Category: Sunday Letters

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}

Here in western Pennsylvania I watched as September came to an end, ushering in what promises to be a colorful autumn. The goldenrod is glowing in the fields, and already the leaves are beginning to fall. They crunch beneath your feet as you walk down a sidewalk or, if you’re lucky, down a woodland path.

The beauty was a comfort to me as I waited for word about how family and friends in the path of Hurricane Ian fared. The first news from the region after Ian made landfall wasn’t good.

Life holds frightening, disappointing and painful times for us all. And sometimes it hurts terribly.

And the only refuge I have ever found for pain is kindness. As I’ve mentioned before, I learned that from Tara Brach. “Say to yourself,” she advises, “’this is suffering. Everybody suffers. May I be kind.’”

Be kind to others. You never know what burden someone is carrying in silence. And above all, be kind to yourself. When you’re in pain, recognize that what you are experiencing is universal; everyone suffers.

Part of that self-compassion means you set aside, at least for the moment, your longing to have things be different than they are. Accept that reality is what it is. Accept that you are hurting. Accept that you are angry, or deeply disappointed, or in pain, or overwhelmed. Accept that those feelings are part of being human and that it’s okay to feel them right now. Hold yourself as tenderly as you would hold a crying child.

Know, too, that all suffering is temporary. It exhausts itself, all of its own accord. It may return; it may come in waves. But always, it exhausts itself and finally gives way to a new perspective, and you go on.

Life isn’t static. It carries us into new circumstances at every moment. And at every moment, it offers us comfort and peace. As soon as we are ready to receive them, life’s gifts are there, waiting for us. And they wait with patience and love until we can be ready.

Sometimes it’s as simple as letting go of the story you’re telling yourself about how awful things are, and of waking up to the broader reality. Sometimes it takes a good meal, or a good night’s sleep, or some time with an understanding friend. Sometimes it takes a new idea, a willingness to try something new.

And sometimes it just takes the passage of time.

But whenever you’re ready, the side of life that’s good, and beautiful, and true will be waiting. Keep your faith in life alive, and be kind.

And when the goodness returns, breathe it in right down to your toes and let every cell in your body feel it and give thanks.

Life can hurt, and life can be exquisitely beautiful. Go with the flow, and say, “What a ride! What a ride!”

Wishing you sunshine, my friends.

Warmly,
Susan

Yesterday would have been the 76th birthday of a beloved friend of mine. He returned from the Viet Nam war with a heart full of pain, developed paranoid schizophrenia, and ended up hanging himself one cold, winter day.

I thought about him as read Even Alexander’s book Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife. If you have heard that near-death experiences are nothing more than an illusion created by a dying brain, Dr. Alexander’s vivid description of his own near-death will seriously challenge your assumptions. Until he experienced it himself, he was wholly skeptical about the reality of life after death. But given what he understood about the human brain, he knew his experience wasn’t a product of its creation.

Like most who have had an NDE, he struggles to find words to describe his own experience of what he says is so profoundly rich and beautiful that it cannot be put into the narrow framework of human language.

It’s a fascinating read. And I found comfort in it as I thought about family members and friends who have passed away.

Anyway, yesterday was my old friend’s birthday, and I raised my coffee cup to him and sang “Happy Birthday” and remembered his extraordinary personality and brilliant mind – the one that I was privileged to see and know beneath his mental illness and his pain. And I smiled inside, feeling that he got my greeting somehow and returned his own beams of love.

He was pretty convinced that the world was a dark and confusing place when he died, seeing it as being awash in danger and evil. When I read the daily headlines, I can understand how easy it might be to see things that way, and to lose hope, and to lose sight of how fully goodness outweighs the evil in the world. Dr. Alexander, by the way, says that evil exists so that we can experience free will and learn to use it wisely.

I was thinking about all these things yesterday, as I drove through the countryside collecting photos of autumn’s first days. To my surprise and delight, when I happened on a tiny farm town, down the other lane of the highway came a parade! I pulled over to watch.

A color guard of four young teens led it, marching proudly in their crisp high school band uniforms, perfectly in step, solemnly bearing their flags. Next was a big tractor, driven by an old guy in a straw cowboy hat, pulling a float with a sign that proclaimed its occupant the Grand Marshall. He was even older than the man driving the tractor, grinning broadly and waving at the people who lined the highway. The Potato Queen rode the next float, blushing and lovely in her pretty blue gown. Then came the village’s sole fire truck and a gleaming red antique car and cheerleaders from the high school showing off their newest routines. That was about the whole parade, and it looked like a third of the village’s population had come out to cheer it.

I thought about how festivals and parades will be happening all over the planet as people celebrate harvest or, in the southern hemisphere, the coming of spring. Community still thrives.

I thought about a young friend of mine who is starting college this week, and about all the young minds that are preparing themselves to be doctors and astronomers and teachers and artists, to explore the intricacies of math and science and the beauties of language and culture and the arts.

I thought about all the sports teams that will be competing now that schools are open, and about all that kids will learn from participating in them about how to handle victory and defeat, about disciple and teamwork and striving to be your best.

Yes, our world has its evils; but it is far richer in things that are good. And that’s true of each of our individual lives, too. We all have our personal mean streaks, our shadow sides and failings. But we learn from our unwise choices and keep reaching to be better, and stronger, and kinder, and to love more.

And in the end, it’s the plus side that will win out, no matter how dark things may sometimes appear.

Wishing you a week rich with awareness of life’s wondrous balance and beauty. May it comfort you in times of loss and darkness and shine its light on all your days,

Warmly,
Susan

I have to confess that it’s been work to keep a positive perspective on life this week. It was as if Murphy himself had moved in and delighted in throwing obstacles my way. And in the larger world, well, you have only to turn on the news to see that things appear to be coming apart at the seams.

What’s helped me the most is accepting that this is life. And gosh! Good or bad, I get to live it. I get to experience the whole range of human emotions – from irritation and anger, shock and disappointment, anxiety and grief, to gratitude, serenity, hope, and joy.

And by accepting, I mean allowing myself to experience whatever emotion is flowing through me at any given time. Not to fight it. Not to push it away. Not to want to hold onto it. Not to judge myself for it. But simply to let it be and to feel it.

It helps, too, to look at the story I’m telling myself about whatever circumstance I find myself in, and to ask myself, in Byron Katie fashion, whether it’s true and whether I can be certain, and how I would be without that story.

When I do that, I often find an old Zen story coming to mind that reminds me that none of us has any idea how things will turn out, or what fortunes await us. Maybe you’ll remember it; I’ve shared it before. It goes like this . . .

That story has served me well over the many years since I first heard it. I hope it will stick with you and serve you, too, when you’re tempted to label your circumstances as ‘good’ or ‘bad.’

As a final thought, let me say that the beauty of emerging autumn has held me in its arms this week, too, reminding me that for everything there is a season, and that the seasons turn. This is life. And we get to live it. And that, my friends, is miracle enough and then some.

Wishing you a week of perspective and beauty.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Klaus Stebani from Pixabay}

“Time has a way,” I sometimes tell my friends, “of doing things in the right order.”

That’s not always an apparent fact, nor is it always easy to accept. But if you look back at your life, you’re likely to discover that decisions you made in the past put you exactly where you needed to be a couple years farther down the road.

Everything that happens is for our enrichment in one way or another. Everything leads us to the fuller knowledge of ourselves that only experience can bring. Understanding that lets us relax a little. It lets us settle more fully into the present and to appreciate whatever is unfolding in our lives right now.

I’ve been thinking about time this week, as summer morphs into fall. After the long green days of warmth and light, I’m eager for a nip in the morning air and for the blaze of autumn’s crimsons and golds. But while I’m enjoying the delicious feeling of anticipation, I’ve been reminding myself not to let it so overpower me that I miss what is happening right now. It’s as easy to get lost in anticipation as it is to get lost in reliving the past.

It’s fine to savor sweet memories from the past, to anticipate the joys the future may bring, to dream and plan for the way we would like our lives to unfold. These, too, are enriching parts of our experience. But it’s right now where our real living takes place.

Right now, after all, is where our power is. It’s the only moment in time when we can act, and feel, and love. It’s the only moment in which our senses are alive, where sound and sight and taste and touch are real.

The present is a refuge, too, from the pain of the past and the error of dread. Right here, right now, we’re okay. We’re alive and breathing. Right now, we can choose. We can choose to be here, to notice how we are —and that we are. We can choose where we will direct our attention and how we want to respond to whatever life is presenting to us right now. And it’s in the choosing that we create the quality of our lives.

As for me, I’ll choose openness and joy. I’ll feel the tingle of anticipation that September’s winds bring. I’ll revel in the winds themselves, and in the fragrances they carry, and in the bold and joyous colors of the leaves that ride them.

Time has a way of doing things in the right order. Trust tomorrow to to be tomorrow, and let the past rest in the place where days gather at their close. Do that and you are free to make today a day of genuine happiness and peace.

Warmly,
Susan

One night this week I happened on an old interview with Neale David Walsch, author of the popular Conversations with God series. At the time of the interview, Walsch was just out with his fourth book, Awaken the Species, and he was talking about some of the main concepts it covers.

In case you’re not familiar with the Conversations series—or not even vaguely interested in reading what somebody says about God—you may find it intriguing that the first point the voice that Walsch identified as “God” had to make was, “You’ve got me all wrong.”

As Walsch pointed out in the interview, even if you’ve dismissed the idea of the existence of God entirely, if that sentence has even a smidgen of truth to it, it suggests that you may want to question what you do believe about the possibility and nature of a conscious, unimaginably vast and creative Supreme Being.

That suggestion—about questioning beliefs—prompted me to remember one of the most challenging and valuable assignments I was ever given in college. It was the final exam in a course called “American Thought and Language,” which covered significant (and often opposing) ideas that had arisen in the country from the time prior to the Revolution up to the present. The assignment was to write an essay entitled “I Believe,” in which we were to discuss a few of our personal beliefs and give our reasons for holding them.

Every now and then, I assign that essay to myself again, just to uncover the beliefs that are driving me now and to examine them. If you’re up for the challenge, I heartily recommend it. It’s very revealing.

But that’s not the main thought that I brought away from the Walsch interview. The idea that struck me most deeply was one Walsch shared when the host asked him what was the biggest piece of advice he could give people, based on his latest book. Walsch said he would tell people what he was told was the most important thing: “Your life isn’t about you. It has nothing to do with you. It’s about everyone whose life you touch and the way in which you touch it.”

My whole being breathed a sigh of awe over the profound beauty of that thought. Imagine what it would be like if each of us asked, “How can I help? What can I do to make your life easier, more comfortable, more peaceful, more pleasant?” What if we looked for ways we could give encouragement to each other? If we set out to make the environment a healthier more beautiful place? If we listened to each other more? If we looked more into each other’s eyes? If we looked for ways to ease another’s burden or to alleviate some of their stress? If we did our jobs knowing that they were contributing, in however small a way, to the well-being of others and took joy in that?

So that’s the thought I leave with you this week, the message that it’s all about every life you touch and how you touch it.

I wish you the insight to see what’s needed, and the generosity of spirit to give as only you can.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by bingngu93 from Pixabay}

A couple decades ago, I began my online writing career with a now-defunct site called “The Magical Mirror Machine.” It was a continuation of a paper newsletter of the same name that I sent to people who signed up for it at The Mind’s Eye, a metaphysical bookstore and art gallery that I ran at the time.

The premise of the Magical Mirror Machine is that the world reflects back to us exactly who we are.

I remembered it this week when a bout of introspection got me to thinking about the way that we often criticize in others the very shortcomings that we’re most blind to in ourselves. If we paid attention to what the Magical Mirror was showing us, we’d have a good idea where we could use a course-correction ourselves.

Try it out. The next time you catch yourself criticizing somebody, think about what you want them to be that you believe they’re not being. Then ask yourself in what ways you are guilty of the same thing.

It can take a little digging. If you’re nagging your roommate because he always leaves his socks on the floor, the Mirror probably isn’t saying that you should be neater yourself. (Although that might be the message. Are you always leaving globs of toothpaste in the bathroom sink?) Instead, the Mirror is often seeing through your surface complaint to a deeper issue.

It could be saying, for instance, that you wish your roommate would be more appreciative of the work you do to keep your environment clean and tidy. In other words, you want more appreciation for your contributions to the household. Hmmm. And just how appreciative are you of his contributions? When’s the last time you sincerely and specifically expressed your thanks for all he does?

The way the Mirror works is that what you put out, it reflects back. If you want to get back something different, try putting it out. If you want to be listened to, listen more. If you want more affection, give more of it.

But don’t forget to look at the merit that the Mirror shows you as well. When you’re keenly interested in something, the Mirror is hinting at one of your strengths. When you’re enjoying making something, it’s reflecting your creativity and skills. When you notice how kind people are, it’s reflecting your own kindness. When you’re laughing, it’s showing you what you enjoy.

And it’s these kinds of messages, the positive ones, that will tell you what will truly enrich your life. Notice when the Mirror is reflecting your best traits, and cultivate those. Learn what makes you happy, what touches your heart, what makes you feel strong and capable and confident, and make a point of doing more of those things.

We always get farther by cultivating our strengths than by trying to fix our weaknesses. And once you know what your strengths truly are, you can draw on them to guide you the next time the Mirror shows you a place that needs a little polishing.

Wishing you a week where you brilliantly shine!

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Pexels from Pixabay}

This week, I watched as a series of nasty energy waves ensnared a bunch of folks in my circle of loved ones and acquaintances. A couple of the waves that hit were made of nothing more than incessant aggravations. But some were huge and full of fury. And they came out of nowhere, without precedent or warning. I won’t burden you with details. I will say that I got caught in a couple of them, too.

There was a time when blows as hard as these would have been enough to knock me down and maybe even drown me. But luckily, over the years, I’ve learned how to ride them.

(I like that description, by the way, because it reminds me of an old poster that shows this robed, bearded old guru, soaking wet and riding with outstretched arms and a broad grin on a surf board atop a big, rolling wave. “You can’t stop the waves,” the poster said. “But you can learn how to surf.”)

Ah, yes. Surfing the waves. It’s not a skill that you develop overnight. Well, unless you’re one of those blessed few who are suddenly struck with enlightenment or maybe have a near-death experience that convinces you that in the end all is well.

Nope. It takes practice. It’s one of those things that are simple, but not easy. And it’s not easy because you have to remember to practice it. In essence, it’s a matter of being in the present, of attending to what’s right in front of you, of what you’re doing right now.

We get caught up in playing emotionally charged tapes from our past – like the argument we had with someone this morning, or something somebody said that pushed one of our buttons . Or we get lost in problem-solving for the future, like planning what we could have for dinner or what might happen at the meeting tomorrow. The present zips past without our even noticing. We’re so mesmerized by our mind-movies that what’s right in front of us is absolutely invisible.

I went for a walk once with a friend who suffered from schizophrenia. He was taking his meds and in an upbeat mood that day. As we walked he was telling me about his favorite Broadway plays and singing the lyrics from them with heart and animation, as if he were the star performer on the stage.

 Every now and then, I’d point out something in the environment that caught my eye. “Oh! Look at the trim on that house!” I’d say. Or “Isn’t that a beautiful flower!” Then I’d let him talk and sing some more. He sang wonderfully and was very entertaining.

As we got back to my house, I pointed out one more thing that I noticed. He stopped in his tracks and looked at me in wonderment. “Can you do that all the time?” he asked incredulously.

“Do what?” I asked. I had no idea what he meant.

“See what’s out there!” he said.

His comment gave me a profound insight into his situation. The thoughts in his head were so intense that for someone to notice what was in the immediate environment seemed an act of magic.

But the fact is, without being ill at all, most of us spend nearly all of our time lost in our own inner dramas, in our thoughts and our interpretations and our memories and problem solving. We’re just wired that way. We live in our stories instead of in the actual moment that’s unfolding all around us. And we react with our emotions to whatever stories we’re telling ourselves, instead of seeing what is real and choosing how we want to respond.

The key to escaping from these inner movies is simply to practice noticing what’s really going on right now. In fact, that’s a question you can learn to ask yourself: “What’s really going on right now?” (Jot that down and put it somewhere that you’ll spot it from time to time.) Then tune in to the moment. You can practice doing a body scan, for instance, to see where you’re tense right now and let that area soften and relax up a bit. Or notice what your posture is telling you. You can take a sensory break every now and then and notice what data each of your senses is offering you. You can stop from time to time to see how long you can keep your attention on your breathing. You can describe to yourself what you’re doing: “This is me, washing dishes, seeing the soap bubbles, feeling the warm water and the texture of the plates, hearing the sounds they make as I wash them.”

The big benefit of staying in the present is that you learn not to make programmed judgments about what is happening. Things are just happening. Right now. You don’t know where they’ll lead. The future isn’t here yet and could hold anything. So you’re not upset, or giddy, or frustrated, or angry. You’re not projecting into the future or resurrecting reactions from the past. You’re not comparing what’s going on to what you wanted or feared. You’re simply observant, and maybe curious, and probably more awake, and most likely quite appreciative.

Don’t worry; you won’t get stuck there. You’ll still look for the way that events have meaning for your life. You’ll still have real problems that require real solutions. But you’ll look at things from a refreshed perspective, and the rhythm of the waves will be just that – a rhythm that you learn to flow with, atop it all, wet maybe, but balanced and at peace.

Wishing you presence, right here, right now, all week.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Devon Chandler from Pixabay}