Learn + Explore + Share

Learn: Risk

With the start of 2011's final month, I've decided to join others participating in various Reverb* spin-offs and publish some reflections of my past year. Last week I described how 2011 has been a year of change for me. In today's post, I explore Prompt #3 from #WEverb11: Learn. What lesson did you learn in 2011 from "The School of Life" rather than a classroom?

What I learned through life in 2011? Risk can lead to rewards.

My creative muscle has gotten plenty of exercise this past year as I have practiced art collage; added mind-mapping to my routine; and begun journaling, blogging, and participating in mini–writing courses. Throughout my year-long creative workout, I have taken the risk of making myself vulnerable as I've shared creative outputs with family, friends and acquaintances, as well as here on my blog and on Twitter. The responses of encouragement, appreciation and constructive feedback I have continually received have increased my desire to risk more in my creativity, create more and share more.

In early 2011, my grandpa began hospice care. Before Gramps died, the idea of his death, to me, meant overwhelming uncertainty, uncontrollable emotions and impending grief. While part of me wanted to hibernate at home and avoid the situation, my heart led me toward my grandpa, where I risked facing reality. While I was there with Grandpa and my family, I let the emotions roll in and out like the tide—pain and sorrow, love and joy, fear and uncertainty, strength and weakness, resistance and relief. Grief crashes in when I least expect it, yet I cherish the decision I made to risk my heart and sit beside Grandpa as his body surrendered to the inevitability of his death.

In both my grief and my creativity this past year, the Internet has played a surprisingly major role. A note of grief I posted on Facebook several weeks after my grandpa’s death prompted friends and family to reach out to me with the love and acknowledgement I needed to begin healing. Not long after that, I risked starting this blog and began developing relationships via Twitter. Now, from my Grief_Friend Twitter account I explore healthy grieving and how to help friends who are grieving. And from LearnExploreShr I tweet links that involve learning, exploring and sharing. A couple months ago I participated in my first online class, the Path Finder e-course by Chookooloonks; the experience further encouraged my creativity and introduced me to like-minded friends across the country and abroad. Connecting online with supportive people has definitely been worth the effort and mild risk.

Through the course of 2011, I learned that creativity is vital to my well-being, that sometimes death looks like a miracle of love and that online connections can be meaningful. I learned that sharing my creative work can lead to support and encouragement; I learned that experiencing my grandpa's death could bloom into indescribable love and grief and acceptance; and I learned that opening up online can lead to richer relationships. I have learned it before, but, once again, I have found myself understanding how risk can lead to worthwhile rewards.

What lesson did your 2011 life experience teach you? Leave a comment here, or connect with me on twitter.

* Gwen Bell started Reverb in 2009 as a daily reflective prompt through the month of December to guide participants in reflecting on the past year and imagining what's to come in the new year ahead. Reverb repeated in 2010 but in 2011 has been passed on for individuals to host. You can find prompts along with lists of 2011 participants at #Resound11 and #WEverb11 (and probably other sites that I have yet to discover).

 

Share: Grieving Gramps

Six months ago today, my 86-year-old grandpa died at home on a beautiful early-Spring afternoon. None of his six kids was in the house at the time. The hospital bed loaned to our family by the local hospice center was positioned in the sunny dining room of the house where my grandparents had lived together for nearly 50 of their 63½ years of marriage. In Grandpa's last moments, Carol, my grandparents' caretaker, was changing the music CD and I was talking with my grandma about the music that was about to begin, reminding her that before her stroke she had bought the artist's sheet music and had been learning to play it on piano. That is when Grandpa took his last breath.

During Grandpa's last ten days, I came to understand that death, just like life, is a miracle. How wondrous that a human can be present, breathing laboriously, unable to swallow or open his eyes or lift his head or limbs … and in a moment, the labor of life, the hard work of dying is another task complete, an accomplishment, an almost immediate transition from "is" to "was," a reflection on a life well-lived.

On one of Grandpa's last weekends, the house bustled with relatives and friends who had come to reminisce and say goodbye. With all the activity, I had to be watchful in order to snatch a moment alone with Gramps. Each time I did, all I could think to say was, "I love you." Even when he was no longer able to return my love verbally, I felt his love communicated through his eyes. What more is there?, I wondered. In the end, I decided, it's all about relationships.

Hundreds of people attended Grandpa's Friday morning funeral in my small hometown. Afterwards, my extended family spent the weekend together at the house, almost like a holiday. Most of us went back to our homes at the end of the weekend. I tried to focus on my own daughters, and I tried to get back to my regular routines.

But I thought constantly of my grandpa. Over and over, I replayed the simple, now-sacred moments I had spent with Gramps during those last ten days. You see, a friend had loaned our family a copy of Final Gifts: Understanding the Special Awareness, Needs, and Communications of the Dying by hospice workers Maggie Callanan and Patricia Kelley. I read Final Gifts swiftly, wanting to finish it before Grandpa died so I wouldn't miss any messages or opportunities. Repeatedly, the authors described dying people who wanted to know what would happen physiologically as they died. I believed that Grandpa wanted to know this but was unable to ask. I believed he was afraid but would never have admitted it.

And so I took it upon myself to try to put Grandpa at ease. Quietly, calmly, lovingly, I whispered to him that his body was worn out, his heart and lungs were tired; I promised Gramps that we would care for Grandma. I whispered that when he was ready, his heart would stop beating and his lungs would stop working and (consistent with his personal beliefs) that he would go to heaven to get ready for Grandma’s arrival. I told Grandpa that we would try to keep him from hurting. And with each short conversation, I said with deep honesty and emotion, "I love you. I love you so much."

Maybe these secret conversations explain why grief weighed so heavily on me for weeks after Grandpa's death. Probably my grief was "normal." I grieved losing the Grandpa who called me Peach when I was little, who always gave me a hug and a smooch, who was always glad to see me and always concerned about me (and my family … and the reliability of my car). I grieved the memories of Grandpa driving my sister and me the few blocks to school when our parents were on vacation and we stayed at Grandma and Grandpa's. I grieved over the times Grandpa took me fishing and camping and even to Colorado to go downhill skiing with Grandma and him. I grieved over every ten-dollar bill Gramps slipped to me during college as he walked me to my car, saying "Don’t tell Grandma" with a wink. I grieved at the memory of seeing him out of bed for the last time, eating a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone.

Since Grandpa died I have survived the seasons changing from spring to summer and summer to fall. Earlier this month I mourned what would have been Grandpa’s 87^th birthday. Thanksgiving and Christmas will come. Fall will turn into winter and winter again to spring, bringing the first anniversary of Grandpa’s death. Though my grief has lightened, I don’t know that it will ever go away. I love my Grandpa. I love him so much.

   

Gramps & me, September 2010. Photo (c) Jennifer Tchida

 

Explore: Generosity

Generosity Outside the Box

Generosity as a tool for success at work (and in relationships). In his contribution to the book Do More Great Work, entrepreneur Chris Guillebeau recommends, "Give more away, and share the credit for success." Gillebeau also suggests asking others what they want and then looking for a way you can give them outcomes they desire. You'll experience success when you try this method in relationships outside of work too.

Generosity as a strategy for world peace. Patti Digh writes in Life Is a Verb that generosity "has little to do with giving gifts, and everything to do with giving space to others to be who they are." Generosity steps over tolerance and embraces inclusion. Generosity is recognizing that there is more than one "right" way, more than one "normal" custom.

Generosity as a means toward one's own happiness. At about minute 2:20 in this interview clip, renowned psychiatrist Viktor Frankl compares self-fulfillment to a boomerang. A boomerang, he explains, only returns to the hand when the implement misses its target. If the boomerang stands for "self," then giving of oneself, transcending our own selfish needs, results in the fulfillment (return) of one's true self (i.e., the achievement of true happiness). 

 

Generosity as a prescription for well-being. Cami Walker, author of the book 29 Gifts suffers from Multiple Sclerosis but finds healing and encouragement through generosity and gratitude by shifting her focus to what she can give to others.

This week I've been sharing generosity links on twitter too. Where have you seen generosity in action?

 

Learn: Quantity Time Nurtures Quality Moments

Something in my memory shone on a dimly lit reference to the importance of quantity time as opposed to quality time, running contrary to more common advice. Wanting a brighter view, I set out to back up the notion that quantity trumps quality.

What I found (or, rather, didn't find) is mildly surprising. Plenty of bloggers cite their quantity vs. quality beliefs in conversations about choosing to work at home or not. Other bloggers share opinions that quality time really is important. But I didn't discover a room full of professionals touting either position.

This clinical report from the American Academy of Pediatrics comes closest to declaring any position at all. The article looks at the importance of free play in children, explaining that when kids are over-scheduled, "… parents lose the opportunity for perhaps the highest-quality time with their children. Some of the best interactions occur during downtime—just talking, preparing meals together, and working on a hobby or art project, playing sports together, or being fully immersed in child-centered play."

Reflecting on this excerpt and thinking about my own interactions with my kids has led me to conclude that quality time sprouts in "quantity time" fields. Without a vast field that can foster spontaneous moments of pure quality, quality time (think a day's visit to an adventure park) looks like a potted plant sitting alone on a shelf. A potted plant might be nice to look at, but it's disconnected, needing only a little water now and then. A field, on the other hand, requires vigorous tending: sowing, weeding, watering, fertilizing … you get the picture.

More often than not, for example, my family eats dinner together. Usually, our dinner conversation is banal. Sometimes, though, one of our daughters will ask a question that flowers into something meaningful. Pure quality. If we didn't regularly sit together at the table, the meaningful conversations wouldn't happen.

It's not just in parenting that we tend these fields but in all our relationships. Not every conversation with a friend brims with quality, but every now and then a gem shines between us that we can hold up and admire and say, "Wow. It's great to be able to talk like this with you."

So I think we need to put in the time. Tend our fields. Let quantity time nurture quality moments and treat those sprouts with care, respect and true attention.

 

Explore: The Special Ordinariness of Life

In the last chapter of Patti Digh's book Life Is a Verb, Digh tells about a young mother whose final months with cancer were documented by Oprah. After the woman's death, the family was invited to appear on the show. In answer to Oprah’s question about favorite memories, the little girl talked about sharing a bowl of Cheerios with her mom. "It isn't the big things," concludes Digh. "It's those little ones." It's the special ordinariness of life.

Rather than the big, exciting stories of my childhood, my daughters love to hear the ordinary ones. These are a few I've shared with them: 

• Each year, my mom would make my favorites for my birthday: lasagna for dinner followed by chocolate éclairs for dessert.

• When my mom and dad went on vacation, my sister and I would stay with Great Grandma and Great Grandpa. Gram would cook oatmeal for us each morning, and Gramps would drive us to school in his blue Chevy Silverado pickup.

• When I was in high school, my bedroom was on the main floor. My dad would come home late from work and watch funny shows on TV in the living room. I loved to hear him laugh out loud as I was falling asleep.

Steeped in my blood, these special ordinary stories pulse through my life, bubbling into my own children's experiences as I share the stories with them, over and over.

What will stand out to my daughters as special ordinariness in their lives? Recently the girls confessed that at the grocery checkout Dad buys Skittles or Kit-Kat bars that they eat on their way home. "I don’t believe you," I teased, thinking to myself how special those small treats will be in years to come.

What little things make up the special ordinariness of your life?

The ordinary arts we practice every day at home are of more
importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest.
Thomas Moore

 

Learn: The Importance of Play

Planning a four-day getaway to a northern Minnesota State Park led me to the topic of play. After thinking about taking a break from blogging, I wanted nothing more than to blog about taking a break. So from this breezy "office" full of majestic white and red pines, I will offer what I’ve been learning about the importance of play.

What Is Play?

"If its purpose is more important than the act of doing it, it's probably not play," says Stuart Brown, Ph.D. in his TED talk. Brown, a psychiatrist, researcher and founder of the National Institute for Play, asserts that we humans are "designed to play through our whole lifetime." He explains the importance of play in establishing trust, developing problem solving skills, learning self-discipline and adaptability and experiencing happiness.

In his talk, Brown mentions a few types of play, including body play, object play and social play.

Body Play. A regular workout at the gym certainly falls under physical activity, but if you exercise mainly for the purpose of fitness and not "just for the fun of it," it's not play. Go for an evening walk, ride your bike around the block or join a game of tag with your kids. That's body play. In her book Permission to Play, yoga instructor and writer Jill Murphy Long cites the scientifically acknowledged connection between physical activity and "feelings of well-being."

Object Play. On a recent blog post, Brené Brown, Ph.D. (no relation to Stuart Brown), a writer and research professor in the field of social work, recognizes that it's okay to set work aside and putter around her house or edit photos. These activities are her important play. Other forms of object play may involve playing board games, doing puzzles, curating collections, cooking or crafting. Object play helps us learn problem solving.

Social Play. Team sports, book clubs, girls' nights and dinner parties. You get the idea. During social play, along with having fun, we practice self-control. Making time for social connections also contributes to our mental health. The opposite of play, cautions Dr. Stuart Brown, is not work but depression.

Make Play a Part of Every Day

In her book The Gifts of Imperfection, Dr. Brené Brown discusses the importance of "letting go of exhaustion as a status symbol of productivity and worth." In order to enjoy valuable play, we must let go of the idea that we're too busy to "waste time." Play is a vital activity, no matter our age.

For me, these northwoods will soon transform from office to playground. I have trails to hike, books to read, games to play and a pontoon boat on which to relax. I have work play to do.

                                  Northwoods pines taken with my iPhone 3GS

 

Learn: Not to Take Things Personally

Yesterday when she didn't get what she wanted, my 8-year-old exploded in frustration. In my mom role, I easily recognized my daughter's anger as a reflection of her own emotions and that her outburst was nothing against me personally. But when an adult lashes out or throws an off-hand comment, I more often hold the comment and let it weigh me down, seeing myself reflected rather than the person’s own emotions and perceptions.

Not taking things personally is something I have been trying to practice for a few years. But the lesson didn't seem to seep into my consciousness until I read Laura Munson’s memoir, This Is Not the Story You Think It Is. Munson's book begins when her husband of several years declares that he doesn't love her anymore and is not sure that he ever had. It's not that Munson "stood by her man." It's more that she saw his declaration for what it was: a reflection of his issues rather than hers. Through the summer she (amazingly, bravely, steadfastly) gives her husband the space he (doesn't even know he) needs to figure out what's really going on, while she tries basically to ignore him and to live each day for herself.

The things I try not to take personally are far less serious than Munson's marital earthquake. Yet the reality is the same: I can't make anyone do or say anything. Other people's reactions are out of my control; it’s not me being reflected in the outbursts and off-hand comments, it's the other person's emotions and perceptions. Ultimately, it's up to me whether or not I let others' perceptions affect my life.

The key to a more fulfilling life, writes don Miguel Ruiz in The Four Agreements, is to make four specific agreements with yourself. The second agreement? "Don't take anything personally." As we grow up learning to accept responsibility, explains Ruiz, "we learn to take everything personally." And taking things personally holds us back from true happiness.

Sarah Susanka, in The Not So Big Life, reminds readers that while there is only one reality, there are multiple perspectives of the world. If I take something personally, I'm accepting the other person's worldview. If I don’t take something personally, I am holding on to my own perspective of the world. Life coach Christine Kane emphasizes that not taking things personally leads to self-awareness and clarity.

It all boils down to choosing to accept that everyone sees the world differently, as if reality is a lake full of multiple worldviews. Not taking things personally means leaving the buoys of compliments and the weights of insults back on shore. Not taking things personally means swimming confidently through the lake by my own power, following my heart's own clear path.

 No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.
―Eleanor Roosevelt

Bear Head Lake near Ely, MN taken with our Canon PowerShot S3 IS

 

Share: Forgiveness Information

After I posted Learn: Forgiveness, the topic of forgiveness kept popping up at me. These resources offer expert information about forgiveness.

 

A Better Homes and Gardens (BHG) article too-old-to-link-to (September 2007) led me to this web site, which discusses the stress-busting healing powers and medical benefits of forgiveness. The site includes a list of nine steps to take toward forgiveness and points to research conducted by Dr. Frederic Luskin and his colleagues with the Stanford Forgiveness Projects. Results of the studies show that forgiveness can reduce feelings of anger, depression and stress and can foster feelings of hope, peace, compassion and self-confidence. Luskin has published a few books, including Forgive for Good: A Proven Prescription for Health and Happiness.

The BHG article reminded of a tweet I saw last week about a StoryCorps interview featuring Mary Johnson, a woman who has not only forgiven but befriended her son’s killer. Johnson has also created an organization that promotes forgiveness and supports women whose children have been murdered.

A similar story, of a father who nurtured a healing friendship with his daughter’s killer, appears in Marc Ian Barash’s book Field Notes on the Compassionate Life. Barash explores real-life forgiveness in his chapter “The Elixir of Forgiveness.”

In my further research, I didn’t find any tips specifically outlined to describe how to forgive a person who has died. When reconciliation isn't an option, Katherine Piderman, Ph.D. suggests working on your grudge in partnership with a wise and compassionate person—maybe a clergy person, a therapist or a trusted friend. Other suggestions are to write a letter to the deceased or to work on forgiveness through journal writing.

 

Check out these links to explore forgiveness even further:

The Power of Forgiveness is a documentary film that examines forgiveness research through stories and interviews. The film also looks at how forgiveness plays a role in different faiths traditions. The film's web site also includes a forgiveness quiz!

The Fetzer Institute's Campaign for Love & Forgiveness encourages people to engage in bringing love and forgiveness into their individual lives and communities.

This Emotional Life is a three-part PBS series that explores improving social relationships, coping with depression and anxiety, and becoming more positive and resilient.

Now is the time to take back your energy, your power, and your peace.

—Debbie Ford

 

Learn: Forgiveness

Up until about 12 years ago, I wore a couple grudges like a pair of boxing gloves. In my back pocket, I carried forgiveness, waiting for appropriate apologies before
I would play my card.

The problem was that the apologies would never happen. The left glove came from a person who couldn’t see that she had done anything to hurt me, and the right glove was the result of someone not meeting—but not even knowing—my expectations. My truth, though, was that I had been wronged. My stance was that each person had cheated me out of a well-earned and well-deserved relationship.

––––––––

Over time, I realized I could take my gloves off and play my forgiveness card without waiting for apologies. The idea of forgiveness without apology was like an epiphany. Without grudge-laden gloves, I could touch the full love and trust in my heart; I could feel a more complete faith in humanity and in my dreams. I could recognize my imperfection.

These two big grudges … I didn’t throw them away. I packed them into a virtual box. Now and then, I hold up my pair of grudges as I tell my forgiveness story.
I describe how not wearing the grudges feels fresh and light, feels like freedom. The people I’ve forgiven can do or say or want (or not do or say or give) what they will. My gift of forgiveness frees me from being bound to react to them, to fight them. I stand in my corner, free from blaming and free of heavy grudges. Clearly,
I haven’t forgotten the wrongs. But I have forgiven.

––––––––

These days, I’m still practicing how not to be reactive—learning to let others act while choosing my own behavior and emotions rather than reacting with automatic behaviors and emotions. I haven’t developed a chin yet for on-the-spot forgiveness, but after a bit of time in a neutral corner, I’m usually ready to leave the ring and move on.

Forgiveness is something I am fortunate to have begun learning years ago. My husband, however, had still been wearing an old grudge glove, still guarding his forgiveness card. Last week, he was thinking about playing the card, and he made a move ... only to discover that the other person had died just days earlier.

Attending the memorial service was helpful, but it was a lousy bridge for a 20-year chasm. The significant events—the weddings, babies born, birthdays and Christmases—had long ago been carried away by the river of time. My husband took a blow, but he’s not down for the count. He still has his forgiveness card, and forgiveness has no expiration date.