It could be something to eat, something to make or something to learn. It could be to spend time indoors or outdoors, walking or sitting. It is hard to say what my craving will be.

One thing I know for sure is that I get to choose, each and every day, how I will satisfy my desire.
I have a few criteria to help decide which direction to go. In my new book, The Joy Factor Recipe Book – A Common Sense Approach to a Delicious Life, I share recipes that will raise your Joy Factor, so you can attract more of what you want.
One of the ingredients I offer is to honor your passions. Your passions are the things that bring you the most fulfillment. When you make decisions from what you’re passionate about vs. what you think you should do, it opens up space for being pleased. Imagine experiencing satisfaction instead of distraction or frustration. How would that impact the flow of your day?
On a recent Sunday, all I really wanted to do was to stay home and chill out. My inner chatter had me believing I had too much to get done to sit and relax. Yes, I’ll always have a lot to accomplish. Thankfully, over my morning coffee, I remembered that one of my top passions is ‘to be satisfied with what is.’ With that in mind, I chose to stay in my pajamas.  All day. I had to decide time and time again that this act of self-care (another ingredient in my book) was satisfying my craving for serenity.

Putting my attention on what’s most important to me, rather than running here and there and worrying about what I was missing by staying home, was wonderful. It gave me the energy and zest to ease into the week with a knowing that I honored my craving.  That is delicious.

What are you craving? How will you satisfy that desire?

Learn more about The Joy Factor Recipe Book – A Common Sense Approach to your Delicious Life here.

Find “about ” and ” credits” files. Waffle over how much to use. Or how little. Copy and paste. Edit. Format. Correct. Print. Correct. Reformat. Print.

Copy and paste seven files. Edit. Format. Print draft. Damn. Fight with Word. Curse Microsoft. Curse again. Oh. There must have been a page break there. Delete that. Argh. There are two copies of one file – where did the second one come from? Print. Proof again. S**t. Yet another not-so-elegant transition. Forgot a notation. Take a break before I print. Review. Print.

Find camera. Photograph the subject. Upload.  Where are the photos?!!  Oh, I’ve updated operating system since last upload. Poke around. Find photos. Import to iPhoto.  Edit. Blah! Bad shadows. Rinse and repeat. Matte or gloss? Print. Border is inconsistent. Print again.

3pm. Did I have lunch? How do I indicate which image goes with which story? Oh. Doh: number them. Search for razor-point Sharpie. Great gussie! Where are my mailers? Mad search ensues.

4:45. Dash to post office. Address one of their mailers at counter. Hand to clerk. Swipe debit card at 4:58 pm.

5:15. Pour wine. Sit on screened porch. Stare into space. Stare into space.stare into space. stare into spacestareintospace. . .

It took SIX hours to get a twenty-page proposal printed and mailed. SIX. (Well, really five, plus the hour looking for my stash of Priority Mail mailers and the Sharpie. But still.)

Twenty years ago, this project would have taken nearly a week to prepare. Remember when we had to type, and use correction tape or liquid, and retype (and retype) to get it perfect? Then save to a floppy disk and go to Kinkos to print and copy en route to the post office? (I’m still too ticked at HP to give them any credit.) But remember when  you had only a dot matrix printer?

I LOVE MY MAC.

His name is Newton. He works hard for me. He holds my data, and he finds it when I ask, nicely. He makes me look good. And he does it quickly. Usually.

Pronunciation: fi-lah-me-thee                                                                                                                    

Part of Speech: Noun

Meaning: The love of learning.

Notes: dating back to the end of the 16^th century. Its family includes an adjective, philomathic or philomathical and an adverb philomathically.  (Thanks to Dr. Goodword.  www.alphadictionary.com)

“Personally I’m always ready to learn, although I do not always like being taught.” —Sir Winston Churchill

Neither of my parents loved their jobs; they worked out of duty and responsibility.  Nor could they understand how seduced and enthralled I was by design. My college years fueled me, and I recounted the connections, the ah-has, the gleanings at the dinner table most nights.

I have been fed, spiritually and professionally, by my life’s work.

To this day, I do my best work—indeed, my best living—when I am learning. With each client, an interesting conversation, a lecture or film, every book. . . opportunities abound. I am philomathic!

At TEDxAtlanta this week, I heard some mighty fine music, and 18 minutes from nine speakers who are experts in their field, all of whom have found something unique, some new take, or a spark that led to a new application or outcome. Each provocative and compelling.

Once home, I stared into space for a while, then phoned to cancel my evening plans. I’d had as much pleasure as I could take in for one day—like eating, and not being able to take another bite.

I feel such gratitude for my ability to think, feel and understand. The willingness to give what Dr. Rita Charon called “exquisite attention” to people who have such passion for their noble work, inspires me to listen more, do good, and be better.

Oh! How I love learning.

Carpe diem

If you haven’t  discovered TED.com, don’t wait another minute. Go there NOW and watch this: http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/jill_bolte_taylor_s_powerful_stroke_of_insight.html

Then watch http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/ken_robinson_says_schools_kill_creativity.html

Then,  pick something—anything— at random, even something you think may not be interesting, and expect to be wowed.

I crave to quench my thirst for more; more of the things that make my heart soar.

Those are simple things, like someone who pays attention when the light turns green and makes the arrow-

yes, I am talking to you, canary yellow 1978 Firebird!

Or the joy of using a public restroom without  having sprinkles of someone else’s p-p on the seat-

yes, I am talking to you, the lady who used the bathroom before me at the Starbucks in Decatur!

And, meeting delightful people at the tables around me as we all get cool and caffinated.

That is what makes my heart sing, bringing my internal temperature down to cool and joyful.

Joy comes from spending time with my sister and sharing juicy information. Here is a combination of both to raise your Joy Factor.

“Do you have any regrets?”  Deneice asked when I turned fifty.

I don’t hold onto regrets for long, so I had to search hard.

I don’t know when or why, but somewhere, sometime, I stopped singing.

Last week, some Sacred Harp—or shape note—saangers were at the Decatur library. They don’t perform, they demonstrate. And then you sing too.  Or “saang.” Antique saangin’. A capella. Loud and forceful, in four parts. There is no need to be good: when in doubt, saang louder. It is not timid, but full out.

In the back of my Sacred Harp tune book is a scribbled note from fifteen years ago.  Someone said it sounds like “a Bulgarian peasant woman calling hogs.”

The lyrics may not jive with my spiritual beliefs. Nor is my voice as clear and true. But I don’t care too much. It is FUN, and I am singing again! It juices the psyche and fills the soul.

Poet David Whyte recounts a discussion about fatigue with a Benedictine monk who said, …”the antidote to exhaustion is not necessarily rest. …The antidote…is wholeheartedness. You’re so exhausted because you can’t be wholehearted at what you’re doing…[for] your real conversation with life is through poetry.”

It gave me pause. What am I not doing with my whole heart? At what price?

Perhaps this is the draw for the twenty and thirty-something urbanites discovering what the geezers have known for decades. Shape note saangin’ brings great joy because it is wholehearted.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaLnG7vfVOc

Carpe diem

Rebecca

Canadian poet Merle Shain understood love. She declared: “If I were to marry again tomorrow, I wouldn’t give up one friend. I’d take them all with me as a sort of dowry and tell my new husband that he was getting a rich wife.”

I’ve always wondered about girls and women who leave their friends behind when a man steals their heart.  I don’t get it. What I loved most about The Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood was the life-long friendships.  Their husbands got a handful!

Last weekend I sat with three women whom I haven’t known long, but already feel that I know well. The breadth of self-disclosure was stunning, the honesty was liberating, the awareness motivating.

I’ve been thinking since about friends—the ones who bring me real joy, what makes them so valuable, and how they touch my soul with such depth, again and again.

There is always genuine interest, good conversation, and enjoyable companionship.  We share similar values, but experience and beliefs different enough to be interesting, provocative, and moving. There is empathy and authenticity.

Those who love me most will tell me when I have peas in my teeth, and when I am wrong in my thinking. More, true friends inspire me to be and do my best. They mirror my strengths, and equally, my weaknesses. They’ll let me wallow for a while when things go awry—and they listen completely—then goad me to seek solutions.  They nudge me to venture into new territory, and cheer me on whether I stumble or thrive. They laugh at my jokes. As a Native American friend would say, “They give me thunder.”

They are my champions. They give meaning to my life.

And I have the honor of doing the same for them.

Friends and family are oxygen for my soul.

She went out to play Thursday afternoon, and didn’t come home that night. Or Friday, or Saturday. Nor Sunday or Monday.  I put notices on the neighborhood message boards, asked friends to hold the vision of her return, and tried not to fret. Cats do these things, sometimes.

There were moments of imagining the worst, then of knowing she was fine.  Moments of intense longing, and wishing.

Finally, she came bolting in, mewling loudly, demanding food and water. I filled her bowls, and waited for her to tell me about her five-day adventure.  But noooooo. No explanation. No apology.

I tried to be at least a little ticked at her, but wasn’t able to. My friend Christina said of four-leggeds: “ . . . they know not the ultimate depths of how they touch us… which may be part of the charm they hold.”

Dictionaries say joy is “great happiness,” which I think of as a big emotion. But what I love most is her rubbing up against my ankle, or nestling against my side or my neck on the sofa. Sliding under the covers to curl up in the crook of my knee or at my feet as I sleep. Her purr after she dines or when I scratch her neck. My elation at her homecoming was somewhat short-lived, yielding quickly to the simple pleasure of her presence, her company, her touch.  Is there something smaller than “great happiness” but equally as grand? As important?

I don’t know what it’s called, but every day Miss Kitty brings me sustainable, consistent, unadulterated joy. I’m glad and grateful that she’s home, and I think she feels the same way. She’s been stuck to me like Velcro ever since.

Purrrrrrrrrrrr. Purrrrrrrrrrrr.

Carpe diem

Rebecca

What is it about adorable dogs that fills my heart with joy? It is there sweet faces and adorable personalities.
Spend some time with Denver and you will know what I am talking about.

This video raises my Joy Factor in less than 2 minutes. I am sure you have already seen it. Watch it again and let yourself feel the joy……mmmmmm….bacon flavored….