you feel inclined. I’m excited about this project for lots of reasons: it’s new; it’s experiential; it’s uncertain. Renewal doesn’t happen by magic, but it does happen by design. So what do you think? What kind of renewal are you ready for, honey?

In New Years past I’ve written resolutions, pared them down and wrote them over again. I’ve cleaned my house and washed my clothes in the eleventh hour. I’ve thrown parties, planted seeds, burned sage, meditated, prayed, and implored the unseen hand to help this honey get her act together or else. If you could have seen me under those midnight moons, fed up and desperate for change: I’m so done with this go-nowhere, half-assed living, I’d say, my handwritten resolutions crumpling in my grip. I need help and I need you to bring it now! Whether or not you believe in the existence of a divine power that can shape the course of your life, there’s no denying the out-and-out force of honoring a deeply held desire, which, by the way, is its own brand of divine power. 2013 was a doozie. All told, I’m grateful for so much that happened—and for plenty more that didn’t this year. From the amazing to the inexplicable, 2013 kicked my ass. It was a collection of lessons that helped to wake me up and remind me why I’m here, to help me make sense of my ‘stuff,’ and to keep me accountable for the great many changes I said I’d make more than a year ago. It was a year of blessing and malaise, of sabotage and success that blurred the lines between the good, the bad, and the otherwise. I entertained a lot of creative prospects this year—some of them big and brilliant, lots of them duds. I left my most implausible ideas hidden in the pages of my journals and ventured ahead with a few plans that met with warm reception. Others struggled to fruition in my unsteady hands, only to fizzle and fall away without so much as a parting glance. It was a year of giving. I put my hands to good use this year, volunteering and supporting good causes that empowered women, clothed needy kids, and gave aid to the blind. I got behind good work that mattered. I held up my end of bargains and bets I’d long forgotten, keeping in mind that the greatest gambles were invariably the ones I’d taken on myself. I made it a point to hold my tongue and judgment a little more last year; I’m glad I did. Despite all I held, I also let go a lot. For starters, I gave up 'my demands.' I didn’t know it at the time, but I wasn’t just crumpling that list of resolutions for dramatic effect, because 2013 showed me there aren’t any plans I could make, even on my best day, that could outdo the great orchestration that is my life. Like last week, when I blew a tire on the highway right near the exit ramp and coasted safely into the tire shop a few yards beyond the intersection. Or the way I ran in to an old friend at the Sport Authority who used to be a colleague beck east; we’d worked together near Wall Street when the twin towers dressed the skyline. Turns out we’d arrived in Colorado in the same month and year and lived less than a mile apart the whole time. You can’t make that stuff up. That said, I’ve decided not to interfere on the details of my bigger picture. Easier said than done for an organizational stickler like me. Another thing I’ve given up is asking unnecessary questions like: Am I good enough? Smart enough? Will I be accepted and welcomed? Can I do this? Will anyone ever love me again? I realized I only asked questions like that when I already knew the answer was yes, but owning the truth scared me. Funny, but I never have to question whether I can land the space shuttle, ski black diamonds, or speak Tagalog, so why waste my time asking? For the great many things I don't know, I'll ask fitting questions that help me get answers I can actually use. In almost every corner of my life last year, I butted up against my comfort zone and got kicked out of every emotional hiding place I'd created. Suddenly, I’d become that giant in the tiny house, having outgrown my environment without realizing that’s exactly what I’d been intending toward all along. What I hadn’t asked for, however, was the downside. It was a year of grief.

On Thursday, June 27th, I posted a note on Facebook, mourning what I'd heard was the sudden loss of one of the greatest freedom fighters of our time: Nelson Mandela. He’d been unwell in the preceding weeks and information about the state of his health ...

Ask anybody, summer is my favorite season. We can throw in late spring too, because once May hits, I’ve already got shoulder-baring sundresses and open-toed sandals laid out and ready to go, my bicycle is tuned and gleaming, and my outdoor concert calendar’s all but locked in by then. As for early autumn, I suppose I’ve got good things to say as long as it treads lightly on the heels of summer. Winter? Meh. It’s not that I don’t appreciate all of the seasons, but we can safely say I’m partial. As we edge toward winter—even as temperatures hovered in the 60s in recent weeks—I’ve been thinking a lot about what shifts in the weather mean in the world around us, as well as the one within. Noticing the life cycles of trees makes me think about my own. There’s a specified time for everything: in winter, trees stand quietly, vulnerable, while hard winds and cold beat, wring and hammer out what little life remains. And then the miracle—spring grants them a reprieve as if to say, You’ve proved yourselves faithful, kisses them about their bare branches, sending a blessing down through their roots and, BOOM, new chutes of green and thriving. To me, spring is a miracle time of year. Life pulses on despite us, indifferent to whether or not we’ve prepared ourselves for change. Then comes summer. Well, I don’t have to tell you about summer. Fall is the last stragglers leaving the party. And here we are. When left to our own devices, it’s easy to think we’re victims stuck in situations we don’t like, or that Life is happening to us without our permission. Granted, there’s a whole lot in living that we can’t change, but it’s important to be aware of what we can. Take your cue from Nature: let your defenses and old ideas about who you think you are drop like the leaves, be willing to be uncertain, to not have a plan for once. Rest, for once, in knowing that change really is happening on the inside when we allow it. Regardless of what you may think about climate change, we can make a huge difference in the seasons we experience—inside and out. And I’m grateful for that. In my book it's always a good time to express gratitude, yet November seems to deepen this practice for me. There's Thanksgiving with family and friends, and the slow close of another year. There's also the change of seasons and the flash of fall colors that remind me to stay close in my awareness to the passing of time, the shortening of days. Last week I tweaked my neck. I don’t know how long it had been building, but all I can tell you is I turned my head to the right and—bam. My whole side clenched, taut as a knot. It was all I could do to drag my stiff self in for a much-needed massage. ‘I don’t know what happened,’ I told the masseur, ‘but I looked that way,’ I said, pointing just beyond my shoulder, ‘and that was all she wrote. I can’t bend over, I can’t pick anything up, and I’m in pain like somebody stabbed me with a hot knife.’ I dropped his fee and tip on the table and climbed—very carefully—into position. It took three days, one more massage, intermittent applications of heat and cold, gentle stretching, lots of water, and a pain pill before I could turn my neck, bend, run, and do like I’d done the week before. On the face of it, my experience was a minor inconvenience that got remedied easily enough. I’m back to my not-so-old self again, feeling strong, healthy, and tremendously grateful. Being sick and injured or inconvenienced needn’t be the only reason to stop and give thanks for what we have. More often than not we tumble into despair when we lose our gifts, gifts that we might not have fully appreciated in the first place. Honestly, before my neck went out, I wasn’t really showing any kind of gratitude for the mobility of my body, for its strength and ability to carry me to and from—wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I just took it for granted that because I’d been fully healthy, I would, naturally, continue to be.

In the four years we'd been friends, I'd never seen Dana without a full face of makeup or as anything less than impeccably dressed. This occurred to me as I drove the forty minutes across town to meet her for lunch—this plus the fact that I'd rushed ou...

Current events are troubling. Take your pick. Without even watching television I feel bombarded, hemmed in, powerless. I wring my hands. Where can I go? I ask. Is it possible to live a peaceful, happy existence, free from the outrageous social / cultural / political bullshit that impacts me? I ask that, too. I throw my hands up. This is not the first time we've felt divided, overpowered, outraged; it will not be the last. Some would say things don't change. But I think that's the grace we get—the fact that change is the only constant and we've got a hand in that. I was born of a wildly creative mother. She taught me well how to make things by hand. I've sewn my own clothes and made ceramics, I've crocheted, knitted, and collaged my hands raw. I've even written up a nub on the first knuckle of the middle finger of my left hand. I make a mean meal at Thanksgiving, too. I also have this responsibility to help—again, on account of my mother, who tasked me with leaving life better than I found it—to share, or support in whatever ways I can, because so many have done the same for me. I used to think I wasn't big on confrontation, that I'm not the political type; I don't like to fight. Yet I have friends who do. Every time the world goes crazy, you'll find them on the front lines: they march, they represent, they rally. Not me, I thought, counting up the years since I'd marched on Washington with urgent demands for equality, fair housing, justice and peace, and added my voice to a chorus of protest. These days, you're more likely to find me, not on the front lines, but somewhere off to the side or in the middle of it making art, mining for optimism, volunteering, talking, writing, or behind the scenes, listening to the story of another person's experience. I never saw that as protesting or fighting, figuring I'd gone soft somewhere in time. Then I realized that there can be no 'front' without sides, middle, and rear. It might seem random, the way I show up—giving the proceeds of music gigs to charity; contributing handmade crafts to a local benefit; helping out around the community radio station; writing out the storm—it's what works for me. It's been my way of confronting the outer nonsense and facing down the overwhelm that creeps in along with it. Prying my heart open when the shit hits is among the toughest fights there is, especially given all of the invitations to lay blame and reinforce the walls around me. Struggling toward openness and connection is not the struggle of the faint-hearted, but it's exactly what's called for to get us through. We make light of language like kindness, love, forgiveness, openheartedness, faith and all that because they've been hollowed out through too much lip service yet these traits are always the essence of everything we seek. To be creative, to realize one's vision is a fight in and of itself. So, too, is being happy, loving and up to the task of changing the world while we're in it. This job is big. It is gargantuan, Sisyphean, Herculean, epic. Anne Lamott once wrote: Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up. I had to use her words because I couldn't have said it any better. Headlines will fade and blaze again; the dead will be buried, and if we're still standing, then we've got work to do. Throwing hands up, pointing fingers, flipping birds, and twiddling thumbs while the world rages around us simply will not do. We are better than that. Whether you are writing a song, painting a picture, lifting the blinds from your eyes, building a bridge, signing or writing a petition, planting flowers, pulling people together in protest, or holding your tongue while you listen to someone else's story—whatever—get your hands busy making things better from where you are. Don't think one person can make a difference?

I have this thing for whodunits. Cop shows, classic radio programs, private dick mysteries, all of it. I think it’s because no matter how complicated the story gets, I know everything will be resolved before those final credits roll. There's the DNA th...

As a former ESL tutor, it was my job to help non-native English speakers make sense of this tricky second language. I work closely with words all day long, and it's often a struggle for me, even though I've always spoken English. Take growth and a growth, for example. Both are nouns. Both suggest an increase in size. But depending on how this language is used, it can mean very different things. Let's say, for example, I've spent the better part of my Sunday evening helping a friend pack up her apartment and stuff her stuff into a tiny, unlit storage facility half way across town by the last of the day's natural light. Let's also say I received this call for help barely 24 hours prior and had other things planned for my Sunday evening. In one sense, we could say that helping my friend when she needed it could indicate real personal growth—given that I would have preferred to chill at home with a good book. We could also call it growth, providing my motivation was done out of a pure desire to help her without expecting anything in return. On the other hand, we could say that if I only helped my friend out of a sense of keeping score for when I'd need a favor later, and out of an inflated what-would-you-do-without-me, I-always-save-your-ass judgment, then we could rightly call that a growth because it's an overblown sense of ego on my part; it's toxic and needs some serious examination. You could even say I might need to cut it out. The line runs thin between these kinds of growth. Of course motivation plays a huge part in how we show up. A more clear-cut example of this would be demonstrated by one person intentionally cutting someone with a knife. If that person's a surgeon whose intention is to heal, then that's one thing. If that person's intention is to wound, however, then that's another story. Yesterday, I went to my friend's place in a spirit of selflessness and support. And yet when I woke up in the middle of the night with my back tight as a fist, I wasn't feeling so generous. That's where growth becomes a growth. When we look back over choices we've made and decide that we should have done things differently, that we gave too much of ourselves, or that other people owe us something for our suffering, it festers within us and and works to our disadvantage. It's more useful and honest to accept that the choices we made were our own and to leave it there without blame or resentment. We always have at our disposal the opportunity to re-view the past in ways that liberate rather than keep us clenched in bitterness, pain, and victimhood. It's not about lying to ourselves or ignoring what happened. It's more about choosing to accept our actions as our own, to be kinder all around, and to let go of the past, which, consequently, helps us live more fully in the present. Like any language, this kind of communication takes repeated practice to gain fluency. Your call. What are you working with today, honey? Growth or a growth? - - - - - - - Victims Listening In

A basic principle of energy medicine is that our bodies are always talking to us. Our bodies are highly complex, divinely designed, and they want to support us in all that we do. So, today, why not pay attention to what it's saying to you? Ever wonder why headaches or jitters flare up whenever a certain colleague, friend or family member draws near? It's not that that person is bad, necessarily, or that you simply have issues with him or her. It's more likely that your body's feedback is giving you an opportunity to grow, change, and heal. But it's important to get past the initial discomfort and judgment of the other person first. I have a dear friend named Pam. We met on the job at an advertising agency in the nineties. I didn't like her from day one. She talked too much, she had an annoying laugh, she was irreverent, and she couldn't have cared less about protocols or niceties if she tried. She was invasive and rough as sandpaper around the edges. She could have been my twin. A couple thoughts about that: 1.) The grating stuff we see in other people has a lot to tell us about qualities we're not ready to own or acknowledge in ourselves, and; 2.) as I learned to listen to my body's wisdom, I realized my physical urge to withdraw around Pam was actually coming from a much deeper place, and was offering me a chance to rewrite part of the story I'd bought and sold about myself for years. That's why it's so important to check in when our hackles go up. The same goes for joy and the higher vibrations of love, peace and happiness. When you're feeling good, check out what's going on in your body then, too. Do you feel more open and expansive? Do your shoulders relax and loosen? Can you naturally breathe more deeply and hold your head that much higher? It's no accident that openness is closely associated with flexibility, warmth, and relaxation in the body. With greater perspective—which is what our energy is always offering us—I knew that Pam embraced herself exactly as she was and it irked me. It irked me because I'd always been told young ladies don't behave as brashly as Pam did and that speaking out of turn could mean trouble if I wasn't careful. I was supposed to know my place but didn't. I struggled with that message, and seeing Pam embracing her badly-behaved self stoked my inner rabble rouser to the point that it burned from the inside out. Eventually I learned that my reaction to her was a literal wake up call to those precious qualities that had been itching to come alive in me. Once I understood how it worked, I was able to appreciate Pam as the occasionally rough and raucous loudmouth she is—just like me. We remain great friends today. Think about it: pain is not our natural state of being and our bodies, when given permission and the right support, want to help us return to full health and balance in body, mind, and spirit. To lift yourself from the dumps, why not assume the position of well-being and allow your feelings to follow suit? It's hard to be hopeless with your shoulders thrown back and a megawatt smile spread across your face. - - - - - - - You might also like: The Dumps Dummies and The Real Deal Baggage Claim

If you work a five day week, odds are good that you're looking forward to the weekend. And if that's the case, you've probably got a clear line separating the work from the fun, right? On the other hand, if you're a workaholic or an overly accommodating employee, there's a good chance you can't stop yourself from taking on other people's projects and going well beyond your job description. Granted, sometimes we will have to go the extra mile in order to get the results we seek. But setting healthy boundaries while we're at it is always a good idea. Six weeks ago, I got around to redeeming a week-long pass to a local yoga studio. The coupon had been stuck to my fridge for eighteen months and had begun to curl at the edges, it was so old. I'd had a passing interest in yoga and the whole mindful-peaceful-gentle aspects appealed to me. It's not that I wasn't already physically active—I'd mostly been a runner throughout my adult life—and I knew I was missing an important element in my wellness routine. I wasn't in that room ten minutes before realizing that somewhere along the line I'd lost the ability to touch my toes in the seated position! There I was, straining forward, trying to get my fingertips in the vicinity of my ankles at least. Not cute. At all. Mirrors along every wall attested to that sad fact. I. Was. Horrified. How had I become so damn stiff? WTF I asked myself. When I looked around my life, I saw that I'd been letting work permeate nearly every 'free' moment of my day. Time for meditation, relaxation, fun, and doing nothing had all but evaporated as I relegated them to the bottom of my lists and let my boundaries drop. I also noticed I'd been missing my family and close friends more because of all of my deadlines and 'important' projects. I was even starting to slide into a low-grade depression behind it all. When we don't set boundaries, honor our limits, and give our body-mind-spirit what it needs, we throw the rest of our lives into imbalance. This affects everything and everyone around us. And if we're not careful, we can become rigid and inflexible in ways that aren't so easy to remedy. So. Where are you needing to mark your endings and beginnings more clearly? Have you started to get stiff in the areas you've been neglecting? If so, do what they do in yoga: take a deep breath, pay attention, and embrace where you are in the moment. And be gentle as you bring more energy to those areas. Simply start from where you are. One more thing: I'm proud to report I can happily touch my toes again, honey.

A friend came to me recently, asking for help with a tough work situation. A colleague had been making it hard for her to do her job and seemed bent on driving her confidence into the ground. Every time I see this person, I'm filled with anger, and I need some help. I offered her some advice a trusted friend gave me once. It was nearly impossible to hear at the time because I was so tangled up in my anger and frustration. It was as though she hadn't heard my complaints and pain at all. She said: You have to give that person love. Take that person into your heart—where there is only love—and see that person as a child of God, just like you. Imagine there is no separation between the two of you and that, in the end, this person wants the same thing you do: to be deeply seen, loved, and appreciated. We're all here to learn our lessons, after all. My friend faced me blankly and replied: No. That won't work. I'm not there yet. So how about this? I said. When it gets tough between you two, before you react, just ask yourself, How am I choosing to respond here? My friend thanked me, calmed down visibly, and said she'd try it. I'm going to try and get where you are, but it's going to take me baby steps. Not so fast, I said. I also flipped somebody off in traffic this morning, so let's not put me in some kind of holier-than-thou exclusive club. Sometimes it's baffling to think that we can embody so many seeming contradictions that feel so real and true in any given moment. For me, being able to see people without judgment while wishing them love and peace is real; I often do it. When I meditate and pray, before I eat and sleep and throughout the day, when I remember to. And the other piece is no less true—that I don't always think or default into a loving, sunshiny perspective when I'm pissed off or hurt. But that's also valuable. This paradox of being human can act as a call to keep intending toward the goal in whatever ways we can, a great lesson in humility itself. How great is that we all have room to grow?

  Expiration dates are a good thing. They tell us in no uncertain terms when it's time to toss what's no longer useful. Best-before dates are even better; they tell us when to get the most out of what we've got. If only it were that simple in other areas of life. I was giving a workshop over the weekend on the topic of letting go. I invited participants to think about the labels they identify with and then to let those associations loosen and, finally, drop. Without your labels, I asked, do you still recognize yourself? A great range of responses opened up, from those who didn't get the concept of letting go to those who felt shaky at imagining themselves as something other than their notions of who they'd always been. That's where the expiration date thing came in. All too often we drag around old notions of who we think we are and who we're capable of becoming in the world, even when we know doing so doesn't serve our highest good. I've been butting up against a bunch of those lately. Just yesterday—yesterday, honey!—I remembered a seemingly harmless incident with my father and siblings from the time I was around 4 years old. It surprised me to find that it impacted the way I viewed authority. My own, to be specific. As I sat with the memory and looked at it from a broader perspective, I realized everyone did the best they could in the moment and that, as a child, it was reasonable that I kept quiet and didn't talk back. But today is a different story. Today I get to drop the 'helpless victim' and 'baby' labels when I feel them opening up to take me in. Today, I can change my response in ways that support me in the present time. I also get to run my mouth when I want, like I want—regardless of any consequences. Knowing this at a deep level will change the game entirely. Have you been noticing expiration dates popping up around you lately, too? Are the stories you tell yourself starting to curdle and smell? Is it time to ditch those old ideas that no longer serve your growth? Let me give you a hint: Yes!  

I remember the first time I told a budding love interest about the energy work I do. We were having dinner at my place and the conversation opened up around our respective passions. He was a visual artist and designer with a client base he'd been building for years. Really? I asked. I've got one of those, too. Really? he asked. What do you do? Before I knew it, I dove into an elaborate overview the body's energy system and the amazing work it does for us. Barely two minutes in, after the bit about non-local reality, the no-time-no-space causal model, and karmic resolution, I leaned over and pulled down a rainbow-colored teaching diagram from my bookshelf. I giddily pointed out each of the major chakras and how they interfaced with the physical body. I rattled off a list of colors, emotions, themes and 'jobs' associated every last one. Had I been a little less animated, self-indulgent, and more attuned to my date's waning interest—and apparent fear—I would have shut my mouth after the gentle intro about alternative healing. But honey couldn't help herself that time. As I wound up my mini energy lesson, I looked up from my diagram to see the guy's eyes cloud over and dart from me toward the door. Within minutes, he'd grabbed his coat, told me I was sweet and that he really liked my place. Two words: man down. Over the next few days, I shared the story with two male friends, both of whom knew about the work I did and also shared my passion for it. Their faces blanched as I skidded toward the inevitable ending of the tale. You told him WHAT, Kriste? they asked between bursts of laughter and knowing looks between themselves. Wow, you really effed that one up, didn't you? I told my friends I was only being honest and sharing a part of myself that I wanted the guy to see. Yeah, but you can't let it all out like that. So soon! Now he probably thinks you're a freak or something. I think my friends were right; I didn't hear from that guy again. And even when I replayed that night in my mind, I didn't regret sharing something that mattered so deeply to me. I still don't. Granted, I won't roll out every chapter and verse again like I did with my date, but you know what? It happens sometimes: we say too much. Point is, I don't think it's ever wrong to risk vulnerability when the intention is to make a real connection with people. Kind of like I'm doing now. I opened myself up for judgment and I scared someone off. It won't be the last time. But, truth be told, had that man been the right one for me, he would have risked his own fear to tell me that he was uncomfortable rather than disappearing altogether. I say all that to say this: take a chance today and share a little bit more of who you really are with the people around you. Step out of your own box and let somebody see you in the full light of day. Be willing to say too much. Be awkward. Push your fear aside and tell your truth from a loving heart, why don't you? Doing so will open you up, air you out, and give others the permission to at least peek out from their boxes, too. Now that's some serious healing energy right there. Trust me, I know. - - - - - - - You might also like: Oh, Man. Who knew? Breathe The List

If you could become the change you wanted to see in the world as Gandhi urged us to, then let me ask you this: could you be love? An oft-quoted passage from the bible has this to say on the subject: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. Reading this, I thought, What a worthy goal, to embody those qualities. I may aspire to heights like that in my heart, but on the ground, I’m human and often fall short of the mark. Some days, I feel a sense of lack creep in when I’m dissatisfied with what I have, when nothing ever seems enough or right. Other days, envy and competition try to hijack my game when I know I’m know I'm not giving it my best. I will always have days when I fail, get skittish, and flounder. There’s a beautiful line in a blues tune I heard recently that goes something like this: On the road to heaven, you may stumble and lose ground, but keep on stepping, and don’t never let nobody turn you ’round. I heard that song during a world music concert where bands played from countries I'd never heard of and singers sang in languages I may never hear again. It didn't matter much because music has a funny way of resembling love; its message can bypass our brains and speak directly to our hearts regardless of our consent. Have you ever let it—music and/or love—hover over then crack open and drench you like a rain cloud? I suggest you let it. That brings up the other thing I have to ask: could you be loved? You might remember that post I wrote about the meditation teacher who reminded me about one of many precious lessons on love by gently guiding me back to the truth that it isn't something to be earned; we are loved no matter what we do.  Truth be told, I might have come to that conclusion in a hundred other ways that day, but it happened that she was the teacher who appeared when this student was ready. There are a million ways we refuse the love of others because maybe we're fearful of what it might cost us. Don't believe me? When's the last time you downplayed a compliment, refused a kindness, shredded an apology, or played nursemaid to a grudge? Just watch yourself, watch other people and pay attention when you do. Being loved calls us to drop our guard and relax back into it, to sink roots down, through it too, to stay awhile and draw it up like it's the water of life—because it is. Being loved means we don't need to overthink it either; we get to let it be. Rumi, the ancient mystic said, Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it. This may take a lifetime and I'm okay with that. - - - - - - - You might also like: The F Word The Gift of Receiving If You're Happy, Do You Know It?

  You never know when it's going to happen, that moment when a memory or random event lines up the compartments of your life just enough to make you review them all from an entirely different angle. I was putting postage on a long-promised letter when the date on the stamp set me off. It went like this: my commemorative emancipation stamp said FREE in big red letters (maybe you've seen them?); the date on it was 1863; my father turned 80 last year; my father is named after the great abolitionist, Frederick Douglass (2-s spelling and everything); dad's dad was a senior, so they shared the same name; my paternal grandfather lived in the era of Frederick Douglass himself, all of which led me to this: Had my paternal grandfather been born into slavery? I did the math for a quick minute and emailed my family, realizing later that my grandfather, while I'm sure he was an extraordinary man, he would have been past sixty at the time of my father's conception. I never said numbers was my strong suit; the point is my paternal grandfather was very probably raised by people who had at some point been enslaved. I'm the first one to tout the importance of diving into the messiness of living because that's where the gold is. I've tried all the shortcuts, and this path is the last one left as far as I'm concerned. Even so, that doesn't mean it's always fun or comfortable. Feeling the mark of slavery so tangible in my family line, it seemed to explain some of the difficulty that marked our relationship—my dad's and mine—throughout my life. I wondered about great-grandparents I never knew—people who infused their progeny with the spirit of freedom fighters from birth. They knew the toll life in an unkind world would take and prepared them with the best they had. If I got nothing else from my dad, I'm sure I come by my fire and conviction—often disguised as hardheadedness—through his side. My brother Terry even takes to calling me Sojourner Truth when I give him unsolicited shit for things I think he should or shouldn't be doing. Simmer down, Sojourner Truth, he'd say. Get off my back. We laugh because he's right: when I'm on the hunt for results, I go in with tools. Lots of American families like mine—black, white, and otherwise—don't like to rifle through their histories, afraid of what they may or may not find. Who wants to be overwhelmed by the shame and anger of a violent, damming past you're powerless to do anything about? How do you confront the fact of ancestors scattered and stolen from a world away? For my part, the short answers were, Not me and Damn if I know. A few years out of college I began to inquire, timidly, about my family's past, asking where our people come from, who was who, and how did we wind up here. The common response was to pass me off to another relative who would do the same until I ran low on passion for the cause and people to ask. In the same way I inherited the color of my skin, eyes, and hair, and the shape of my body, I also carry the energy imprint of my family line. When the reality of my great grand ancestors hit home, I ran the gamut of rage, pain, pride, and bewilderment. At the same time I was typing out the email to my siblings, I witnessed the leader of the free world, who is both black and white, resting his hand on bibles of freedom fighters and ancestors Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King, Jr. as he took the oath of office. It's moments like those that undo me. They're messy, profound, everything at once. I've always been told we never do anything alone; that we stand on the shoulders of giants—those who have gone on before us. I used to cringe at the thought of teetering atop a quivering human pyramid of them, all waiting for me to do something big with my life, to make them proud, to honor their collective sacrifice by being somebody for the people. The story of my father's and grandfather's name kept playing in my head as I imagined what their parents felt,