Showing posts with label learning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label learning. Show all posts
August 25, 2017
Connect, Listen, and Be Kind
In 2008, I was still (happily) a statistics professor at Lawrence University. During commencement weekend, I gave the baccalaureate address. Just recently, I found my speech, which was never shared on my blog. In general, these words still ring true. So, here's a blast from the past, a view from 10 years ago...
Perhaps some of you have heard of the “six-word memoir” started by SMITH Magazine. SMITH is an online magazine that celebrates storytelling. In 2006, the editors challenged their readers to write six-word memoirs—a short six words to summarize a life. The response was overwhelmingly positive and sometimes deeply personal. The magazine published a book that includes hundreds of these memoirs.
Some of the memoirs are humorous, for example: “One tooth, one cavity, life’s cruel.” “The psychic said I’d be richer.” “Where the hell are my keys?” “College was fun. Damn student loans.”
Others of the memoirs describe life’s difficulties: “Learning disability, MIT. Never give up.” “Hard to write poems from prison.” “Widowed. Forging reluctantly forward with faith.” “Cursed with cancer, blessed with friends.”
This second set of memoirs addresses topics we all encounter but often don’t discuss—difficulty, death, heartbreak, disease, struggle, depression. In not having the discussion, we isolate ourselves during a time when we might desperately need connection. Life is difficult for everyone. If we struggle, it doesn’t mean we personally did something wrong—it just means we’re living life. And it’s through these difficulties that we grow stronger as a people.
In his translated Letters to a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke writes about the transformative, not necessarily negative, effect of sadness: “You have had many sadnesses, large ones, which passed. And you say that even this passing was difficult and upsetting for you. But please, ask yourself whether these large sadnesses haven’t rather gone right through you. Perhaps many things inside you have been transformed; perhaps somewhere, deep inside your being, you have undergone important changes while you were sad.”
I encourage each of you, within your own comfort zone, to talk about the difficulties and the struggles. To know you aren’t alone. To not compare your difficulties with others. Difficulty is difficulty, and pain is pain. Sylvia Boorstein, a Buddhist teacher and author, talks of an inscription she encountered while on retreat. The words are simple, yet meaningful: “Life is so difficult. How can we be anything but kind?” Let me repeat that: “Life is so difficult. How can we be anything but kind?” Kind to others and kind to ourselves. Just a slight softening during a difficult time. Softening of words, responses, and actions at a time when hardening is often the status quo. This is not to say we should naively ignore inappropriate or damaging behavior by people (ourselves included). But it does say that as a general rule, kindness is helpful. And connection is helpful. Let's have those difficult conversations—both as a sharers and as a listeners.
Some of the other six-word memoirs are about mistakes made and experience gained: “Afraid of everything. Did it anyway.” “Most costly mistakes, learned valuable lessons.” “Happy now that I know myself.” “Learned. Forgot. Better off relearning anyway.”
Another reality of life is that failure, although sobering, is vitally important. Without taking risks, without making mistakes, without occasionally failing, we don’t push our boundaries and gain valuable insight. I know graduation is a time when we celebrate and honor people’s accomplishments, and this is important. But as you think back over your college career, weren’t there failures and mistakes made, and didn’t these make the accomplishments possible and the appreciation of the accomplishments more rich?
As with other difficult things in life, we don’t often talk about failures—we tend to shove them away, perhaps only discussing them years afterward. Yet there's richness in mistakes that can be mined for helpful insights—insights into ourselves, others, and the world. There’s a fine line, though, between learning from our mistakes and wallowing in the negativity of failure. Kindness is again the key. Can we effectively analyze our mistakes through a lens of kindness? Instead of, “Well, I screwed up again,” can we pause and gently ask, “What can I learn from this process?” Additionally, this understanding and non-judgment can be extended to others. We can give others the space to fail and grow and change. What a wonderful gift to give and receive.
Woody Allen once said, “If you’re not failing every now and again, it’s a sign you’re not doing anything very innovative.” Personally and at a societal level, we need innovation and we’re strengthened by creativity. This kind of creativity does not come from a perfect track record. Expect failures, know everyone fails, listen for the lesson or insight, be kind, and move on.
Happiness, passion, and creativity are the themes of others of the six-word memoirs: “I colored outside of the lines.” “Seventy years, few tears, hairy ears.” “Laughing until I pee my pants.” “Found great happiness in insignificant details.” “I live the perfect imperfect life.”
I encourage us all to do what we love. Spend time doing things we’re passionate about—that get our creative juices flowing. A lovely effect of human variability is that happiness and passion come in very different forms for different people. I get really excited talking with students about statistics. [This was back in 2008. Now I find contentment teaching meditation.] Others of you love playing music or making art or being with children or programming computers or reading literature or gardening. These loves might translate into a paying job or they might simply stay as cherished ways to spend free time.
In his book Earth in Mind, David Orr writes: “The plain fact is that the planet does not need more successful people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every kind. It needs people who live well in their places. It needs people of moral courage willing to join the fight to make the world habitable and humane. And these qualities have little to do with success as our culture has defined it.”
The society in which we live typically defines success by traditional achievements and accomplishments—your grades in school, your advanced degrees, the amount of hours you work, the amount of money you make, your career advancement. Certainly, these are indications of hard and often good work, but they aren’t the only definitions of success. Advances in technology allow us to multitask and be in constant contact with others—checking things off our to-do lists and putting more items on the list. At a time when we're connected to the world through email, cell phones, text messaging, etc., we are often disconnected from ourselves—from our creative thoughts and deep emotions.
It’s important for us all to reconnect with our hearts—how do we want to spend our precious time? Not because we have to or we should or we’re expected to, but because of a strong creative craving from inside us. Sometimes we’re so busy that we don’t even know what we truly want. So we must make some space, some quiet to reconnect and listen to ourselves. This can be difficult in our current society, but it's not impossible. And the more we pause and think and listen and be, the healthier we and our society become.
I challenge us all to redefine what is meant by success. Not to exclude traditional ideas of success, but to add to the definition. Let it also include pursuing our dreams, doing what we love, making and learning from mistakes, talking about difficult experiences, connecting with others, being kind, and really, truly listening. In the words of David Orr, be a storyteller or a healer or a peacemaker. Connect with and support your own inner longing, while also creating space for others to do the same.
So what do you think your six-word memoir is? And is it perhaps different from four years ago? Will it again be different in four more years? We all change—from year to year, and sometimes from moment to moment. I think we should embrace and celebrate these changes (what wonderful evidence of the life process).
As I wrote this speech, I thought about and created my own six-word memoirs from various stages of my life. For example, “Love koala bears and Andy Gibb.” (In middle school, the number of koala bear stuffed animals I owned was outnumbered only by the number of Andy Gibb posters on my wall. You students probably don’t know of Andy Gibb, but I can tell you he was a dreamy teen idol who wrote wonderfully cheesy pop singles—“shadow dancing, baby you do it right.”)
A six-word memoir for me in college is “Deeply love volleyball, hate intense pressure.” (I went to Indiana on a full volleyball scholarship. My love of the game was challenged by the intense pressures of winning in the Big Ten. I learned a lot from this experience, and I treasure those memories, but it was difficult at times. Difficult, gratifying. and important.)
My early graduate school experience can be described with the memoir, “Very smart people, do I belong?” (Like most graduate students, I'd done very well in college. In graduate school, though, I felt merely average, surrounded by brilliant people. This was humbling for me, but gradually blossomed into an experience in which I learned about myself and my particular strengths. I found successes in applied coursework, creative solutions, and inspired teaching.)
There are many ways I can currently describe my life. One possible six-word memoir is “Most important thing in life? People.” (My relationships with my husband, my family, my friends, my students—these all easily trump the busyness of daily life. The people are why I love my job. You students are a pleasure to work with in so many ways. And my colleagues are equally engaged, generous, and committed. People, relationships, and connections are what I find most valuable—and this includes my relationship with myself.)
This celebratory weekend is a good time to talk with your friends and family about their six-word memoirs—about their experiences, failures, difficulties, and successes. It’s also a time for personal reflection—how have you changed and grown and what is your current six-word memoir? This is a time to share, listen, laugh, and cry. To be fully present for each of these precious moments.
And, as you proceed with your next steps after Lawrence, I encourage you to
Stay connected with yourself and others.
Have difficult conversations.
Have joyful conversations.
Pause regularly.
Listen intently—to yourself and others.
Take risks.
Do what you love.
And be kind.
[Joy's note: Ten years later, relationships are still the most important thing in my life. Some new six-word memoirs for 2017: "Left academia. Found a different calling." "Be brave. Live wholeheartedly. Love well." "Feeling cranky? Get off the computer." "Tell people why you love them." "Sit on the cushion. Find peace."]
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May 17, 2016
It's Not About the Equipment
We all want to be seen, heard, and loved. But sometimes we look outwardly for that which is only found inwardly. We seek contentment, yet we use temporary Band-Aids: new gadgets, self-improvement projects, and distractions. Contentment comes when we slow down and inhabit our lives.
If this resonates for you, read on. The Bella Grace blog, Grace Notes, just published my post: It's Not About the Equipment.
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December 6, 2015
Different Views
I'm fascinated by perception. People leave a conversation or an event with radically different perceptions. Our mental filters--clear or cloudy--impact how we see.
It's important that I remember these differences; honor these differences. When I don't, I'm shocked or offended unnecessarily. Both shock and offense make an assumption: my view is the truth (your view is wrong). This assumption constricts my mind and separates me from others. If my filter is clear, I might experience surprise or hurt, but not shock and offense. I see most clearly when I'm connected to myself and others; I see most clearly when my heart is open.
These photographs are the same yet different. Same dormant plant in a roadside ditch at sunset. Different point of view; different color, different feeling. Just as I shift my camera angle, I can shift my internal view. A slight change in perspective allows a wider understanding. Because there's not one right way to view the world. There are many interesting, varied, and beautiful ways to see.
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October 12, 2015
Autumn Reflections
When a new year begins, people often reflect on their lives. But I think autumn is a rich time for reflection. Nature sends us into hibernation--in bright, beautiful, and gentle ways. It's a quiet place for self-reflection. In our culture of distraction and endless striving, I let two questions guide me: What is most important? What is enough?
When I move intentionally from these questions, I live a life true to myself. I live a life without regrets. My relationships thrive; my goodbyes--short- or long-term--embody love and gratitude. I feel connected to myself, to others, and to the earth.
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October 7, 2015
Resilience
I've been thinking about resilience. The American Psychology Association writes:
"[Resilience] is 'bouncing back' from difficult experiences." But the idiom "bounce back" doesn't feel right to me. To rebound, I must have a hard shell (perhaps elastic, too, but a hardened exterior). Resilience, like courage, doesn't mean being tough or hardened; it means being open, honest, gentle, and strong. Resilience means grieving my mom while living life with an open heart. It means, in the words of Rainer Maria Rilke, "Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final."
Life is an honest yet gentle practice: I need to stay with the difficult; and I need to be inwardly kind. Resilience allows for everything--even the dark places--but it requires self-compassion. I don't see myself as "bouncing back"; I see myself as feeling, learning, and growing. All the while, keeping my heart open (gently) to everybody, especially myself.
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January 21, 2015
Contradictions
I smiled when I read this. We all hold contradictions inside us. I judge myself far more harshly than I judge others. I practice the Buddhist precepts yet I drink wine, regularly. I don't want fame yet I daydream of having a book published. I'm a pacifist yet I'm often at war with myself, or at war with the present moment.
We're human. We're complicated paradoxes. We needn't be shocked by these contradictions. They're in everybody in every form we can imagine. But neither should we ignore the contradictions. They hold wisdom. They show us where we're stuck; where we're blind or resistant or ignorant. Paradox is a rich place for growth. But bring these tools: curiosity, gentleness, tolerance, honesty, and kindness. See what shifts; see what grows.
December 31, 2014
End-of-Year Musings
Some end-of-year musings haphazardly arranged in a paragraph:
If I use the word never or always, it's best to step away and meditate. Though unnecessary (and a bit excessive), an outdoor hot tub is helpful during Wisconsin winters. There's a fuzzy line between unhealthy obsession and the making of really good art. I feel better when I follow the seasonal rhythms. Apples make a good snack. There are unlimited ways to see anew--to see something fresh in people, places, situations, and life. When I feel I must keep pushing or doing, that's exactly the time to be still. Having someone's full attention is rare and meaningful. Natural light is fascinating, especially as it changes. There's a relationship between my irritation level and time spent on the computer. I make choices in every moment of my life--a life for which I am deeply grateful.
December 16, 2014
Perception
Look at the image above. How do you caption the emotion? Some answers from the May show: sadness, leaning in, doubt, fear, anticipation, relief, concentration, humility, depression, defeat, solace, grief, joy, contemplation.
A single image, yet varied perceptions. Defeat and solace; grief and joy; fear and relief.
And it's helpful to know our perceptions are not reality. They are not the truth. When we're mindful, we open ourselves and remove these filters. We understand there are many views of the same situation. We might not like it. We might really want our particular view. But that's not how life is. There's freedom in letting go.
This holiday season, can you see someone in a new way? Can you remove an old, muddy filter? Can you view a situation differently? Can you see yourself as beautiful?
December 12, 2014
New Grooves
When I take a fresh path, even the slightest veer, it's always worthwhile. My experience changes and my mood shifts. Sometimes I resist the entire time, yet I emerge differently. I see life in a new way. Old ruts can indeed become new grooves.
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November 17, 2014
What is Mindfulness?
[This post was originally written in November 2014, but I've updated it many times since then, because my understanding of mindfulness continues to change and grow.]
When I typed "mindfulness" into Google there were 40,600,000 results. Mindfulness is a big hit, or maybe a buzzword? It feels intuitive, as if we know what it means, yet a clear definition eludes us. I appreciate when someone asks me, "What is a mindfulness teacher?" Indeed, what is mindfulness, really? I'll take a crack at an answer:
Mindfulness is an embodied awareness of the present moment; an open yet focused awareness of what is--not in the past or the future, but right now. And mindfulness doesn't expect things to be a certain way. It allows for the current experience, as is.
If this definition feels foreign, it's because we live few mindful moments. We don't know what is, because we think, judge, numb, ignore, and distract. Busyness leaves no space for what is. And we don't know how to allow, because we crave what we don't have and we resist what we do have. We continually search for something else. This is human nature. If you feel mind-less, you're not alone. Yet there are good reasons to be mindful. Neuroscientists say we can retrain and change our brains. If we practice mindfulness, we more effectively pay attention, regulate emotions, and process information. We reduce anxiety and boost immunity.
Mindfulness is a life-saving path, but it's not easy. In my experience, three pieces of wisdom light the way:
Regular meditation is necessary. Meditation is a direct lens into our mind. At first we see wild, untamed thoughts. Then we see gaps. Eventually we see connections: a thought leads to a sensation leads to an action. We also see the impermanent nature of thoughts and feelings. Nothing lasts forever.
It's helpful to pause throughout the day. Pause and ask the question: what's going on inside me right now? These pauses enhance everyday mindfulness, but they aren't meditation. Formal meditation allows for deeper inquiry. And it's a bigger commitment. There's a different quality when I set a timer and stay: stay with whatever arises—busy mind, doubt, fear—gently coming back to my breath, over and over. I stay until the bell rings. Daily meditation (even 5 minutes) is a direct route to awareness.
You will resist. You will come back. And it's all okay.
Awareness brings freedom. Mindfulness is a practice. Results appear gradually and in surprising ways. If we meditate, work with resistance, and stay with our experience, we live more mindful moments. We see differently. We love differently. We're at peace, not war, with life.
My two most important personal insights: 1) it takes more energy to push away my pain than it does to feel it, and 2) until I love myself—as is—I can't fully love others. These insights came through years of practice. They arrived first in a heady way and then in an embodied way. I eventually trusted my ability to be present. The insights uncovered choices and led me to intentional action. My awareness brings me freedom.
The journey inward is difficult. We resist dark places and we crave happiness. We re-learn the same lessons in different ways. But if we're patient, we arrive (and re-arrive) at awareness. Mindful awareness. Open awareness. Alive awareness. And that's a beautiful way to spend a life.
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My two most important personal insights: 1) it takes more energy to push away my pain than it does to feel it, and 2) until I love myself—as is—I can't fully love others. These insights came through years of practice. They arrived first in a heady way and then in an embodied way. I eventually trusted my ability to be present. The insights uncovered choices and led me to intentional action. My awareness brings me freedom.
The journey inward is difficult. We resist dark places and we crave happiness. We re-learn the same lessons in different ways. But if we're patient, we arrive (and re-arrive) at awareness. Mindful awareness. Open awareness. Alive awareness. And that's a beautiful way to spend a life.
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November 12, 2014
Urgency?
As I write this post, urgency nags me. Not an urgent need to finish my work, but a sense I should be elsewhere; that I should be doing something else, being someone else. This is one way I resist the present moment. While in the act of doing one thing, I feel I should be doing something else. It's also a strong signal: listen inward, what's happening right now?
[I just took a 10-minute break to sit quietly with myself.]
Thoughts rule our world. We construct elaborate stories in our minds. We plan, fantasize, ruminate, judge, and doubt. We're addicted to thinking. And we're trained to believe our thoughts, no matter what. Here's one of my most-believed thoughts: "There is something wrong with me." This thought drives my urgency, my pressing, my wish to be anywhere but the present moment. "There is something wrong with me." A believed thought that is completely untrue. I lost hours working from a false hypothesis. Yet this is what it means to be human: we fall into trance and then we come back. The noticing--the coming back--is a revelation. It's worthy of celebration.
My 10-minute timeout is all I needed. I sat, embodied, with myself. I saw my believed-but-false thought for what it was. And I came back. The urgency lingers lightly in the background, but I'm myself again.
What are your most believed thoughts? How do they drive your actions? How do they make you feel? And, most importantly, are they really true?
October 1, 2014
Our Stories
We hold our stories in our bones, in our very existence. Stories of sadness, trauma, and hardship. The telling of these stories is important. Saying the words out loud, unearthing the secrets--these actions honor and empower us. They declare: my life matters.
I've written my stories. I've spoken my stories. I've owned my stories. And now it's time to let go. Freedom came when I told these stories. Prison remains when I live in them. When I think, "I wasn't nurtured enough as a child" or "I felt unseen" or "I sacrificed too much for academia," I enter a box--an identity that no longer fits. Wholeness exists when I nurture, see, and stay true to myself.
It's an act of kindness to honor my past yet live in the present. I'll continue to tell my stories as they occur. It's how I learn and grow. But the tired stories, they can return to the earth. I don't need them anymore.
September 17, 2014
One Thing at a Time
At a recent meditation retreat, the teacher advised: "do one thing at a time." These words, which I'd heard before, stayed with me. I sensed a cover-up, a story I tell myself: I am focused on whatever is in front of me; it's part of my practice. Unconvinced, I investigated my story. Here are a few examples from my daily life:
On the toilet, I look at my planner.
On the phone, I prune my plants.
Unloading the dishwasher, I hold multiple dishes while opening multiple cabinets.
Pouring water from the refrigerator, I grab a coffee filter.
Waiting for my photographs to upload, I check my email.
Driving, I reach for something in my purse.
Researching a mindfulness topic, I open 30 tabs in the browser.
This investigation was sobering. I wasn't doing one thing at a time. Yet it was also helpful. I saw how multi-tasking related to my mood. When doing multiple things, I feel irritated and burdened. Or, in reverse view: when I feel anxious, I strive and push. I carry too much in my arms.
To do one thing at a time, I must be truly present. I must attend to whatever arises--in me, in others, in my surroundings. It's not always comfortable, but it's my path to freedom.
June 3, 2014
Writing Process
What am I currently working on?
My long-term project is a book that relates life and photography. Each chapter focuses on a theme in photography that can be applied more broadly--to life experience and personal insight. Since I don't yet have my over-arching conceit, that project simmers in the background. In the meantime, I post regularly on this blog. And I carefully choose the words describing my Flickr photostream.
I blend words and images. And I work really hard at each craft. My blog is not stunning photos absent of interesting ideas. Nor is it great writing with no visuals. I love the interplay between images and words. Individually, they convey a message. Yet together they weave a rich, textured story.
Another difference is that I share hard truths. I bare myself to the reader. My blog is about real life, which can be mundane, difficult, and beautiful.
Why do I write what I do?
I write to both understand and connect. Ideas come in and out of my mind. If one sticks, then I must write. Through the writing process I better understand the idea. If my writing stagnates, then I know the concept (or my explanation) is incomplete. When I finish a piece, I've gained insight I won't soon forget.
How does my writing process work?
My daily intention is to live mindfully; to notice beauty, act kindly, be present. Both writing and photography are about noticing--noticing details often overlooked. So part of my writing process is my mindfulness practice: meditation, walks in nature, listening. I often let an idea float around for weeks until its ready for the page. That said, it's important that I write every day, even if I have nothing special to say. I'm a firm believer in what Anne Lamott calls "shitty first drafts." In her words, "Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something--anything--down on paper" (Bird by Bird, p. 25). This is my tenth re-write of this simple blog post.
Now I introduce two talented, thoughtful, funny writers: Cyndi Briggs and Joanna Dane. I'm not sure if they'll answer these writing-process questions, but their blogs are worthwhile reading. I guarantee they'll make you think and make you laugh.
March 26, 2014
Slow Yet Lasting Change
As I walk around town, I see snowbanks gradually decrease. A slow melt is good for the earth. The moisture sinks in and nourishes. My new view of March: ample space for the earth to re-awaken. As much as I want the snow gone--now--I realize its slow disappearance is better.
This makes me think of change in general. We often want immediate results. We want our injuries to heal, our projects to finish, our relationships to grow, our joy to increase. And we want it now. In this way, we sabotage ourselves. If a new habit doesn't generate quick change, we often discard it. Or sometimes we don't even begin.
Think of a healthful change you've made in your life--change that's had lasting, positive impact. What was the timeline? And how did you treat yourself during the process?
When we seek change, we must be intentional and committed, yet also patient and kind. There are very few quick fixes, especially to life's difficult questions. All we can do is take the next skillful action (or non-action) in this moment. And when we forget--which we will--we focus on the next moment. Gradually, these moments collect.
Where in your life do you need nourishment? What pieces of you want to re-awaken? Look inward, be intentional, do the practice, and be patient. Slow change is lasting change. And if you pay attention, it's a surprising and interesting ride.
October 8, 2013
10 More Questions
In May, I answered James Lipton's famous closing questions. Recently, I received a generous comment from Denise Fabian, and she posed 10 more questions. Here are my answers:
1. What pivotal event in your life changed you for the better?
When I was 25, my mom entered a mania. (Although she dutifully took medication, she went toxic on her lithium and was sans bi-polar medication for months.) My family--at that time--didn't speak openly about her illness and its impact on us all. But I chose that moment to have a heart-to-heart conversation with my dad. And that conversation led to weekly lunches, honest expression, and deeper understanding. My dad and I have a very special relationship--I treasure it more than I can put into words. I'm glad I reached out way back then. It scared me, but was one of the best decisions of my life.
2. What type of music do you most enjoy?
I like singer-songwriters. People with interesting voices sharing interesting stories. (Some of my favs: Patty Griffin, Dar Williams, David Francey, and The Wailin' Jennys.)
3. Spring or fall?
I cannot choose. They are different, yet equally beautiful. Spring brings growth, shades of green, newness, warmth, and rebirth. Fall brings quiet, bright colors, harvest, coolness, and pre-hibernation. All very good things.
4. What is your favorite comfort food?
When I've had a tough day or am especially tired, my favorite cozy distraction is Stuc's pizza and a movie (curled up next to Mark).
5. What is your favorite creative activity?
Photography. It's my flow activity. When I shoot, I'm fully present and alive; I'm mindful. The act of taking photographs calms and centers me.
6. Looking back at your life, what era would you like to live over?
Even if I could go back, I don't want to. I am a collection of experiences and learning. With each year, I love myself more and I love life more. I wouldn't be who I am without the difficult--mistakes, unskillful actions, hurt, disappointment, pain. Right now I'm living life without regrets. There's no need for me to go back.
7. Barefoot or slippers?
I get cold very easily (even when it's 80 degrees outside). If I choose to be barefoot, I'm not cold. So barefoot!
8. How would you describe your home-decoration style?
Colorful, comfortable, warm, simple, welcoming, artful.
9. What evokes emotion in you?
Almost everything. I'm brought to tears by joy, relief, deep sharing, sadness, tragedy, and beauty. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I don't know how else to live.
10. What one thing do you want to accomplish before your life is over?
There is no one thing. I have a life menu of items I may or may not accomplish. Mostly, I don't want to accomplish before I die; I want to experience, feel, love, express, and live fully.
June 15, 2013
Why I Choose to Garden
But I gained more life tools and experiences, and in that process I gained more wisdom and confidence. Then I didn't mind making mistakes--in fact, that's where I learn the most. Five years ago I began my garden experiment, which continues today. Now I receive great fulfillment and restoration while digging in the dirt. All I needed to do was try.
The Top Ten Reasons Why I Garden:
10. I get to play in the dirt. This brings out my inner-child--the younger one, not the teen that didn't like pulling weeds.
9. I'm surrounded by beauty. Oh, how I love flowers: love the plants, love the buds, love the blooms, love the colors.
8. I get practice with a long-term project. My ego tells me everything must be done at once, but gardening begs for small yearly changes that create big change over the long haul. It's a remarkable lesson.
7. I feel empowered. Digging a bed, moving piles of dirt, dealing with tree roots--these all make me feel strong and alive.
6. I eat freshly-picked tomatoes. The taste of a ripe, just-picked tomato is mind blowing.
5. I'm in nature. No need to travel to a breath-taking state park; I only need enter the backyard and I'm in tune with the natural world.
4. I'm filled with wonder. The plants can grow inches in a single day--how cool is that? And it's only the beginning.
3. I learn. Each year I learn something new just by trying something new--sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't. And it's all okay.
2. I'm in the moment. When I dig in the dirt, I simply dig; my monkey mind is momentarily quieted.
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