Lean on Me
Sometimes in our lives we all have pain 
We all have sorrow
But if we are wise
We know that there’s always tomorrow
Lean on me, when you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend
I’ll help you carry on
For it won’t be long
‘Til I’m gonna need
Somebody to lean on
Bill Withers
This week, life has offered me a few lemons. What do you do with lemons? You can taste their sourness or if you are a Joy Strategist like me, you make lemonade. In theory, making lemonade is easy. Yet this week, I have needed a lot of help with this simple process. What I crave from this lemonade is to taste the sweetness of life amidst unfortunate situations. 9 months ago we rescued a sweet dog named Eli. Over our time together, we have realized that Eli is not the right dog for us. With a very heavy heart we have decided to find him another home. I wish I had bought stock in Kleenex before we made this decision.
In the middle of all of this, I launched into the Next Top Self Help Author contest (ps—vote for me today!) to win a publishing contract for my upcoming book about finding joy inside of yourself. This has been a true test of walking my talk. Along with using the 4 ingredients that I share in the book, I have found 3 powerful things that have helped me experience joy through this current event.
One is to call my friends. It is great when they are there and can talk; they are so helpful. When they have not been available, I lean into my theme for the year. For the past 10 years, I have picked a theme to support me on my journey. This year my theme is to Expect the Best. Those 3 words have lifted me up when I am spiraling down in worry and doubt. Last, but not least is music. This morning I went to Bill Withers song, Lean on Me. His words remind me that there is so much support available to us in so many different shapes and sizes. It is just a matter of leaning in, feeling what needs to be felt and ultimately, choosing joy again and again. And of course, the best leaning in is the hug from my husband.
The Art of Silence
This weekend Jon and I setout on a journey to the North Carolina Mountains in his 1980 Land Cruiser. I love that big chunk of metal, even if it does eat up gas. I justify the environmental assault with the fact that it’s a recycled vehicle. Anyway, the radio was broken so we journeyed mostly in silence.
Jon and I are coming up on our three-year anniversary and I’ve noticed that the “get to know you“ conversations, the ones that would keep us talking for hours on end, are lingering. We now chat about our day, and lately, about our future. Sometimes, we are together silently.
My friend Chris and I take a weekly hike up Stone Mountain. It’s one of my favorite things to do. We chat up the mountain, and down the mountain, about everything but occasionally, we run out of things to say. It can feel a bit odd. I find myself trying to think of something else to say but lately, I’ve decided not to.
For women, I think silence is harder than it is for men. Sharing through conversation is how women seem to bond. I notice in myself that silence can feel awkward. For the last few weeks, instead of filling the silent spaces with conversation, or with other alternatives (radio, TV, computers) I’ve tried to embrace it.
The more I practice the art of silence the more I notice my surroundings. I’m recognizing that there is a bigger experience happening around me, and I feel peaceful. I believe that social interaction is necessary for happiness but I am learning that I can jump in and out of a social happening and have a richer understanding of the moment.
This month, I’m finding moments of joy in silence.
Savor the flavor
Washing dishes has never been a favorite chore, but there is one exception— when I truly love cleaning up after a meal.
Few things are more fun than a small gathering of folks I adore. Now, I’m not a great cook, but I’ve collected simple, failsafe and tasty recipes that require little attention at serving time. But more important than the menu or the wine is the guest list. I’ve learned that people who are interesting are interested, for they inquire and listen as much as they talk. A dinner party for 4 to 6 is the perfect size— having more than six people at a table will almost always splinter into two conversations. Six or fewer and magic can happen: discussions can roam in many directions, banter is easy to follow, ah-has are abundant, and deep connections are seeded.
There is more, though—intention and meaning are my co-hosts, as ritual and history set the tone. The extra three minutes it takes to put out Mama’s silver instead of the stainless. Using my grandmother’s butter dish. Cloth napkins. The wine glasses that fill the hand so perfectly. The delightful salt cellar and tiny silver spoon. China cups and saucers or demitasse for after-dinner coffee. Candles, and dim lighting beyond the table to minimize distraction. Little footstools under the table for more petite guests, for even in straight back chairs, folks linger for two, three or four hours.
Afterward, I savor the evening as I tidy the kitchen, all but the wine glasses. Life lesson #7: always wait until morning to wash the stems.
And en route to the kitchen the next day, I stop to bask in the remnant joy, the energy that lingers in the space. Dear friends and family always leave some laughter and love behind, which fills my heart anew.
The First Day of School
The First Day of School
It seems like I just blogged about the “Last Day of School,” and here I am writing about the first day of school. I call this phenomenon the “Acceleration of Time,” as I age it seems as though the days, weeks, months and years are all getting shorter. About 2 weeks ago I peeked in at my son in his room. “I’m bored,” he declared. I tried not so smile, sneer or laugh as I looked at him in front of his computer, guitar and amp, IPod, DS, Guitar Hero and PlayStation. I tried not to smile, sneer or laugh. I was just about to preach to him about when I was his age I had this new game called “Pong,” but decided to save my sermon for something more redeeming. “Good thing school is starting in a week,” I stated as I turned and left.
In review, my kids’ goals this summer as stated in the “Last Day of School” were to sleep, play guitar and get his “first kiss.” They slept, most definitely. They played guitar, can’t tell you how many trips we made to the guitar string store. And rumor has it that he got his first kiss about a month ago, though the time, place and recipient are all unknown.
So keeping with tradition, I asked all of them individually what they most look forward to at the first day of school. Once again, the answers surprised me—meeting my new teacher, reconnecting with my friends and “the Hugs.” And sure enough she loves her new teacher, he has reconnected with his friends for every available moment, and my wife swears the other was smothered by a harem of huggers.
The last two weeks have been filled with shopping for new school clothes and supplies and filling up the calendar with all the new activities—jazz band, church youth gatherings, flag football, piano lessons, girl scouts, FFA meetings and dance class. Can’t you just feel the accelerator pressing down?
Healing Happens
The first time I saw the “s**t happens” bumper sticker was twenty-some-odd years ago, on the back of a nearly-new, shiny, wrecked Camaro. The law of attraction in action.
I broke my wrist, two weeks after moving home, office and studio. At first it seemed like bad luck. It had been a hard move. I was dog-tired, running on empty. I had no choice but to rest. With long hours of sleep and naps in between, I began to feel a bit blessed, and for the first time in months, mentally refreshed.
The list of things I could not do sometimes felt endless. Tying the sash on my bathrobe took six, seven, eight or more tries. Cutting meat was not possible. Nor fastening my seatbelt (much less a bra.) But the things that were possible—if I could only figure out how—became adventurous and amusing. The left brain would say, “this can’t be done.” The right brain would counter, “How can I pull this off?” The night I opened a bottle of wine I was triumphant. It had taken 20 minutes.
Friends and family rallied. They brought food that could be opened, prepared and eaten with one hand. They helped me dress, wrote checks, and drove when I would feel too untethered without a seatbelt. They schlepped boxes, unpacked, and made my bed (putting on a fitted sheet with one hand could be an Olympic event,) put barrettes in my hair, and hung artwork. It’s hard to be grumpy or bitter when your heart is full of gratitude.
Healing happens. One day, the pinkie finger could push the “P” and “enter” keys. Soon after I could zip and snap the waistband of my trousers. Bending my palm back enough to hold a dollop of shampoo, then massaging it into my scalp, was glorious beyond words. Pulling the gearshift in my car from park to drive made me squirm with delight. Ten days later, I could push from drive to park. To pick up and put a carrot in my mouth? Oh, my. Finally I could not only hold, but use, a fork. And being able to write! To doodle! To journal. To sign my name IN CURSIVE. I was giddy with pride and relief.
Joy can come in a package so small that we overlook it, but rarely have I known joy any greater than being able to wash my hair and sign my name. Rebecca L. Ewing
Carpe diem
The Joy Factor
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