If you don't love me...

I love chocolate. Love it, love it, love it. But chocolate does not love me. Nope, chocolate actually makes me violently ill. As do a number of other foods that contain various substances my body just can't handle. Let me be clear. I love all these foods. But did I mention they don't love me? So what do I do? I eat the foods that do love me. Vegetables love me. Chicken loves me. Yogurt treats me extremely well. Olive oil is a big fan of mine. So I eat those kind, gentle foods and I stay away from the ones that aren't so nice.

My food allergies are such a great metaphor for the rest of this thing we call life...

I love all of life. I love all of the possible fantasies and catastrophes that I imagine. I love being a a storyteller. But the fantasy and catastrophe stories that I invent most definitely do not love me. My catastrophic imaginings of the future overwhelm me with anxiety. My fantasies make me keep me from recognizing all the amazing gifts that come my way in the present moment.

Both my fantasies and my fictitious catastrophes are attempts to divine the future. Why? Because if I can tell the future, then I can prepare for it, I can *control* it. Or at least I think I can. Just like chocolate, feeling in control is one of my deep loves. And just like chocolate, my desire to control other people, places and situations is a cruel and torturous lover. It makes me fearful, worried and judgmental. It creates paralyzing self-criticism and outrageous expectations of others. Control is not my friend.

So, for the record...oy vey. It does not feel good to admit for the 4 millionth time that I can't control the future.

But now that I have admitted it, what are my options? Well, just like I choose spinach over chocolate, turkey rather than bread, I can choose life strategies that support me. So, what life strategies love me as much as 2 hard-boiled eggs love my digestive tract?

Generosity, compassion, patience, listening, self-care, self-love, surrender, flexibility. These life strategies make me feel terrific. They love and support me. They help me connect to others. They have my best interests at heart.

No offense, control, but you are officially invited to go hang out with pizza and ice cream...over there, away from me.

I love all of life, it's true. But for today, I choose the life that loves me.

Dad says Hi

I don't know if posting 5 blog postings in 3 days is enough to be self-referential, but what can I say, I'm shameless. In my March 12th blog, I wrote:

"Last night, someone I love very much had a very big breakthrough..."

I now have official permission to name that someone as my Dad. How did I get this permission? Well, with a bit of a lump in my throat, I read the posting to my Dad this evening. And what do you think happened? We laughed our asses off. Seriously, we did.

Most of that blog was about how watching my Dad take on deeper levels of growth can be hard because I've still got all these defensive habits and low expectations from a time when our relationship was not as strong.

My favorite moment came when I read him the confessional lines: "I missed his old way of being. It had been a worthy opponent in my set of personal battles. I could cry about it. I could gossip about it. I could grieve all the pain it had caused me in the past. This way of being in my loved one that left me feeling so frustrated gave me purpose, focus and energy. And now, it was gone."

At that moment, my Dad turned to me with a twinkle in his eye and said, "Don't worry, it'll be back." And we both burst out laughing. I gulped air to say, "I know," as I kept giggling. Then he sent me into fits with, "You don't have to worry, I'm still screwed up."

How lucky am I that of all people, I can laugh with my own father at this cosmic joke of human frailty and reactivity. It took me a long time to get here. It took gently shifting my frustrations with his behavior to a compassionate focus on my own. And that took practice. Lots and lots of practice. Man, it was so hard at first. If I'm really as mean and controlling, as arrogant and needy as I've been told that I am, then why would anyone want to talk with me?

It turns out that if I can admit to being these things, I have a fighting chance at vulnerability and humility. I used to think humility was bowing low to a stadium of people and bellowing that I was nothing more than a speck of dust. But I'm not a speck of dust. And I don't know too many stadiums of people who are so eager to see me do much at all, much less proclaim my smallness. But I have noticed that when I catch myself being bitchy and stop and apologize, it feels better than the fantastical applause of 10 stadiums full of people. Copping to my ego, my arrogance and my judgment before I push someone away gives me a fighting chance at connection. I think my Dad may have spent some time with this notion too.

Grateful for connection tonight. Till soon.

It was all his fault, until it wasn't

I had my ear pressed to the crack between the two doors. The man with his ear on the door to my right was so irritating. He giggled nervously once, then twice. I narrowed my eyes at him. After his third giggle, my inner schoolmarm couldn't resist; I hissed, "we're supposed to be sourcing vulnerability, not using humor as a defense." He looked at me stupidly.

Didn't he know we were supporting one of the most important people in my life on the other side of that door? Didn't he know we had to be serious, firm and focused as the people in the workshop we had all taken before got their own taste of transformation? The look on his face was clear. He did not know.

I focused on listening to the people on the other side of the door. My loved one's voice was crystal clear. He was struggling with the exercise. They all were. I clenched harder, willing them relax and open up. They struggled even more. I turned back to the man at my side. He was still annoyingly jovial. "We all have to get more vulnerable. It's our energy that makes it possible for them to have the breakthrough. What are you holding onto? What can you give up that's keeping you defensive and on your guard?"

He smiled at me. "I'm all good," he said with a grin, "I did the exercise they're doing a long time ago. I love listening to it now." Dammit. Maybe he wasn't an idiot. Well, even if he was, a little voice in my head reminded me, my job is to look at my stuff, not his. All right, maybe I could try that. Whatever I was doing didn't seem to be helping anyone.

"OK," I said, "I guess I can look to see if there's anything I'm holding onto." I thought for a minute. "I'm holding onto being right and believing everyone else is doing it wrong. I'm letting go of that right now." As I said the words, I could feel my forehead relax. I looked around. When did the other people standing with us get such friendly, gentle looks on their faces?

But the people inside the room were still stuck. I took a deep breath. "And I'm still holding onto fear and anger about the man in the room, about the way he was with me when I was a child, about the ways I feel like he didn't give me what I needed, doesn't give me what I need now. I...," my voice trembled, "I'm letting go of that now."

My companion took my hands in his. "You're safe now," he said, "you don't have to be afraid. He's here now. You're here now. It's a beautiful thing right now." I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. More words were lining up to be said in the back of my throat. Could I tell this stranger the secret I was holding onto? I closed my eyes and bowed my head. Thoughts of the people on the other side of the door fell away. I looked up at my new friend as he held my hands.

"And, I'm holding onto fear about a man I'm seeing right now. I'm afraid things aren't going to work out. I'm afraid of being rejected. I'm afraid I'll always be rejected. That I'll always be abandoned by men, just the way I was when I was a child." He said nothing. My next words came slowly.

"I'm letting go of that now.

"I'm letting go of being afraid of men.

"I'm letting go of trying to control what happens in dating.

"I'm letting go of worrying that every man will abandon me."

He smiled.

"I'm giving it all to God.

"If it's meant to be for the two of us, it will happen.

"If it doesn't happen, that means God has something better in store for both of us. I'm sending him blessings right now."

My new friend's smile widened. "You're safe now," he said. "You're a beautiful woman and you're safe. You can let go." The music in the room swelled. Tears tugged at the corners of my eyes.

Suddenly, the men on the other side of the door were singing--proudly, openly, vulnerably. Another man who had been talking quietly with two others on our side of the door took a step toward me. "Nora, it worked!" His face beamed with amazement. "They got the breakthrough when I chose to let go!" My cheeks melted into a smile. "Me too," I said, "me too."

Just then, the doors opened. It was time to come together.

When the war ends, where does the warrior go?

Problems. We've all got 'em. We all need 'em.

Need? What are you talking about, Nora, you wacky Breakthrough in Abundance coach?

I invite you to consider:

A problem focuses our attention, our energy, our creativity, our intelligence. We hunger as human beings to put these inner resources to work (in fact, I believe it is our deepest need as humans to do so). When something doesn't go our way, when life feels out of joint, we often focus our best strategies, ideas and solutions on the disruption like a heat-seeking missile. Sometimes it works, often it doesn't. But what we often don't realize is how much we benefit when the problems don't get solved. Wait, what?

Yeah, really. When problems don't get solved, we get to keep messing with them, obsessing about them, strategizing our next move. How do I know?

Last night, someone I love very much had a very big breakthrough. A breakthrough I've been waiting for for a very long time. I was so happy for him, so happy to experience his new capacities for so much more in his life. And yet, something tugged at me as we talked. I wasn't 100% clear what it was.

This morning I awoke at 5am--restless, irritable, discontent. And I knew. I missed his old way of being. It had been a worthy opponent in my set of personal battles. I could cry about it. I could gossip about it. I could grieve all the pain it had caused me in the past. This way of being in my loved one that left me feeling so frustrated gave me purpose, focus and energy. And now, it was gone.

To be fair, the likelihood is it will be back. I believe that we've all got our fire-breathing demons and they never completely go away. They just possess us differently as we grow. But simply knowing that my loved one would be shifting his relationship with his demons brought me to the simple fact that I am now a warrior with no war. The fire-breathing demon has flown away but I'm still flailing in the night, waving a pitchfork. With no fire from the demon's nostrils, it's cold out here in the dark.

The gift of my discontent, of course, is that I get to be reminded that none of the wars I'm fighting in my life are about other people, places or situations. They're about me. They're about my pain, my story, my relationship with myself. And when I stop thinking so much about what other people need to change, it gives me the chance to encounter myself, warts and all. And I've got plenty of warts.

For the record, yes, some messy stuff happened to me when I was young. And some messy stuff has happened to me as an adult. But messy stuff happens to everybody. It's important to feel the feelings and honor the experience when the mess happens. But at the end of the day, the gift is to use the mess as a growth opportunity, not a trap for my defenses.

For the last few weeks, I've been graced with a new level of gratitude for all the really awful stuff that's ever happened to me, specifically because it has given me the ability to connect and empathize with other people when they get hit with hard stuff. Whenever I connect lovingly and vulnerably with another human being, we both get to release fear, shame and judgment. I believe that sharing these moments of healing is one of the most valuable and sacred of human experiences. What a gift that I get to do it on a regular basis.

So here I am: flawed, messy, grateful to let others know that their flaws and mess are beautiful to me. And when I think of my dear loved one walking into his life today with new levels of awareness and power, I realize that I'll never "know" enough about who he is to judge or assess him. No human being can ever know or perceive enough to truly judge another. Rather, whatever conclusions I draw about him are designed to tell me about me--my assumptions, my prejudices, my fears. We can't possibly see the world as it is. We only see it as WE are.

Perhaps all this newly aimless embattled energy tells me that I'm a whole lot more belligerent and defensive than I like to admit. Wow. OK. There it is.

I CAN be really belligerent and defensive. How many people have I pushed away? How many fights have I picked with loved ones? How many times have I totally dismissed people I don't know based on defensive judgments? Deep breath. OK. I see. I see the new information. What a blessing.

What a blessing to see these parts of myself that are hard to face. What a blessing to leave my comfort zone and find growth as I feel the discomfort of admitting my flaws. What a blessing to grow.

Have a terrifically uncomfortable, growth-oriented day!

Explode or Explore?

Explode or Explore?

How do I respond when things don’t go my way? Do I get angry? Do I get super duper fake nice? Do I pretend it doesn’t bother me? Do I explode? Or do I go exploring? Odds are you’ve responded in all of these ways at one time or another.

I invite you to consider that when things don’t turn out the way you expect, there’s at least one lesson (usually many lessons) to be learned from how things did turn out. My intention was to create x. But the concrete outcome was y. What actions did I take between my intentions and my outcomes? How can I gauge the effectiveness of my actions? Those concrete outcomes are actually the strongest feedback available.

When I first understood this idea…I mean like really GOT IT, it made me dizzy. I was sitting in a workshop in Manhattan listening to a friend get chewed out for making a statement that sounded self-righteous to our workshop leaders. “But it wasn’t my intention to sound that way…” she had said tearfully. They replied: “Forget your intention. Look at your impact.”

I went home that night, opened my notebook and started scribbling:

“My intention was to get 15 new clients by September 15^th. My impact: Zero

My intention was to have a peaceful call with my mother. My impact: we had a fight.

My intention was to finish my book by August 31^st. My impact: 30 pages done.

My intention was create a relationship with this really nice guy I dated for a month or so. My impact: he broke it off.

I listed 15 more intentions and impacts that didn’t match. And I cried. I thought I was living my life pretty well. But the evidence pointed me elsewhere.

Now I had a choice: stew in self-pity and blame for others (for past and present actions) OR go exploring. What could I do differently? How could my attitude change? How could I become a woman whose results would be consistent with her intentions?

What’s not working in your life, your career, your vision? Where’s the opportunity to go exploring?

Making Sense of Disaster

Yesterday, I explored our responses to the abuse of another person. But with the Tsunami that just devastated Japan and the Pacific Rim, I can't help thinking about the traumas of disasters.

The people of Japan, at this moment, are in crisis mode. The news comes down to geological data and evacuation instructions. But in time, the human stories will begin to trickle in--the grieving families of the 23 people reported dead (so far), the harrowing tales of survivors thrown off the road, plunged into darkness, water, fear, danger. We'll read these tales with fascination, identification, and disassociation--imagining ourselves in their place while secretly thanking the powers that be that it wasn't us, wasn't our homes, wasn't our lives shaken so badly by that 8.9 magnitude earthquake.

But, in fact, we are shaken. By the randomness of the hit, the precariousness of the lives and worlds swept away by unreasonably furious waters. And it is unreasonable, all of it. Why them, not me? Why there, not here? Most of us won't dwell for too long on those questions. We have deadlines to meet, breakfast to make, appointments to keep. But that quiet persistent question of why--Why this life and not my life?--plays in our minds whenever we check the news or read the latest update.

So, ok, I'll bite. Why not me? Why didn't this tsunami sweep the west side of Manhattan instead of the village of Sendai? Aside from the plate tectonic science of it all, there is no reasonable explanation. No person or animal did this. And I refuse to imagine a God that metes out punishment in the form of natural disasters.

So then what? Then, there's simply grace. Prayer for those in need, comfort to those who are bereaved and gratitude for another day of wet spring weather that is merely and mercifully inconvenient. Not many people die as a result of rainy New York days.

We've all had our share of troubles--death, rejection, disappointment. Not all of them exist at the magnitude of the tsunami or a hurricane (as a native New Orleanian, Katrina haunts me to this day). But these moments of grief, as inexplicable and irrational as they are, do offer us opportunities. Opportunities to connect with one another. Opportunities to ask for support. Opportunities to offer support.

I believe that the deepest human spiritual need is the need to experience themselves as useful to others. Something inside you, something that comes from within, makes a positive difference for another person or group of people. In other words, the opportunity to serve is our deepest heart's desire. And I believe the need to feel relief from shame and pain by connecting with each other's deep vulnerability is a close second.

Today, we have an enormous opportunity for shared vulnerability. Those directly impacted by the Tsunami can certainly use both our financial assistance and our compassion. But what about the millions of people closer than an ocean away? They may not have been hit by a natural disaster but it doesn't mean they're not battling their own demons. Heck, we're all carrying something around. It's the human condition. But how do we use our sadness, our pain to offer identification, connection and love? How often do we say, "Hey, friend, I hear your troubles. And I've been there too. Or someplace not too far from there. I want you to know you're not alone."

I have a friend I call when I'm feeling low. And sometimes, when I'm truly down, he'll say, "wow, that's a tough one. It reminds me of myself. I want you to know I'm kneeling beside you."

Kneeling beside me. Is there any better way to feel connected? Neither one of us is very religious. But the image in my mind's eye of the two of us on our knees, humbled before pain or difficulty with or without reasonable explanations, this image brings me comfort. Whom can you kneel beside today? How can you offer connection over advice? Outreach over instruction? I guarantee you that the opportunity is there for you today. These are human beings we're talking about. As the line from Dreamgirls goes, "Effie, we all got pain!"

So, thank you, terrible tsunami, for reminding me of the opportunity to serve. Thank you, tiny terrors of the human condition, for offering me ways to connect and share with the men and women who cross my path today.

And, to the people of Japan: I kneel beside you today. I have no explanation. No scientific expertise. But I have a heart and it opens to you.

Hidden Levers and Dials

How do we respond to abuse?

Doubt, denial, disbelief, emotion, volition....un momentito, I think that's the list for when to use the Subjunctive in Spanish...wait, it's coming to me....

oh yeah...denial, hiding, people-pleasing, rage, control, obsession, anxiety, guilt, shame, humor and more.

I call these things responses, but we can also think of them as defenses, coping mechanims, strategies for survival. We've all got 'em. In many many areas, they work for us. Learning to laugh at crazy situations when we're young makes us pretty popular at work when we crack jokes that break the tension. A controlling disposition or obsessive tendency can make us highly skilled at devising and executing detailed plans.

Nothing wrong with humor, leadership or attention to detail. The question becomes...where do those responses/defenses/survival mechanisms get in our way? Do we crack jokes instead of connecting with our feelings or with other people? Do we make ourselves nutty by attempting to control outcomes of situations beyond our control?

Figuring out where our internal operating systems don't work gives us access to understanding ourselves and our choices in new ways.

So I ask you:

What's working for you?

What's not working?

And what can you do about it?