The Beautiful Answer

I kind of wish I had a portable MRI machine, to measure the changes in my brain since I began this blog. I’ve read a ton of articles on how meditation changes the brain over time, and even participated in a study at UCLA to measure these changes. In that particular study, they found that the area of the brain associated with measuring our reactive responses, and the part that produces feelings of compassion, were actually made thicker as the person meditated. Pretty damn cool.

So far, my brain has been so affected by writing this blog each day, and reframing my experience in order to do so, that I want nothing more than to embrace the formerly unthinkable.  OK, it took my brain a little while to wrap itself around that concept, but it’s been coming up again and again over the past few days for me. Of course it’s difficult to manifest something you can’t see, and for which you may have no point of reference. But what if I were to reframe that, by embracing that which I can’t see, or maybe even understand?

Maybe it’s like the Buddhist concept of softening around whatever hurts you, in order to “make friends” with the suffering and thereby release it (or at the very least, stop feeding it). It’s the last thing we want to do, because pain hurts. We want it to go away, quickly. And most of us feel the same way about uncertainty, or things we don’t know, aren’t familiar with, and can’t categorize.

Embracing the unthinkable means that I may be able to be a little more comfortable with the changes that come my way, and maybe even get used to the exciting but scary change awaiting me in the future. Because even though we say we want great stuff, most of us, if we’re being honest, would have to admit that actually having that stuff would make us nervous. Too much would have to change. So today, I reframe my experience to throw off those old beliefs in favor of embracing the formerly unthinkable, and allowing my life to be transformed as a result.

I love looking for things. Sometimes, they’re all big and lofty, like peace, or balance, or ways to save time on my freaking financial reporting. But other times, they can be tiny, like when I’m searching for ways to be more authentic, or present, or how to deepen my creativity. These are the times when searching becomes finding and then searching again, over and over.

Normally, this would drive me insane. The never landing anywhere, never having the sense of destination or achievement, of having arrived, would make me want to hurl something. But when I began to think about it, so much of our lives is like this. We strive to attain a goal, and may have to settle for a series of interim steps. We reach beyond our current limitations and find that we have to wait until our bodies and minds can adjust to another platform before we can push further.

So maybe instead of becoming frustrated when I can’t meet a goal in a prescribed amount of time, a better reframe would be to see this as a circle. Searching becomes finding, only to become searching again, not to annoy the living crap out of me but to ensure that I keep delving and growing. To be any other way would be to die on the vine, I suppose, to hand my life and awareness over to confusion.

Nah. There are too many other things I want to experience on this planet before it’s my time to go. I think I’ll stick with the cyclical nature of what I’m drawn toward, even if that means never getting there, or arriving in stages.

Every once in a while, I run into a person or situation that reminds me to cherish what I have. You see, I’m pretty happy. Trying, like most people, to advance certain goals and ideas I hold dear, be a good friend and a better mate, a decent person. And contrary to popular belief, it doesn’t take someone who’s suffering terribly in some war zone, or who’s lost someone, or facing an uncertain future. Sometimes, all it takes is running into someone online, who’s about as checked out as you could possibly be, to make you drop to the ground in supplication that it’s not you.

Going on Facebook for me is kind of like being asked to eat a tablespoon of ground glass each day (see my post on How Facebook is Like Old Gregg for more on that). I do it to stay in touch with people, and to see if there’s any community to be found around topics I find important, like spirituality, tolerance, the preservation of humanity. You know, stuff like that. So I always experience it like a slap in the face when I find unmitigated bigotry, or hatred, or intolerance of any kind. Particularly if it’s someone you used to go to high school with, and thought you knew pretty well.

People change. That’s a fact. And they seldom check with me before they do, which I’m trying to get a law passed about. But I’ll get back to you on that. So I have to be OK with that. Right? Or at least extend the same tolerance in their direction. But I always feel like a good rumble when I see these posts, and have to talk my aggression down. After all, meeting violence (even if it’s violence of speech) with violence seldom achieves peace. Just like Bob Marley said, only love can do that.

Reframing this is easier than some of the other tasks I’ve had so far. I can limit my time on Facebook, or just be happy that we all have the right, the freedom, to express our opinions without reprisal. Even this person, whose opinions I find odious and hateful, has the right to say what’s on his mind. And I will respect that. I have to, if I truly believe in the mission of our country. This is, and always will be, enough.

I’m not a super religious person by nature, and have a pretty healthy skepticism of anything smacking of religion, woo-woo or intolerance. You see, some of the most spiritual people I’ve met have also been the least tolerant — other other ethnicities, creeds, cultural experiences, classes. The list goes on and on.

But I was struck today at how sudden it is that your own life comes rushing back at you. I had a life-threatening illness about a year and a half ago that I’m still trying to figure out how to talk about in public. It very quickly and very deeply put me in touch with what it meant to be alive, and gradually I came to accept it as a weird kind of gift, which had suddenly and somewhat unpleasantly reawakened me to my own life. On some level, I’m still processing it, and the healthy way I live now.

On some mornings, this one in particular, all of the vibrancy of life, the strange mixture of excitement and dread, the blood coursing through my veins, comes on me suddenly. So much so that I thought I was going to cry because it was overwhelming, seeing myself as me, but then as part of some huge cosmic whole, all of which is pulsing and seething with, well, life.

These moments are deeply humbling to me, in a way that’s difficult to describe to someone who hasn’t been through it. As I move through this year-long exercise, I’m sure I’ll find a way to express the confluence of emotions that runs through me in a way it never did before I was ill.

And as far as reframing it, I suppose I’ll concentrate on the very core of my life, and that old adage that probably belongs on some greeting card or other, about living each day to the fullest. You truly never know when things will end and, not to get too dark on you or anything, but what’s here is worth sticking around for. Take it from someone who almost didn’t.

I love the poem, “This Be the Verse,” by Philip Larkin, which goes something like this: 

“They fuck you up/ Your mum and dad./They may not mean to, but they do./They fill you with the faults they had/ And add some extra, just for you.”

I think about this frequently, and it’s come up again in the fallout from the Casey Antony trial. So many of us feel that we have all the answers for how to parent, whether you’re talking about a child or a pet. We feel that we would never make the same kinds of mistakes that other people would, and that our methods would inevitably produce a little genius, or at the very least a very happy dog or cat.

I don’t really feel like writing about Casey Anthony again, but I am interested in the idea that most of us feel that we know better than other people. Where does that come from, and how can we become more aware of the prejudice we may unconsciously carry about other people? How can we cultivate tolerance and compassion in a world that’s so freakin’ judgmental?

To reframe this, I began to think about my own parents. Imperfect, definitely. Did they do the best they could? Probably. I mean, I wasn’t there, at least as an adult person yet. Did they bring me into the world, regardless, and give me human life? Um, hell yeah.

Ding. Dark feelings about judgements lifted, and my heart opened in a new way. I didn’t care about what others were doing or thinking because I had my life, which is precious and fragile and all too brief.

Wow, it’s been an amazing 24 hours, as the verdict in the Casey Anthony trial came in, much to the general public’s chagrin. It seems like every few years, another case like this comes along to capture our collective minds — a mistreated child found dead, abusive or negligent parents, and often, a mother whom the public can’t forgive for being who she is.

I can’t say I support Casey Anthony. I can’t even say that I know much about the trial. But I do know that I don’t know everything, and that perhaps I don’t need to have a violent and very dug-in opinion about it. All I know is that I feel achy and sad — that a child is dead, that her mother appears to at the very least need some help with her mental health, and that this seems to keep happening every few years, to other children.

I don’t know if it’s the advent of blogs, Facebook and other social networking sites that have led us to believe that we have to have an immovable opinion about everything — what celebrities are doing and wearing, who they’re dating, whether they deserve this or that. TV “stars” and “journalists” whip the public into a frenzy before the case has even come to trial and soon, everyone’s already made up their minds that she’s guilty and deserves to fry.

But we live in freedom-loving America, where we have a criminal justice system that runs the way it runs, for better or worse. Stepping up for another hit of Haterade isn’t going to make anyone feel any better. If Casey Anthony did kill her daughter, she has to live with that, and hopefully get the help she needs to heal. None of this makes Casey come back. Only sending healing to all, including the blood-seeking public, will help the hate to dissipate.

To reframe this in my own mind, I’ll keep trying to bring light into an inherently dark situation. I will use my skills to keep sending that light, perhaps on a daily basis, until I can feel some of it lift. I can’t control the court of public opinion, but I sure don’t have to contribute to it.

It’s so weird to go out in public these days, and try to find an engaged human being. Someone with the lights on behind their eyes, who might smile at you or just kind of seem connected to whatever brought you together in this moment of interaction. I find that so much of the time, people aren’t looking me in the eye, or have their heads down trying to not admit that they’re working for a living, and they have to help me, or talk to me, or that we somehow have to interact for a few seconds.  It’s bizarre. 

Sometimes, I even find myself doing it, because I’m expecting that to be the rule rather than the exception. Then someone will make me look up for some reason, and I smile, or laugh, or agree to the interaction were having. It got me thinking about how transactional all of our exchanges are. It doesn’t have to be an exchange of money that takes place. It could be an exchange of politeness, or respect, or even kindness. Whatever. I’m easy. 

It’s just that sometimes, I feel like I’m talking to Milton from Office Space. You know, that guy with the stapler? 

Today, I had to deal with someone like that who was giving me a pedicure, which is already a pretty intimate activity. You kind of want someone with sharp implements to pay attention to what they’re doing. I mean, I don’t have a huge thing about being served, or someone focusing on me (my ego’s not that big). But she had a look in her eyes that was like someone had hit her with a hammer, and I wondered what she thought about all day. Maybe it was being on a beach with a hot guy and a margarita the size of a popcorn bowl, or just not touching people’s feet for a living. Hey, I wouldn’t blame her either way. 

I guess my fear is that we’ll all somehow lose our humanity of we only communicate online, and can’t manage to look each other in the eye. I worry that we’ll miss the important heart-centered stuff if we’re so busy judging the latest celebrity comings and goings, and miss our own pretty great lives that are happening all around us. So as a reframing exercise, as she neared the end of my treatment, I asked her how her day was going. She looked at me like I’d slapped her. But then she relaxed and smiled and maybe all that was required was someone actually seeming to care about her as a person rather than a nail technician (love that term) to get the light to go on behind her eyes. 

I actually saw the guy who plays Milton once, at the roller derby, if you can believe it, and he looked pretty happy. So maybe anything is possible. 

Finally got some of the photos off my Blackberry to illustrate my posts here. Let’s just say it’s been a bit more than busy at work these days. :) 

My husband and I took a hiking trip to Giant Sequoia National Park early in June, and when I got back, I felt like I had to do something more to keep that spirit of beauty alive in my everyday life. Hence, this blog, alongside other things I do for my mental and spiritual growth. But what’s better than nature for a huge dose of hope and renewal? 

I’ve hiked in a lot of our gorgeous national parks, and every time I visit one, I’m always humbled. When we’re busy living our lives and worrying about things we mostly can’t change (at least by ourselves), we’re missing out on all the cool stuff trees are doing, or rocks, or streams. 

Some of the days we spent there were cloudy and overcast while others were gloriously sunny. Our room’s back door faced out onto a rushing river, which was one of the most relaxing sounds I’ve ever fallen asleep to, and there was no cell reception of any kind. Ironically, that was the easiest thing to adapt to on the trip. 

I don’t have to wonder if there is a divine when I look at nature. No matter what you want to call it, from God to Buddha to the Universe, it’s there in the birdsong and the broken branches, the snow melting from the highest parts of the mountain and even the cool, moist earth giving way under your feet. 

The divine calls to me a lot these days, not for any earth shaking reasons of doubt or faith. It calls to me today because American is truly a beautiful country, aesthetically speaking, and we need to keep it that way. Budgets for national parks have been shrinking each year, with many of them having to close their doors for lack of funds for roads, rangers and other safety measures. 

It speaks to me because of things like this too — pictographs written more than a hundred years ago my indigenous people in the area. So it’s not just our culture of freedom and independence that needs preserving. That’s pretty great, too, but if I had to reframe my worry, or sometimes abject fear, that we will ruin our natural world in favor of greed, corporate expansion and simple not giving a crap, I’d see it as a gift that my eyes and other senses have gotten to enjoy for the majority of my life. and I’d say that I hope that all of us, and our families, and their families in turn, get to keep doing so for a very long time. 

You know those tiny moments, when you first wake up in the morning and there’s that little hesitation, where you don’t quite have your bearings and anything could happen next? I love those times of suspension between the worlds, where magic lives, and grace can be found. This morning when I opened my eyes I had a headache. That was the bad news. But a few Excedrin later, alongside a long drink of water, and that was already turning itself around. 

I opened the blinds and sunlight streamed in. The second thing I thought was how wonderful is was to be breathing, healthy, alive, vibrant. In that moment, I could literally feel my blood racing through my veins, and the full cycle of my breath through my body, all the way down to my diaphragm and back out again. How weird it is to realize you’re alive, and how fragile that is, and how infrequently we think about that. 

Mental note to self: Do that more often.  

I sat at my desk and thought about people I missed, and wrote a few emails, made a few calls, stared out the window some more at the miracle of the natural world, the birds of paradise exploding with color outside, the hummingbird hovering nearby. 

And the thing was? I didn’t want those little moments to go away. Though I had to remember impermanence, and how everything good or bad must eventually change, shift, move on, I wanted to dig my heels in and not let go. So I decided to reframe the moment as one in a series, almost like beads on a necklace. I saw this moment leading into another one and then another, until eventually, it would lead inexorably back to this happy place again, this precious time of silence and wonder. 

I love a celebration of independence, no matter who’s doing it. Freedom is an important concept in American history, of course, but one that people seem not to completely understand at key points, or be willing to barter in favor of other things. I could get into the Patriot Act and the NSA here, but don’t feel like it. It’s been a gorgeous day in Southern California, the kind of day that makes people move here (or want to), and tubed meat was involved. So right now, it’s all good. 

For those who haven’t had the pleasure, go immediately to The Slaw Dogs in Pasadena. Creative combinations of tubed meat can be found, along with a friendly selections of condiments, toppings and sides. I am not normally a big eater of tubed meat, but when it’s this good, you know I’m gonna be there.  And whoever invented tubed meat rules. I mean, seriously. Then when you combine it with a baseball game? Ridiculous. 

I even helped a woman heal, a little at least, from the loss of her mother, which felt good. Since I don’t view myself as actually “doing” anything when I work with energy, I suppose it’s not me who deserves the credit. But having become independent from the traditional working world, and being able to support myself through my writing and healing work has been amazing. I am hugely grateful. 

Can’t even muster anything to practice reframing, so I’ll go with Carmageddon, the closing of the 405 freeway coming up on the weekend of July 16th and 17th, which is expected to completely screw up L.A. traffic for miles around. The reframe here will be an opportunity to explore areas not anywhere near that area of town! I have a small trip planned to a restaurant in Montrose, a class in Glendora, a museum downtown, and maybe a movie or two in Pasadena. 

The West Side? Who needs it?

We’re moving through the third and final eclipse in a 30-day period, and people are beginning to come down a bit. The energy has been so high, with two solar and one lunar eclipse, not to mention extremely emotional and on edge, that it feels good to begin to attract some new clients into my life who aren’t hanging on by their fingernails. 

Not that fingernails is bad, mind you. It can just be tiresome if the individual in question isn’t dedicated to healing but instead devoted to maintaining their own screwed up state, all the while claiming the exact opposite. But never mind that. Today I was able to spend some serious time in self-reflection, and concentrate on my own healing, in addition to helping others along on their journeys. And I realized that the urge to heal, to truly and deeply examine your own junk, is so foreign to our way of being that it’s like a giant, double middle finger extended to the doubters of the world. 

Just like punk rock wasn’t about hate, but a righteous howl of indignation about inequality, dedicating your life to healing your own crap is saying you’re free of the bullshit, free of the hype, and definitely free of the Kool-Aid purveyed by much of our daily lives. It’s not a path for everyone. Hell, sometimes I wish I didn’t know what I know, or didn’t have the awareness I have to notice things, or could turn to drinking or drugs like other people, to block out the painful experiences of life. But that’s a sucker’s game, a way of keeping you too anesthetized to observe the events around you. 

Instead, I’m going to take the hard work out of healing by reframing it as a big fuck you to the haters of the world, who’d rather read about a Kardashian than the Dalai Lama, be cruel instead of just, and kill their native awareness in one way or another. That’ll at least make me laugh when I think about it. Because you suckers? I’m gonna murder you with kindness. :) 

Today has been a blur practically since I woke up. Work has been amazing, with lots of new opportunities and clients. I love meeting new people and helping them find solutions to their problems, so I suppose I’m in the right fields, as a writer and intuitive healer. But what do you do when someone doesn’t believe in you, or part of you? 

To some extent, I get it. I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to demystify the intuitive arts by claiming the ability I was born with (that was hard enough) but also striving to be seen as a real person, not some woo-woo gypsy who’s trying to separate you from your money. I suppose it would be easy to blame Miss Cleo, or Stevie Nicks (I know, she gets unfairly blamed just because of the way she dresses), or anyone who’s ever attended a Renaissance Faire. But I’m not in a blaming mood. 

I am in a sad mood, that people can believe in gods, fairies, monsters, angels and the devil, even a long-dead guy named Jesus, without ever having met him. They can believe in the effect of tides on people’s moods and women’s menstrual cycles, and how hot summers can increase the crime rate. But somehow, they can’t believe in my ability to direct energy, make contact with spirits, and even my heightened ability to see and hear beyond the physical realm. That’s too much for them. 

So what do you do when you don’t exist to some people? When they don’t give the same respect and attention to things you’ve spent your life studying, perfecting and piling up certifications in? After all, I didn’t ordain myself as an intuitive healer. I studied, just like doctors and lawyers do. Then I applied the teachings over years of practice, just like any professional would. 

I don’t do spells and don’t have that kind of “eye-for-an-eye” thinking anyway. I don’t operate that way. So maybe my regular level of mindfulness will have to take a step up today, in order to reframe the pain this has caused. I can soften around the place that hurts, and welcome it instead of pushing it away. I can sit with it awhile. And I can bring my mindfulness to a new place of movement, by standing up for myself in a way that doesn’t extend the suffering of this moment one instant longer. 

Remember that commercial with the Indian standing by the side of the road, crying because there was pollution in the world? When someone threw garbage at his feet and a single tear fell down his cheek?  It was on my mind today for a few reasons. Check it out here:

I suppose it was the three — count ‘em, three! — instances of littering I ran into this morning, in a little over an hour of doing some quick errands. The first was some disgusting food garbage, which I guess the person had left outside his or her car door. I almost stepped into it when I got out of my car in the parking lot. There was a garbage can less than fifty feet away. 

The second was getting in to an elevator. For some reason, this person has crumpled up the packaging for a headset and stuffed it nicely into a corner. And the last one was at the gym, where someone had left a discarded protein powder packet and a drink container, with sticky residue coming out of it near a piece of workout equipment. In this case, the trash can was about two feet away. 

What the eff? 

I suppose, in this day and age, we’re not talking about littering anymore. It’s all hybrid cars, solar cells and green initiatives. But if you grew up in my town and threw garbage out your window, you’d get yelled at. Ditto on the yelling for the leaving garbage in a parking lot. 

It’s not about being a drag; it’s about admitting that other people live in the world. That somehow, your space isn’t more important than the common space we all share. Find a garbage can, people. It’s never acceptable. 

The reframe on this one isn’t easy, since I can’t control other people’s behavior (and really don’t want to). So I decided to volunteer some time cleaning up the beaches of Southern California, which can get pretty gross during the summer time. I don’t know if it will exactly even out all the pollution being done in my area of the world, but at least it won’t make the Indian (actually, Iron Eyes Cody, an Italian immigrant) cry. Rest in peace, man. 

It’s easy to get super serious these days, or introspective, or afraid. So much negative information batters us every day that I doubt most people are even aware of it. The wording of commercials can be so sly sometimes, promising a better life if you buy this, or wear that. As if your life now is Ass Meat on Toast, devoid of flavor or appeal. 

I mean, I like clothes as much as the next girl, but I don’t need a certain label to feel complete. It started me thinking about superhero costumes. 

The other day, I wrote a post about being the hero of your own life. How the hero’s journey, outlined by Joseph Campbell, is the template for most of our inner and outer heroic journeys. I realized that if I’m going to be the hero of my own journey, I’m going to need a badass superhero costume. 

For women, the costume has to be sexy, verging on the slutty. I’m OK with that, as long as it shows off my best features. It also has to feature shorts (all right, if I have to) and some sort of corset top. Totally cool with that. It’s a good shape for most women. At least it respects the female form, right? 

But you have to reel it back from the edge with some tasteful jewelry. Wonder Woman had her bracelets (nice touch) and Sailor Moon always has a nice manicure (always a good accessory). It’s tough to fight crime if you have dangly chandelier earrings or lots of scarves (damn, there goes my favorite accessory).

So I’m gonna go with a tiara, free of conflict diamonds,  and a pair of Lauren Wolf earrings. I love her stuff — what with the dark side of nature, claws and all, on display. Don’t have time today, but I’ll have to look around the web for some potential costume elements to go with them soon, or maybe I can have Lauren Wolf make my tiara! How hot would that be? 

The reframe in all of this? Being your own hero, or the protagonist of your own life, doesn’t have to be all serious. It can be light and fun and, yes, well accessorized. 

Mundane, which derives from the same root as the Spanish world “mundo,” means “characteristic of the world.” Though it’s come to mean something practical, boring, ordinary or commonplace, it’s actually something everyone shares. That’s, of course, partially why I decided to write this blog every day for a year of my life, and why I thought it might be interesting to look under the surface of what most of us do that’s the same. These are the things that connect us, no matter where we’re from, or what beliefs we espouse. 

Today it was a dental appointment, which is usually about as much fun as surgery without anesthesia. I tend to read or fuck around on my phone until the last possible minute, when they’re practically removing it from my hands so they can do their work. It’s that boring to me. Today’s appointment, though, was something I had actually been looking forward to for a long time, to fix some stuff that went wrong in childhood. 

Had trouble parking until I prayed to the parking goddess and one opened up. Then, when I got upstairs, I was told that they had painted the office over the weekend and the woman who was supposed to do my work, who’s pregnant, had left feeling nauseous from the fumes. Crap. 

This week is exciting and slightly daunting for me business-wise. I have a lot on my plate over the next few weeks, and fitting in another dental appointment isn’t going to be easy. Part of me felt the same thing my 10-year old self must have felt — a little crushed and disappointed. Of course, I knew it wasn’t personal. Things like this happen. But I wrestled with my feelings as I got back in my car and headed to the office. 

Staring out my window, I realized that life is filled with moments like these, the missing moments, or times of letdown. When we don’t get what we set out to attain, and feel that groundless feeling beneath us. I took stock of mine for a few minutes, then thought of the pregnant dental technician, at home with her nausea. I thought about her missing moments, and those of her baby, stretching on and on and on.

These were the moments I didn’t see every day, because I’m usually focused on getting my own stuff done. These were moments from the lives of others — equally important, equally valid — and I felt my throat close up with … something. I don’t know, connection? Realization? Love and respect for the fragile freakin’ nature of humanity? 

It wasn’t an intentional reframing of the experience. It just kind of kicked in on its own, and I thanked whatever higher power keeps watch over me these days, content to know that I do have eyes, and ears and senses that allow me to connect to other people and their funny, touching little worlds. 

If you’ve ever boxed, you’ve heard the phrase “stick and move.” Hitting instructors will tell wannabee champs to throw a punch and keep the feet moving, so their opponent can’t hit back, or at least inflict any real damage. Though most think the sport is about punching, or who’s stronger than the other, it’s actually about footwork, and being able to be so conditioned and graceful that you can dance away from any potential danger. 

This has been going through my mind a lot for the past few days, as I struggle to deal with habitually negative people in my life, or those who simply aren’t happy unless you’re joining in their moping party. I’ve been through with that for a long time, and it’s one of the reasons I started this blog. But it’s a fine line. Cutting them off only narrows your circle of friends, particularly if you like some of their qualities. Nodding your head and letting them spin out of control doesn’t really help, either, since you’re enabling an unhealthy way of being, and actually have to sit there and listen to an unending litany of Why Things Suck instead of, say, getting a root canal. 

You know what? A lot of things suck. Injustice. Cruelty. Inequality. Violence. Poverty. And tons more. 

You can either get in there and fight, by giving money, recycling, volunteering somewhere, or caring enough to sign a fucking petition or two. It’s the passivity I can’t stand. The whining until someone comes along and solves their problems, or the world’s problems, by waving some sort of magic wand. 

Nonsense. Get involved. Take control of your little corner of the universe. Care, deeply, for those around you, even those you don’t know. 

So to reframe my current dilemma, I began to think like a boxer.  Stick and move became “deflect and go,” as I started to change the subject any time one of these people tried to pin me down and take over the conversation with the usual fare. The first few times, they whined that I wasn’t listening, or accused me of not caring. But by the third or fourth time I did it, trying each time to be a bit subtler, they went along with the conversation’s new direction, and didn’t remember to go back to the bad stuff. 

Not that every conversation has to somehow be positive. Again, I’m aware that there are Things That Suck. But to put our focus on them all the time robs us of the meaning we claim to care so much about, and the beautiful moments of our lives, which exist all around us. And I think we can all agree that those don’t suck at all. 

Most writers are familiar with the hero’s journey, from the book The Hero With a Thousand Faces, by Joseph Campbell, which breaks down the world’s ancient myths and applies their commonalities to healing and other purposes. Also called the monomyth, it shows how all of our lives, in some fashion, derive from this singular series of events that define the hero’s life. Writers find that these translate very nicely to, say, Hollywood action films, and other dramatic stories. A very common series of steps in most of them (depicted perhaps most famously in Star Wars) is: 

1. The Call to Adventure 

2. Refusal of the Call 

3. Supernatural Aid 

4. The Crossing of the First Threshold

5. Belly of the Whale

6. The Road of Trials

7. The Meeting with the Goddess

8. Woman as Temptress

9. Atonement with the Father

10. Apotheosis 

11. The Ultimate Boon

12. Refusal of the Return 

13. The Magic Flight

14. Rescue from Without 

15. The Crossing of the Return Threshold 

16. Master of Two Worlds

17. Freedom to Live 

And all this return to Joseph Campbell (I first read the book almost 20 years ago) got me thinking about how important it is to become the hero of one’s own life. How we are so often provided with supernatural, or seemingly supernatural, aid only to refuse to believe our opportunities are real, or are ours to accept. 

For me, crossing the threshold right now means accepting what I was born with, what I have taken many years working at to hone and perfect. And to be OK with how that makes me different from other people. Not better, different. 

Today, the journey took me to the farmers market, where I was not offered supernatural aid (a parking spot — oh well), so it was on to another part of the path, a spontaneous breakfast with my husband and some people watching (one of my favorite pastimes). The day will take me other places, I’m sure, just as my larger journey will ensure that I end up precisely where I’m supposed to be in that moment. Becoming the hero of my own story, as I understand it right now, means that it’s time to leave behind what I have grown familiar with and take on a bit more responsibility for my own healing and growth. Even the past two weeks of keeping this blog have shown me that this is so. 

I don’t know when or where the return will occur. I just know that I have reframed my life in a much larger way today. By not seeing others as somehow all-powerful or even essential in my story, I assume the central role in my own happiness and believe in a much more heartfelt way that I exist to create my own destiny. 

Had to go to Office Depot again, since I tend to like to torture myself on Fridays. No, not really. I just unexpectedly ran out of ink on a day I had to print a million or so pages. So I headed back into the land of the zombies. And the guys were moving around the floor with this kind of look on their faces: 

(image courtesy of Spoon Graphics - www.blog.spoongraphics.co.uk)

At the register were two people, a man and a woman. The woman was helping someone, and I was next in line. The guy finished helping who he was helping, then walked away. I walked up to him and he said, “She’ll help you in a minute.”

I watched him walk over to a woman at a Xerox machine, help her center something on the glass (I guess she couldn’t figure out how to do that on her own), then disappear into the back. I didn’t really care about having a wait a few more minutes. In the long run, that’s not a huge deal. But he seemed to think that helping people was beneath him (confirmed by the woman at the register when it was my turn). So as she rung up my order, I began to think about that — the ways we feel that we’re better than other people, certain situations, or social groups, even better than certain jobs, as this guy seemed to be. I’ve worked with people like that, who seem to think that certain work is “women’s work” or “secretary’s work” or defined by whatever behavioral patterns they’ve picked up along the way. 

Since I can’t and don’t want to control other people’s stuff, the reframe for this was to not care, to visualize the entire experience as fluid, flowing through the store, into the parking lot, off my back and out of my life. In about three seconds, it felt like the moment was a hundred years old, way behind me. 

I’ll continue to think about ways I may believe I’m “better than” in the future. After all, I may notice a pattern in others because it’s something I do myself. 

But since it’s Friday, and Whole Foods’ turkey sausage pizza is like crack, I got my reward soon enough. Awww, yeah! 

Yesterday, someone hurt my feelings. I know, earth-shattering, but shit stinks and pain hurts. Someone criticized by writing in a mindless and somewhat passive-aggressive way, which usually doesn’t get to me. I’ve been doing this for a looooonng time, and have faced my share of rejection. It’s part of the game. But when someone who doesn’t do what you do, and has a fairly ignorant opinion of it anyway, you smart a bit. 

My first thought was: This sucks. My second thought was: All right, this is a good opportunity for reframing. But how do you reframe someone hurting your feelings? It happened. You want to be honest and authentic about what you’re feeling, but you also don’t want to spin out of control and let it completely ruin your day. 

So I decided to do nothing. Yeah, seriously. 

I sat with my feelings last night, and then again this morning. In Buddhism, you’re taught to soften around difficult emotions like hurt feelings, or the anger and reactivity that arises in wanting to make things “even” again. I softened around the idea of being hurt, the clenched feeling that had taken root in my body. My chest, which had felt like a knife has been stabbed into it, relaxed and I “saw” the knife fall out in my mind’s eye. 

Wow, how cool! Though I’ve been working with this technique for years, I’ve never experienced something so visceral and fast. It’s amazing to think that you can stop something from hurting by welcoming it, and agreeing that it’s really happening, without reacting. Maybe this is all the reframing I need when things go sideways. 

Can’t make any promises, but I’m going to try and remember this the next time I get sad, angry, or frustrated. Stopping reactivity in its tracks may mean the difference between losing a friend, relative, client or employer and not. 

Maybe I’ll even make doing nothing a habit. :) 

For some reason, I’m missing the hell out of Joe Strummer today, and have adjusted my weekly playlist to include lots of late-era Mescaleros. No offense to the Clash, of course. That’s some of my favorite music ever. But sometimes, it just has to be the Mescaleros. 

Maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking about this idea of humanism, of opening to the idea of whatever’s best for the greatest number of people, and how hard it is for most of us to do that. To step outside our own minds and needs. Then, out of nowhere, I played Joe’s cover of “Redemption Song,” by Bob Marley. His spoken introduction talks about people, how they can accomplish anything, since all countries have them and depend on them to function. Inspiring words, whenever you hear them. 

I met Joe only briefly, by phone a few times, when I was working in the music biz. Super nice guy, very polite, and funny in an Artful Dodger kind of way. The world needs more people like this, who live their talk and inspire others to do the same. I hope in my small way to step into these very large footsteps. 

Injustice can pile on. Some of my clients can’t even watch the news because it’s so scary and negative. It fucks with their heads, and leaves them despondent and alone. Can’t say I blame them. So maybe the reframe today, courtesy of Joe Strummer, is that no matter how dark things get, no matter how unfair the economy treats you, or how far you seem from your dreams today, there is redemption, and power and light. It happens inside you, and in the space between people. 

I know this was the theme song from John from Cincinnati, but it just makes so much sense. Why would we screw up the very thing that makes us happy? Greed doesn’t make anyone happy. Not even the greedy.