Let Myself Be Happy

I’ve spent some time the last couple of days going through my daily journals. I wanted to get a sense of the sequence of some events that have happened in my life, mostly in my forties. My forties were tumultuous times for me. I think they are a time of tumult for a lot of people. In your twenties, you are still figuring things out, and that fact is expected, and accepted by you, and by the grace of everyone else. In your thirties, you are in go-go-go/do-do-do mode with very little time for real and honest introspection. It is typically in your forties when the cracks start to show, and the internal questions start banging in your head, such as are you happy with the directions your life is going in? Are you living a genuinely authentic life, true to your own intrinsic values?

It was in my forties, that my husband and I started to take things in a different direction for ourselves and for our family which was truer to what we really wanted in life. In truth, we were sort of forced into it. The dramatic moment of becoming “the poster kids for the Great Recession” (against our strong, and stubborn wills at the time) helped facilitate that movement. And what once seemed like the worst thing that ever happened to us, became the best catalyst to project us towards being more real and conscious about our choices for our family and for ourselves. (The Universe knows what it is doing.) When I read over the journals (I only started consciously journaling on a daily basis in 2013, when I was 42), I am grateful to my younger self. I admire her. She had to make some really hard decisions about where to live, and how to live, and who to remove from her life for the health and the protection of herself and her family. I also feel some pangs for her, because she had a hard time letting stuff go. She did the tough stuff, but she lived in too much fear and worry and doubt and even sometimes sadness, on a daily basis. And the interesting thing is, that everything that my forties-self worried about, has long since resolved itself. In fact, some of the events that were jotted in my journal, I don’t even remember happening.

I think that I decided to look up the sequence of events in my life in the past decade because a couple of weekends ago, my husband and I were sitting in a hospital room with an extended family member who is quite ill. Despite having trouble speaking, she wanted to talk. She talked and talked. And we listened. And what she talked about, were the different experiences that had happened throughout her life. It was like a highlight reel of the truly impactful, proud, emotional, interesting events which had happened in her own life. I think this reminded me that I don’t want to wait until I am facing down my own death, to reflect on my life. I want to do spot checks. I want to end on a high note with very few regrets, and so it is important for me to do the course corrections along the way.

In my Twitter feed this morning, Moral Philosophy, asked their readers, “What are some common regrets people have when they get old?” Interestingly, although there were many people answering the question, most of the answers were repetitive. One reader suggested everyone read the book, Top Five Regrets of the Dying by Bronnie Ware. Bronnie Ware is an Australian palliative nurse who has spent a lot of time caring for patients in their dying days. This is what Bronnie Ware says are the biggest regrets of the dying, and most of the many answers from Moral Philosophy’s question of today, fell into these categories:

The 5 Greatest Regrets of the Dying are:

  • I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me
  • I wish I hadn’t worked so hard
  • I wish I had the courage to express my feelings
  • I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends
  • I wish that I had let myself be happier 

I wish I had let myself be happier.” From going through my journals of the last decade of my life, it was certainly full of happy moments. But many times, I allowed those moments to be clouded with fear, worry, guilt, rumination and righteous anger. When I am 62, I hope to look back at these next ten years of my journals, and I hope to be as proud as I am of my younger self, for her bravery, and for her honesty and for her authenticity, but I also hope that another thing that stands out to me, from these reflections of my future journals written throughout my fifties decade, is the sense of serenity, peace, faith and surrender. My deepest self inherently knows that the Universe knows what it is doing. It is time to shed all of the fearful parts of myself who want to doubt, and who want to try to control the uncontrollable. When I read my journals of the future, I hope only to read the words of my truest, deepest, eternal, peaceful, loving Self.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

The Final Gift

When you are experiencing someone who is at the ending days of their life, it makes you remember to try not to live your own life focused on the trivial stuff. When you see someone who is closing their life out, you realize all that mattered was the experiences, the passions and the relationships that the person had and shared. The things that we often put a lot of focus on in our lives, such as our worries, our grievances, our stuff, our appearances, our righteousness, etc. really holds so little meaning in the end of it all. As hard as it is to watch someone fade, perhaps the final gift which they give to us, is the reminder to keep our minds, our actions, and our lives, on what really matters – savoring our every moment, and while doing so, staying in the spirit of love and awe and gratefulness for the miracle of life.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Soul Sunday

Good morning, friends. Welcome to the most lovely, tranquil, peaceful day of the week – a day to just breathe and let go. On Sundays, I devote this blog to poetry. I either write a poem or I share a poem written by another writer. Today’s poem on the blog, is written by an extremely talented, inspiring person named Nightbirde. Nightbirde is a singer who despite getting a “golden buzzer” (from the finicky Simon Cowell, no less), had to drop out of the America’s Got Talent competition due to her battle with cancer. She recently posted the poem that she wrote (seen below) on her Instagram account. The poem is admittedly sad, yet achingly beautiful. Despite writing the poem, Nightbirde also posted a pretty picture of herself, and assured her fans this: “Not gonna die. Don’t worry. . . . . I know I posted kinda of like a little bit of a sad poem about dying, however, Im not dying, I’m doing great, I’m inching forward slowly.”

That’s all that is needed from any of us in our lives: “inching forward slowly“. It doesn’t matter how fast you are going, just keep up the forward motion. It’s not a race, it’s an adventure. Stay aware. Nightbirde also had this to say:

“What a miracle that the pain I’ve walked through can be reworked into beauty that makes people all over the world open their eyes wider.”

That is what I mean by my daily tagline: Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love. Don’t let the pain which you experience, go to waste, nor add to a bigger pile of stinkin’ pain, lying around this earth. We all have pain in our lives. That’s just part of being human. But our pain can be turned to good, in the forms of compassion, empathy, perspective, hope, inspiration, which all come together to form the highest vibration of Love.

Here is Nightbirde’s poem:

A Hero In Flames

I want to die while my heart is still a greenhouse for hope
All my wild dreams as seedlings in egg cartons
Reaching toward the window

I cannot die yellow and hungry
I will not die in sterile air

But I would like to die
While the fireflies are still glowing
Morse coding their poetry for a cynical earth

I would like to die like Joan of Arc
With dignity and urgency and stubbornness
A watercolor portrait in the night
A sight to behold, a hero in flames

Here She Comes

I have a passage from Victor Hugo’s Toilers of the Sea that I include in every sympathy card that I ever send. (which by the time you are in middle age, is unfortunately too many to count). It was sent to me by a friend when my beloved grandmother died and it brought me so much comfort. I am so happy when I pass it on, and others remark of the comfort that it has brought to them. I was reminded of this passage, by a friend, this weekend, who lost both of her beloved parents many years ago. It really speaks of dying, but after leaving a loving, warm, reunion atmosphere with my dear friends and coming home to a loving family, who were so excited to see me and to hear my stories and to share their weekend experiences with me, I thought to myself that the passage really applies in life, too. How fortunate we are, that so many of us travel between loving groups of people as we journey through our experience of Life. It’s like we have comforting rest spots and safe harbors, in the arms of people who know us and love us and only want safe passage for us, as we move along our paths of purpose. Here is the passage and may it bring you comfort and realization that we are not alone in our journeys:

“I am standing upon that foreshore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says “There! She’s gone!” “Gone where?” “Gone from my sight, that’s all.” She is just as large in mast and spar and hull as ever she was when she left my side; just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of her destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at that moment when someone at my side says “There! She’s gone!” there are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout “Here she comes!” And that is dying.”

And that is Life.