After reading an email from Nerissa Neilds, a singer-songwriter/coach in our Joy Diet class, I looked at her whimsical website, listened to her music, and even went searching for her song lyrics. I was entranced by her artistry and her authenticity. She’s also the mom of a 7 week old and a 2 year old.
In one song a father sings about his daughter, who is growing up. This line got me:
I don’t want to hear your story
I can’t bear to know your world
I thought of my children, trying to make it as artists in New York City. And an old story erupted in my head—if only I had been more creative and whimsical and lighthearted when my kids were younger, they’d be happier now. The new twist to the story is that I should have been more like Nerissa. But, the story goes, I was a tense, crabby trial lawyer. I wish I could have a do-over, knowing what I know now. I should have shown them how to be happy. I should have been a better mother.
This is an old, very painful story—probably the most painful one I carry. It fuels deep sadness in me. Everything in my Joy Diet had to wait while I got back to the Truth.
How can I change this to another story that might work better? I can show my children a more joyful, lighthearted version of me now. I can’t do this when I perseverate on my “I should have been a better mother” story. I can help other mothers and children now, but only when I leave my past (and my painful untrue interpretations of it) behind me, and live what I know now.
Here’s the truth: my children are happy and they both recall having a very happy childhood. They might not have tried to live in New York City, or live artistic lives, if they hadn’t been exposed to my inextinguishable determination, which was part of my lawyer identity. Maybe they’d be miserable accountants if I’d been more creative. Without their exact past, including me as I was, they wouldn’t be who they are now. Their childhood was the perfect foundation for them.
After writing this and crying some, I re-read Nerissa’s lyrics. I realized that I’d focused on and interpreted lyrics in a way that created pain for me, and missed these words, the beautiful ending of the song:
She turns and says “I can see you
And I always knew there’d be a road back to here.”
Beautiful, my little Glory
You’ll always be my baby girl
Won’t you let me hear your story
Beautiful, my little glory
You’ll always be my baby girl
I am following your story
I am leaving you the world.
Who would I be without my story? Thanks, Nerissa, for helping me back to the Truth in such a beautiful way.
P.S. In the above video, Nerissa is playing guitar and the other woman is her singing partner and sister, Katryna. They are singing “Give Me A Clean Heart,” written by Nerissa. A perfect kick-off to a week of Creativity.
Okay, I looked over yesterday’s list, and to be perfectly honest, I want a gorgeous red leather purse. It’s awesome, and I so rarely see things that I like this much, but is it going to add meaning to my life? It’s a purse, no more, no less, at least as I see it today. I’m going to put that desire on hold for now and look at the others.
My fascination with the current elections (and my desire to stop spending time reading about it) gets closer to real, honest, meaningful desire, felt in my heart. Taking a closer look, my interest is really a reflection of wanting a better world, of caring for the future, of concern for children, including my own. My desire is to stop reading and start doing.
Hmmm–is this what Martha Beck calls a “beauty-queen desire?” Something politically correct and safe? Interesting that this one caught my attention so quickly.
Well, I’ve always worked in a service-oriented capacity, and even as a lawyer I did a lot of work for causes I believed in, issues I thought would change the world for the better. But maybe that begs the question, because I also have a long history of repressing my heart’s desires. This idea of changing the world is something I’ll have to feel around inside to get at–where is that wanting and caring coming from? Is it my head, which surely wants me to be a “good” person, or my heart, which may simply yearn for a really cool red bag?
Can we catch the low spirits of those close to us the way we can catch chicken pox? The bad news: we definitely can. But do we have to? The good news is an emphatic “NO.” Truth seekers have abundant immunity from this common illness of spirit.
What am I feeling? A bit uneasy and upset.
What hurts? Agitation and vibration in my belly.
What is the painful story I am telling myself? Someone close to me is caught in a story and in pain, and much of it is dirty pain. He shouldn’t do this. He should realize the truth, and cheer up.
Can I be sure this painful story is true? Well, no.
Is my painful story working? No.
Can I think of another story that might work better? Yes. I am responsible for myself, my mood, and my actions. If I stay in my own business, I can be loving and compassionate and supportive, yet not get infected with his story and his mood. My advice for him really pertains to me: I should realize the truth, and cheer up.
When I was in the mountains weekend before last, my friend and I talked extensively about how to avoid picking up the negative energy of our loved ones. One of her mentors gave her this advice: realize that you are bigger than the other person’s emotion—so big that you can hold their emotion without it impacting you. It can simply pass through you.
So, try it–next time you think your mood is attached to someone else’s and spiraling downward, realize that you are so large that you can hold their feelings, without your own mood and joy becoming infected. That, and a large serving of truth will provide you with natural immunity.
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?
What am I feeling today? Excitement with fear. What hurts today? Nothing hurts. But the little alarm bell of feeling is active inside my trunk, a shaky, vibrating feeling. What is the painful story I am telling? I have a fantastic opportunity to do something very cool, something I would love to do. It is something new for me, and I am telling myself that I don’t know how to do it and I won’t do it well. Is this painful story true? No. Is my painful story working? No. It limits my ability to enjoy my good fortune. It limits my faith in myself. It separates me from my joy. I am shrinking from my own good fortune and from my abilities. Can I think of another story that might work better? Yes. I am completely capable of doing what I have been asked to do. It is going to be amazing and fun.
This is a crystalline example of Marianne Williamson’s words about our fear of our greatness and strength. Here are her words “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? . . . . Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. . . . And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
As you journey towards your truth, notice where your discomfort arises around your fear of your light. Can you let it shine, as children do?
My truth today was confusion, question marks randomly interrupting my concentration. Here are the facts: my new assistant didn’t show up for work yesterday, didn’t call, didn’t answer her phone. Today, I called her husband to see if she was okay. Without explanation, he said, “She is fine. I’ll have her call you.” She hasn’t.
Here are the questions that pop up and distract me: Did I choose the wrong person? Did her references lie to me? Am I a poor judge of character, unable to spot an irresponsible person? Did she dislike me? Why didn’t she at least call? The truth is that these questions cannot be answered.
An interpretation that works better: I may never know the answers. It’s interesting to see how my questions shift the responsibility for her actions to me, as if it’s my fault. In this way, she has been my teacher. Luckily, she only worked for me for a few weeks, so I didn’t spend a lot of time training her. I will find someone more suitable in some way I can’t see right now. This feels much more clear. I can let it go now, the same way I let go of thoughts during my daily dose of “nothing.”
After my daily dose of nothing, today’s truth exploration:
1. What am I feeling? A little anxiety.
2. What hurts? It is a fluttering sensation in my belly. I crave a snack even though I am not hungry. I want food to bury this sensation.
3. What is the painful story I’m telling? This afternoon is going to be miserable because I have to finalize paperwork for my appointment with the accountant tomorrow morning to finish my 2007 income taxes. I hate doing this. It’s not fair. It’s not creative. I shouldn’t have to do this.
4. Is this painful story true? Well.., no, this story is full of dirty pain.
5. Is this story working? No. I feel upset and I want to avoid this afternoon’s task, which is why I missed the April 15 deadline.
6. Can I think of another story that might work better? Yes. Actually, my disorganization was much less in 2007 than it has been in the past. I’m improving. This year, I hired an assistant instead. She organized everything. My involvement has been minimal this year. I only have about two hours of work to do today. After tomorrow’s appointment, I will be totally finished with this. I plan to have the assistant organize 2008 now, and keep at it monthly, so next year will be easy.
I see that I’ve had a lot of dirty pain around this. I did the loving kindness meditation for a few seconds. My assistant should arrive in a few minutes, and by this time tomorrow, the whole project will be over.
This truth exercise took less than five minutes. Pretty good. I’m going to reward myself with some silliness. Enjoy.
