~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
On your way out the door, smile.
Let your grin linger on the threshold
for a while and roll across the floor
just to let them know, as you leave,
how good it was to be there. Give
them a picture of you to hold
when they think of you
in your absence, when they think
of your coming for another stay.
The squirrel munches away on the corn
that my neighbor put out for him
as she had all winter, his nose twitching
as he sniffs the uncommonly warm air.
He knows what’s coming next, and it’s more
than rain and leaves. It’s the reason why
he breathes. It’s the spark that lights
his fire, the thing that puts the spring
into his leap. It’s the birds and the bees
and the girls in the trees. And he smells
it in the air, and it’s right around the corner.
I’ve been digging in my collection of quotes again this week and found one from Harry Emerson Fosdick that made me stop and think. I like it when that happens, when a sentence or two makes me want to take stock and see how I can add more sizzle to my life.
Here’s Fosdick’s statement: “Rebellion against your handicaps gets you nowhere. Self-pity gets you nowhere. One must have the adventurous daring to accept oneself as a bundle of possibilities and undertake the most interesting game in the world – making the most of one’s best.”
It reminded me of a story I once read about a man who was legally blind, yet, by training himself to focus on the small amount of sight he had, he was able not only to navigate his ordinary world, but eventually to drive a car. He went on to develop a highly successful system to train people with infirmities of various kinds to transcend their difficulties by devoting their attention to whatever abilities they did have. He took that “most interesting game” and played it for all it was worth.
He looked for the possibilities and made the most of the tiny sliver of sight that was his best. Then he saw the possibility of showing others how to do the same and made the most of that, too.
Have you ever dared to think of yourself as a “bundle of possibilities?” What if you did? What possibilities would you find? If you were going to make a list of the things that you considered the best of you, what would you put on your list?
And once you had such a list, suppose you looked at it and asked yourself how you could make the most of these things. What if you let your imagination run wild and blocked out all the “yeah-but’s” that tried to sneak in? What if you opted to play the most interesting game and to imagine how you could make the most of your best?
What would that look like? What would you do? How would you be?
The mere act of imagining your best self opens you to broader, more possibility-laden thinking. That’s a proven fact. Spend 20 minutes describing your best self in writing and see how you feel.
But what if you were to take it beyond mere imagining? What if you decided to go all in and play this most interesting game for real, to focus on something you did well, or were ardently attracted to doing, and made the most of it?
You could start with just one thing, one possibility, one of your favorite things about you and express it 2% better today than yesterday, by intention, because you chose to play the game. Then tomorrow you could do it 2% better than today, and so on. And the thing that was one of the best things about you would get even better and better, and it would pull some of the other things that are good about you right up with it.
Imagine how interesting life would become! And all because you decided to play this, the most interesting game in the world.
Wishing you a week of intriguing discoveries and ideas!
Warmly,
Susan
Image by InspiredImages from Pixabay
Some irresistible part of puddles
calls to toes, even those of giants.
Maybe it’s the sheer muddiness,
the squish, the wet, the way
It lets you feel glued to the ground
and still free to wiggle.
Maybe it’s the way the puddles show you
how you look against sky, or the fact
that they sing of spring and bring
forth worms and tadpoles. Maybe
it’s the here-today-gone-tomorrow
part of them that makes you think
you’d better wade right in while
the wading’s good. Toes know.
They hear the call. And in they go.
It’s irresistible.
Sploosh! Now there’s a sure sign of spring–
car tires swishing through puddles on the road,
spraying the sooty heaps of snow into oblivion.
And the puddles themselves are proofs too,
mirroring the budding trees and the dance
of the ever-changing clouds in the high sky.
There’s no stopping it now. It’s here, come what may.
Why, I can almost hear the peepers singing.
Soon now. It won’t be long.
Okay, little lamb. You did it.
Laying there in the new grass,
your baby hooves tucked up,
your ears poked out, your face
wearing that little lamb smile,
you stole my heart. My eyes
send you pets as warm as
this new spring sunshine,
and I sing you welcome,
little one. Oh, baby!
You stole this old girl’s heart.
Although seas roar and winds howl,
in this space Mother Nature preserves the calm.
Here, she provides a nook where peace reigns
and the seasons bow to life’s demands
for security and shelter. We are holding
the calm for you, sing the reeds and and waters and trees,
for you who are in the midst of great storms. We are holding
beauty for you who are beset with chaos and destruction.
We send you the warmth of the early spring sun, and hope,
and the promise that, always, after the storms,
calm awaits, serenity returns.
When I went out to feed the birds this morning
I heard myself breathing the word, “spring!”
Undeniably, and all at once, it was here,
with its perfume and its light, its pastel hues
and puddles and song, and in my heart
the welling joy.
This afternoon the first crocuses opened,
a pretty little pair, a royal confirmation
right here outside my door.
It didn’t snow much here this winter. But today I ran across this piece I wrote in 2015 when the snow fell long and deep.
So then I came to the playground.
Well, it’s not a playground exactly.
It’s just a set of swings. Fine, sturdy
wooden ones hung from hooked rods
on a high metal frame, well-built,
and sitting there in the woods
by one of the few shelters,
half way between the parking lot
and the forest-edged ponds.
Just looking at them, you could tell
they wanted to be in motion.
It was all I could do not give them a push.
But something held me back. Maybe
it was the silence. Maybe it was the snow.
So I just stood there, listening, and I swear
I heard joyful shrieks and the laughter
of children, and that whining sound
that swings sing.
Places hold their songs and sing them
long after the singers have disappeared.
And here were these swings, full of motion,
even in their stillness, playing memories
through their long winter wait.
I continued reading the “Sunday Letters” that I wrote back in 2015 and once again felt compelled to share with you the one that followed the letter I shared last week. Here it is:
First of all, let me share that my friend who broke his hip in the slip-on-the-ice fall last week is making great progress with his recovery and expects to return home this week. Thanks to all who sent him caring thoughts.
Because he’s had his bouts with clinical depression and often says, “Everything always goes wrong for me,” I’ve been grateful and relieved and very happy to hear the optimism in his voice and his anticipation of things he’ll be able to do for himself once he’s home.
There’s a creative power is positive expectation—especially when you learn to expect the best from yourself. I read a quote this week from an anonymous source that said, “When you become convinced that you can make a comeback from any adversity, then all of your creative forces will come to your aid.”
That’s more than a glib statement of positive philosophy. Our brains work hard to materialize proof of our beliefs for us, to find evidence for them. Wayne Dyer wrote a whole book about it called When You Believe It, You’ll See It.
From all the billions of bits of data that come to us from our sensory organs, our brains actively select out for our attention the ones that match what we hold to be true or that open doors or give clues about opportunities that we’re seeking.
It happens automatically, but you can speed the process along by asking Positive Affirmative Questions of your brain. Popularized as “afformations” by Noah St. John, PAQ’s generally begin with the word “Why” and then go on to state what you’re hoping to materialize in your experience. “Why am I feeling so confident today?” “Why am I healing so quickly?” “Why am I so creative today?” “Why am I so patient?”
The “why” part of the question sends your brain on a search to find answers for you. It can’t resist the challenge. Unlike ordinary affirmations, such as “I am so creative,” why-questions don’t give your brain a chance to argue with you or to dispute you. Instead, it begins to scour both its knowledge banks and incoming sensory data to bring you the proof you requested.
If your request is urgent, your brain will even go into a kind of hyperdrive to find answers. I’ll give you a personal example. I happened to drop a 20-pound log on my big toe last night. Hurt like the blazes. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” I yelled. But because I’d been thinking about this letter, I said to myself, “Why is my toe recovering so fast?” And even before I pulled off my sock to examine the damage, my brain said, “Because you put an ice pack on it right away.” And I did. Good thing, too; poor toe got smashed pretty well. But I do expect it to heal quickly, and I expect my brain to continue to giving me hints to help it along.
Creative anticipation is a powerful tool. It’s what’s behind the adage, “You get what you look for.” Look for the good, and give the process a boost with some Positive-Affirmative-Questions.
Now, why are you having such a fabulous week this week?
Warmly,
Susan