Year of the Snake

Apparently, the Chinese--or Lunar--New Year begins tomorrow. I say "apparently" because I am not really a close follower of this holiday and typically only really think of it if I eat at a Chinese restaurant around the time it is set to kick off. This year is no exception. While dining at a Chinese restaurant recently, my dining companions and I decided to search out which animal is to be the star of this Chinese New Year. It is the Year of the Snake. Further research showed that, in fact, the year I was born falls into the group of birth years considered snake years. This got my attention, and I continued my research. 

I'll admit, I have pretty much always had a mostly negative view of snakes. My grandmother was deathly afraid of all snakes and may have inadvertently passed some of her fear along to me. I only truly fear the venomous ones, but the trouble is, it is often hard to tell a venomous one from a non-venomous one until you are already too close, so I tend to err on the side of caution and avoid close proximity to all snakes if possible. Snakes, to me,  have always felt a little dangerous, creepy, evil, sneaky, and not at all cuddly or friendly. I have frequently referred to myself in a self-deprecating way as a "snake" because of my extremely dry skin and my apparent inability to produce my own heat. These aren't my favorite traits and the comparison has done nothing to give me a more favorable view of snakes. So, when learning about this Lunar New Year,  my first instinct was to be disappointed that I fall into the "snake" category.

But my curiosity about why a seemingly unpleasant animal would be included in the Chinese Zodiac as one of the top twelve most important creatures got the best of me. What I learned is that in Chinese Zodiac, the Snake is linked to metamorphosis, wisdom, and intuition. And the Snake Year is characterized by introspection, mystery, and intelligence. The positive qualities associated with the snake include resilience, creativity, and adaptability. This means snakes are uniquely equipped to overcome various obstacles and challenges. Snakes typically shed their skin 2-4 times per year, a process that accommodates growth and the removal of parasites and damage. The new skin that replaces the old is often more vibrant in color. And with all that knowledge, my perspective changed considerably. 

In this new year, I already know I will be shedding old skins and growing into new ones. And I will continue my quest to eliminate damage and parasites from my life. There will be challenges and obstacles that will require resilience, creativity, adaptability, introspection, wisdom, and intuition. Many parts of the changes ahead of me remain a mystery. But when it's all said and done, I know for sure a more vibrant me will exist, and I'm excited about that. I am a snake. This is my year. 

When Trees Speak

I was not built for cold weather, and I do not do well when temps fall below 65℉ approach freezing. So this week, as I have scraped ice off my windshield and watched big, fat, fluffy snowflakes fall from the sky, I have tried to remind myself to be grateful for the unseasonably warm weather we had earlier this month and the lovely afternoon walks I took. As I looked back at my pictures from those walks--because, yes, I take pictures even when I'm just walking in my own neighborhood, past sights I've seen countless times--I noticed how many pictures of trees I had. But not just any trees. I mainly had pictures of twisted, gnarly, crazy trees, in a state of dormancy. It's not that I don't appreciate straight, lovely trees that reach right up to the sky according to the secret Tree Code that tells them that is just what they are supposed to do. It's just that the wonky trees were the most fascinating and photo-worthy, the most interesting to observe. I went in for closer looks and better camera shots and couldn't help but notice that, without exception, the most interesting trees were the ones which had most likely sustained some damage. Maybe they had been hit by lightning or had been shaped or broken by strong winds or had developed diseases or had received injuries at the hands of humans. The mangled trees all have difficult stories, and they are all over-comers. As trauma came upon them, they had to adjust. They had to give up the code that says what a tree is "supposed" to be and just go on growing the best they could under the circumstances. They found ways to heal themselves and to continue standing. And now, the trauma they once experienced is what makes them so beautiful. 

I understand what it's like to be one of these trees. I have always lived with internal and external rules that prescribe what I am "supposed" to be and what my life is "supposed" to look like. And, as a recovering people pleaser and perfectionist, I have tried very hard to live up to the sometimes impossible expectations coming from within and from without. I have grieved all the traumas that have twisted and scarred and broken me and made it impossible for me to live out the code I had in my head of what I thought I was "supposed" to be. BUT, I'm figuring out ways to heal myself, and I'm still standing. I'm continuing to grow the best I can under the circumstances, and it could be argued that I'm more interesting and beautiful now than I've ever been. 

When you get close to trees, they will whisper secrets to you if you are patient and quiet enough to listen. And what I learned from the trees is that there is no one way that trees--or humans--are "supposed" to be. The real code actually states to just keep growing no matter how many traumas you face. Just. Keep. Growing. If it's straight and tall, fine. But if it's twisted and gnarled and broken, that's okay too. 

Growing Pains

When my daughter was young, she used to get the most horrific growing pains. The deep, throbbing, and sometimes shooting pains would take hold of her legs and cause tears to fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks. She would rub them and I would rub them until our hands were almost raw. And we both literally lost sleep over them. We tried warm baths and heating pads and muscle creams, but nothing really seemed to alleviate the pain except time. They would eventually go away in the same mysterious way in which they had arrived. 

When you do an internet search for "growing pains," you learn that, despite the moniker, they are not necessarily associated with growth. Some sites even suggest that there is no evidence that growth hurts, but here I must disagree. Even if the so-called growing pains are not caused directly by the stretching and elongating of bones and muscles, the fact that the pain is felt means that those muscles and bones are not yet strong enough to support whatever activities the child has engaged in, and until they are, there will be pain associated with their usage. The same is true for people (young or old) who exercise. You don't run your first mile without feeling some pain in your body. And when running a mile doesn't hurt anymore, you will feel new pain when you decide to start running three or four miles. Growth is always accompanied by pain. 

What's true for the body is also true for the mind. When we choose to or are forced to grow mentally and emotionally strong, we will feel pain as we face our demons and take responsibility for our choices and experiences. I am deeply committed to personal growth, which means I am often deliberately putting myself in the uncomfortable position of self-examination--although I will admit, I'm relatively new to this and actually spent years avoiding really examining myself at all, in an effort to minimize pain in my life. (Spoiler alert: I still had pain--and lots of it! But because I wasn't regularly examining myself and taking responsibility for my own contributions to my suffering, I found myself confused about where it was coming from, blaming Fate and other people, and adopting a victim mentality. The pain was still there, but I effectively made myself powerless to overcome it. I don't beat myself up over these years though, because you only know what you know when you know it.) These days, I am looking myself in the eye and asking myself hard questions and taking responsibility for the parts of me that aren't very lovely or that aren't as lovely as I would like them to be. And facing those things is unpleasant and painful in many ways. Taking a deep look requires that you either accept what you see as the best you can be or decide to make a change. Change is always hard. And growth hurts. But as with exercise, it's worth it when you feel the pride of overcoming obstacles, living a healthier life, and becoming your best self. 

Not only is it painful for me to grow; it is also sometimes painful (or at least inconvenient) to others for me to grow. 

My oldest son has a wonderful sense of humor, and laughing and making others laugh is one of his great passions. He loves to joke around, and he enjoys trying to get a rise out of others--not in a mean-spirited way, but just to keep things light and funny and maybe slightly shocking. For him, it's all about getting a reaction. I definitely have a track record of taking myself too seriously, so there have been times when I have not been able to laugh at his jokes or have taken offense at them. I have occasionally reacted with shock and horror, which sort of delights him, rather than mirth, which he would also accept. One day this week, he was trying to get a rise out of me, and I didn't react the way he thought I would. In fact, I didn't really react too much at all, which prompted him to declare, "I see you're growing again, which makes this not as much fun." I don't believe he was actually disappointed in me, and I believe he does support my growth, but this silly situation got me thinking seriously about how my growth doesn't just affect me. 

My personal growth will change my reactions and the way I show up in situations, and this can be uncomfortable and inconvenient for other people, especially people I have a close enough relationship with that there are expectations for how we behave towards each other in particular situations. Some people may be able to see and support my growth and adjust to new ways of interacting with me. But other people will be offended by my growth and will actually try to discourage it in subtle and non-subtle ways, so that they don't have to grow and change themselves. I am learning that people who don't genuinely support my growth are not my people. I am trying to surround myself with people who encourage and facilitate my growth, and I'm trying to be that kind of person for others. Growth is painful enough as it is. No need to multiply the growing pains by letting someone else's discomfort dictate how and when I grow.

No life without death

Imagine:

The wind blows--maybe gently or maybe violently--enough to shake a seed free from it's parent plant, which may be a small, insignificant weed or a majestic, towering tree. Depending on the weight of that seed, it either sails along on the breeze until the wind loses its breath and sets it down in some far-flung location, or it plummets swiftly to the hard earth with a thud. It may sit on the ground neglected for years. Or it may be snapped up by the sharp, unforgiving beak of a passing bird and deposited far away and left bruised. Eventually, though, it sinks into the dirt, moving further and further into the darkness. It is isolated and apparently cut off completely from the world it once knew. It settles into the isolation and seems to disappear completely. But above the surface of that never ending night, the sun keeps coming up every day. Water from unknown sources finds its way to the seed and offers whatever nourishment it can give. And after the appropriate amount of time, something strange begins to happen inside the seed. Something from within reaches for the light that isn't even visible. Some instinct demands that it take in the water as it flows all around. The seed does not remain the same. In fact, it is ultimately destroyed. Its shell is shattered, and it can no longer even be called a seed. But in its place a new, beautiful, life-giving entity emerges. And when it has left the darkness behind for good, it continues to move toward the light, becoming a more beautiful, more perfect version of what it was all along. 

It's interesting that the process of growth and life can feel so much like death and destruction. It's fascinating that something so beautiful can come from such difficult circumstances. Truly, it is the only way. The seed was always meant to become something amazing. But it never could have done so without the process that seemed like death. 

As it is with plants, so it is with people. Let us not resist the process that makes us who we are meant to be, even if it feels like death at times. And when we find ourselves buried in the darkness, let us not be overwhelmed by fear. Rather, let us keep reaching for those things and people who nourish us. Parts of us will surely be destroyed in the process, but that is okay. That's how growth works. The beautiful, life-giving parts of us will remain, and that is our gift to the world. 

Small Steps to Well-Being

Hi, friends. I need to admit that, for the last little while, I have felt stuck and even sometimes like I'm moving backward on my journey toward healing and true well-being. I have been struggling from time to time to show up and do battle with the untamed parts of my mind and have not always been able to convince myself that the things I want to be true about myself can ever be realized. For a while, I felt like I was making big strides in the direction I wanted to go, but then it seemed the scenery stopped changing noticeably and I had to ask myself if I was still even moving forward. Progress became a thing so small, I felt I was having trouble measuring it and was tempted to stop even trying to do so. Big strides in personal growth feel like progress and accomplishment, but the minutia of thought work feels more like a standstill sometimes.

It's like when you're building a house. All the concrete-pouring and framing and cabinets and doors are fun to watch because you can clearly see the house coming together before your eyes. House building becomes tedious, though, when you get to things like electricity and plumbing and insulation. You can't see the daily progress and you wonder what on earth is taking so long. It gets more tedious still, in my opinion, when you have to think about things like hinges and door stops and outlet covers. Things that, while technically visible, are just pretty boring and seem annoying to have to put brain cycles on. But, the truth is, none of us would much enjoy living in a house without electricity and plumbing, even if it had gorgeous walls and doors. And all those other little things certainly serve important purposes and truly make the house livable. 

Apparently this week the Universe has made a mission out of reminding me that I am still making progress even when it's hard to see or feel. That, in fact, the small stuff is THE stuff. Those small steps are everything. As Zeno, the founder of the Stoic school of philosophy, put it, "Well-being is realized by small steps, but is truly no small thing." My well-being, and yours, is no small thing. Let's keep taking however many small steps it takes to arrive at well-being, even when they feel tedious or we can't really see progress. Eventually, we will surprise and delight ourselves by the lives we've been able to create simply by putting one foot in front of the other.  

Here were some other beautiful reminders from the week:

  

The Good and Necessary Crisis

I'm looking for volunteers to sign up for an event they can't predict, that they might not be able to prepare for, that will hurt either a little or a lot, and that will almost certainly rock their world. Specifically, I'm looking for someone to be the FIRST to sign up. "What's the event?" you ask. The answer is: a crisis. Need more info? Well, here's the definition: a time of intense difficulty, trouble, or danger. Who's in? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? 

Of course, none of us wants a crisis to befall our lives. And especially at this point in 2020, we feel like we've had more than enough time of "intense difficulty, trouble, and danger" to last a lifetime. So let's put a different event on our volunteer sign-up sheet. One that will almost certainly make the participants feel strong, brave, grateful, content, and satisfied. Wait, do I already see some hands going up for volunteers before the event--personal growth--has even been announced?

The thing is, before we can get to that beautiful place of personal growth with all it's lovely attributes and benefits, we almost always have to go through some sort of crisis. To be sure, it feels like there is one happening every day--in our world, in our countries, in our states, in our cities, in our neighborhoods, in our homes, and in our minds. Some crises are sort of universally recognized as such: natural disasters, loss of a job, major illnesses and diseases, the death of a loved one, to name a few. They're big and catastrophic and in your face. But many crises are very personal and would be completely unrecognizable as such to anyone but the person experiencing them. That doesn't mean they aren't as intense. And I think it's important that we try extra hard to show grace to the people around us because we usually never know what crisis someone is facing. We don't normally get to choose the crisis we endure, so we're left to endure the ones that are foisted upon us by Fate. But for the one enduring it, a crisis is a crisis and it isn't comparable to someone else's. Crises are hard by definition, and there is often a feeling that they won't/can't be survived. And sometimes they can't be. But in most cases, they can and will be survived as we fortify our minds, put one foot in front of the other, and just do the next thing that needs doing. The key, I think, is to lean in to the crisis and open our eyes to see what it may be teaching us. We may not know the answer to that for quite some time, but in retrospect, we can often pinpoint the crisis as the event that led to the growth. It wasn't the thing we wanted, but it was the thing we needed to push us to be our next-level selves. Susan L. Taylor says it so well: "In every crisis there is a message. Crises are nature's way of forcing change--breaking down old structures, shaking loose negative habits so that something new and better can take their place." 

I doubt anyone reading this is now eager to be the first to sign up for a crisis, but I hope we can all see that the old adage is true: "That which doesn't kill us, makes us stronger." Whatever crisis you're facing today--and I know you're facing at least one--probably feels terrible right now. You may be wondering if you'll survive. There is a very good chance you will, so I hope you will be encouraged by these words. This crisis has a message for you. Something new and better is coming.

Healing Hurts...But It's Worth It

A good friend of mine posted a beautiful bit of wisdom on Instagram about the pain of healing, and it struck a deep, resonating chord with me, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. He talked about how painful physical therapy is for a person trying to recover from an injury, but how the experts in that field know just how much pressure to put and just how hard to push to ensure that the damaged and weakened body part becomes functional and strong again. His post was talking about how stoic philosophy can work in similar ways, touching us in ways that may feel uncomfortable at first, but that eventually lead to our healing. The truth of it met me where I was. 

But as I pondered the physical therapy analogy, my mind snapped to a few years ago when I obliterated my ACL and tore my meniscus to shreds, and I realized it might also be experiences, and not just philosophies, that hit those pressure points to make us stronger. I was pleased to recognize that my knee injury still had lessons to teach me even after all this time. The moment of the injury was shocking and painful, but honestly, that pain was nothing compared to the surgery and months of physical therapy I had to endure to get back to the point of normal functionality. I can't tell you how many times I sat on the therapy table with tears streaming down my face because what the therapist was asking me to do was truly excruciating. Some days I wanted to quit. Some days I wanted to feel sorry for myself. My mind wanted to say, "I CAN'T do this. And, even if I could, I'm not at all sure I WANT to. The pain is just too much." But then the therapist would ask me to do just one more rep, and I would wipe away the tears and do it because ultimately I wanted to be stronger, and I knew the only way to the other side of the pain was through it. 

Hiking at Machu Picchu was the particular goal I had in mind as I endured those torture sessions, and I didn't want my lack of effort months before a trip that was already booked to hinder me from experiencing everything amazing that destination promised. So, I cried and I cussed and I called my therapist a sadist, but I did what was asked of me. I didn't have to put in the work, of course. I could have quit at any time. But I knew there was something beautiful waiting for me on the other side of it. I sometimes didn't know if I would reach that goal, especially early on in my therapy. But I kept working and celebrating the little victories along the way. Nine months later, I was fully rewarded for my efforts when I traversed the difficult landscape of Machu Picchu and saw with my own eyes the awe-inspiring dream destination I had fallen in love with on the pages of National Geographic when I was a child. It was even more awe-inspiring to realize I had been carried there on a knee that had once been barely functional. The healing process was absolute hell, but the view from the mountain was worth every minute. 

I am currently in another season of healing. But this time it isn't a physical injury I'm recovering from. It doesn't matter. The process is the same. I have often sat on the edge of my bed with tears running down my face saying to myself, "I CAN'T do this. And even if I could, I'm not sure I WANT to. The pain is just too much." I'm sometimes tempted to just give up and wallow in self-pity. But then, from somewhere deep inside me, a little voice says, "Go ahead and see if you can get through just one more day. See if you can get just a little bit stronger." So, I wipe away the tears and lean into that pain so that I can come out on the other side and enjoy the mountaintop experience. This mountain, like Machu Picchu, isn't a place you just accidently arrive. It requires steady effort, determination, philosophies, and experiences that push and prod the tender places. I could certainly quit any time, but I would miss out on the growth and strengthening that leads to the awe-inspiring destination. No doubt: healing hurts. But coming out on the other side is definitely worth the effort put in.

Inspiration

Rainbows have always been the embodiment of hope, beauty, and magic for me. They are common enough that I don't feel silly looking for them when the conditions are just right but rare enough that, when I do see one, it never fails to stop me in my tracks and fill me with awe and wonder and gratitude. 

A few years ago, while traveling in New Zealand, which was the last stop on an epic, year-long around-the-world trip, I carried many bittersweet feelings with me. And literally every time I moved from one location to another within the country, a rainbow spread across the sky--an exclamation point on that particular part of the journey and a foreshadowing of the beautiful things still unseen. I was aware enough of what was happening to make a note in my journal of an idea worth exploring for my own personal growth: the concept of chasing rainbows. I even had a fleeting thought to create a blog with that name. 

But life got in the way, and the blog was never begun, even though a small piece of paper with the words "Chasing Rainbows" has been sitting on the cabinet beside my laptop all this time. Also during that time, personal growth has been an intense but rather quiet obsession of mine. I have been trying to figure out the things of life worth pursuing and, for me at least, the answer seems to be hope, beauty, and magical moments--the stuff of rainbows. 

I didn't fully appreciate until recently, though, that I hadn't been through enough storms to write a blog about chasing rainbows. Because that's the thing about rainbows: you see them when the sun starts to shine, but they only really ever come after the storm. And the darker the clouds, the brighter the rainbow. Life has given me the opportunity to endure some pretty intense storms in the last year, and I think I can finally truly appreciate the other side of what makes rainbows so special. The sun is starting to shine for me, and it's finally time to move those words "Chasing Rainbows" off of the paper and onto the Internet.

This blog is for me--a reminder of some of the things that have brought me through my own storms and an encouragement in the daily pursuit of those things that provide hope, beauty, and everyday magical moments. But even though I'm posting only for myself, I have come to realize that everyone is walking through their own storm, and maybe someone else needs this space, too. There are plenty of outlets in the world that keep us trapped under the dark clouds but few pointing us to the rainbows. This is a place to seek and find rainbows, and I'd be happy for you to join me on my journey.