Tuesday, August 24, 2010

"She Grew Until She Died"

That's what I want on my tombstone. Morbid thought? Maybe. Life is great, but none if us is getting out alive, you know. Might as well write your own exit line. And that's gonna be mine.

At 41, I think I have to face that I am officially middle-aged. And whether or not we do anything about it, all of us (ALL OF US) go through a mid-life transition. (Notice I didn't call it a crisis.) During my transition, I have already made some pretty major life changes, some of them immensely positive, some of them quite painful, but all of it good stuff. I've grown and changed in ways I had never dreamed possible. One thing I'm sure of though...I'm nowhere near done yet.

I still need to do so much more.

I want to learn another language, at least conversationally, if not fluently. I would love to learn how to play an instrument (still deciding which one). I need to hike though Macchu Picchu, a rainforest or two, and Yosemite. I want to see the fruits of my creative efforts displayed in bookstores and art galleries. I still need to swim in the Great Barrier Reef. I look forward to holding a grandchild (perhaps). I absolutely MUST see the pyramids in Egypt. And I wouldn't mind riding an elephant and a camel at some point (someone please take my picture?). I have not been snow skiing or whale-watching yet. I've never been to the opera. I need to see Alaska and Hawaii, as well as many, many tropical islands (both in the Pacific and Caribbean, please). Oh! And I want to swim in bio-luminescent waters, at night, preferably with someone I love. (Yes, I'm talking to you, "Michael.")

By the time I take my last breath, I want to feel like I never wasted a second. I want my life to be an original work of art. In the process, I may piss some people off or disappoint others, but hey, it's my deathbed. Get your own.

No one is really sure what this life is really all about, or why we are here, or if we get more lifetimes, or eternity, or simply become nutrition for worms. We all have our beliefs (and I have mine), but none of us knows. What we do know is this: we have this life. Right now. And we can choose to float through it in some hypnotic stupor, eking out our days as if they'll never quit coming, letting each one be even more ordinary than the last. Or we can wake up, be here Now, and live a self-directed life of experience, learning, and growing.

If this isn't "all there is" (and I happen to think it's not), then why are we here? Deepak claims everyone has a purpose, and it's our job to discover that purpose for ourselves. I agree. But I also think on a larger, more general scale, all of us are here for two reasons: to learn, and to love. Anything else we do in this life should come down to one of those two. The rest is a big fat waste of time. Each of us leaves this world naked and alone, with no checked luggage or carry-on. All we get to take with us is what's in our hearts and our souls.

So make your list, find your purpose, keep learning, loving, and living. Grow until you die.

By the way, you can borrow my epitaph if you like, but if you do...make sure it's the truth.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

What's in the Jar?

One of my favorite spiritual lesson stories is the one about the monkey and the jar. It goes something like this:

A monkey happens upon a clay jar with a perfectly ripe piece of fruit inside it. He reaches in to claim his prize, only to find that his hand won't come back out again. The fruit is too large. He pulls and pulls, trying to squeeze his hand back through the narrow opening, but to no avail. So there he sits, his hand stuck, refusing to let go of the fruit. Now, the fruit is useless to him, since he cannot retrieve it. He will not enjoy the taste of it, and it will soon be rotten. Meanwhile, he will be encumbered by this clumsy jar at the end of his hand, all because he refuses to let go.

I have been that monkey. Letting go is a hard one. Most people fear change, so much so that a familiar pain is sometimes preferable to an unfamilar joy. Hamlet even lamented this one in his "To be or not to be" speech. Of course, he was talking about death, the ultimate unfamiliar change, but I think we can all relate to avoiding the new and the uncertain, making "us rather bear those ills we have/Than fly to others that we know not of?"

People do this all the time. They stay in bad jobs and bad marriages. They don't go back to school or take the new position in another state (or country). They don't move, or try a new doctor, or a new career. They don't say goodbye to people who hurt them. At least with the substandard, the humdrum, the mediocre, and the so-so...they know what they're getting. But do you know what they don't know?

What they're missing out on.

See, if we stay in a boring, dead-end job, we may miss out on the dream job that fulfills us. If we stay in an unhealthy marriage, we may miss out on growing old with our soul mate. If we don't try another doctor, we may miss out on the cure that eludes us. And if we stay in relationships with people who hurt us, we may miss out on knowing what true unconditional love and acceptance really feels like.

Here's another story. This is a true one. (Not that that monkey thing couldn't have really happened. But I think it was probably made up to prove a point.)

There once was a young girl who wanted to be in the U.S. military. At 6'2" she was very athletic and played several sports in her youth. She went to Smith College, where she earned a bachelor's degree, and planned to go into the Navy or the Women's Army Corp. Unfortunately, she was "too tall" for either, so she went to work for the Office of Strategic Services (OSS, which later became the CIA). Here, she worked her way up to a top secret researcher position, working directly under the general in charge of the OSS. Her work included developing shark repellent to protect the explosives intended for German U-boats from being detonated by curious sharks, and our girl earned awards and recognition for her projects. But guess what...she fell in love. (A common career-buster.)

Marrying a man she met in the OSS office, our statuesque brainiac had to follow him to Paris, where her OSS career ended. So what else is there to do but take a cooking class and start throwing dinner parties, right? Well, she did just that. After graduating from Le Cordon Bleu, she and two classmates decided to write a cookbook. Although it only earned them a $750 advance, it ended up selling in the millions. Mastering the Art of French Cooking was only the beginning. A television show followed, and Julia Child became synonymous with fine cuisine.

Now THAT'S a woman who can adapt to change and make some gourmet lemonade outta lemons. She could have said no to the love of her life for the sake of her career. She could have given up on any career for "her man." But she got to eat her cake and have it too. (Leave it to Julia.) Who says we can't have it all? If she hadn't been willing to let go of the OSS career, she never would have been able to have both an inspiring marriage and a groundbreaking career in the culinary arts.

So, what are you holding onto in that jar? What is it you think you can't live without? Do you feel like you might be missing out on something greater? Well, what are you waiting for? You have to let go to receive. In order for your cup to be filled, it must first be emptied. So forgive me for mixing my metaphors, but let go of the fruit, pour out your cup, and start fresh, with an empty cup, empty hands, an open mind, and an open heart.

Your destiny is out there for you. Now go get it, you monkey.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Now I Know Why They Call It a Terminal

After a wonderful romantic vacation with my boyfriend (we'll call him Michael) in Venice, Italy last week, I spent three days in four different airports trying to get a flight back home on standby.

Flight after flight, I was too low on priority to get on board. After not making the first two flights, we flew from Venice (on day two) to JFK in New York. JFK was slammed. We took a cab ride to La Guardia (30 minutes and $32 later) to find it was worse than JFK. Well over a hundred people were waiting for standby slots on planes with maybe 12 seats open. So, we flew to DC for the 6 am flight to Atlanta, spending the night in a cold airport with nowhere to lay down. (For the record, I think armrests in airports should be outlawed.) We didn't get on the 6:00. Or the 7:00. Or the 8:00. Or the 9:00. Or the 10:00. Or the 11:00. Keep in mind, this is now day three. We are in our fourth airport in two days. We have not slept for 36 hours. We are dirty, wearing yesterday's clothes, sleepy beyond belief, and have no idea when we will get home.

The really frustrating thing was that Michael was pretty high priority, so he could have gotten on any of these planes and jetted home. In fact, I told him he should just go without me. I would eventually make priority, somewhere.

He chose not to. Wouldn't even consider it. Each time they called his name, he said he wouldn't go without me, so he gave up his seat to the next one on the list.

Some of the people waiting got irritated and mouthed off to the gate attendants. Many were filled with righteous indignation. "How DARE they not let me on that plane?" "I've been waiting since 6:30!" "This is ridiculous!"

We never complained. And we had been waiting for days, not hours, at this point.

Sure, the whole situation sucked. And yes, we hated it as much as the rest of these people. But it was just a freak thing that all these standby folks showed up like this in droves. They had obviously been missing out on flights and rolled over to the next, snowballing along the way, since the flights were unusually full already. Very few people were getting absorbed. And complaining wasn't going to open up any seats or make them ignore the rules for who gets on in what order.

But then...a miracle happened. The computer went down.

Unable to post the list, the gate attendant made an announcement: "Anyone traveling ALONE to Atlanta on standby please come over to Gate 17. I'm going to be calling the names out."

"Go!" Michael said. "Just go!" We both shot over there, and I positioned myself so I could read the list over her shoulder. I was eight down from where she was. As she hollered out names, people either raised their hands or were off getting a Big Mac and missed their opportunity. Each name she called felt like the last. I was three down now. She called out a couple names. Waited a few seconds. No answer. Then, the heavens opened up, and a choir of angels sang my name through her lips.

"Yes! I'm here!" I shouted, maybe two feet behind her. I kissed Michael and ran over to the gate, taking my ticket for seat 20B. "Go, baby! I love you," Michael said to me, and I knew he would be on the very next plane, one hour behind me. (He was.)

Now, I don't share this story to garner pity for my trials and tribulations. I went to freaking Venice for a week, for God's sake. I have nothing to complain about. Our trip was magical: strolling, shopping, eating, drinking, laughing, and sightseeing. We got lost only to find the same shop we just left again. Circling our way though the alleys and over bridges, we fell in love with the sinking city. So please...do NOT feel sorry for me.

I share this ordeal to prove a point. We knew that we would eventually get home, and we didn't fight the moment. We sat there and played games and passed the time as best we could. Like I have shared before, Deepak says, "This moment is exactly as it should be." If we had spent that time complaining, it would have been much more insufferable. And I really do think it happened the way it was supposed to. Here's why:

I now know a few things about Michael that I would still not know had we jetted home Saturday without a hitch.

1. He is patient and kind under pressure.

2. He is polite to those who have the power to make decisions that affect him. This means that he is shrewd and clever, holding that Italian temper when it is in his best interest. He is a born diplomat.

3. He takes very, very good care of me. He put me first throughout the entire trip, especially during this ordeal.

4. Even after two days without sleep, a shower, or a shave...he is still adorably cute.

5. And best of all, I know that the two of us make a great team in a crisis.

So, I hope you take two things from this post. One, every second of our lives we are making choices. The last choice that cannot be taken away from us is the ability to choose our attitude in any given situation (says good old Victor Frankl). And second, don't fight the moment. No matter how bad it may seem, it's happening for a reason. Life isn't all strolling with a bottle of Proseco and kisses on bridges. Sometimes it's airport coffee in a Styrofoam cup and being 68th on the list for a full flight.

But in the end, it's all good. So, whatever and wherever you're drinking, raise your glass and toast to life. As they would say in Italy...E una dolce vita.*

(*It's a sweet life.)