Inner180

Does she have an Inner Nag?

Over and over, I’ve been asked the same thing about my recent trip to Africa: what was the best part, the most important thing I learned, my biggest “aha”?  The people, the animals, the landscape, the country, and the African STAR workshop enriched my life in so many ways.  Did one thing stand out?

I puzzled over this, and then it hit me.

The biggest lesson for me was this–I went.  I didn’t take the advice of the whiney chorus of nagging, nay-saying voices in my head intoning “NO-O-O-O. Don’t go.  You shouldn’t do this,” somber as a criminal court judge handing down a life sentence without possibility of parole.

“You don’t have the time,” the clockwatcher crisply noted.  “You don’t have the money,” begged the voice of lack, convinced it’s the only thing between me and a life spent living under a bridge with my worldly belongings in a shopping cart.  “You didn’t plan this far enough in advance,” clucked the practical one as she studied the lists on her clipboard. “The long plane ride will wipe you out,” implored the hand-wringer that thinks danger and injury lurk around every corner.  “Everyone will think it’s foolish/be jealous/won’t like you,” pleaded the approval-junkie that desperately wants to get along well with others.

Is she looking for approval?

I’d heard them all before, cautioning me not to seize other opportunities in my life.  I’ve listened to their advice many times.  This time, I realized they were just the voices of limiting thoughts that weren’t true.   So I thanked them for their efforts.  And I ignored them.

Oh my stomach still did loops when I gave the airline agent my credit card information.  But I knew my feelings were coming from thoughts fueled by my Inner Nags.  So I bought the ticket.

And I had a fantastic trip with absolutely no regrets.  I was enchanted.  I learned.  I grew.  I shared amazing sights and transformative insights with fabulous people.  I had an adventure.  It felt light and airy and magical and free.  And it still does.

He doesn't seem to be worried about his future.

The Buddha taught that you can always know the sea because it always tastes of salt and you can always know enlightenment because it always tastes like freedom.

I can recall so many adventures that I’ve passed up because I chose to believe that chorus of hyper-cautious, sensible voices.  This time I listened to the deeper, wiser voice inside me.  “Go,” it whispered.  “This is an opportunity of a lifetime.  Don’t pass it up.  Go.”

Recognizing and listening to that still, quiet voice of truth is the greatest lesson I learned.   And it’s delicious.  It tastes like freedom.

I practiced law for a lo-o-ong time.  Doubt, disbelief, and challenge is a blood sport in the law, and nothing is accepted without solid, credentialed proof.  Now, I hang around people who believe in magic, and the more I’m with them and the more I play with magical processes, the more I agree that there are wonderful, whimsical, magical forces guiding our lives.  But I still think I’m rational and intelligent.

A couple of months ago I made a vision board–my experiment with the concept of influencing reality by regularly viewing inspiring images. I created a collage of African animals, illustrating a deep desire to someday visit the place where humankind first emerged and magnificent animals roam freely.

A few weeks later, I dreamed I was a heroine in a broad, gray-green African veldt, diverting a charging rhino from attacking the small children with me.  Then, I met some wonderful South Africans in Chicago at our coaches’ convention.  And I began to trade Facebook messages with a coach trainee who, unknown to me at the time, is South African.

And just last week, my lunch was served by a lovely South African woman who proudly told me about her beautiful country.

The idea of actually going to Africa in the near future never really occurred to me though.  I could have given you very solid evidence of why and how it would probably never happen.

Just a few days ago, going to Africa existed only in  a mélange of images on my vision board.  And now it’s happening, and at warp speed.  Next Saturday morning, I’ll begin a 26-hour flight to South Africa, to join Martha Beck and a small group of amazing people, many of whom I’ve met either in person or online in just the last month.

Coincidence or synchronicity?  Until I glued those pictures to a slab of foam-core board and propped it up it my bedroom, I knew no South Africans, never had dreamt of Africa, and thought the chances I’d actually get there in my lifetime were wildly improbable.

Today, magic is looking like the rational choice of intelligent people.  I can hardly wait to make my next vision board.  Shall I visit the moon, or stay here on earth to become a principal dancer with the New York City Ballet?

And you?  What are your wildly improbable dreams?  Post them here, make a vision board, and tell everyone you know about your secret desires. Let your imagination run wild, and get excited with the realization that dreams really do come true, and magic just might be the force that makes them happen.

Go ahead and do it! It’s a rational, intelligent act.

There’s an ancient mango tree next to my cottage; it’s magnificent, with a thick, gnarled brown trunk and long glossy leaves.  How many hurricanes it’s withstood is anybody’s guess.  It’s been barren for at least 35 years, which is how long I’ve had this place.  This year, inexplicably, it flowered, and then, magically, massive clusters of fruit appeared.

A few weeks ago, its mangoes began falling.  I sampled one, but it was tasteless.  The fruit drops day and night, thudding on the roof and plopping to the ground, but I’ve ignored it, except to gather it up from time to time and bury it, to keep it from attracting insects.  I have two other trees providing fruit, so I gave it no further thought, except at midnight whenever a hard, green mango smacks onto the roof and rolls to the ground.

As I cleaned up the fruit this morning, I spotted a couple of really pretty, golden specimens.  Curious, I took them in to sample, and they were an extraordinary surprise–sweet, tender, and delicious.

I think the tree is telling me that we can always regenerate,  sweeten, and offer the best of ourselves to the world.  And that sometimes, our assumptions may not be true, even when we think we’ve investigated them.

Aren’t those messages we can always take to heart?  No matter how many times we’ve told ourselves we couldn’t do something, no matter how many times our creative mind seemed barren, no matter how many times we’ve failed to seize the opportunities that come to us, we can always regenerate and bloom and sweeten.  And even when we’ve told ourselves the same old story, over and over, we can look inside again, and find liberating new truth.

The mango tree is just outside my bedroom window, and late at night, as I’m drifting off to sleep, I hear it out there, releasing it’s sweet golden offerings.  I hear them rustling through the palm fronds as they descend, then landing in the thick jungle of vines below.  Each time I hear it, I remember all of the regeneration and opportunity and sweetness and truth in the world.  And that whether I pay attention or not, they’re there–delicious surprises,  just waiting for me to notice.

When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me one day what I did at work. I told her I worked at the college – that my job was to teach people how to draw. She stared back at me, incredulous, and said, “You mean they forget?” ~~ Howard Ikemoto

We do forget don’t we?  What happens to us, to our creativity?  How do we forget that we can draw and dance and paint and playfully express ourselves in thousands of creative, fun, meaningful ways?

I’ve been reading Ellen Langer’s excellent exploration of creativity, On Becoming an Artist. Here’s a rundown of some of the culprits she names as enemies of our creative expression:

–Judging your creative ideas or attempts.  (“Ugh.  My painting sucks.  I’m just no good at it.”)
–Comparing your creations to the work of others. (“My photography is just not as good as Ansel Adams’.”)
–Fear of making a mistake.  (“I can’t draw noses right, ever.”)
–Believing the myth that creativity requires special talent or gift and that we don’t have it.  (“I’d love to write a poem, but I don’t have any talent.”)

If you are telling yourself any of this, notice the effect it has on you.  Notice how you feel.  Are you inspired, do you want to sit at your piano when you are critical?  Do want to pick up a pen?

Where are you judging yourself, comparing yourself, fearing a mistake?  Let it go and just dive in.  Enjoy the process of painting, with no thought about the quality of your result.  Grab your camera, and point it at the light.  Forget about whether a masterpiece will emerge.

Remind yourself of the fun it is to put beautiful color on paper, that practice or a class will improve your skills, and that even accomplished artists spend time developing their gifts.  Find the thoughts that liberate and inspire you.

Take a lesson from Howard’s daughter—remember that you know how to draw.  You know how to paint and sing and dance, too.  You’ve just forgotten how for the moment.  When you put down the thoughts that get in your way, and instead, pick up the pencil, you’ll remember exactly how to do it.

I once met a woman who won the lottery.  Even though she’d already won about $500,000, she still bought lottery tickets regularly.  She told me it is very common among lottery winners to continue to play the lottery.  She absolutely knew she was lucky, and actually intended to win a second time.

My friend Kathy says she has great parking space luck.  Every time we go somewhere we park right by the front door of wherever we’re going.  She says this always happens.

I no longer think that this is random or coincidental or weird.  I think we create our luck.  We choose to allow it into our lives.  So how can we create more luck in our lives?  Try these suggestions:

Notice the luck you already have. Remember how you found that amazing jacket that fits perfectly, the last one in the store, the one that was on sale?  And how all of the traffic lights were lined up green as you drove downtown?  And how you sat next to someone at a luncheon who became your best client?  You are lucky already, aren’t you?   Now, just notice it more.

Believe that life happens for you, not to you. Even when circumstances are tough—you are laid off from work or your teenager is picked up by the police for violating your town’s curfew—know that this opens a doorway to something positive, something better for you.  Maybe it will be a more satisfying job or a chance to connect more deeply with your teen.  Whatever happens, allow it to be an opportunity to move forward, to allow something better, to grow.

Think like a lucky person. Our thoughts determine our feelings and from there we act in ways that bring us the results we get in life.  Lucky people think they are lucky, and act in ways that confirm it.

My friend Kathy has good-parking karma because she begins and ends her search with the best parking spaces in the lot.  She does this because she expects an opening there.  If she searched for a space in the back row, that’s where she’d find one, and that’s where she’d park.  And she would never think she was lucky.

Because they think they are lucky, lucky people feel lucky and act like they are lucky.  In other words, they make their luck.

So what would happen in your life if you thought you were lucky?  What if you expected life to be filled with wonder and magic and luck and great parking spots?  What thoughts would you think?  How would you feel if you believed that wonderful things would come your way, all day long?  Would you act differently?  Would you look for the best parking spaces in the lot?  Try it.  Then just notice what happens.

Is there a point at which we are so sublime and confident, that we can put ourselves into new challenges and not worry, not feel any fear, not have one thought that we might look foolish or screw up  or that our ideas might be rejected? Clients ask me this all the time.  I doubt it.

The diver pictured holds the Guinness Book of World Records title for jumping over 35 feet into a kiddie pool holding 12 inches of water. That’s right–12 inches of water.  His stage name is Professor Splash and I had an opportunity to talk with him a couple of years ago.  I asked him about whether he was afraid when he did a jump.  “I’m scared out of my mind,” he told me.  “I just jump anyway.”  You can watch him set a world record here.

I attended a workshop once with Debbie Ford, a multi-bestselling author who is physically stunning and super-poised.  She asked the audience, “Do you think I am never scared?  I am scared all the time.  I just don’t let it stop me.”

Doubt and fear seem to be widespread human responses to challenging situations.  After we’ve learned to see through our old beliefs, and we begin to develop new ones, those old thoughts lose their power to stop us.  I need approval, I screwed up, the world may think my ideas are wacky—these thoughts may still pop up again, particularly when we have placed ourselves at risk by doing something new, something that challenges our comfort zone.

We feel the old fears, and hear the old thoughts and worries when we take risks.  But we can recognize them for what they are—just thoughts.  And from this place, we can keep going. The fear and worry lose their power over us when we don’t let them stop us.  This is what it feels like to grow.

In a comment to yesterday’s post, Jenny writes: It seems almost effortless to cultivate joy and acceptance when I am away from my normal life and routine. As soon as I return, I fall into the old patterns so easily.  Do you have any ideas for allowing the joy and acceptance to flow into your daily routine as easily as they do when you are away?

Here’s what I’m wondering: what if the statement, “It is easier to be joyful when I am away from my daily routine” is itself a painful story?  What if “when I am in my normal routine,  joy eludes me” is simply another version of it?   What would happen if you exposed those statements to our Truth questions:

What am I feeling?
What hurts?
What is the painful story I am telling myself?
Can I be sure this painful story is true?
Is my painful story working?
Can I think of another story that might work better?

What might you discover?

My yoga teacher, Natalie Morales, said this in class yesterday, “Let go of your struggles for now.”  Isn’t that what we do with our Joy Diet practices?  We let go of our struggles while we do Nothing, as we seek the Truth, as we connect with our Desires, as we express our Creativity.

As we let our struggles go, we discover they are optional.  We learn that we can create struggles, and that we can let them go, for a few moments, for the length of a yoga class, and in many instances, for as long as we choose.

My creative exploration continues.  My list contains Barcelona, Ischia, Italy, the Scottish Highlands, Jamaica, South Africa.  Why?  Barcelona for the beauty of the Gaudi architecture, Ischia to discover my great-grandmother’s home, the Highlands to connect with my mother’s forebears, Jamaica to be of service, Paris because its there.

Then I realized I could probably take my coaching practice to Paris or Barcelona, and stay there for an extended time.  I know a writing coach who is in Paris for six months, and is still working with her US clients.  She speaks with them on Skype, which is a free service.  I could get an apartment in Europe, and stay as long as I wanted. Now that’s an idea that is really exciting.  It seems really far-fetched and scary, too, until I realize that what makes it far-fetched and scary is the way I’m thinking about it.

The writing coach in Paris righ now obviously didn’t think it was such a crazy idea. For now, I’ll take Natalie’s advice, and let go of my struggles.  I’ll just enjoy the excitement of this idea.

What am I feeling? Excited, happy, with a tinge of dread.

What hurts? A heavy place on the left side of my heart.

What is the painful story I am telling myself? Don’t get too excited. Don’t count on it.  Don’t believe it until you see it.  People change their minds.  This might not happen.  Don’t get your hopes up.

Can I be sure this painful story is true? No. Quite the opposite.  This painful story is completely unverifiable and speculative.

Is my painful story working? Nope.  In fact, it is dampening my excitement and joy.

Can I think of another story that might work better? Yep.  Something fantastic happened and I am going to enjoy it to the max.  I am going to let myself get really excited and feel my happiness.  It is safe to be happy.

Compassion: I understand these thoughts are trying to protect me from disappointment, trying to keep me safer.  So I’m going to understand, with tenderness and compassion, that they are the thoughts of little girl disappointment, trying to protect me now, and inadvertently creating unnecessary joy-robbing disappointment when everything is going wonderfully well.

Some of the comments earlier this week reminded me of a time when my fear seemed both relentless and no longer tolerable.  One night, on Byron Katie’s website, the line, “Who would you be without your story?” leapt of the screen and smacked me right between the eyes.  On the spot,  I registered for her nine-day school, even though I knew virtually nothing about it.

The school began one week later, which was fortunate, because if I’d had longer to think about it, I wouldn’t have gone.  All that week, that question haunted me.  Who would you be without your story? “Nothing,” the voice inside answered.  Who would I be without my story? “Nothing,” was the only answer that came, over and over.  I’ll be nothing.

There would be no me left–just a boring, plain vanilla, hollow shell of a person. With nothing to say.  No desire, no opinion, no humor.  No fun.  Uninteresting.  Empty.  Lifeless.  Nothing.

I told this to a friend and fellow coach a few weeks ago.  Peals of laughter erupted from her.  “Yeah, boring!’ she howled, “you are really plain vanilla and boring.”

But at the time, I could not separate myself from my stressful thoughts.  Without them, there was nothing left.

Sometimes, the idea of living joyfully, content and fully alive, may be scarier than staying where we are, because we fear the loss of something essential to our identity.  And that’s just another part of our story.  Another thought, another untruth.

As we separate from our stressful stories, we become our own observers.  As Eckhart Tolle reminds us, “The only way you can gradually go beyond the conditioned thought process is to simply be there as the witness.”

This week, can you separate a little more, and begin to witness yourself in the process of having your stressful thought?