Category: Sunday Letters

“I pretty much hate everything at this point!” Those were the words a childhood friend posted on Facebook last night. Earlier in the day, I had flashed back to a scene from my days at the clinic and saw the faces of the staff this time of year. They all looked so tired. The season comes with so many demands on our resources and time and so many tugs on our emotions.

I rarely comment on posts at Facebook. I visit once a day to post one of my nature photographs. I figure it gives my friends a brief respite from their cares. But these words were from a childhood pal, and I couldn’t help but respond. “It’s the Bah-Humbug Bug,” I told her. “It’s going around. But just you wait. In a little while, when you least expect it, a beautiful whisper of peace will float in.”

I didn’t say it as a hope or a wish. It was a statement born of my many, many years of experience with this holiday phenomena. The stress of it, whatever shape it takes, eventually peaks, and an unexpected peace sets in. Maybe because we’re too worn out to hold up any barriers to it anymore, I don’t know. I just know that a moment comes around this time of year when you’re blessed with the knowing that everything is okay, maybe perfect, just as it is.

I don’t know if you’ve been following the Little Pine story I’ve been posting here, a small chapter a day since the month began. But I think today’s chapter is relevant and worth sharing, even if you’ve already read it online. So here it is, my Christmas present to you. Sink into a quiet space for a moment, and enjoy . . .

The Angel of Peace and Joy

By the time Little Pine finished sharing his day’s adventures with his mother over supper, his eyelids were drooping.  “You’ve had quite a day, Little Pine,” his mother said.  “In fact, your days have been full of amazing happenings since the Festival season began.  Your young mind must be working hard to understand all the things you have experienced.”

“That’s for sure,” yawned Little Pine.  “All those bears and their stories, the choir music, the hugs, and then meeting the real Santa Claus and having him name me ‘Prince Little Pine, Ambassador of Friendship.’”  Little Pine rubbed his eyes and yawned again.  “I mean, it’s been wonderful. But it’s something else, too.  I don’t know the word for it, but it sort of freezes up my brain.”

Mother Pine rubbed Little Pine’s back and said, “I think the word is ‘overwhelmed.’  But don’t worry.  You’ll get it all sorted out in time.  And you’ll have wonderful memories to enjoy.”  She picked up his empty soup bowl and said, “Why don’t you go to bed early tonight.  Sleep is often the best remedy when our brains are working to put things in place.”

Little Pine didn’t argue with her suggestion at all.  He washed up and settled in for a good night’s sleep with his mother’s kiss on his forehead and her wish for sweet dreams in his heart.

He fell asleep right away.  At first he dreamed a dream where all the week’s images danced like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.  But then he drifted away into a beautiful starlit silence, filled with nothing but a deep feeling of peace.  If you could have seen him then, you would have noticed a soft, sweet smile on his face.

He had been floating through the velvety peace for quite some time when a glow began to fill the space.  It grew brighter and soon, in his sleep, he was seeing the vision of a beautiful angel.  “Greetings, Little Pine,” she said.  “I am an angel of Peace and Joy, and I bring a message from the Yes to you.   This message is for your heart, which is pure and full of love.  Do not be concerned whether your mind remembers or understands it.  Your heart will know its meaning and be at ease.”

And with that introduction, the Angel of Peace and Joy spoke these words:

“This peace you feel is the breath of the Yes,
holding your sorrows and your joys
in balanced measure, enfolding them both
in Its love.  And the Light whose return
you celebrate on your Festival Day–
although, in truth, it has never left you–
is the breathing of the Sun behind the sun,
an emissary of the Yes, fostering Life
in every form and place and season
in the unspeakable name of the Yes
and through Its infinite love.

And here, in these woods,
you, too, are an emissary of love,
bringing joy to everyone you meet.
And so, I bring you peace.
For you, too, are of the breathing
of the Yes, and deeply loved.
May peace and joy dwell in your heart forever.”

And then the angel faded into the night sky, and Little Pine slept in its velvety, star-sparkled peace.  And when he awoke in the morning, his heart was filled with contentment and joy.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Sonja from Pixabay}

No part of existence escapes the shroud of mystery. Try to get to the end of anything, and all you’ll find is that there is no end. But exploration is the great adventure, and I suppose we’ll keep looking for whatever it is we hope we’ll find. Answers maybe. Some pot of gold. Whatever it is, from way, way down this long, long road, the mystery pulls us. Irresistibly.

Sometimes, some of us–maybe all, I don’t know–become aware of some piece of the mystery. It floats into our minds and quietly hovers there, right on the periphery of our awareness. It’s not so much that we think about it. It’s more like we feel it, the way we might feel the level of humidity in the air or the quiet hum of some distant enduring sound.  It’s kind of like being in love. It’s nothing you can explain. It’s just unmistakably there.

Anyway, this year the Great Mystery of the Season has captivated my mind. According to my personal traditions, I think of it as “Christmas Season.” You might call it something else, or nothing at all. Whatever it is, I find myself stopping in my tracks as I get glimpses of its power. It touches us all, regardless of who we are, at what station in life, or what views we hold. 

We can’t escape it. It’s a time when out-of-the-ordinary things happen. We do out-of-the-ordinary things, and think out-of-the-ordinary thoughts. We entertain old memories and dream new dreams. 

The season carries an energy of anticipation; we sense that something significant is about to occur in our lives. We want to be ready for it, whatever it is, to be at our best. Yes, we urgently want to be at our best. And yet how far away our best can seem, despite our ardent efforts! Still, we carry on, the mystery irresistibly pulling us toward some secret promise that it holds.

And so the season unfolds, enveloping us all. And each of us responds in his or her own way, riding its currents, sensing that somehow, beneath all the bluster and noise, a deep mystery flows, and it hints that it offers a wondrous, unspeakable peace.

Let yourself sense that. Take a moment now and then to breathe, and to feel the depth and power of this time, its energies touching us all. Let the wonder of it fill your mind, and the love it holds wash through your heart, and, just for a moment, let yourself be at peace.

Warmly,
Susan

Every year about this time, the bear in me—who firmly believes we should all be curled in our warm dens now, dreaming undisturbed until the berries are ripe—wakes with a start to a sea of colored lights and incessant merry music. She snarls. She knows from past experience that it isn’t going to end soon. There’s no rest for bears in sight. She’s not fun to be around at all.

“There, there,” I croon to her. “We’ll just have to make the best of it. Let’s go a walk in the pine grove for a while. That might do us some good.” My inner Grumpy Bear grudgingly agrees, and off we go.

Once we’re in the woods, surrounded by the towering trees, my bear goes wandering off somewhere. The day is sunny and cold. The lake at the edge of the pine grove is still, as is the air. For a while, I stand motionless, aware of the texture of the trees’ bark, of the thick carpet of needles and leaves beneath my feet, of the taste and fragrance of the air.

I walk on the edge of the grove, skirting the lake. I smile when I see the nursery up ahead, a patch of the forest on the lake’s edge where a dozen young pine trees grow. I’ve been watching them for years, and I greet them with joy as I near. I remember that the holly tree is just beyond them, and a wave of nostalgia rolls over me. I’m in the land of Little Pine. This is his season.

I wasn’t going to revisit his story this year. My files were lost in a technical failure. And besides, thinking of Little Pine made me think of my friend, Kimberley, whose teddy bear collection starred in the photos in one of the books. Sadly, she passed away a year ago, and I miss her, and I miss Little Pine, too. He was accidentally cut down a few years ago, the summer after I’d written the third year’s story. It broke my heart.

But all around me, small pines were growing. I felt as if Little Pine’s spirit was filling the whole grove, spurring new pines to growth. Something in the depths of the grove caught my attention and I turned to see shafts of sunlight falling on a forest full of baby trees.

“It’s Festival Season, Susan,” I gently said to myself. “How can you not tell Little Pine’s tale? That is what you came here today to understand.”

When I got home, I poked through my remaining files to see if any vestige of Little Pine was hiding there. To my amazement, one of the three volumes had survived. And wouldn’t you know? It was the one about the bears, and the last bear that Little Pine meets in the story is a sweet golden brown one, dressed in red and white checked gingham and wearing a handmade heart pendant that says, “Free Hugs.” And to top it off, her name is Kimberely Kindbear.

So I’m posting the Little Pine story, A Beary Merry Festival Indeed, here on my blog, a chapter a day until Festival Day. It’s making me smile, and reminding me that kindness, and beauty, and wonder are all around us. All we have to do is see them.

It’s a magical time of the year. Be patient with your Grumpy Bear. We’re all caught up in the jingling of it. Just do the best you can, and keep an eye out for miracles.

Warmly,
Susan

I must have been about three when I dressed myself all by myself for the very first time. It was early in the morning and I listened at my bedroom door for my Dad to get his coffee. Once he did, I bounded into the kitchen, struck a pose, and yelled, “Look! I got dressed!”

I was greeted with laughter and applause, and my mother made an extra piece of cinnamon toast for me in celebration.

I thought about that as I sprinkled cinnamon on my oatmeal yesterday morning. Isn’t it interesting, I thought, how many memories are liked together by our sense of smell? I make “old-fashioned” oatmeal, by the way, not the instant kind. It has a hardier texture and keeps you fueled for a long time. I add raisins to mine while it’s cooking, and sometimes chunks of apple. And, because my great-grandmother served it that way, I top it with a pat of real butter, a sprinkle of dark brown sugar, and a small dollop of plain yogurt or kefir.

But I didn’t mean to talk about oatmeal. I wanted to share the joy my three-year-old self felt at her landmark accomplishment. She felt so capable and proud, so “all grown up.”

As I said in last week’s letter, I believe it’s good to celebrate yourself every now and then. When you get the hang of a new skill, or when you passed a test or completed a task even though you were tired and wanted to quit, celebrate it. Pat yourself on the back. Put on a smile and say “Good job!” Revel in your pleasure and satisfaction. Share it if you like—not in a boastful or arrogant way, but simply to spread your joy. Or keep quiet, and let what you’ve done speak for itself. But be glad about it, either way.

The holidays are barreling down on us now, and love ‘em or hate ‘em, they put pressure on us all to live up to some ideal, to be happy no matter what. They come heaped with memories, both merry and sad, contented or mad, with traditions and stories we embrace or reject. Some of us are compelled to gather with family and friends. Some of us are compelled to be alone. But for all of us, even those of us who pretend that “it’s just another day,” the holidays pull us out of the ordinary and create little flurries of stress. And each of us does the best we can in the midst of it all, and I want to say that doing your best, even when it falls short of your hopes and expectations, is reason enough to say, “Well done.”

I hope that as you prepare for the days ahead you will pause from time to time to take stock of your accomplishments, both the little ones and the spectacular, and to celebrate them. Celebrate how you met the challenges and came out on the other side, and you’re still you, only stronger somehow, and better.

Personally, I’ll be launching the holiday season by taking next Sunday off. If you get lonesome for me, you can always pop in here. I leave pieces of myself almost every day.

I’ll have a new Sunday Letter for you again in December. You bring the coffee. I’ll bring cinnamon toast. And we’ll just celebrate together.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by LinneaFlower from Pixabay}

I watched the raindrops slide down the window, tiny reflections of the world upside down in each of them. They seemed a perfect analogy for current events, both globally and in my personal life. Beyond them, a blanket of burnt sienna oak leaves, wet with rain, lent a dash of welcome color to the dreary scene.

Fallen leaves played a big part in my life this past week. I shuffled through deep heaps of them at the park, thoughts of friends drifting through my mind. I dug them from the gutters on my house and swept a couple stray ones from my entry floor. I laughed at two fat squirrels digging through them for acorns and heard them rustle as two deer, a buck and a doe, lunged up the south hill as I opened my back door.

The week had been a warm one, probably the last, and I took advantage of it. I set up the saw buck my friend Bob made for me a couple years ago, got out my chain saw, and cut up the fallen tree limbs and branches I’d dragged down the hill the week before. I had about a quarter cord of firewood when I finished, all neatly stacked and covered. I laughed as I thought about what fun that was, and about how glad and grateful I was that I could tackle such things at my age. It’s a good thing, I believe, to celebrate yourself every now and then.

The tapping of the raindrops on my window pane lured me back to them and to the dull, gray light outside, and I found myself recalling other, sadder events that had colored my recent days. A beloved Uncle had passed away, and a remarkable woman who had been my best friend all through high school. Then I learned of the death of the daughter of an acquaintance I’ve known for some time. She was in a class with my son once. And the anniversary of my son’s death is tomorrow. Somewhere in between came the birthday of a cherished friend who died last year and I missed making her favorite coconut cake for her, a long-standing tradition.

I was glad for the rain, for the softness it provided, for the way it told me that sometimes the world seems upside down and all you can do is watch the tears slide down and notice the colors beyond them. In the end, it all balances out. As one of my friends often says, “Life goes on.” Sometimes it rains. And sometime there are golden days that make all the rest of them worth it.

Wishing you a few of the golden ones in the week ahead.

Warmly,
Susan

Yesterday, at least three people told me that after rolling my clock back an hour before I went to bed I’d get an extra hour of sleep this morning . But naturally, I didn’t. And I bet you probably didn’t either. The body’s internal time-keeper doesn’t give a fig what our clocks say.

Nevertheless, I confess that I like it when people say we’ll get that bonus sleep. It’s such a hopeful way to look at change, forecasting the possible benefits.

Changes, after all, even changes for the better, are disorienting to us all. They bring the discomfort of having to adapt, to let go of a piece of our familiar world in exchange for an altered one. When they’re not for the better, they can drag clouds of insecurity and doubt across our internal landscapes.

But happy or not, change is one of life’s certainties. I keep a small rock engraved with the word “change” on my kitchen window sill to remind me of that. Not only does it advise me that the present is a flow-state, but it helps me keep my balance in the face of life’s unexpected turns.

It reminds me that sometimes change is rocky; life’s like that. It’s like a brook that meanders for a time, then tumbles down a hill into a whole different terrain. “Be like the water,” my rock tells me, “that achieves new smoothness as it goes on.”

I think about that picture. It’s not an instant smooth. Even water needs some time to adapt. But a new smoothness will come–and here’s the key–“as it goes on.” How long it takes depends on the size of the tumble and the shape of the new terrain. Sometimes we go through tumble after tumble. Yet the terrain always has its bends, and some of them open to a world of surprising light and relief. Remember that and just keep going forward. You never know what the next turning will bring.

And remember to look for opportunity as you go, too. Change unfailingly has a few of those tucked away. It offers new perspectives, but it’s up to you to spot them and then to paddle your way over to their side of the shore. They’re usually bright little bubbles with a glow of hope to them. And hope is a wonderful thing. It propels you in good directions. It lightens your spirit and mind. So keep your eye out for possibilities.

It’s like the writer and philosopher Alan Watts said: “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” I heartily agree.

Be like the brook, and flow on.

Warmly,
Susan

While listening to various points of view on a topic I’m currently researching, I’ve once again come face to face with the realization that that each of us really does lives in a unique world of his or her own.  That’s hardly a new thought.  But lately the fact of it has struck me with a new clarity.   In fact, a while back I started using the phrase “Reality Bubble” to describe the personal belief-realities in which we live.

Oh sure, there’s the “consensus reality” we all more or less agree on:  That’s a tree.  The sky is blue.  This is a table.

But when it comes to remembering things we observed, or interpreting events, we slide into some muddy ground.   Ask any police officer who’s ever taken an accident report from eye witnesses.   Three people will give three different accounts.  We even have to watch replays of video tapes to decide whether the right call was made about a football play.

And when it comes to what we believe about, say, diet, or religion, or politics, or what’s important, well, watch out!  The ground is more than muddy.  It sort of resembles quicksand, where, before you know it, you’re sunk.

I took a psychology class once from a professor who had a special interest in belief systems.  He found three guys in different mental hospitals, each of whom believed he was Jesus Christ, and he had them all transferred to the same hospital and assigned to the same support group.  His hope was that their delusions would be lessened.  But instead, they began by aggressively arguing with each other about which of them was holier.   And finally each found ways to convince himself that the other two were, in one case, insane, and in the other, dead and being operated by a machine.

(The professor wrote about their encounters in a book called The Three Christs of Ypsilanti, if you’d like to read the whole story. )

The primary lesson the professor brought away from the experiment is that we strongly identify with our beliefs.  When they’re threatened, we respond defensively because it feels as if we, personally, are being attacked.   We each believe that what we believe is the true reality.  And our brains work hard to support our beliefs.  They carefully scour all incoming data and present us with the evidence that matches our beliefs, filtering out the stuff that doesn’t.     

And because people who hold beliefs that are similar to ours reinforce our identity, we tend to like them better than people whose beliefs are different.  And the more different the beliefs are, the more we dislike the person who holds them.

If we want to create more harmony with others, a good place to start is by recognizing that we aren’t our beliefs, and our beliefs don’t necessarily provide us with a true picture of the way things really are.  Remember, at one time, most people believed that man would never fly.

Other people aren’t their beliefs either.  But they probably feel that their beliefs are a part of their identity, just as we tend to feel that what we believe is an intimate part of who we are.

Beliefs are just thoughts that have been repeated so often that we assume they must be true.  Maybe they’ve been repeated to us since our early childhood.  Maybe we picked them up from TV or from social media, or adopted them in school because they seemed to have so much proof behind them.  And our brains have been bringing us evidence ever since to reassure us.

Sometimes, if you’re very tactful, persistent, and patient, you can provide enough evidence to someone to persuade him to accept something that you believe in place of a belief he has held to be true.   But his first response is likely to be defensive.   (And later, he may conclude that you’re either insane or dead and being operated by a machine!)

But on the whole, the most harmonious way to deal with those who hold beliefs that differ from yours is to recognize how crucial our beliefs are to our sense of being, and to respect that each of us is entitled to his or her own view of things.   When I want to have a conversation with someone about a subject where we disagree, I like to begin by saying, “I don’t see it that way. In my reality bubble . . .” and then I share what I believe. I’m not saying the other person’s views are wrong, just that I see things differently.

Look for the things on which you can agree, and agree to disagree on the rest.   And above all, try not to take offense when someone’s beliefs are different from your own.  If you’re really brave, try looking at things from their point of view.  Who knows?  It may turn out that you discover your own view needs some alteration.  Reality is, after all, a very relative and mysterious place.

Wishing you kindness and an open mind.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Silviu from Pixabay}

I’m one of those people who likes order. I’m not a wholehearted “neat freak,” but clutter bothers me. So I was kind of embarrassed when I realized I had walked past a leaf that was lying on my clean kitchen floor about four times, bothered every time by the fact that it was there. Why didn’t I just pick it up when I first noticed it? Ah. Self-sabotage had struck. I had bowed to the whispers of the devil on my shoulder.

We all have one. It’s that part of us that holds us back from getting what we really want, from being who we really want to be. It’s the evil little devil that tricks us into believing that all the bad stuff it whispers to us about ourselves is true. We’re weak, it tells us. Or vulnerable, incapable, worthless, needy, too tired, foolish, stupid, careless, clumsy, lazy, irresponsible, unlovable, and probably unattractive, too. Sheesh! You can see why I call it a devil.

It’s as tricky as one, too. It loves to reinforce our bad habits. “Go ahead,” it softly coaxes, “Take a break. Have another slice of pizza. Have a drink. Have a smoke. You deserve it.” Or maybe it says, “Don’t bother trying that. You know you’ll only fail.” It urges us to spend money we don’t have, to eat what we shouldn’t, to let people take advantage of us, to lie a little, to cheat a little, to be mean to our loved ones, to isolate ourselves, not to make an effort to achieve, not to take a risk that might win us all the marbles.

Its mission is to rob us of all that’s good in our lives by tricking us into doing whatever is against our best interests.

Noticing the Whispers

But here’s the good news. You can defeat it. Overcoming self-sabotage is simply a matter of becoming aware of that little devil’s voice. Begin by noticing what the self-sabotage devil is saying to you when you’re about to do something that you know you shouldn’t do–or when you find yourself not doing something you know that you really need to do to move toward your goal, toward your better self.

When I noticed the wayward leaf on my floor, for instance, my personal little devil was whispering things like “Not now. You’re too tired. You can do it later.” It spoke in a soothing voice, as if it was comforting my irritation and trying to lift the stress of it from my shoulders. But what it was really doing was preventing me from taking responsibility for solving the problem—and thereby insuring I would continue to feel irritation. See what I mean about “tricky?”

That’s why noticing what the devil on your shoulder is whispering to you is so powerful. Your awareness of it throws a monkey wrench into its game plan. Suddenly you spot how it’s justifying the choice to do what’s not in your best interest. Just notice.

You won’t always hear words, per se, in your mind. But you can learn to notice the moment of decision, the moment an impulse snags your awareness and see what you’re feeling. Even if you have already given in to it—you walked past the bit of clutter, you ate the piece of chocolate cake, you bought the new shirt—you can ask yourself what message the self-sabotage devil was using to trigger your choice.

If you will do only that—notice—you will develop awareness of what’s happening as it’s happening. And that lets you say to that self-sabotage devil, “Oh no you don’t! You’re not going to get me this time.”

Move to Your Point of Power

Recognize, too, that the messages it whispers, the emotions it stirs, aren’t coming from the adult you. They’re remnants of your past, reflecting your child’s-eye-view of something that your parents or caretakers or teachers said, or of the models they presented to you of what a grown-up does. But you’re not a child now; you can decide for yourself. You can choose to distance yourself from old patterns.

When you notice the impulse, the temptation, pull yourself into the present. Wake up from the self-sabotage trance and remember that you’re here, now, and that in this moment, you get to choose what you truly want to do, who you truly want to be, what will best move you toward your aims.

So notice. Just that. Oh, and maybe tilt your head a little towards the “Best You” angel that’s sitting on your other shoulder, too.

Wishing you a week of delicious victories, large and small.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay}

So, now that summer’s dust has finally settled and we’re beginning the slide into our year-end reality again, let’s take a minute to kick back, stretch out, and let our imaginations roll.

Here’s a question to get yours in motion: What would have to happen to end up making this a glorious year for you?

Here’s another question: When I asked you that last question, what kind of feelings sprang up? Did the idea of ending with a glorious year excite you and get you thinking about the possibilities, and maybe even some delicious high improbabilities? Did it spark your sense of adventure?

Or did it feel heavy, as if the very idea of having a glorious year was an impossibility?

If it felt heavy, remember, all we’re doing here is playing. Imagine something magical happens, your own personal miracle. Imagine that everything that weighed you down simply evaporated for a while. Pretend that, just for now, whatever it is that’s keeping you from imagining a fabulous year is gone. Stuff it in a sack and let it sit over there on a shelf for a bit while you play.

So, the question is what would have to happen to make this a glorious year for you? Go ahead, name something. Anything. Whatever comes into your head.

Now take that something and imagine it actually happening. (We’re just playing a game.) Put yourself right inside it and let it drench your senses. When you think about it, what do you see? Where are you? What does it look like? What sounds do you hear? What are people saying to you or about you in this marvelous circumstance? What does the air feel like? Does it carry a fragrance? What’s the temperature? What are you wearing?

Pretend that we’re all sitting in a big circle and each of us is sharing our vision, and it’s your turn.

Imagine everybody clapping in delight at your dream.

Now sit back and relish it for a bit. Feel how good it feels.

Then, just for fun, ask yourself what’s stopping you from turning your vision into your reality? Maybe not completely, maybe just galloping toward it like some wild stallion. What’s the first thing that you’d have to do? What’s stopping you from doing it? What would you have to change? What would you have to give up?

If you answered a bunch of those questions, you have, right now, some great new insights about yourself—whether you ever act on them or not. You have a vision of something that captures the feel of things that turn you on. And you know for sure that you have a wonderful imagination – and that it can be quite an adventure just to let it roll from time to time.

It lets you see new possibilities for yourself. It opens you to new ideas.

You can grab that vision you created, you know. You can toss it around, look at it from new angles, see what else it has to say, what direction it’s asking you to go. It came, after all, from some place deep inside you. And it came to you for a reason.

What got me to thinking about this is a quote from Robert Moss, a man who teaches people how to capture and learn from their dreams. Here’s what he had to say about the kind of vision that describes your glorious life:

“Let’s be real about this: There will be days when the contrast between your vision and the clutter and letdowns and bruises of everyday life seems so jarringly huge that you give up hope. But this is not about hope. It’s about vision, which is more substantial than hope. Hold the vision in your mind, however rough the seas turn out to be. If you can dream it, you can do it.”

“If you can dream it, you can do it.” You’ve heard that, I know, before. But suppose that it’s true. Suppose that it can be true for you.

Wishing you a week of vivid imaginings!

Warmly, 
Susan

^{Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay}

“Remember,” motivational speaker and author, T. Harv Eker told his audience, “What you focus on expands. As I often say in our training, ‘Where attention goes, energy flows and results show.’”

That’s far more than a slick little slogan; it’s an explanation of how things work.

Know anybody who’s always telling you about the things that go wrong, for instance? I don’t mean the little things that go off-kilter in a given day, like when you can’t find anything you’re looking for and you always put things in the same place, or in order to do what you want to do, you have to do something else first and then something else before that, or when everything you touch seems to slide right out of your hands. Not that kind of thing. I mean someone whose life, to hear him tell it, is a magnet for troubles, one grand string of crises and setbacks and blind alleys after another. You know one of those?

I had a friend like that once. And there was no denying that bad luck seemed to cling to him like a cloud. The things that happened to him weren’t trivial or his recounting of them overblown. But over time I noticed that he never talked about anything else.

One day I asked him if he ever heard about gratitude rocks and I told him the story about a man, somewhere in Africa if I remember correctly, who brought a handful of pebbles from the creek to his village and told his neighbors that they were gratitude rocks and possessed of a great power. If you carried one in your pocket, he told them, and every time your fingers happened to touch the stone you thought of one thing for which you were grateful, unexpected blessings would befall you.

The people began to notice all kinds of good fortune coming their way. Soon, they began collecting and painting rocks and selling them to others as gratitude rocks, and in time the entire village prospered.

I took a polished pebble from my collection and gave it to him. “Feel it in your hand right now,” I told him. “Feel its size and shape, its texture and temperature. Now think of one thing you’re grateful for. It can be anything, big or small.”

My friend’s face fell. He literally could not think of a single thing. I asked him what he had for lunch, and asked him what he liked best about it. “There’s you first thing to be grateful for!” I smiled when he said that the bread was fresh.

Weeks went by before I heard from him again. Then one night he called to tell me that he’d been having a surprising stretch of nothing-going-wrong. He almost felt superstitious about telling me, he said, as if he might be tempting fate. “Maybe that gratitude thing works after all,” he said, chuckling kind of shyly.

I laughed and told him now he could be grateful for gratitude, and he laughed with me. I won’t say that things turned around for him overnight. But his conversations began to be sprinkled with little mentions of things he was noticing and enjoying that he would have discounted or overlooked a month or two ago.

The stories we tell ourselves about what’s going on in our lives—many of them “sticky stories” that we tell ourselves over and over—are energy patterns. Every time our attention gets hooked in them, we’re giving them our mental and emotional energy, and we tend to re-create the same kind of pattern over and over in our lives. What we focus on expands. That’s why it’s important to listen to your stories.

In your dominant stories, are you a victim or a victor? Do you always lose or do you always find a way to succeed? Are you irritated and angry with others, or do you strive to be patient and kind? See where you’re investing your energy, and notice the results. If you like them, keep on telling those kinds of stories. If not, well, here: take this smooth little pebble. (Better yet, go find a little pebble or safety pin or button of your own right now.) Feel it in your hand. Now think of something you’re grateful for and put it in your pocket. And put it in your pocket tomorrow, too, and the next day and the next. And every time your fingers touch it, think of something you’re grateful for. Even if it’s nothing more than not having lost your pebble yet.

You just might be surprised how powerful a little redirection of your energy can be. As Eker told folks, “results show.”

Wishing you a where gratitude rocks.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Julita from Pixabay}