~ A Joy Warrior's Journey
The seasons don’t follow our calendar.
They have one of their own. In theirs,
it’s not here one day, gone the next.
It’s more like a spiraling flow, the ending
of one song blending into the next,
changing its tone, introducing a new theme.
A note here and there, a phrase,
a fragrance, a measure of unexpected
heat or cold alerts you if you are awake
to such things. Here, in late July,
the tree of heaven is showing off
thick clumps of rosy, ripening seeds
and the corn is tall in the fields.
It’s not clear at first what is real, what is dream,
what is fog, what is hilltop, what is cloud, what is sky.
Illusion rolls into illusion. Let it be. The dawn requires
no naming, no interpretation. It carries its own light.
Watch. Listen. Breathe.
It’s early afternoon as I climb the slope.
This morning two doe ascended this very trail
and the woods, now silent, save for the barking
of a dog on the other side of the valley,
were filled with birdsong, I had a conversation
with the cardinal. We often chat. Birds nap,
or so I think, mid-day. I’ve long thought
them wise. I like to picture them cradled
in this green, a gentle breeze rocking them,
dreaming little birdie dreams. I place my steps
softly, lest I disturb them. I rest at the base
of the ancient tree I call Mother Maple.
She stands near the crown of the slope
her broad limbs raised in celebration
to the sky regardless of the season.
She has a fine view. I pat her trunk
with my open palm, her life force flowing
into me bright as the afternoon sun
and as warm, as glad. She is why
I climbed. Just to say an up-close hello
on this lush, warm day in late July.
A while back, a friend of mine said, “I don’t know why you bother writing that stuff. Nobody does any of those things anyway.” That was, I knew, probably close to the truth of the matter. How many hundreds of books and articles had I read without taking action?
But I knew, too, that just because somebody doesn’t take action right now doesn’t mean they never will. Seeds grow roots and sprout in their own right time. Besides, learning about ways to live a happier, more satisfying life at least gives you hope that it’s possible.
One of my favorite quotes about making life-alterations is this one: “If you want to change your life, you have to change your life.” Think about that for a minute. It’s the very crux of the problem. We’re comfortable where we are, for better or for worse, and learning new patterns doesn’t come easily. It means having to let go of a familiar pattern to make room for the new one. The new pattern is scary; it’s the unknown, after all. It sets our nerves to tingling just a bit.
So to be honest, I don’t expect that many of you actually set an intention to be happier, or tried looking ahead at your day before you got out of bed, imagining what it would feel like to be happy as you did each thing you expected to do. And that’s okay. The seed is planted.
I have a bigger seed for you this week. It’s one with a tougher shell. It goes by the unpopular name “Accountability.” But hold on—this isn’t the kind of accountability where you’re held responsible by some stern external authority. It’s a whole lot more inviting than that, and it’s what powers your intention to be happier. Here’s how happiness researchers Foster and Hicks describe it:
“The brand of accountability that happy people talk about . . . is a feeling that we are in charge of our own lives and that no one else has power over us. It’s honoring our right to craft a life for ourselves that is rewarding, rich and exuberant. It’s the assumption that no matter what life presents we have the ability to move ahead—to do something good for ourselves, to make a difference, to have an effect.”
Here’s what it means. Even under the most difficult circumstances, you refuse to see yourself as a victim. YOU are in charge of your life. You give up blaming other people or circumstances or events—past or present. You give up complaining that they are the cause of your misery or discontent. Instead, you forge ahead, taking whatever actions you can to improve the quality of your life, here and now. And that can be as easy as remembering to smile.
The tough shell that encases this power seed is the necessity to become aware of when you’re blaming someone or something else for your lack of happiness, or of blaming something that happened in the past. What happened in the past is passed. It’s not here now, except in the form of a repeated story that you tell yourself (and probably tell others) as a ‘reason’ why you’re limited and miserable.
Blame serves no purpose, Foster and Hicks point out. It doesn’t ever get us what we truly desire.
One way to overcome blaming is to ask yourself, “What was my part in it? How can I change things? What can I learn from this experience?”
Key times to look for a tendency to blame is when you’re becoming defensive, or when you’re feeling envy, or jealousy, or resentment. Questioning the part you played in the situation gives you the power to move through it authentically instead of getting mired in needing other people to be different than they are. Catch yourself wanting to put all the blame outside yourself and then ask, “Is this how I want to be? Is this really the response that’s going to solve things?”
Accountability is honoring your right to make choices, choices that align with your intention to be the most contented, capable, authentic person you are capable of being, choices for happiness.
I wish you a week of willingness to let go of defensiveness and blame and to embrace control of your responses to life in their stead.
You’ll deserve some fun as a reward, so next week we’ll hunt for the things that delight you.
Warmly,
Susan
Image by Frauke Riether from Pixabay
Here, in this transitory moment,
is everything you need to know.
The whole story. All the answers.
Take it in. Let it find its home in you.
Taste its flavors. Feel its song.
Know its peace.
Two fireflies danced through the woods last night,
the sight all the more precious now that their season
has reached its final days. Overhead, the first evening stars
sparkled against a dark velvet sky whose western horizon
still glowed with a deep orange gold. I slept in the sweetness
of perfumed air that carried the songs of crickets and frogs.
Then, when I woke, the world had been transformed,
the night’s twinkling lights exchanged for a shimmer of dew,
its tiny globes sparkling from every emerald blade of grass.
Such gifts, so freely given! These wondrous, velvet nights,
and all the glistening mornings.
Okay, summer; you win.
I admit that at first I was put off
by your incessant rains. And when
they ceased, I didn’t trust your dazzle,
seeing it as so much show, an act.
But now you have convinced me.
Your sincerity is everywhere, deep
in its greens, devoted in its endless
display of color. And at last
your warmth has penetrated
my understanding, and I want
nothing more than to sink
into your loving emerald arms.
The creek, despite our abundant rains,
is surprisingly dry, its rocky bed exposed
along the shore and making islands
in its center. Still, sheltered as it is
by the wooded hills, it cools its surrounds
and sings its quiet song. And here and there,
where the light rolls down and falls
beneath its surface, you can see its clarity.
Light does that. Its radiant energy
rolls all the way from the sun, down
through the millions of miles of space,
through the layers of atmosphere and cloud,
past the thick canopy of dancing leaves
and through the slow whispering waters
until it finds earth, bouncing off everything
on its way, flowing right into your eyes
to show you clearly the truth of what’s there,
the Yes of all the things that were hidden
in shadow before it came, rolling down.
Oh yes, there are lakes here, too,
shimmering bodies of fresh water
that reflect the blue sky and the green
of the forested hills surrounding them.
Silvery fish swim in their waters, and geese
paddle past or bask on the shores in the grass.
And oh! The wildflowers dancing on the shore!
This is summer in its perfection.
Wish you were here!
The creek is nearly dry now,
the rocks that make up its bed
exposed. Feeling the dry air
against their surfaces, they remember
the high places from which they fell
ages ago, and before that, the eons
they spent inside the earth’s womb
until the thunderous tumult pushed
them upward through its crust until
they reached the sky. They recall
the way trees grew between them,
winding their great roots in a living caress,
freeing them, one by one, to tumble
downward, to begin the long journey
home.