A Pledge to My Children

What do you want to do when you grow up?

It only took about 39 years. This includes four years of college, two years of graduate school, several years in the real world, and a little over ten years as an at-home mom to figure out…

I AM ALREADY what I WANT TO BE when I grow up.

That’s all it took.

It takes many of us a lifetime to answer that ever-present question: What do you want to BE when you grow up? I think it is true for everyone…you already are what you’ve always wanted to be.

So, here is my pledge to my children: I will never again ask you what you want to BE when you grow up. I will never again ask any child that question.

It is a really dumb question for one simple reason: Asking someone, especially a child, what they want to BE implies that what they already are is not enough. It is just the beginning of a journey down a very long road through a dark forest of trees that cannot be climbed because one is not strong, smart, tall, short, old, or young enough. As we move through the forest we learn from everyone we meet and all the feedback we get that what we want to be is far more important than what we already are. We get graded, we try-out, we make it, we get cut, we fail, we pass, and we graduate, all the time receiving signs and signals that we are not good enough as-is. We must learn more, eat less, and lift heavier weights to prove our worth. When in fact, all along we are worthy.

While I do have ten years in the field, I am sure that most “experts” wouldn’t call me an expert in parenting. That’s my disclaimer. I understand that it is really fun to ask kids this question. They say really cute things in response. Until just now, I thought it was a great question. Especially when followed with some heartfelt encouragement like “That is awesome! You can be anything you want to be!” There is value in challenging children to try harder, of course. We want everyone to be the best they can be, right? I think the way we say things matters though, so we need to be careful.

So, here is what I might say instead, if I really can’t help myself, which is often likely in my case. I might say, “What do you like to DO?” And I could follow that with “Wow, I know some adults who liked to [play with Legos] when they were kids and now they have jobs as [engineers and architects and math teachers]. Do you know any [engineers or architects or math teachers]?…” Stuff like that.

In many places I have heard the phrase, we are spiritual beings having a human experience. I’m sure there is a really smart person I could give credit to for making that statement, but I don’t know exactly who she is (okay, or he). One of my favorite yoga instructors often says, “We are human BE-ings, not human DO-ings.” It’s true. We are human beings, and as human beings we are implicitly given permission to BE. Actually, it’s probably more of a mandate. BEING comes with our territory as humans. It seems to me that us BEING has something to do with the architecture here on earth. I think BEING is part of our mission.

So why do we put so much emphasis on what we DO? It is not with malicious intent that we ask, What do you DO for a living? or What are you DOING right now? or What are you planning to DO? It’s because we are curious and quite often we care about the people to whom we ask these questions. I can tell you from personal experience, however, that if you aren’t too crazy about what you “do” it can be quite awkward, disheartening even, to be asked what you do for a living. I think in generations past, we weren’t so obsessed with what people do. I think we understood that what we do all day doesn’t necessarily define who we are. I also think if we spent less time focused on what we are DOing and more time simply BEing, we would be much happier people.

I think one of my mom’s most lucid moments after my dad’s death was when we were composing his obituary. Someone at the funeral home drafted something for us and we sat around a table reading it. It said something like James Shields Hodges was a Sheet Metal Worker…. My mom looked up and said, “that’s what he did, but that is not who he was.” And then she listed all these really wonderful things that he was, like an artist and an activist and a musician. And yes, you could argue that these are things a person can do, but really, if you know an artist or a musician, you know that what they DO in that case is very much who they ARE too. You are an artist in your soul. You create art because you have no choice, but to create. You feel like you might die if you stop. Creating connects you to all that surrounds you and everything beyond that. I was never an administrative assistant because I thought I couldn’t go on if I stopped filing papers or writing memos. Quite the opposite, actually. But administrative work was something I did because it allowed me to support myself when I graduated from college.

When I was a child I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I also wanted to be a teacher, a nurse, and even a parapsychologist. As I grew up, even though I wrote all the time, I lost touch with my dream to be a writer. When I revisited that dream, I knew I could never be a writer because I didn’t have a degree in writing, I didn’t have a portfolio of beautifully crafted writings, and there were people out there who were much better writers than I ever dreamed of being. I was so programmed to believe that what I did every day defined who I was that I didn’t even realize I was a writer all along.

Some people are really lucky and they have amazing jobs that allow them to express themselves. Some people have jobs that allow them to make a living. I will not stop encouraging my children to dream BIG, but I think we need to be more careful when we talk to children about great big things like THE FUTURE. Notice, I’m roping you into this one. Please consider it an invitation, as I understand you might think I’m full of it. Honestly though, you just never know what a child might hang on to as little he or she continues to travel through the dark forest of life. You never know what dreams will get squashed when he or she hears the message that they can’t do something because they are not qualified in whatever artificial way society has created to qualify them for that particular job. And in the meantime, simply being every once in a while…every day even, has so much more value than doing tons of crap anyway.

Each and every little child, and all of their parents, and every other human out there, is enough. Understanding that and allowing ourselves more time to BE, rather than trying to DO more, will go a long way. There is really no need to ask a child what he or she wants to be. Most of them really just want to be taller. Every other thing they are already, is all that they will ever need to be…a sweet little soul having a human experience.

Let them BE. Let yourself be while you’re at it.

Please stop being so hard on yourself.

They eat chicken McNuggets sometimes and that doesn't make me a bad mom.

You know what’s funny? I was just sitting here thinking about how cool I am because I can honestly say that my percentage of time spent comparing myself to other people has dropped dramatically in the last year. I used to spend a lot of time thinking I was a bad mom, wife, sister, daughter, friend, volunteer, niece and so on because other women seemed to be so much better at all of it than me. Now, I don’t do that as much. Like, hardly ever. But I still feel like I’m falling short in a lot of ways. So here is what is funny: I now compare myself to an IMAGINARY Anna.

IMAGINARY Anna is a lot like me, but not so rough around the edges. All of her laundry is caught up and she makes nutritious, delicious dinners for her family every night, even on the weekends. AND, all three of her kids eat every last bite of these meals WITHOUT COMPLAINING. In fact, they tell her she is an excellent cook and make her promise to write down all her recipes so that someday they can replicate her delectable meals for their own children. She is fashion forward and she doesn’t have bad hair days. She wears high heels a lot and they don’t hurt her feet. AT ALL. She can do a yoga head stand. She never yells at her children or loses her patience. Ever. She weighs… well, let’s not talk about how much she weighs because it’s been so long since I weighed as much as she does. I can’t relate to her on that level, but I do envy her and the ease with which she buys clothing (especially bras). She ALWAYS adores her husband and jumps up to kiss and hug him and thank him every night when he walks through the door, even when it is WAY later than she expected him. She doesn’t even blink an eye when he leaves his dirty socks in random places, like the kitchen counter. She doesn’t nag. She is a saint, really. Everybody loves her. She has lots of friends. She is the President of her Book Club and she volunteers every day in each of her three angelic children’s classrooms. In her spare time, she knits blankets for cold people. She has coffee every afternoon with her mother, who is a widow like my mom, and never once gets distracted as her mother shares what is on her mind. She never says things like, “Mom, I can’t even follow you – you are ALL over the place right now!” She follows everything. She does it all. I know she is completely unreal, but I STILL compare myself to her. I think I might have been better off comparing myself to other women because occasionally I actually saw the human side of THEM and didn’t feel like such a loser.

What I’m trying to say here is, women are SO HARD on themselves!

Maybe men are too. Okay, I know they are. Sometimes. But I am not a man and most of my friends are not men so I am not as concerned about them and their well-being right this minute. I don’t hear how guilty men feel when they have to make a choice between showing up for one of their children at one event or another of their children at another event because both their children want them to show up at the very same time, but they can only be in one place at once. Did you follow that? I may have a future in writing story problems. I don’t hear how worried they are when their children are sick or sad or being treated poorly by someone at school. I don’t hear how conflicted they feel when a dear friend needs them desperately and their family needs them too. I don’t hear how sad it makes them to leave their children every morning and pick them up late at night. How they wished they could be there for every single big and little milestone their children reach. But they can’t because they have to work. And, I have never ever heard a man say he feels bad for doing something special for himself rather than spending quality time with his family.

To be clear, I am not saying, nor implying, that men don’t have the very same heartfelt concerns as women. I just don’t hear about it because, like I said, most of my close friends are other women and other moms and they are the people I hear from most often. Women are the people I most worry about.

I am putting out a desperate plea here to any woman (or man for that matter) who is reading this. PLEASE, pretty please with a cherry on the top, let yourself off the hook.

See, here’s the not so funny thing. If any one of my friends, or even a complete stranger, came to me and said, “Anna, I feel so bad for going through the drive-thru at McDonald’s last night to get dinner for my kids…”

I would NEVER say, “Wow, you’re a shitty mom. You’re so lazy. You totally should have cooked for your children!”

I would probably say, “Please. Your kids are fine. You’re fine. Let it go.” But do I ever say that to myself? Not so much. Imaginary Anna always cooks for her children. As long as I compare myself to her, I will keep feeling like a crappy, lazy mother. That is not funny. That is really sad.

I know I’ve said this before, but I’m going to say it again. As long as we compare ourselves to others or continue to have unrealistic expectations of ourselves, we will never measure up, and we will always feel bad about ourselves.

I am getting better at quieting the voice in my head – my inner critic – when she tells me that So and So is a way better mother than I am. Some of us are still working on that. Some of us aren’t even aware that she has no place in our heads. She is unwelcome. Kick her OUT. You work on that and I’ll work on kicking out my new inner critic who tells me all the crap that she tells me.

I know we all have moments where we feel guilty or ashamed or incapable of doing what we think we’re supposed to be doing. That is natural and normal because we are humans and humans have feelings. We need our feelings to help us move through life. Our feelings are like little street signs, letting us know what lies ahead or which way to turn. We have every right to feel guilty. But let’s not wallow in it. Let’s not live there. Let’s not let ourselves stay feeling guilty.

Let’s just notice our guilt, like a little sign saying Guilt Lies Ahead and move on, in a different direction, knowing that we are doing the very best that we can.

Then, let’s let ourselves off the hook because we are in fact doing our BEST. And guess what? Our best changes every day. Today my best is not as fantastic as it was yesterday. You know what Inner Critic, that’s OKAY. I’m OKAY. My kids are OKAY. I’m letting it go…!

I worry about each of the beautiful women I hear say, “I feel so bad about…” I worry that they will stay feeling bad and not see their very own radiance – the radiance that I see when their eyes light up when they see their kids after school each day. The radiance I see when I know they are doing the very best that they can in every possible way. I admire the way women try so hard. We do hard work. I trust it is worth it. I also trust that with as hard as it is, we don’t need to make it any harder. We can let ourselves off the hook. xoxo

A Different Kind of Love Letter

Dear Dad,
You’re still a jerk for dying. Every once in a while I can be okay with it, but for the most part, the way I feel about you for dying hasn’t changed.

As the second anniversary of your death approaches, I am thinking a lot about what has changed since March 11, 2010.

At your funeral and afterward, a lot of people said to me, it will get easier with an emphasis on the IT. I don’t think IT really gets easier, Dad. I think I just get better at IT. I live and love and laugh a lot and I cry a lot too. I sometimes question my sanity. When that happens, I wonder if maybe I really should be all better now. There is no “all better” in the world of lost loved ones though, Dad. I know that you know that. And, I know that you know, better than anyone, that the pain – the sadness, the anger, the desperation – we feel when we lose someone we love needs to be expressed because if it’s not expressed, bad things can happen. Unexpressed grief festers inside us like an infection. It might manifest itself in another way, like as an illness. So, I don’t need to explain to you why two years after your death, I’m still writing about it and thinking about it…and crying about it.

I still miss you so much, Dad. I miss you the most when I am putting Sophia to bed and we are laying side by side with our faces so close that our noses are almost touching. She stares at me intently and whispers the sweetest things like, “your eyes are like JEWELS!” As if she is so surprised, but also as if she is telling me a secret about the meaning of life, something that only she knows because she is still so fresh in her human body. I wish you were here to tell me what you think of all the things she says and the ways she twirls around the room, dancing and singing, and the ways she taunts her brothers. I loved hearing your James stories. Then, I loved hearing your Alexander stories. I long to hear your Sophia stories.

When Sophia and I meet new people or stop to talk to strangers in the store, it isn’t too long before someone says, “I love her little voice.” Nobody knows as well as Sophia just how lovable she is. She tilts her head and smiles. One day, Alexander was FURIOUS at her. She talks a lot, Dad. Her little voice never stops. She wouldn’t stop talking and Alexander screamed, “I HATE HER LITTLE VOICE!” It was hilarious. I laughed out loud. Really, what else could I have done in that situation?

I parent differently now than I did before you died, Dad. I used to get really stressed out, almost panicky, in situations like that. I wanted to be the perfect mother. I wanted to respond with the most meaningful, profound, and powerful words. I wanted to say the right thing, without hurting anyone’s feelings.

Oh Dad, that just isn’t real. You know? My kids need to see me lose it. They need to see me make mistakes and say I’m sorry afterward. They need to see me cry, Dad. Nothing is real anymore. Between TV and movies and video games, kids just don’t see what’s real. I want to be real for them. They need me to be real for them. When they’re upset, they don’t need me to spout off something I read in a book, they just need me to listen. At the end of the day, if they can go to sleep knowing that they are loved and that they are heard and seen, I think they will be okay. Sometimes I screw it all up, but mostly I think we’re all going to be okay.

I think that is true for most people, Dad. They just need to be heard. So I’ve stopped trying to come up with the perfect response altogether. I’ve stopped beating myself up for falling short of perfection…because I do fall short of perfection. Way short. I listen a lot and think less about how to respond when the person I’m listening to is finished talking. When people ask me what I would do – I try to answer from the heart. But, honestly Dad, we all know that nobody really knows how they will respond to something until they are actually faced with that situation. Oh, the time I wasted IMAGINING how I would respond to a hypothetical situation! I try not to do that anymore. It’s a waste of time.

I also try not to obsess so much. I used to obsess over every little detail of every little thing that I did. Do you remember that? I was so busy obsessing that I was missing what was most important – just BEING. Kids don’t care if their birthday parties have a theme, Dad. For the love of God! But themes are fun. So that’s different. I don’t pretend that implementing every aspect of the perfectly themed birthday party is for them, an essential part of the perfect childhood. I’m honest now, Dad. They may pick the theme, but all the other coordinating and matching and gathering and putting together – that’s for me. They really just want cake and presents.

I guess you could say I’m following my intuition more now. I’m listening to myself more. The funny thing about that, Dad, is years ago – before kids and marriage and a job and all that, I LISTENED to my intuition! Somehow I lost touch with that ability. Or, I lost faith in that ability. I began to look outside myself for answers to questions. I read books. Lots and lots of books. Before I made any significant decision, I checked to see what Dr. Sears would do. I turned to my friends and anyone really, to see what they were doing. Then, I judged myself against all those inputs – the books, the people, the kids’ teachers and our pediatrician… I never measured up, Dad, because that wasn’t me. That wasn’t real. And the other funny thing about that is I’m actually really smart. I have some pretty great answers. But, I still love books.

I still think a lot about God too, Dad. That hasn’t changed. It is an obsession. I really wished I had some solid ground to stand on after you died. I desperately wanted to be able to say with confidence, “THIS is what I believe…” I have some ideas, but I’m still open to possibilities, Dad. I stopped thinking that maybe some people were wrong and some were right about God though. Maybe we’re all right, Dad. Maybe we all just need to figure out what works for us and do that. Maybe we can change our minds as we go. Twice this week already I’ve read stories about how God wants us to treat others as we would treat ourselves AND, here’s the important part, that implies that we actually treat ourselves well. Right? I never got that part. I just assumed I was treating myself well and that is how I would treat others. In actuality, I wasn’t treating myself well. At all. So, I’m trying to treat myself well because I want to be able to treat other people well. Skipping meals and not making time for exercise? Um, no. Not anymore. But Dad, I’m always the first to go when things get rough. I take full responsibility for that. I’m not whining about it. I’m just saying that I’ve still got work to do.

I’m writing all of this as if you have no idea what’s going on down here on Earth. When really, in my heart, I know that you already know all of it. I know you are there in the night with Sophia and me, and maybe it is you whispering in her ear, telling me my eyes are like jewels (although, even you wouldn’t be quite so dramatic about it). I know you still follow James and Alexander and maybe you’ve got some buddies up there who listen to your funny stories now. I know you are here with me, leaving pennies and feathers and messing with the frames on my walls. I know you are guiding me to listen to my intuition…again. I know you are helping me to see what is real and what isn’t and what matters and what doesn’t. This is what you did on Earth. You were flawed, like all of us, but you were real and the way you lived your life was an invitation for all of us to be real too. You believed that the power was inside us, in the people, NOT in politicians or priests or other people like politicians and priests – people we turn to when we feel powerless. As I continue to miss you and live on without you here, I think I also feel closer to you. Closer to what you were and what you stood for. For living and laughing and loving and singing and playing and thinking with all your heart – not so much with your mind. You got it. You knew that nothing but love mattered. You sang about that. You knew that all the power we ever needed was right there inside us. You had it all figured out.

It’s hard to be real, Dad. To be honest and true. To let it all hang out. To be vulnerable. It’s all so very hard. But you did it with such grace and with such a great sense of humor too. So, I’m not giving up. I’m open and listening. I will keep at it as a tribute to you. In my mind’s eye, I can see you smiling now. I see the signs that you give me, and I will continue to follow them right back home – to myself, to my own heart, where you live, always, inside me and all around me.

I love you Dad!
xoxo love, Anna

Heavyhearted

It’s the last day of Spring Break, 2011. As I was enjoying the peaceful promise of early Spring in Northern Michigan last week, two of my dear friends were facing life-changing losses. As I read books, snuggled with my children, and navigated road trips up and down M-22 and US-31, one of my friends had to say good-bye to her beloved grandmother, and another watched and waited as her father’s battle against cancer came to its heartbreaking end. A grandmother, a father, two people my friends have known for as long as they can remember. These are two of the people who have helped to shape my friends’ lives and to guide them into the beautiful, compassionate, intelligent women they are today. My heart is heavy for my friends.

As I waited for updates on my friend’s dad, a little tornado of panic rumbled in my chest. It became clear that he might die, but I hoped along with her for some kind of miracle that would spare her and her family the pain of losing him, and keep him alive. I hated the thought of watching another friend lose a parent. This is an inevitable developmental milestone, but one that I think I could do without. Once I received the news of her father’s death, I began to relate what my friend was going through to my own experience. Her dad had been fighting cancer and mine died suddenly, so the circumstances were very different, but the outcome was the same. In the end, we both lost our dads.

As my sense of panic gave way to sadness for my friend and elements of my own grief began to surface, I again began to think about death and how we relate to it. If you believe in a human spirit, you might also believe that the Spirit doesn’t die. And even if you believe that everything dies when a body dies, there are parts of a person, anyone who is close to you, that stay. Like memories, I still have memories of my dad. I also have some of his personality traits. Some of his likenesses and traits have been passed on to my children. So, really, as long as we have our memories and each other, our loved ones stay alive in some way. It’s just not in the way we came to know them. This is why, even though we may believe that they are still with us, we still miss them. We come to know everyone we meet as a physical being so we can’t help but to miss that being when it no longer walks among us. And I think we miss them even more in every instant that we realize the finality of it all – that we will never see the being we loved again on Earth.

This all brings me right back to the issue of how to deal with losing someone you love and how to address grief that is triggered by another’s loss. And, of course, I know there isn’t a prescription for grief or guidelines to follow. I completely understand that. So the answer, as always, is just to let it be. To feel it, to express it, to let it flow through you. That sounds logical to me. I would tell anyone to do the same. But in my case, over the course of the week, I needed more guidance. I began to question what I knew to be true. I lost faith in the inner wisdom that told me to do nothing, to let it be. I needed more, like a flow-chart or something, mapping out how to proceed when I stumble on my path.

And then my five year-old son, Alexander, started screaming at his brother. His screams are ear-piercing and they usually scare the crap out of me. Beyond the screaming though, is an example of how to let it be. He is angry so he screams. And then he moves on. He doesn’t hang on to his anger. He doesn’t feel guilty about it later. He doesn’t question whether it is okay to be angry. He screams and POOF! he is fine. Then my three year-old daughter walks right into a table and starts to cry. She is hurt so she cries. I pick her up, I give her a kiss and a squeeze, and she is fine. She gets back on her feet. She doesn’t even try to avoid the table on the next run-around. Then my eight year-old son is told that it’s time to stop playing Wii and he is not happy with that news because he wants to finish all 200 laps (uh, what?!?) so he throws the Wii remote thing. He is frustrated so he throws things. He may pout for a little longer, but within 20 minutes he is laughing with his dad. He is fine. No looking back.

I am left with two lessons: 1) Kids are geniuses at expressing their emotions. They serve as examples of how to let it be. I want to be more like my kids. I may even start screaming along with Alexander instead of wishing him out of his screaming phase. Heck, if it helps him to cope with whatever life throws his way, I hope he always screams. 2) I am beginning to imagine that the people I love are more like wind. In the same way that I don’t need to see the wind to know that it is there, I will try to trust that I don’t need to see my dad to know that he is with me. In quiet moments, I feel my dad, like wind. I do have one caveat though, and that is that when the knowledge I have that he is with me just doesn’t seem like enough, I will go to lesson #1 and let whatever I am feeling flow through me. And looky there, I have my flow chart.

Let it Be

I need to make a confession. I started My Hat Trick on a whim. I have no plan, I have no mission, I have no message. I, obviously, needed to get some things off my chest. I know in my heart and through my life experience that there is a reason we teach our children to share. Sharing is empowering. It sets us free. It feels good. And, in my case, sharing heals. So, I decided to share these things that were screaming to be shared. I have thoroughly enjoyed every minute of thinking, writing, and sharing. I adore anyone who takes the time to read what I write. I am flattered by your positive feedback. I cherish your support and encouragement.

Everything has been going so well, until this week. My head is swimming with millions of things that need to be done. I feel so discombobulated! When I plan for some time to try to sort things out, it often backfires. Like today, for example, the plan was to drop my two little ones at pre-school, then take my older guy to his dentist appointment, then take him to school, then try to get my head straight. Enter ice. School was delayed this morning. Consequently, I had to take the little ones to my older guy’s appointment. By the time everyone was dropped off where they were supposed to be, my 1.5 hours turned into 45 minutes and I didn’t know where to begin.

When I saw my son’s pre-school teacher at pick-up she said, “What a crazy morning!” By the way, I am convinced that all of the teachers in the local area think I am a complete basket case. I feel like Pig Pen from the Peanuts. Instead of dirt swirling around me, I am encircled by a tornado of three children, our great big dog, and an insane amount of that dog’s hair. It’s chaos. I forget things. I don’t return phone calls. I’m late sometimes. I’m not a model mother citizen. But, I have a huge smile and I can be fairly charming at times so I think they like me anyway. Miss Theresa and I joked about how unpredictable life is, especially with small children. We agreed that it is best not to plan because plans so often change. We said the best thing to do is to just go with it. To let it be.

Once the kids were safely buckled in their seats and we were on our way home, it occurred to me that Miss Theresa and I were on to something. Rather than worrying about how I’m going to do everything that needs to be done, I need to spend more time simply letting it all be. So there I was driving home, thinking about all the books and articles that I so badly want to read and the laundry that I need to put away and the phone calls I need to make and the places I need to go and the people I need to see… As all these thoughts mingled in my head, I realized that whether I’m planning to do it all, doing it all or not doing it all and just worrying about it, I am not truly doing anything. On the other hand, on the rare occasion that I can let it be, when I can go with the flow, I am fully engaged in the life before me and I am open to receive whatever it is I need to receive. And then, when I go to fold the laundry or drive my kids home from school, I am more focused. I can mindfully complete the task at hand because my head isn’t swimming with thoughts gone wild.

I have shared that my dad’s death presented an opportunity for me to take inventory. In the area of Spirituality, I came up short. My background does not root me in any one religion or world-view. I am open to all possibilities. The Universe is huge! It would be impossible for us to know what all is out there. I had been feeling fairly content with my outlook on the Universe and its vast abundance. I didn’t feel the need to define it or put a face on it. But then when my dad died, my broad view of Spirituality didn’t seem like enough. I wondered about all the things that most people wonder about as they explore their spiritual beliefs. Mostly, I wondered what happened to my dad. I wondered if he went to Heaven, and if so, what was it like? I wondered if he was okay and whether he liked it there. I wondered if he knew that I missed him, if he knew that I loved him, and if he knew how sorry I was for never listening to the last two cds he gave me. In my darkest moments I wondered why I was left here on Earth and how long I’d need to stay. I asked the Universe, “What is the meaning of all this? What is the meaning of life?” And ever since, I’ve been scrambling around trying to find the answers in all those damn books I mentioned. I’ve asked people what they think about the meaning of life and where they think we go when we die, if anywhere. I think about it, read about it, and talk about it constantly. Some people may even go so far as to say I’m obsessed.

My husband has always said that the point of life is to live it. How can I live my life if I’m so busy thinking about it?

So I decided today that I’d like to save you the trouble of reading the books and asking the questions. Even though, it’s all very fun and I think a very healthy part of any spiritual journey. Today I join the Beatles, Eckhart Tolle, Jon Kabat-Zinn, Ram Dass, billions of other writers, thinkers, masters, teachers, guides, rabbis, priests, pastors, monks and ministers, and Miss Theresa, in sharing a piece of great wisdom: the answers we seek don’t come when we are doing, thinking, or planning. Instead, we learn all we need to know when we let ourselves be, when we are quiet, open, receptive, and when we simply and fully, let it be.


Let It Be, by the Beatles