The Happy Tent

Be Authentic, B-E Authentic!

2009-07-17T17:51:00.004-04:00

When I have suffered most, it usually has come from being in a place of inauthenticity, whether I was acting out of league with my principles or I was striving to impress someone else. In high school, I was interviewed for a profile by the local newspaper. Though I had seen a couple episodes of a show, I had advertised myself as a huge fan of Monty Python. Other classmates had talked about it. But I knew nothing about Monty Python and still don't. Why did I do it? To seem cool, to fit in, to have something to say. Upon seeing the article, I snickered at how dumb it was to have said that. When classmates pressed me, I had to fake that I knew what I was talking about.

In my experience, we all do things so as to fit in. Even if we're advocates of individuality, there is an element of conformity, probably because it is natural for like to seek out like. Conformity in itself is not bad, particularly in the big picture, because social standards of kindness, decency, and responsibility for our actions contribute to the soup's flavors mixing properly. It becomes potentially harmful, however, when we conform in a way that conflicts with our true being for the sake of pleasing someone else or attaining some sort of gain. It seems that in these realms, our moments of inauthenticity is bound to catch up with us.

Witness up and down the political spectrum: John Ensign, John Edwards, David Vitter, Larry Craig, Eliot Spitzer, and most notably Mark Sanford. By speaking so effusively about his affair and finding his one true love, Mark Sanford exemplifies the perils of living inauthentically. Over a month ago, Sanford was lauded in some circles for fighting against the federal stimulus and living up to his "conservative" principles. Further, he had presented himself as a "family values" religious man with his supportive wife and four all-American boys at his side. He was a great hope to win his party's 2012 presidential nomination. In pursuit of power, from Congress to the Governorship to Presidential hopeful, Mark Sanford was living inauthentically. His lovelorn bleats once his affair became public prove that. Despite his long-standing marriage, he publicly declared himself lucky to have had the feeling of a soul connection we all look for in our partners. Only he had found it via his affair.

How much pain could have been saved - the suffering of his wife, his children, his friends, and his career - had he been true to himself years ago. His political future is in doubt and his embarrassment quite public. All for finally letting his authentic self prevail over his aspirations. Had he not had these aspirations to begin with, perhaps (and only perhaps) he would be happy today, living a life of quiet anonymity, without so many lives torn to pieces in the process.

We can all learn from Sanford's fall by looking at our own lives. Do we have a clear view of who we are as people? As contributors to our own and others' happiness? Are we fulfilling that aspect of our being so that we might move peacefully through this world? Ultimately, none of this is about fitting in or fitting out. It's about being. Simply knowing who we are and being that each day to the fullest.

To me, authenticity is quite important when we look at our state of happiness, as individuals and as a community. Pretending can be fun and it can be damaging to those around us when we do not keep it in check. Living authentically can also be fun and an honest presentation to others from the get-go will likely keep unattainable expectations from appearing. I say we cannot move through life mired in a lie and it will haunt us until we finally be who we truly are.

Commitment to Happiness

2009-06-25T16:38:00.003-04:00

Broken commitments are littering our cultural landscape. Governor Mark Sanford of South Carolina keeps a mistress after railing against others' affairs in the late 1990s. Governor Eliot Spitzer cavorts with prostitutes after prosecuting them during his legal career. Senators Ensign, Craig, and Vitter, and former Senator John Edwards promote squeaky clean images of themselves, only to fall prey to pleasure and desire. At what point did they forget their commitments to their spouses? Star baseball players forgot their commitment to the integrity of the game and to their fans. Jon and Kate discarded their commitments to each other and their eight children. Employees commit to a job and then feel threatened should they have tasks to which they had not agreed presented to them as a new aspect of their jobs. The misery of broken promises ripples out like an earthquake, disrupting more lives than just those who entered the agreement.

There was a time when I was particularly indecisive when asked to do something. I would answer neither yes nor no, looking instead for how I felt around the event. I had conditioned myself not to commit, because I had learned not to trust others to adhere to commitments through repeated broken promises. In New England, we only seemed to require a verbal agreement and it would be set in stone, so when I moved to Los Angeles, I was shocked by what I had grown up to consider to be "flakiness." Among the crowd of actors with whom I roamed, plans would be made and broken, promises unkept, and communication would cease as each person was looking to the next and greatest opportunity. I made a pastime of watching how quickly it took someone to look beyond my shoulder while shaking my hand.

I believe commitments are important to the smooth running of our day and to the overall happiness of ourselves and those around us. I am about to leave a post as editor of a newsletter after adhering to my schoolyear commitment. At times, assembling the letter was difficult - making sure there were enough articles and keeping track of those who promised pieces to me while maintaining a deadline. Still, I made a promise and I kept it in spite of all the other work and activities I had on my plate. Had I broken my arm, I would likely have been forgiven my inability to follow through. There is a difference between losing some control over a situation and simply choosing not to keep the promise made.

To make and adhere to a commitment, one must first have a clear set of terms and parameters set. They should enter the commitment after much deliberation to make sure they can live up to the promise they are about to keep. And they should be clear with themselves about how they feel about making promises and about how not keeping a promise will affect others.

In under two months, I will be making a promise half of Americans cannot keep, either because they have not been thoughtful about their decision, have been dishonest with themselves or others, or do not understand the conditions. Yet my wedding day will not be the moment I determine my commitment. I did that long ago - before getting engaged, before moving in together, before our first vacation, and before meeting the parents. I committed myself to Sara early on when I could tell that she was the one person for me. The wedding will be a celebration of a commitment made quietly in my mind before we symbolized it publicly with a ring.

When we stand up to announce our commitment, we will be looking in each other's eyes. We won't be peering over each other's shoulders for an imagined next best thing. As the famed promise-breakers illustrate so starkly, the grass is rarely greener beyond where one's feet are already planted.

Falling Up

2009-06-17T12:34:00.004-04:00

At this time last year, I was gearing up to leave the worst job I ever held. It was also the job at which I made the most money in my adult life, but the trade-off of money for happiness was difficult to uphold with each passing day. My friends with office jobs told me about hierarchies and demeaning bosses, so I wiped for-profit agencies off my search list. I thought when I got my job with a nonprofit, that the charitable atmosphere would extend to employees. I was terribly wrong.

After my first day of work, the pounding headache derived from sitting in a hot cube with fluorescent lights and sheer boredom signaled to me that something was amiss. I thought, "Have I just made a huge mistake?" And I followed it with, "Give it another chance." The following day, my headache was not as strong, but the feeling of dread had already set in. Yet, I knew nothing at this point about the work atmosphere.

Three hour meetings that dove into gossip sessions. Micromanagement on every project to the point of debating a comma. A secretary terrified of chit-chatting with co-workers for more than two minutes at 4 p.m. on a Friday. Frequent employee turnover and grumblings of how the place was no longer the same. Clock time emerged as important even if there wasn't much to do, yet demands and threats were made to devote several extra hours when crunch time hit. Being asked if I was sickly when I took three sick days in a three month span due to the almost weekly headaches I was enjoying. And a manager who passed gas in my face.

Yes, you read that correctly. My boss passed gas in my face. And admitted it.

Certainly, I did not endure the worst possible work conditions and many people would kill to have been in my position. Yet, I believe when we start comparing in the negative, we encourage a work culture to continue practices that demean employees. No one rose to complain, because firings would happen within minutes since there was no employee-protection. Others felt lucky to have a job. We all were lucky to have jobs, and I contend, did not sign any agreement to check our dignity and humanity at the door. There should be no trade-off that in order to feed one's family, we give up being treated with respect.

As the atmospheric conditions of the office worsened and my headaches became the worst I had ever experienced, to the point where the absence of a headache was a rare good day, and more dignity was stripped away (I was harangued by management for having long hair, though I was hired with long hair), I knew it was time to make a decision I had long held at arm's length. I decided to head to graduate school and pursue my passion of natural healing. I had been comfortable in pursuing other passions, such as directing shows, and endured the slings, arrows, and stresses that accompany them due to those interests. Being in a job that sucked the life out of me and I dreaded attending obviously did not serve my health or my home life. And it made stark the fact that I had nothing driving me but the paycheck. I couldn't mortgage my life for that.

In these economic times, those who have jobs are lucky to have them and they do not deserve to be treated poorly at their jobs. They should not have to be afraid of firing if they do not have the energy or drive to complete one or two other people's jobs due to layoffs. They should not be afraid to speak up if demands on their time are straining their health and family lives. They should not worry for retribution, because they choose to do the job they were hired for, not extra jobs thrown at them by management. Workers across industry simply need to have the will to help their bosses enact changes that restore dignity to the workplace.

As for me, the toxicity of my job helped me to discover a new path I had long held at bay. My happiness is better off; I have less stress and less boredom in my life; and headaches are now a sign of something wrong, rather than my normal set point.

If you're going through a dark period, please know that there can be a flickering light reaching out for you. The key is to recognize it, even if the realization comes a year after the major clouds have passed. With that, I thank my old job for helping to get me in a place that adheres to my values and contributes mightily to my sense of well-being.

Into the Wild, Part Two

2009-05-28T11:53:00.002-04:00

Bees! Rural Ohio has many bees and most of them did not know that I have a tremendous fear surrounding them due to many stings during my childhood. Among my peers, I remained well behaved rather than flailing around each time one flew my way. I realize the bees don't intend to hurt me and that I'm not what they're looking for, but they are so unpredictable and difficult to keep away, that I have always had trouble accepting them in my presence.

At the campsite, I had little choice but to connect with the bees and allow them to be in my space.

The conveniences of home were gone in Ohio, and I found quickly that I did not miss the television, computer, movies, cars, or even the working toilet (necessity gets you used to the outhouse mighty quickly). I was happy to have sporadic roaming on my phone, because I did not leave the city to escape loved ones and daily connection to them is important to my overall happiness. Those few minutes were all I needed to carry me through the day.

Camping helped me realize how interconnected we all are, moving it from theory to practice in my world. We are laced together as people and yoked to the land upon which we live. I learned quite quickly that I am deficient at identifying plants in the field and remembering them five minutes past seeing them. Repetition became key for me as one or two things stuck following an afternoon in the woods. Without patient instructors and classmates, without my admitting that baseball stats are easy and plant parts aren't, and without confronting nature head-on, I would not have been able to do much more than see a lot of green as I mindlessly walked around outside. Connecting to someone and something else were vital to my survival and my learning.

My appreciation for nature and for those who can seamlessly meld into it and work with it grew during my week away. I was most proud of the moment a bee landed on my arm. Instead of swatting it away, I let it sit there until it chose to leave me. I can't say I'll ever do that again, though in that moment I proved something to myself. That I need not be nature's antagonist every second of the day, and when I am in rhythm with nature, things can go well.

I recommend a trip like this for everyone, particularly those who feel that the planet is here for our taking and exploitation; for those who choose to deny humanity's impact on the Earth and who choose not to provide our land with a little bit of protection and preservation. I heard it somewhere once, it's not the Earth that's in trouble, it's the survival of humanity on the planet that is reaching a critical point. For us to survive, we all must choose partnership with nature, rather than the silly, all-too-human idea that we can lord over nature. And we need to make that collective decision to connect with our planet and each other quite soon. As one.

And now I'm back. Back in my apartment where smoke travels in from the neighboring units, with no one seeming to care about how it impacts us. Back to a city that will mow you down at rush hour, especially if you go against the grain in a Metro station. Back to the television and computer, with access to news of how a select few are trying to convince the rest of us to destroy the planet or not make adjustments to ensure the survival of our species (and others) for a few more generations. Back to a working toilet.

I survived during my week in nature. At times, I even thrived.

Into the Wild, Part One

2009-05-11T22:12:00.002-04:00

The question is: Can I do it? The answer is: Of course I can. But, how will I fare?

Next week, there will be no Happy Tent, because I will be residing in an actual tent. For the first time in 27 years, I will be camping. Sure, I've spent nights in tents in my parents' backyard since then, but I have not been camping for real since I was five. And then, everything was done for me.

When I was five, though, I wasn't a man with addictions. I believe, as with many people in our society, that I am addicted to the ease of our technology. For five days, I will not be able to access e-mail, play computerized Scrabble with my friends, listen to satellite radio, watch Netflix, or make my usual calls to my loved ones. I will not be driving, will not have a fridge to run to for snacks, and will not have access to running water. Or a real toilet.

So, the question has been: Can I do it?

The news of the day? I don't know. Who won the Preakness? I won't know. Which athlete has been caught with steroids? Don't ask me. Does any of this truly matter?

When I lived briefly in Hawaii, I had access to a computer, but did not realize that my television worked. And in the three weeks before I found the clicker, I was relaxed and did not care about what was going on in the rest of the world. Ignorance, indeed, was blissful. I found a lot of my tension dripped away and that I carried myself with more ease. Having access to every bit of information at all times, I thought, is not necessarily a good thing.

I returned to the Mainland and my media addiction clicked back in. I... MUST... KNOW... NOW... And that's the problem. Always knowing. Always expecting an instantaneous response or answer - "I sent the email 20 minutes ago. I know they're online! Why haven't I heard back!?!"

There was a time when the efficiency of computers was supposed to make our lives easier, to allow us to breathe at work and perhaps work fewer hours. Companies, though, realized that computers can make employees do things faster and instead of computers coming to our rescue from having to do too much at work, they became our masters, demanding more and more and more output. Convenience came to the companies, but not to the layperson. The layperson grew more tired, and upon getting home, they only have energy to flip on the TV or get on the computer to find out more information. In a sense, we're becoming the atrophied folks that lived in the bubble in "Wall-E."

Just this week, I was invited to Twitter, which takes all the fun out of Facebook by just producing status updates. It assumes that we all care about what everyone is doing at every second of the day. I vowed that I will not tweet, and my cousin gives me the summer before I do it. I believe I have finally drawn a line in the sand, one that I hope helps me to push back at my addiction to being wired in at all hours of the day.

So, camping in rural Ohio is coming at the right time and is a way for me to push back and put technology in its proper place. If it is serving me without me becoming its servant, then technology and I have a good relationship. However, where I currently sit, I respond to technological stimuli with a Pavlovian response.

Fifteen years ago, I had a computer, but no Internet. I spoke on my parents' land-line which had just got call waiting. I watched ESPN and waited for the 28/58 update. A news channel did not have the bottom scroll. I read the newspaper a day after the news had happened. I didn't have the pressing need to know everything that was happening as it happened. As life has advanced, it seems that the pressing need has become ingrained in me without my permission. It just sort of happened as I unconsciously proceeded through the day.

Today's kids do not have the luxury we had to know what life was like when we took it more slowly. Just as I don't have a clue how my great-grandparents kept themselves entertained. And while much has been gained through the advancement of technology (digital cameras and this blog come to mind), we must remember the human connections that others relied upon when there were few diversions and social contact was necessary, valuable, and a tool for survival. Perhaps we'd be less divided if we had to speak to each other rather than post anonymous vitriol on various websites.

I will head to the campsite this weekend with hope that I can rehabilitate myself in regard to the electronics that accompany me. But I will miss talking to and seeing the people I care about the most.

Not to mention a working toilet.

Author's Note: Happy engagement anniversary to my bride-to-be and I'll see you on your birthday when I reemerge from the woods.

Breathe for a Better Day

2009-05-06T17:55:00.004-04:00

When tension or frustration sets in, the best thing we can do to clear our minds and approach the situation effectively is to take a few deep breaths. I am currently in the practice of focusing on my breathing for five minutes after I wake up each day, something I must remind myself to do since it does not come naturally. Also, if a situation confronts me in the present tense, I find that breathing before responding allows me to collect myself before I say or do something I might later regret. For me, it is a time of reflection.

Today's society seems to regard reflection as a luxury, at best, and unnecessary, at worst. When an event happens, we are subjected to instant analysis, "Twittering," and more and more information. When swine flu broke out, one major news outlet asked if we had the next black death on our hands. Hysteria mounted, pigs were slaughtered around the world, and the Vice President advised avoidance of all public transit. In my inbox, I received a message that swine flu was a weaponized virus inflicted upon us by our government. By the end of last week, most were admitting that the instant analysis created a crisis that did not exist, stoking more fears and producing fewer facts.

I thought, what if everyone had simply taken a deep breath before writing their stories, filing their reports, and sending their emails? What if they actually heard the words coming out of their mouths or put to paper before transmitting them to you and me? I believe that a few moments of reflection could have altered this hysterical landscape.

Walmart recently settled the "Black Friday" dispute about an employee who was trampled to death by a throng trying to enter a store to get good deals during the post-Thanksgiving sales. This reminded me that on that day, two people wound up dead in a shoot out after a dispute at a toy store. These senseless acts need not have happened, but did. Black Friday is co-hyped by the media and the stores that benefit as though shopping is actual news, when in fact they are accomplices in perpetuating anti-social behavior. The real news comes when the hype translates into unnecessary loss. If media tamp down the fever pitch, shopping outlets take a few breaths before planning to stir up mass hysteria, and patrons use common sense and decency, perhaps after a few breaths of reflection, we will be able to avoid future tragedies.

We can all affect change in how we relate to each other in just a few seconds. We have to breathe to live, and if we can override emotion and irrationality with a few breaths, we might be better off as a community. When someone ticks you off, take a breath. When your kid crashes you car, take a breath (my parents did, much to my benefit). When a comment is made to you in a bar and you've had a couple too many, have a sober friend remind you to take a breath.

If we focus on breathing, we might lose focus on retaliation. Our situations with one another and with the world at large might be more peaceful. And we might breathe easier, together, as one.

Inner Cues Can Lead to Inner Peace

2009-04-29T19:06:00.000-04:00

Listening to my body has been important in my maintaining a sense of inner peace and happiness. A graduate school course called "Cultivating a Healing Presence" has helped me to recognize the little hiccups my body sends to me as alerts at times when I allow myself to override what I generally refer to as my gut feeling. In class, we deconstructed a story about certain headaches I have been experiencing to the point of a revelation - when I feel unable to implement action, I bottle up the angst and energy, which subsequently sends pain up my back and directly behind my eye. When I have taken action, my sense of wholeness and ease tends to return and the headache dissipates.

In the process of keeping tuned into my internal reactions, I have noticed that being direct and honest are the simplest paths to my maintaining a physical status that does not include a raging headache or a roiled up stomach. Directness and honesty are not the same as meanness or bluntness, for they come from a place of compassion and partnership and are an attempt at compromise. I have found that this is an oft-misunderstood concept in our society, with differences of opinion being mistaken for personal disdain.

How many times do we make decisions to keep the peace only to feel our innards dancing following the brain's veto of the gut instinct? This peace is the false peace of acquiescence and subjugation, since no true peace can be had if one party becomes ill as a result of not listening to her internal cues. To avoid appeasement and to find a truly peaceful resolution requires communication.

When we communicate, we must make sure we stay on point and that any disagreement deals with the task at hand and not some sort of newfound rivalry. Communication can lead to acceptance or a change of course for both parties involved. As a result, we could agree to go along with the other's wishes or forge a compromise that does not feel forced. Recognizing these distinctions is important, because blind agreement brings us back to appeasement.

Communication could also lead to a stalemate where the terms are unacceptable to the parties. If that's the case, there is no harm in withdrawing, as long as parties know that the withdrawal is based on the terms and not on some sort of disdain for the other person. Again recognition of distinctions might lead to less angst in our heads and stomachs, less fully bodied revolt.

Think about an event in your life in which you have not listened to your body's cues. Did your body tell you that you had just betrayed your better sense of yourself? Did it improve as you continued to go along or get worse? Did the symptom move from headache or nausea to resentment and anger about the situation and about the resulting symptoms? Did you lash out at others for your decision to go along?

Such a spiral need not happen if we stay attuned to ourselves and trust our judgment, if it is based in goodness and kindness. Direct communication and honesty will make you clear not only with others, but with yourself about what serves the situation best. Through your actions, you might see some withdrawals from those unused to you following your body's cues. And you might be awakened to new possibilities that benefit you, your happiness, and the happiness of those around you, too.

Setting Your Thermostat to "Happy"

2009-04-01T00:40:00.009-04:00

A letter writer to Yes Magazine wrote, "It is important to recognize that happiness, like joy, is only momentary and does not last as long as contentment. Contentment arises from achieving our goals and can be maintained. Your issue avoided the issue of how temporary the joy of happiness can be." Is happiness "a fleeting thing," as Linus mentions in You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown?

These sentiments operate on the premise that human beings have a neutral set point and that in the absence of stimulus, we remain at neutral - unfeeling either way until something happens. This presupposes that we are so whimsical that we can be shaken down by each event that comes our way. It's rainy, so I'm sad. It's sunny, so I'm happy. Dinner burns, so I'm sad. I got sleep, so I'm happy. All reaction, all the time. When we have overreaction within our cells, it stirs up a cascade of inflammation and oxidation, ending with tissue damage and an imperiled body. Think of what would happen if we trusted the letter writer or Linus to be speaking the truth. Our bodies would spin out of control as the reactions built up, affecting overall health and mood.

In fact, this might be the prevailing paradigm of our time, since depression and inflammatory disease states seem to be reported on more and more. As a society, we do seem to lay claim to our happiness based on having done something to deserve it. The presumption within the letter is that we do not have the right or ability to be happy or joyous or content unless we have achieved something that can be approved by arbitrary societal measurement - a nameless, faceless gatekeeper whom we must please. In other words, happiness cannot come from within, cannot be a preexisting condition, and must be defended as one would a thesis, rather than simply being the case.

For the sake of our collective health and sanity, I challenge and reject this notion. I encourage you to do the same.

Since building The Happy Tent, I have programmed my set point to "happy," and how I approach each day. To be happy doesn't mean to be laughing all the time, to be naive or oblivious to suffering, or never to feel sadness, remorse, or even anger. For me, happiness means that I approach my day-to-day from the place of the sun rather than the depths of a chasm. I don't rely on an event to perk me up, because it would make me a passive observer rather than an active participant in my own life.

What might the implications be for our society if happiness were not yet another commodity that must be earned, something tangible affordable only to an elite group? What if we approached life together in our communities, our nation, and as global citizens as happy people? Would we pursue justice? Would we protect our food and water from being co-opted by corporations and see healthy, optimal living as a right rather than a privilege for those who can buy it? Would we see humanity in each person we meet?

Happiness is a choice we can make each moment of the day. It can be as permanent-seeming as the word "contentment." It need not be fleeting. It shall not be earned. It does not require prescription or a permission slip or acknowledgement. It can be who we are.

It can be what is, if we say it is.

Can We Be Happy if Suze Orman Is Right?

2009-03-23T21:46:00.009-04:00

I recently read a profile of economic guru Suze Orman where she said that she learned quite young that money is the key to happiness. I had to reread that sentence several times to make sure they had not left out any words in that sentence. Certainly it is a key to survival in the United States, where our basic needs for health care are not met by the government the way they are in other westernized countries. But is it truly the key to happiness?

I know people who make a good deal of money. Some are happy. Some are not. Most of them dislike their jobs. I know people who do not make a lot of money. Some are happy. Some are not. Most of them dislike their jobs. In my own experience, my happiness factor went south the moment I attained a job that provided a regular paycheck. The only way to advance in our society is to make money. With that comes the necessity of a job. But if most people I know are unhappy where they spend 40+ hours of their week, how can we say that money is the key to happiness? If not all people have access to the same systems of money making, is Orman's ethos not condemning them to a life of misery? How does she explain happy people in poorer countries?

Perhaps we need to be mega-rich, the way Suze Orman is. Perhaps she meant to say that extraordinary wealth, the type that most people in the world and most Americans will never see even if they follow her financial advice, is the key to happiness. And if that's the case, happiness belongs to a special club and something we, the people, might never attain.

Throughout history, this definition of happiness has resulted in the manipulation of indigenous peoples, the exploitation of the poor, and ignorance of inequality. It has led to responses that seem out of touch with American reality by executives of failed companies who believe their perks and bonuses are a right and not a privilege. This is not twenty-first century thinking. It is nineteenth century thinking. It is the way of the old colonial empires, whose pursuit of a dollar set up the degradation of vast swaths of people deemed "less than" and created an economic monster that must eat up vital earthly resources and inflict toxic damage in order to survive.

The paradigm that equates money to happiness must shift if we are to succeed as a global society. The masquerade of money dressed up as happiness must end, and we must reassess what it means to have a piece of pie. Is a piece literally an equal piece so others might have a taste, or is it the whole pie? We must alert everyone that rags-to-riches stories are the exception to the rule, not the rule; the fantasy that we might hold the golden ticket in order to keep an untenable and unsustainable system in place must be exposed for the emotional Ponzi scheme that it is. Whatever happened to rags-to-fewer-rags, to making it a little better for your kids than you had it?

As I've stated in the mission of this blog, something different needs to be done here in America, since per capita wealth has not equated to Gross National Happiness. Suze Orman and the super rich will continue to feed us the idea that we can have the luxury they have. Some of us might and a majority of us will not. The money is not the problem. Linking money inextricably to happiness, pointing to it as the only way to achieve it, and the collateral damage done in the name of this hypothesis is the problem.

We must wrap our minds around the possibility that Suze Orman and the myths built around money and happiness are wrong. Isn't it time to create a new story about happiness that reflects these times?

From the Neck Up: Stories of Marginalization

2009-03-18T13:59:00.006-04:00

Story One

In the spring of 1996, I wore a white cap sporting my college's name embroidered on it. It was a popular style at the time, and even my small Division III school had picked up on the craze. I ran into a couple friends sitting beneath a tree who excoriated me for wearing the hat, or more directly a white cap. They told me, "It connotes 'jockism.'" Knowing for certain that "jockism" is not a word, I asked them what they meant. They complained that jocks were domineering, snobby, elitist, and rude. That they lacked a certain class, partied too much, thought themselves too important, and of course that they were dumb. By wearing my white hat, which jocks themselves wore, I was informed I inadvertently condoned such bad behavior and was aligning myself with this element they wished did not exist on campus. I responded, "It's just a hat."

I have told this story for years whenever I feel an issue has been blown out of proportion. The two young women from my class who cornered me were known to be quite liberal in their beliefs, yet in my mind there was a dangerous closed-mindedness that erupted from them. I had gone from being a secondary friend in their lives, one who was present but not part of their inner circle, to someone who had crossed over, somehow becoming a traitor to a cause I did not know existed. Being a smart kid on a smart campus who did not play sports, I must have exuded being "one of us." To them, my hat was the symbol of a defection, my becoming "one of them."

What had happened in their lives that made them feel so marginalized that they chose to marginalize a group among them?

Story Two

After 9/11, I decided to leave my acting life behind in Los Angeles and move back home to Massachusetts. With the last of my money, I packed up my car to begin the long cross-country trip. I still enjoyed wearing hats and was doing so as I trekked eastward. In a cashier's line at a restaurant in northeastern Wyoming, a man in his sixties tapped me on the shoulder. "You're not from around here, are you?" I explained that I was passing through, moving home to recalibrate my life. I asked him why. "Because we don't wear our hats that way in these parts." My ballcap was on backwards. I shrugged and thought, "It's just a hat." He continued. Knowing where I had come from and where I was going, he told me that the world would be a better place if Massachusetts and California simply fell into the ocean and finished with a homophobic joke.

Though I instantly felt uncomfortable in this man's presence, I knew I could not skip out on my bill, so I let him talk. He told me I should get a job in the new coal mines and that it was my own fault if I didn't have a job. I reminded him I was not staying. He seemed angry, not at me, just angry.

This man, a bus driver for his local church who seemed active and popular, had somehow formed the internal idea that he was marginalized, declared me "the other" or the weaker of the two of us, and unloaded his frustration with the world. How had he come to this point?

Interpreting Symbols

My hats, to me, are head coverings, not an overarching statement of who I am. If they have made general statements, you could say that in my time, I've expressed love for the Yankees, Cubs, and Gonzaga; liked the design of the old-school Orioles, Expos, and Brewers; or went to Amherst College or knew someone who visited Switzerland. Look through photo albums - when I have had short hair, I was usually wearing a hat.

Yet to other people, what I wore on my head spoke volumes about a story they had created. Please bear in mind, I was not displaying symbols of hate, fear, condescension, or prejudice. Exception was taken by the color and positioning of the hats I wore, becoming to them an archetype of something in the bigger picture they disdained. The power they gave my hat further was conflated with me among people I knew fairly well or not at all - I had become the monster.

Knowing that I have passed judgment on very little information, I remind myself that I could be destroying possibility and ask myself three questions. Have I known someone, only to disagree with an innocuous aspect of their whole being and allowed that to color them in a new way? Have I positioned myself so that I could claim superiority to "the other" in the story I built around them? How have I prevented a potential relationship by attaching meaning to little things?

Let's pause and reflect about ourselves. In what part of life do we feel pushed to the margins and why? Where do we do the pushing? Are we seeing the humanity in those we claim to marginalize us or in those we send to the edges?

I invite us all to the possibility, then, to bring about peaceful coexistence rather than push each other into predefined boxes. Undue strife could cloud our movement and motives each day, or we could see the individuals around us as potential partners in this great journey.

The Inner Drum Beat

2009-03-11T13:38:00.010-04:00

We all have something within us that keeps our pace. We have rhythm, a song in our head that is our theme as we move around, a steady beat that courses through our veins. How many of us bring that rhythm to the fore? How many of us take what drives our dreams and use it to drive our waking lives? Are we aligned with who we believe ourselves to be? Do we have the vision to see past the forest and the trees that might obscure our view of our hopes?

The verbal noisemakers are ruling the day. Everywhere we listen, someone is telling us to be very, very afraid. Last week, I switched off the radio after a one minute span where a conservative talker told me to fear for my life three times over and a liberal pundit termed our current situation, "Depression Junior." Tonight, the local news featured a commentary about "just how bad it all really is." So, no more television. Between reports of killing sprees, abuses of power, and the new phenomenon of "sexting," I can see how we might feel under siege in our own homes and cars.

Ba-boom, boom, boom...

What was that?

Ba-boom, boom, boom...

When I closed out the chattering masses and all their fear talk, I could hear it crying out.

Ba-boom, boom, boom...

It grew louder as I clicked off the TV and flung my radio out the window.

Ba-BOOM!

That familiar sound that I hear in my dreams. The rhythm of life dancing within me longing to drown out the competition for my attention. With all the yelling about fear and anxiety, my jaw had been tensing up, my neck and shoulders a mess, my mind racing about how bad it really is! REALLY IT IS JUST SO...........

Ska-tatitta-tatitta-tatitta...

Or is it?!

Boom, tsicka, boom...

My inner drum beat has seen me through the starving years of pursuing acting in Hollywood and the high paying times of an office job that let the air out of my soul. It is what has guided me on to grad school and has positioned me to make a difference as a healer for years to come. The drum beat knows more than the mongers of despair. It has overridden fear on many occasions to make sure I pursued my passions. It has drowned out naysayers and critics. And it still beats.

I have to remind myself to hear it. When I do, I return to my path with knowledge that I am doing the right thing.

These days, a lot of people are speaking "fear" and playing at anxiety, and we must remember to separate out the information and analysis from the emotion and opinion. We must remember that we have each other to lean on, to learn from, to laugh and play with. And if we close out those who speak words aimed at harming our sense of well-being - indeed of wellness in our very being - we might just hear the rat-a-tat-tat that guided us when we were kids.

It played loudly then, when we were small enough to dream big, and big enough to live within them.

It's in you. Listen...

Comparison: Lessons in Hierarchical Thinking

2009-03-04T16:37:00.005-05:00

A recent exchange about schoolwork led to my correspondent feeling bad that I had a heavy workload while his was generally light, easy, and allowed him plenty of fun time. I spotted language of diminishment in his initial response and wrote back to my correspondent that whatever his work consists of currently is important in this moment. He corrected and told me that he currently likes his easy schedule, and when his major is chosen his tasks will rise. Still, in reflection, I kept thinking of the first response, about how via comparison, my correspondent had slighted his current level of accomplishment.

I say that our societal reality is one of comparison, whether we look at material gains or the load one bears. It can serve us for better and worse, so we must be careful when we compare, if indeed we must compare at all. Two pieces ago, I wrote about how I was not going to let my cold bring me to my knees in a puddle of self pity. I mentioned friends who had gone through major surgery and kept a bright outlook, as well as famous people who navigated illnesses in the public eye with dignity and grace. I used comparison to give myself perspective about a pesky cold - how in the long run, I was not facing life and death situations with my head congestion. I used the language of diminishment not to put myself down, but to put my cold in a place where it did not hold sway over my daily routines.

The silliness of a cold versus afflictions that have proved life-taking is a comparison I was willing to risk, though I believe there is great danger in living life where we consistently measure against an arbitrary standard. During my sophomore year in college, I spent about an hour on my way to the shower, choosing to speak to John, our custodian. John had fought in World War II and was about my grandfather's age. He was a storyteller and a fount of wisdom, yet very few of us paused to even give the most cursory hello. I don't remember the discussion we had, but I skipped my shower and nearly missed class because it was so engrossing. A hallmate confronted me later in the day about why I "wasted" so much time speaking to John. He asked me what he could possibly do for me, for after all this was a custodian, not a professor with connections. Rarely had I thought of my contact with people as an effort to exchange for my advancement. The comment brought me closer to understanding how so many people can be left behind in society with barely a second thought.

When I was a director of student theater, the hierarchy question was put into play once more. During my first show with elementary school kids, we worked hard to bring these novice actors to a professional quality of performance. Our group had not been allowed access to the actual stage until the week before the big performance. Having worked without major props and set changes, the children had been living in an insular world where they were the most important thing. Upon introduction to the stage, my actors revealed a bias against the background crew members to one of my stage assistants. After the dress rehearsal, she reported derogatory comments made about the crew by the lead performers.

That night, my music director and I sat down with our leads and asked them how they expected to get on stage for an audience without the sound and lighting technicians to let them be heard and seen and without prop people to give them what they need and put things in their proper place. We asked if they would rather perform without props and sets, without musical accompaniment, and without coordination, because that is what would happen if the 25 people backstage were not allowed to shine by them and the 50 others joining them on stage. We explained the intricacy of each specialized skill that goes into a performance piece and the importance of each individual, equally, to make it complete. We chose to inform, rather than force a tepid apology from the group. And we let them know if we smelled a hint of hierarchical bias, that they would risk going through their motions without the support staff. The following night, the show was spectacular and a very well received success. In following years, we did not have battles between cast and crew. In fact, being a part of the crew became an honor for the students.

Where might my correspondent be short-changing the studies with which he is engaged at this moment? Where do we miss the essence of living when we look at the cars and houses of our neighbors? Status has done little to raise up the American sense of satisfaction. And how do we diminish what we do the moment some light is cast our way?

There will be main players, background actors, technicians, stagehands, custodians, students and professors. All contribute to making the soup of life; all play the lead in the role they have. At any time the position they have could change, as we've seen in the news when some executives have begged for work on the streets after their companies folded, and as I noticed when the leads in my plays had worked hard as chorus members or understudies the year before. Without any one of these ingredients mingling in interplay with the others, the soup would taste pretty bad. What is missing would be noticed.

What goes missing for you when you engage in the language of diminishment?

A Gift for Eternity

2009-02-25T16:24:00.006-05:00

When our society looks at generosity, we tend to look at sizable donations to charity or large gifts given at special occasions. We are a people that can at times be obsessed with quantity and size as we accumulate more and bigger things. I invite you into a very personal narrative to view generosity in a different light.

Last week, I experienced my 32nd birthday. If the person of honor is out of town, my family often gets together to sing the birthday song over the phone. Monday night, Mom kept with tradition and called me from my grandparents' house as evening fell. Usually, when I say hello on these occasions, a cacophony of purposely bad, raucous singing barrages my eardrums prior to talking to each person. This year, I was greeted with whispering silence on the other end of the line.

Something was wrong.

In mid-January, my grandfather had been hospitalized with what I believed to be congestive heart failure symptoms. He had been a survivor his whole life, overcoming a stroke to thrive for the past three decades. At Christmas, I knew something was amiss when this man of great appetites forwent dessert. Near the end of last month, he had returned home to hospice care and experienced further symptoms as he was "made comfortable" and eased toward the end of his earthly life.

The news on my birthday evening was sobering. My grandfather had "taken a turn" as I was told more than once. He was heading down the homestretch and experiencing new symptoms from which he would not recover. A nurse told my mother he had 24-48 hours to live. I felt stuck in Maryland, with class responsibilities as our midterm assignments came due. My heart and part of my brain had been residing in Massachusetts since the hospital admittance, and especially since I had paid what I thought to be my farewell visit two weeks earlier.

That night, there was no singing. In fact, due to his sleepiness and medication, I didn't get to speak to my grandfather. I was incredibly rational about the news, probably because I was stunned. The following morning, as I drove to school, my Mom had a surprise for me. She placed the cell phone to my grandfather's ear and we had a conversation. His voice, as his body began its transition, lacked its normal modulation. And while I could not understand some of the conversation, I heard every "I love you" he said to me. When my Mom took back the phone, I said, "There was one thing, when I asked Nonno if he was having a good morning, that I couldn't understand." She responded, "He said, 'It's always a good morning when I wake up and talk to you.'" That did it.

As tears streamed out of me, my car floated to school. I had a hard time breathing, speaking, and putting a coherent thought together. I knew that my body had to join my heart in Massachusetts, and it needed to do it immediately. In order to get there, a cascade of small kindnesses were needed. My instructors postponed my quiz and sent me home. My friend took my house keys and told me not to worry about our cats. Sara's boss didn't let her finish her sentence before he sent her out for however long she needed. We got on the road at noon.

My Nonno provided me with a tremendous gift. His selfless response, as he struggled with his breathing and speaking, means more to me with each passing day. Paying me his compliment touched my soul and moved me to tears of joy and happiness, and sadness at the impending loss. During our spiral northward, I kept thinking about how he took the time to show pure love when he could have been focused inward or even bitter about his circumstances. He gave me all he could in what turned out to be his final words to me.

When Sara and I arrived seven hours later, my grandfather was responsive and knew we were there. We both got to say our goodbyes in person before he drifted off to an eternal peacefulness in the wee hours of the following morning. And while my tears flowed during the days afterward, I could not help but feel lucky, not only to have had this wonderful man in my life, but also to have received such a generous gift of kindness in his parting words.

Words matter. They shape who we are and inform us of infinite possibility. My Nonno's gift to me was no mere present. It wasn't a thing to unwrap and forget about months later. It was his presence, at a moment of great trial, which I will carry with me always as I pick up the journey where he left off.

***
This article is dedicated to my grandfather, T. John Fiorini of West Springfield, MA (1925-2009) and to my family, who misses his physical being among us dearly.

The Best Cold Ever!

2009-02-11T15:54:00.007-05:00

Wednesday was the best "sick" day I ever had. After a solid eight hours of sleep, I rolled out of bed and headed to the school library to work on a presentation I have on Monday. I also have two other papers and a quiz at the beginning of next week and recently took an exam, so I have been quite busy. In class on Tuesday, I felt my cold coming on as it pressed its way into my sinuses and my brain started to fog. By the time I got home, I was irritated and tired knowing that I was about to have my first cold of the season.

I awakened to a couple choices - stay in bed and groan about being "sick" for the entire day or head to school and proceed with my studying plans. I can be one of the best WhyMe-ers around, but I chose to take a different approach this time.

Part of my graduate program invites us to tune in to our inner observer, to recognize what is going on within our every movement, action, and feeling. This morning, I felt the heaviness in my sinuses and decided that it simply was heaviness in my sinuses. This did not need to be the start of something bigger, though a friend of mine warned about a bug going around. I chose not to walk the path of believing I was spiraling toward long term-illness. I had the symptoms of a cold, no more, no less.

As I drove to the library, I repeated the following many times: "I have a cold, but the cold does not have me." I sneezed, I blew my nose, and I felt the pressure in my face. "I have a cold, but the cold does not have me." I breathed through one nostril, felt the slight pain in my temple. "I have a cold, but the cold does not have me." I dug into seven books for my project, made small talk with friends, and reached for the tissues. "I have a cold, but the cold does not have me." I went for my planned jog in nearly 70 degree weather. "I have a cold, but the cold does not have me."

I realize that we all repeat small mantras to ourselves to get through our days and our ailments. What is novel to me, and I hope to you, is that I understood I had the option not to be all-consumed by my ailments. In the past, my colds, my aches, my pains, my annoyances, my angers, and my worries have all kept a grip on me and have threatened to take over, to become me. Today, my cold was in its place - germs and white blood cells going at it in battle with a little support of herbs that are meant to nudge the good guys along. It was there, I acknowledged it, and I worked on the tasks at hand. I was happier and more productive than at other times I have "been ill."

At this time, I know a host of people who are embracing this mantra in their own lives. They experience the symptoms of illnesses or afflictions far greater than my common cold, and have kept perspective on the issues. Two of my friends have had surgeries to correct non-life threatening problems that were creating much pain. A relative of mine has been living with cancer for a couple years, yet looking at her you would not know it. I do not know if these people intentionally created a world that separated the affliction from their beings or if it is something that was innate. For me, I know I have had to design such an attitude for myself. They have inspired me to look at how life is differently, because I have had the tendency to turn a cold or a flu into an end-of-life event.

Perspective allows the fire that burns within to shine brightly for those around us. Millions are inspired by those who have faced their afflictions head-on and still contributed to the community. Arthur Ashe and Magic Johnson put a public face on AIDS and HIV, respectively. Kay Yow coached her basketball team up until a week before her death following her third battle with cancer. And Jim Valvano, Randy Pausch, and Ted Kennedy have all taken breaks from serious cancers to give inspiring speeches. These are the extreme, famed examples, yet serve to show that the weight of the burden is only as heavy as we allow it to be.

We all need our rest and I'm not suggesting that we all jump out of bed when the symptoms become difficult to bear. Simply, I suggest that we take the attitude that while the symptoms do exist, they do not create or change who we are fundamentally. We have to decide how we define our being, our humanity. I have decided to limit my use of the word "sick," if not eliminate it entirely from my vocabulary.

For we are not our afflictions, and they certainly are not us.

Happy Valentine's Day, Readers: Please remember that as you express your loves and likes to the people around you, that you should always save a little for yourself. You are worth it, don't you think?

Kind Words Shape Our Existence

2009-02-04T14:07:00.014-05:00

For the past few weeks, I have posited that we are all in this great journey of life together, interconnected as a social species, having an effect on each other with every choice we make. As kids, we are taught about our uniqueness and our individuality in hopes that we will develop our own personalities and not embrace conformity at the expense of ingenuity. When we grow older, we find that our childhood educations were built around homogeneity and that a majority of our adult choices are conformist and hierarchical, with exceptions provided to the few who are allowed to rise. Although we might feel limited in what we control, we should remember that we all have a choice in how we want to participate in the society and how we get along with our fellow humans.

Ideally, our sense of self worth is internally driven, rather than a result of how others treat us. However, positive words from someone, merely out of kindness, can go a long way in shaping how we perceive ourselves, and could even tell us if we are on the right track. I believe the man-as-island theory that dominates our cultural conversation has been proven wrong many times and that we all look for some form of validation from others even if we refuse to admit it. This validation reminds us of our essential place in our community as one who makes an impact. It should not be false praise or words spoken for the sake of speaking words. It demands sincerity.

Two readers and friends recently thanked me for reminding them about priorities in their lives so they can make the proper choices that serve themselves and those they share space with the best. They did not have to alert me to my contribution if they did not want to; they chose to do it. Another long lost friend who I reconnected with on Facebook told me that when I joined her group on a trip to France during high school, all the girls developed a crush on me. As someone who did not have the highest opinion of myself back then, it felt so good to receive that message. She chose to say something to make my day, though nothing forced her to do it.

Recently, I added the commitment to say supportive things to others in my daily practice, letting them know their value in my life. When I hand them out - as a compliment, a thank you, an expression of love - I do it without expectation of reciprocation. Sometimes, as I experienced when receiving the notes from my friends, it takes the recipient by surprise. We seem hardwired to receive negative attention or throwaways, and are often caught unaware by those who express themselves with heft and meaning in their words.

So many people we do not see before us are essential to our well-being. Even though I have not left my dwelling, the person who set up my connection to the internet, the crew that delivered my couch, the meter-reader who keeps the gas heat flowing, and the guard at the electric plant are making it possible right now for me to type this article. I cannot thank them personally, though I am appreciative.

Each day, we are provided with ample opportunities to express gratitude to others who help make our lives function - at the store, the office, in a line, at home. Do we? Are we quicker with our tempers than with our thanks? The sticks-and-stones axiom has had it backwards. Words are the most powerful tools in our chests. They can be wielded as weapons or healing mechanisms. Their significance depends on the choices we make.

Let us all be conscious of how we use them.

Otherhood: Our Actions Always Matter

2009-01-28T17:57:00.001-05:00

I received the following comment after last week's article:

You suggest that we embrace the fact that we are social animals and allow our beloved Other to inspire us and serve as our motivation. Do you think it is possible, let alone desirable, for one to do something purely for one's own sake?

I don't believe we can ever do something for our own sake, since our decisions do not exist in a vacuum. Even if we decide to make our self-care our number one priority, that decision will still impact the people around us. So, by seeking to honor someone else to improve our own physical and emotional lot, we are simply calling forth that which lies beneath - that our decisions matter to more than just ourselves. Our attention should focus on what type of impact we seek to have.

This was a hard learned lesson for me and it illustrates the point well. I loved directing children's theater and took part in three shows that overlapped in 2006. With a full time job, I often worked 18 hour days, did not get regular sleep, and hardly did any physical activity unrelated to the tasks at hand. During my third show, I took a breather one weekend and my body thought it was finally done with the schedule. It pooped out and sent me down for the count.

I was bedridden for much of three weeks with an illness that descended frighteningly before it ever showed signs of improving. I did not change my self-care practice prior to the illness, because I felt that I had taken the projects on my shoulders and would rest afterward. I would have only been doing it for myself and I felt I could wait to worry about myself later. My illness taught me otherwise. By getting sick, I could not tend to my cast and crew, caused people around me to scramble to help me get better, and worried my family half a world away.

In other words, more than fifty people were affected by what I would have considered to be a selfish decision. The flaw in my reasoning was confusion about the word selfish.

We can easily get lost in the mishmash of words. I say that if we do something for our own sake, it does not mean we are forsaking others. If we are practicing self-care, it does not mean that we are selfish. To be selfish we only look out for our personal interest, regardless of its impact on others. We learned as toddlers that if we've had our piece of the pie and others have not, it would be selfish to take more simply because we want it. My self-care proposal is inclusive, not exclusionary. Had I taken more time for myself - to rest, to heal - I would not have found myself in a deficit of resources. These resources - time, energy, health - are finite and need to be replenished. Otherwise, we hit the mat face first and many suffer the consequences.

By finding motivation for self-care through what the reader calls my "beloved Other," I am remembering that every action I take, whether positive or negative, impacts more beings than the man in the mirror. If I were to forget about the Other, I could forget about all others and might truly become selfish, hoarding the resources we all need and placing myself outside this human soup we call community, society.

It is not greedy to make sure we have full charge in our batteries, because it is the only way we can make sure that we maintain our personal power to honor, to serve, and to attain the mutual benefit of being served and honored by others. After all, I am me to me and to someone else, I am the Other.

Adding Activity: For Whom Will You Move?

2009-01-21T16:52:00.001-05:00

I have found that when I am busiest, I often come to a fork in the self-care road. On one side, all the temptations of sedation - generally staring listlessly at an electronic screen - are quite seductive and appealing. The other avenue - involving lacing up my runners and pounding the pavement for a few miles - is much less appealing, even though I love the way I feel and return with a much more centered outlook after any sort of exercise. I have struggled with this choice.

Many of us spend time in one aspect of our lives that is not enthralling - a job, carting the kids around, homework, housework - yet we keep at them out of the pull of necessity. If the lack of excitement courses into disdain, these parts of life are usually what leave us feeling most drained, even stuck. And when we feel mired or moored, the last thing we have is pep to take on activities that are good for our well-being. It is in these moments that we must gather our reserves and coax ourselves into action.

Looking back at undergrad, I had all the time in the world. So much time, in fact, that I found myself often sitting around doing nothing at all. I utilized an old rail trail only a handful of times for running and rollerblading, when in reality, I could have been out there nearly every day. I flipped on the switch in my early twenties, when much of my time was taken at work, on the highway, in acting classes or rehearsals as I lived in Los Angeles. Despite the full schedule, I had a two-month span where I averaged running 60-90 miles per week.

Neither set of habits was sustainable. Lounging around weakened my muscles and made me feel lethargic, while in Hollywood, I ran right into a bout of mono. In the years since then, I have gone through high and low periods, often failing to find a happy medium, usually dropping off after an initial groundswell of effort.

Yet, today, with a pile of assignments surrounding me, I pushed myself out the door and up the street. So, what has changed and motivates me now?

In recent weeks, I have spent time playing with my cousin's children, who are 13 and 10. Between Wii sports, ping pong, and air hockey, we have worked up quite a sweat. And both times, while feeling the exhilaration of activity, I have left exhausted and sore. The kids, of course, have energy to spare. I know that gone are the days when I could run, golf, play basketball, and swim over the course of twelve hours on the hottest day of the year. But coming up in the next few years, I hope to have children myself and I desire to keep up with them!

Thus, while I look forward to what I hope for in the future, I have found the will to take care of myself in the present. Scientific facts and my own body's vigorous response to exercise have never given me enough reason to keep up with it. My promise to someone else has. When I stare at the door and the couch, I remind myself that I am taking care of my vessel that will someday have smaller vessels tugging and pulling at it in the backyard.

My observations of others in my life show me that people rarely take on beneficial habits when their only reason is that they are doing it for themselves. Somehow, we all find ways to sacrifice our best interests, even though our own interest is a terrific reason to enhance our wellness.

If you are looking for motivation, I encourage you to think beyond beach season, a wedding, or a doctor's wishes, since short-term goals do not always translate into long-term practices. Instead of asking what motivates you, who will motivate you to add activity to your life? Who in your world will benefit from a more vibrant "you" tomorrow, next month, in five years? It can be someone you know, or as in my case, someone you have never met.

When we take notice that we are not alone in our adventure, we have more reasons to practice better self-care. In the process of adding movement, we will likely find that our spirits rise with the tide, even with all the time-consuming necessities that fill our lives.

A Wellness Proposal for the Working World

2009-01-13T23:31:00.000-05:00

To reclaim our sense of wellness, I say we need to rethink illness as it relates to what we do for money. The time has come to shift the paradigm from the national debate about paid sick time (something I believe in) to creating a vision for a wellness dividend.

The facts stagger me. Paid time off is minuscule compared to our European counterparts. Unlike in Europe, no laws exist in the United States to provide for paid sick leave or vacation time - those have been afforded through hard won fights over the ages. In the end, the average American enjoys 1/3 the time off of the average European, while also experiencing a longer work day. This leaves little time for resting, recharging, and enjoying time away from the race.

Many people to whom I have talked express that they have no time to be sick or to take care of themselves due to work obligations. Bosses, they have told me, will look down on them for being absent, even if only for a day. Others are made to believe that they are supposed to earn their time off, accruing hours or days the longer they have worked somewhere. As someone who freelanced for much of my life, I always found these notions foolish and detrimental to our collective well-being.

Then I worked in an office.

According to my employee manual, I was not to be absent in my first ninety days for any reason. Once those three months were over, I would build 1/2 day of sick time for each additional month worked, though I could bank my six for the year in advance if need be. Of course, due to a convergence of circumstances at this job, my body ignored the manual and proceeded to make weekly excruciating migraines part of its repertoire.

In the three months following the probationary period, I was absent three times. My executive director pulled me into her office and expressed dismay at my absences. For a second, I thought she was concerned about my state of being, but she coldly pulled me out of that stupor, warning me that I had spent six months worth of sick time. She then grew invasive, asking if I was always a "sickly person."

"That's how it is when you're in an office," I was told over and over by others with much more experience. Having dipped my toe in corporate culture, I knew a life of having my humanity stripped from me, of being treated as an interchangeable part, would not be for me. At the same time, I understood how hard it is for employees who face the threat of losing their jobs to ever stand up for themselves and declare, "I'm a human!"

If we break down the leviathan that is a corporation, we discover human beings occupying management and board positions, even if they have forgotten on their upward trek how to relate to others. On some level, their humanity should be touched by ours. Our difficulties should reflect and be recognizable to them. And when we reach a level of human communication, indeed of human communion, we can strip away business-speak and arbitrary rules to come together and craft a new policy of wellness.

A wellness dividend could be spent and utilized in ways that fit individual employees' circumstances, recognizing that each unique person lives in a world of unique circumstances. It will provide for time to ensure the well-being of all employees, up and down the ladder. Rather than working people to the point of severe illness, the wellness dividend will focus on prevention, promoting time off at the earliest sign of symptoms. It will emphasize quality over quantity, rewarding work that is thoughtful, creative, and done well, versus a set amount of minutes being hunched over a desk. All told, with respect and trust, not only might workers find jobs less stressful or demeaning, businesses might see better ideas and projects and less of a burden on their insurance programs.

I recently instituted this policy for myself. After not missing a day of class in my opening trimester, I spent last weekend feeling funky and fuzzy in my head and stomach. Early Monday morning, the symptoms grew worse. In the past, I would have felt terribly guilty about missing a day of school, pushed through, and suffered the consequences with illness that might last the remainder of the week. This time, I let experience be my teacher, stayed in bed, and was back on track by evening.

Promotion of a wellness dividend at work could improve the spirit of individuals who no longer would have to suffer the indignity of personal questions should they dare be sick. It could also turn office spaces into harbors of good will, as humanity is restored to the people who so often have been treated as personality-free numbers, faceless liabilities, and robotic cogs in a machine.

What's Your Resolution?

2009-01-08T10:39:00.000-05:00

Our new year's resolutions are double-edged swords - they can set us up for great happiness and great disappointment. The scale of what we resolve will generally determine our state of well-being as we pursue our goals.

It has been a week since New Year's Day and I invite you to throw your resolutions out the window to start over. Many Americans resolve to lose weight and get in shape, and they do so year after year with little success. I invite you to look at yourself with compassion and to create a resolution that stands a chance.

This year, I resolved to be good to myself.

I had played the numbers game in years past, hoping to drop ten pounds off my frame, only to find that I never did much about it but get frustrated as each day, week, and month passed me by. Though it was "only" ten pounds and I knew the value of exercise, the challenge seemed daunting. I was always able to find excuses to keep from going for that run. Subsequently, each time I embarked, it felt like I was going for the first time.

So this year, I thought a long time about how I would craft my resolution. To simply say, "I want to be in better shape" was not good enough, since I have always desired that. To say, "I will run X days per week" was a bad idea, since schedules can turn that plan to mush quite quickly. I also hoped to relax more and to keep a calm mind, and now that I am back in school, that is easier said than done.

Ultimately, I determined that I was approaching my resolutions incorrectly. By setting a mountainous, arbitrary goal, I was making it easy to be disappointed a couple months from now. As in years past, March might approach and I might still be waiting for that first good day to take a jog.

That's when I decided to paint as big a picture as I could imagine - to be good to myself. My parents taught me that we have control over the choices we make, good or bad. No outside forces are mysteriously working to bring me down. Only I know what's truly good for me and the harmful patterns that I slip into easily. This broad resolution will not be an imposition that creeps upon me for an hour each day, since it changes the language from "having to" do something to "choosing to" do it.

I choose to eat more greens.
I choose not to take in caffeine.
I choose not to drink much alcohol.
I choose to eat breakfast.
I choose to remind myself to breathe.
I choose to go for a jog.
I choose to climb into bed a few minutes earlier.
I choose to sleep a little while longer.
I choose not to get angry at traffic.
And many more...

By presenting myself with a smorgasbord of choices for each day, there is little I can do to fail at my resolution. If one day it is cold and rainy, I might not be able to get out for my run. However, if I pick three choices off my list on that day - eating breakfast, taking deep breaths, and staying calm while driving - I am still engaging in good practices for my being. I am treating myself well.

So, what is your big picture resolution for this year?

I invite you to think it through and go beyond the latest trend in dieting. Life is a journey where each minute always takes 60 seconds and each hour 60 minutes. It is not an avalanche that shoots us from January 1 to June 30 in the blink of an eye.

Set yourself up for happiness this year. And choose to do it with resolve.

The Weight of Expectation

2008-12-30T11:08:00.000-05:00

A friend recently wondered if there could be a difference between looking forward to something and having expectations about how a future event might be. She determined that under either circumstance, we would not be living in the moment, thereby setting ourselves up for disappointment. I place strong value in living in the moment, and I believe that looking forward is valuable to life as well. Suffering accompanies how we look to the future.

In August, I will get married to my fiancee, Sara. We have planned an outdoor wedding and a tented reception. We know that any number of weather events could cloud the experience and we simply hope for sun, low humidity, and a moderate temperature. We also hope that the people we want there are able to attend. And, of course, that everything runs smoothly.

Since we cannot control the weather, the free will of people, or the unknown, if we moved beyond hoping for the best to expecting the best, we will be miserable at our own wedding. We will set ourselves up for years of complaining as memories of the day we got married are colored by unforeseen circumstances. Still, I am looking forward to the wedding itself and what it signifies and symbolizes. I want to and am excited to marry Sara no matter what goes on that day.

I have not fully formed the habit of looking forward without expectations. This is usually a stumbling block to my full enjoyment of life as it happens. When I headed north for the holidays, I knew we would have nine days up there - a luxury of time for many people. I tend to trip up around the halfway point, which is when I become acutely conscious that the good time will soon end. For this vacation, that came on Wednesday, Christmas Eve.

The first four days were wonderful, since I allowed myself to live moment-to-moment. With blankets of snow keeping us in, we kept ourselves busy setting up for the parties and helping out around the house. Time moved at a leisurely pace as we reveled in the company we were keeping. When Christmas Eve came, the feeling of infinite time passed with it, and I began to look forward to the following Sunday, our departure day, with dread.

The moment I thought of having to leave, I started to feel time slipping away. On Christmas, I was stunned when suddenly it was 4 p.m., then 8 p.m., then bedtime. The next day, at a quiet gathering of Sara and my families, the six hours passed quickly. Saturday blew by and finally I was back in D.C.

In this spiral, I did enjoy certain moments - visits with a friend and some relatives, meeting our wedding caterer, reading from one of my new books given as a gift. Yet, despite it all, my clock-consciousness fulfilled my belief that such trips of enjoyment end all too quickly. This is the expectation accompanying looking forward that I have difficulty avoiding.

Another year is coming to an end. As we look far ahead, we let the experiences of the moment pass by, perhaps not lived in fully well. And then we wonder where all the time has gone. Somewhere, there lies a happy balance that we must discover for ourselves. I suggest that if we can do two things to impact our immediate happiness, we should look forward to events without placing expectations upon the outcome and remind ourselves that the only things we ever experience happen in present time.

Time is a precious commodity. Let's celebrate the time we have right now. It's our one guarantee.

The Great What If...

2008-12-17T01:52:00.000-05:00

What if life did not revolve around what it is we do to make money?

Quite a question as thousands of Americans wake up without work or live in fear of losing their jobs. As pensions and college funds dwindle. As the cost of food rises. This could be seen as an inconvenient time to be asking such a question. Or it could be the question we need as economic crises tweak us.

I have noticed that Americans define themselves by the work they are doing. When I meet someone new and ask them to tell me about themselves, within the first three sentences, I know if they are in school or what they do for work. I am guilty of this myself, as it seems to be the easiest starting point for meeting strangers in this day and age. But, what if we were newly unemployed? How then would we answer that question?

That is today's challenge: The next time you meet someone, I challenge you to pretend that you are unemployed and that you are not currently engaged in pursuing an education. What would you then tell people about yourself? Do you know the essence of what makes you, you? Have you had time in your adult life to see yourself outside of the microscope of work?

The What-If of this challenge is essentially the great what-if of our lives. What if we simply could not define ourselves by our toils? What then would we say? What if it were wholly impossible to speak that which we do and instead we had to say what we are? Would it change our attitude toward our occupations? Would we look beyond money and toward what resides in our hearts? Would our tensions be quieted; our dreams awakened?

When I pursued a career in acting and worked for peanuts as a children's theater director, I heard more than once that I had "wasted" my education. I had attended an expensive and prominent college that sent a lot of English majors directly on to financial consulting firms, as though the four years we had spent expanding our literary horizons and learning to write dynamically were an apparition. Or worse, a joke.

My brother, who attended the same school with the same major, went on to teach for a decade in public schools. The reaction of people we knew growing up? How could he be "wasting" his education by becoming a teacher?

Since college was an expense, to many it becomes a commodity. Learning for the sake of learning becomes a luxury, which as I have illustrated can lead to judgment. Judgment based on wages earned versus dreams gone after or achieved. Judgment based on fear of the unknown prefering the safety of never leaving the backyard.

The news about the economy is leaving many back fences trampled. Most people will have no choice but to embark into the wilderness of the unknown.

What if we joined them on their new, perhaps scary journey? What if we took a few steps away from the safe choice and looked deeply into our hearts?

Would that change who we are? Or what we say we are?

We are not our jobs. We are our dreams. They certainly can intersect.

And while the job can be fleeting and disappear, the dream - our driving force - will endure.

So, what if we defined ourselves by what will always be? Will that change our perspective?