Not doing a thing can be EXHAUSTING.
Here’s what I mean. There’s the thing you can do, and there are all the things you’re not going to get to do. And it makes a huge difference where you put your attention.
When I make my To Do lists, the time allotted is usually built on the assumption of a perfect world in which I have immediately at hand every possible size socket wrench, a wide array of spare fuses, and am unburdened by the impacts of friction, rust, gravity, traffic, buried tree roots, and other people’s needs.
So, I frequently end up in a position where I realize I’m not going to get to many of the things on my ambitious list. And sometimes I settle into a malaise of I SUCK BECAUSE I CAN’T DO IT ALL. And then the best I can hope for becomes a prorated slightly-less-sucky quotient, depending on how much I actually *do* get done. In this scenario, there is no measure of success, only of less failure.
Buried under all that is often a stress-inducing judgment that I’M SUPPOSED to be able to do it all. Or, if I had only been better organized, it wouldn’t come down to this kind of Sophie’s Choice (Take down Halloween?? Or scrub the grout???). Or if I were only smarter I could hurry up and figure out a strategy RIGHT NOW for getting it all done. Or, or, or…..
Unless I stop doing that. Which I can do, if I pause a moment, take a breath, and redirect my focus to the thing in front of me. And that makes all the difference.
Because then I’m only in one place at a time. I’m here, now, doing this thing. I’m not also over there, and over there, and over there, fretting about those things as I’m not doing them.
There are many things worth doing. I will not get to them all today. And that’s okay. And I’m okay.
Just do the thing. Don’t wear yourself out not-doing everything else.
Make Room for All of You
That nagging sense of self-alienation, discomfort, and anxiety? Is it because you're still waiting for the perfect version of yourself to show up? AND THEN EVERYTHING WILL BE GREAT.
This whole trip is doomed if it’s dependent on you always showing up perfectly and doing the perfect things in the perfect way at the perfect time. Never gonna happen.
So, put on your comfy pants with the elastic waistband and settle in, just as you are. Make it a big cozy recliner with room for ALL of you to stretch out in. Including the messy, unfinished, uncurated, nacho-cheese-powdered parts of yourself.
Because if there’s room in there for all that, there’s room also for grace and love and compassion and generosity.
(Which you will also do imperfectly. And that’s perfectly okay.)
Find Yourself Some Magic
This weekend, find some magic. Look for a touchstone, a talisman, or charm that you can carry with you. Something that feels good in your hand and reassuring to touch. Something that has special meaning for you.
Breathe into it, pray over it, or just hold it silently and set an intention for it. Connect it to the calm centeredness that you want to feel (or whatever it is that you're after).
Carry it in your pocket, or around your neck, or in your purse or backpack. Keep it close so that you can reach for it when you need it, or come across it at odd times as a reminder.
I once gave a coaching client a smooth, heart-shaped stone to carry with him. When our work together was wrapping up, he mentioned how helpful that had been for him. Whenever the distressful old patterns started coming on, he would reach into his pocket, gently touch the stone, and slooooow the f********k down (his words). From that place, he was better able to choose a new response, rather than just react according to his old scripts.
Portable magic rocks! And portable magic rocks especially rock. (See what I did there?) ;-)
Soldier, Priest, Mentor, Teacher
“Father, I think I’m starting to doubt my faith.”
The words hung starkly in the air in the darkening office. It was early evening, and I was back on my high school campus after my freshman year of college, meeting with my former teacher and spiritual director, Father Larry Luettgen. A one-time West Point cadet and now a grizzled Jesuit, he still had a military burr haircut; however, over the years his fabled fondness for cookies had overwhelmed his soldier’s frame, resulting in an impressive girth.
He looked directly at me, took a long slow drag on his filterless Camel (yes, it was a different era), and pensively exhaled a curl of smoke that wafted toward the ceiling. I waited nervously for his response.
“Well, you damn well better question your faith. If you don’t, you’ll never grow.”
Relief flooded my body. This man, who had started off as a grouchy caricature my first year at the school, had evolved into a figure that I deeply respected. Gruff but jovial, rumpled in appearance, super smart, always reading, always opining, he loved to talk and I loved to listen. And although he had committed his life to a particular understanding of this world and the next, he left room for me to find my own.
And, to be clear, this crisis of faith had rocked me to the core. Everything that I had been *so sure* about just a couple of years earlier was suddenly up for grabs. To his credit, Father Luettgen didn’t offer me an easy fix or try to beat me back into line with a catechism. Instead, he urged me to test those foundations and follow my path—in the same manner that he had followed his through the army and the Korean War and on a trip around the world before taking his vows as a Jesuit.
I would see him only a couple of times in the years after that—we both heartily enjoyed those visits—but his influence loomed large. And though I never found my way back to the security of my early faith (and we two would no doubt find much to disagree about these days), I think of him only with profound affection.
Last week, I was in Lafayette, deep in Louisiana Cajun country. As I approached the I-10 ramp to head home to Baton Rouge, on a sudden whim I changed direction and steered my car toward Grand Couteau, the sleepy little town a few miles north. I parked outside the rambling old Jesuit retreat house and made my way to the peaceful rows of simple white headstones that spread across the tree-framed back lawn. Time for one more visit.
On this Veteran’s Day, I lay a rose of gratitude at the resting place of this soldier, priest, teacher, and mentor who helped to save my life.
Feeling the Burn
"How was Burning Man?"
Since I've been back from my most recent sojourn in the desert (this was my fifth), I've gotten that question a lot. And I've been at somewhat of a loss about how to answer it. So, I thought I'd try here.
WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION
Felt my heart surge at the sight of the becostumed gate greeters, jumping out of their skin to welcome us back Home
Worked my edge and lovingly assaulted passers-by with a megaphone, luring them over for a taste of our camp's special offering of absurd generosity
Felt in flow, connected, and magical
Felt awkward, alone, and melancholy
Roamed the playa at night arm-in-arm with old and new friends--drinking in the spectacle and pouring our hearts out to one other
Held space as a dear friend collapsed in searing grief and joined her in the dust
Camped one night in a giant metal garlic clove (okay, a Russian sauna shaped like one)
Bumped up against the evanescence and malleability of the thoughts that we spin our worlds out of and the arbitrary walls that we erect
Took in the tender, heartbreaking sight of a brave young man connecting with his family on the phone just after learning that his mother had suddenly died
Celebrated as two wonderful and wacky campmates sealed their bond in a Not-Marriage ceremony that was by turns deeply touching and outright hilarious.
Was kissed by cool mornings, beaten down by scorching afternoons, and embraced by chilly nights
Reveled in questionable wardrobe choices, to include lighted horns, a unicorned pink tanktop, a bedazzled vest, neon leggings, psychedelic short shorts (yeah, even shorter than you're thinking), and Cookie Monster pajama bottoms
Got a huge blister on my right heel and dust E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E.
Shared raucous family dinners with my exuberant tribe
Led a large group under a parachute in an exercise to drop obstacles to vulnerability and connection
Left offerings in the temple for dear ones (and dear ones of my dear ones) who have passed on or are hurting, and prayed to be released from my own particular brand of suffering
Was petty and judgmental and annoyed and frustrated
Was profound and accepting and delighted and supported
Fell ridiculously in love with an entire camp
Danced my ass off
Celebrated a recovering friend's heroic airlift to the playa, and mourned her too-soon departure after a sudden accident
Leaned in
Leaned out
Ran into my default-world neighbor who lives around the block from me 2000 miles away
Sat on a cool front porch in an empty stretch of blazing hot desert for an impromptu sing-along with guitar and bass
Said (more than once) OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE I GET TO BE HERE
Said (more than once) OMG GET ME THE FUCK OUTA HERE
Lost every item in my tent at least 15 times a day
Was pelted with grilled cheese, snow cones, bacon, lemonade, mists of cool water, margaritas, art projects, coffee, funky music, wild dance moves, smiles, high fives, and other gifts as I wandered the streets of Black Rock City
Was transfixed by the biggest, most beautiful fire I've ever seen and deeply felt its pull as a primal and sacred symbol
Was continually beguiled by the divine wink revealed in an endless flood of wit, whimsy, and lush creativity
Was swept away with gratitude for the wonder that is my life
In other words, the usual. Just another Burn....
