City Girl In The Country: Lost – My Messy Beautiful

08 Apr 2014 7 Comments

by Deb D in City Girl In The Country, Just Life, Reconciling, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , ,

Lost. My Messy BeautifulHusband says I can get lost in my own backyard. He exaggerates. The fact that I couldn’t find my way home from Peach’s dance class when we first moved to the country and had to call him to send up a flare, is not ample evidence. To a city girl, everything looks the same in the woods.

Fortunately, I’m not afraid to ask for directions. Like the time at the hardware store when the kindly gentleman employee, noticing my bewilderment, asked if he could help me. “Yes,” I gratefully replied. “I’m looking for caulk.”  The stunned, red-faced man led me silently to aisle 5.

Life is a maze – one in which I am frequently befuddled. And scared. Sometimes it seems that there is no difference between the middle-aged me and the eight year old me who cried her way through an amusement park after getting stuck in the glass maze. Or the teenage me on the first day of Sophomore year in a new school who burst into tears from the stress of being the new kid in a paralyzing scene of adolescent frenzy.

Perhaps this explains why a girl who failed Geography is addicted to maps and has a pet name for her GPS. And why my favorite job in college was Orientation Guide – leading packs of overwhelmed families through the labyrinth of an urban University Campus. Guiding is the antithesis of being lost.

When I see a panicked child in a store or a dog wandering the streets, I cannot rest until it is reunited with its family. Helping the lost is akin to reaching out the hand that knows what it’s like to tremble with fear and grasping another to steady it.

One day, I found a boy at the beach who was clearly too young to be alone. I detained the happy little chap until his mother arrived on the scene, frantic. Scooping him up, she admonished him for wandering off. His precious rebuttal to her fear was, “I not lost, Momma. I right here.” Clever lad. He knew that wherever he went, there he was. Why waste time worrying about where you’re supposed to be when the place you’re at is so magnificent?

I’m sure it’s magical for some people, like Husband, to explore the unknown and find his own way. Say, for example, in Disney World. But for those of us in need of a plan, there are at least three books that one might read on how to negotiate this particular adventure with efficiency. If these two very different people attempt to vacation together, they might argue a lot and vow never to vacation together again. Not that this happened to me. Just sayin’.

In the Adventure Park of Life, if given the choice, I opt for the guided tour. And I know I’m not alone. When I Google ‘How to deal with anger,’ I don’t even have to finish typing the sentence before several of the most frequently requested answers pop up. People want to KNOW. They don’t want to struggle.

That being said, I’ve learned to appreciate uncertainty and to find the humor in feeling lost.   Because the truth is, I’ve never not been found. When I was lost in sorrow, love found me. When I was lost in chaos, clarity found me.

Life, it turns out, is not the terrifying place I imagined. Writing about it reminds me of this. When I find myself confused about life’s challenges, writing sheds light on the internal compass, which is a heck of a lot more interesting to follow than a real compass. It takes me to places I never knew existed. And then, of course, I want to lead others to these places. So I share my thoughts with you and hope that the little match I’ve lit will light your way too.

Henry David Thoreau said, “Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.” He is smarter than Husband who tells me, “You’re hopeless without a map.” But Husband is cuter and has a tremendous sense of direction. When we married, my first choice for our wedding song was Follow Me Follow You by Genesis. Husband said it was too hard to dance to. But I think the real issue was his disagreement with the ‘I will follow you’ part. He was understandably nervous, given my track record.

My lost-ness is a well-honed skill. I rather excel at it. It’s not much to brag about, but I’m sort of attached to it.

 

This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!

 

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5 Things I Want My Son To Know About Dating

14 Mar 2014 2 Comments

by Deb D in Greatest Hits, Growing Up, Love and Other Things, Parenting Tags: , , , , , ,

mother's day tea. (2)Dear Beagle,

When you were in preschool we had a special date called “Mother’s Day Tea.  You and your classmates worked for a week to create invitations, place settings, and snacks.  On the day of the event, dressed up in your Sunday best and wearing a necktie for the first time, you sat patiently waiting at a pint-sized table for two.  I was outside the classroom waiting anxiously for my name to be called.  “Mrs. Dunham,” the teacher announced, which prompted you to stand up, push your chair in gracefully, and walk to the door to take my arm.  You led me to my place as if on official business, and asked me to join you for a bite.  I graciously accepted the tiny chair you pulled out as I fought back tears of joy.

My heart gushed with emotion that day.  Watching you learn the timeless lessons of hospitality thrust my mind toward the day you would be taller than me, dressing in man clothes and shaving in preparation for your date – which wouldn’t include me.

You had perfect manners that day, Beagle.  Any girl would have been proud to be sitting across from you.  My hope, now that you’re dating, is that you retain the sense of importance in this ritual.  You’ve got the basics, but there is so much more about relationships that I want you to know.  Here are the top five:

  1. Don’t be careless with another person’s heart and don’t let them be careless with yours.  You are playing with two hearts.  Protect them both with gratitude, for the risk of incurring hurt is high when you take each other for granted.  Be kind, be gentle, be aware.  Honor the validity of your partner’s feelings even when they differ from your own.  Love is a two-way street.  It’s not about taking and using, it’s about giving and receiving.  Listen to what your own heart is telling you and act on it with a mix of caution and abandon.  And most of all, be brave.  Because at some point your heart will be broken.  But it will heal and find the capacity to love again.  That’s what the heart does so well.  And if it’s you that departs first, let her down with dignity and you will preserve your own.
  2.  Love the one you’re with.  We all want to feel special to someone.  We want to know that the person we’re with has hand-picked us from the pack of possibilities.  At first we are fixated on the other, blinded by love.  But as time wears on, eyes may wander and observations may surface.  If you find yourself distracted by the ‘greener grass,’ it’s time to re-evaluate.  Take stock of your feelings and sort them out so you can make clear decisions.  Perhaps it’s time to move on, perhaps not.  But if you decide to stay, put your whole self into it.  Intimate relationships require and deserve focus.
  3. Don’t kiss and tell.  This is a no-brainer.  If you want your relationships to succeed, you must honor sacred ground.  No matter how much your ‘Boyz’ pressure you for information, keep it to yourself, even after the relationship has ended.  Back away from the desire to brag about your progress with a girl.  Respect the secrets you discover about each other and, dare I say, with each other.  You will never regret the practice of becoming trustworthy.
  4. Be yourself.  Partners in relationship have a way of highlighting each other’s warts, especially when the shine of newness has worn off.  When one chews too loudly or the other does that thing she always does, it’s easy to be critical.  We start to snip away at each other like tailors trimming and binding to make a perfect fit.  Sometimes we agree to give up parts of ourselves and we become altered versions of the whole person we were born to be.  True, we all have some ‘fat’ to trim; we could give up some bad habits that serve no one.  But each of us is perfect and valuable and worthy as is.   Better to find a person that fits the clothes than alter the clothes to fit a person.
  5. Take responsibility.  Relationships possess a level of risk, both physical and emotional.  Don’t let those risks run away with you.  Think before you speak.  Think even harder before you act.  Know what I’m sayin’?  Let me spell it out…If you don’t want to become a teen parent, protect yourself.  Don’t assume your partner is taking care of business.  Or better yet, abstain.  Enough said.                                                                                                                               The most important piece of wisdom to remember about relationships is this: YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN HAPPINESS.  Don’t try to blame your witchy girlfriend, or her angry mother, or her crazy friends.  No one makes you unhappy.  Happiness is a matter of choice and perspective.  If you love, respect, and care for yourself, happiness will not outrun you.

Beagle, you know how much I adore you.  You’ve long outgrown my cuddles, but I hope you’ll never outgrow my love.  I want the best for you and for all the people who are lucky enough to meet you in this lifetime.  So listen to your wise mother.  And bend down and kiss her once in a while.  She will always be your first love.

“So there’s this boy who stole my heart.  He calls me Mom.”  -anonymous

City Girl In The (Cold) Country

03 Mar 2014 2 Comments

by Deb D in City Girl In The Country Tags: , , , ,

wood-stoveWe’ve had the coldest and snowiest winter in recent memory which brings the threat of higher heating bills and the motivation to implement supplementary measures.  Visions of thousand dollar bills flying out the door every time we opened it scared husband and I into some long overdue changes.

Thus, we set about on our mission to cold-proof ourselves and our home; each of us trying to out-do the other in heat-saving measures.  To start, every family member, minus the dog, was gifted with a set of wool socks, a fluffy blanket, and a thick sweatshirt.  In lieu of warm clothing, the dog – who has his own natural fur coat – did benefit from an upgrade in sleeping quarters.  At the request of my son, he happily surrendered his place on the cozy wool rug for a previously restricted spot on the foot of my son’s bed.  A “two-for-one”, son declared.   “The dog is warmer and so are my feet!”  Who am I to argue?

A family trip to the hardware store was productive and satisfying.  We discovered sweeps for the doors, plastic to cover windows, and caulking to fill cracks around both.  We filled up our cart with abandon, convinced that spending a little now saves a lot later.  Not a flinch could be detected as the total of our purchases soared through triple digits.   Chalk it up for the heat miser.

Our self-satisfaction seemed to grow with every step.  But the real peak was reached when we fired up the wood-burning stove, and hauled in some wood from trees that were felled in our own backyard.  “Free heat!” husband exclaimed.  We were positively giddy about our dominance over Old Man Winter.

Day and night, husband can be found holding vigil at the woodstove.  He’s got it down to a science: position of the flue vent, configuration of wood, placement of fans for heat circulation.  So many details, but oh, so much heat.  Like a spoiled cat, I curl up in front of the stove, basking in the 74 degree temperature; a luxury never afforded by traditional heating.

And then it happened.  Husband left for 3 of the coldest days this season.  And I was left to tend the fire.  It was time for this cat to get off the rug and learn a thing or two.  My crash course was brief, but adequate I thought.  How hard could it be?  Humans have been tending fires for millions of years.  If un-evolved cave people could do it, surely a seasoned city girl-turned-country could too!

Within just a few hours of husband’s departure, my lofty assumptions crumbled.    Facing a rapidly dwindling heat source, and equally diminished confidence, I knelt before the wood stove, praying to the god of fire to save me from disaster.  Then I cried aloud, as if the stove had a life of its own, “I raked the coals; I gave you wood; I even smiled at you!  What more do you need?”   And why is my house filling with smoke instead of heat?  Somebody help me.  I need heat!”

Suddenly, through  smoke-induced tears, I saw a light.  Not the light of a fire, but the light of awareness.  I DO have heat.  Without hesitation, I rose from my knees and walked  defiantly  across the room to the thermostat.  Pushing guilt aside, I raised my finger and pressed the button.  Hearing the familiar click of the furnace as it turned on brought a smile to my face.  I leaned in a little closer, and whispered, “I love you.”

I might have relished that moment longer, had I not spotted my children staring at me, wide-eyed and incredulous.  Realizing that excuses would not suffice, I gave one simple instruction that would be repeated many times in the next few days, “Don’t tell Dad I turned on the heat.”

Love Letters

11 Feb 2014 1 Comment

by Deb D in Love and Other Things Tags: , , , ,

i love youA teenage girl lost her father and regretted that she hadn’t sufficiently expressed her love before he passed.  Another teenage girl, absorbing this lesson, decided to write love letters to each member of her extended family.  She could write things she couldn’t say out loud.

It took courage to release her feelings.  She felt vulnerable and unsure of how her messages would be received.  Being young and inexperienced in the power of love, the girl did not anticipate the gratitude that was released through her expressions of affection.

A grandmother with a tough exterior, softened.

A beloved grandpa cried outright.

A burdened aunt stepped a little lighter.

And an uncle, who keeps to himself, was shockingly animated and conversant.

It was all very confusing for the girl.  She had discovered that her love had power.  She could hold it or share it.  She could shape it into words that helped people, including herself.  With love, she could change the world.

The girl decided that love would be something she’d use more often to lighten the load.  She vowed to do more reflecting that would remind her of the importance of the people in her life.  She would write to help the people see it too.  She would open herself whenever she could to the gifts that loving-kindness had to offer.

In this way, the girl protected herself from the threat of regret.  More importantly, she pushed love to the front of the line where it belonged, where she could see it clearly and allow it to color her world.

Driving Me Crazy

31 Jan 2014 10 Comments

by Deb D in Crack A Smile, Greatest Hits, Growing Up, Parenting Tags: , ,

driverLong ago, husband and I determined that, whenever possible, the job of teaching our children would be delegated to professionals.  It’s not that we lack skills, but rather patience.  After several episodes of family meltdown on ski slopes, ice rinks, and swimming pools, we raised the white flag.  Better to preserve an amicable family dynamic than risk damage to our relationships over the breast stroke.  Our plan cost us thousands of dollars but saved us the possibility of nervous breakdowns or homicide.

Fast forward sixteen years to the opening chapter of Driver’s Ed.  I was shocked, but delighted, to pay close to $1000 for Principessa to learn all things car from the local school.  In a convenient memory lapse, I convinced myself that her twelve hours with the instructor would magically spare me many more hours of grief.  I know, naivete has no limits.

It turns out that the driving instructor was a handsome 20-something who apparently thought that my daughter’s driving was so perfect, he could catch up on texting whilst she experimented with her own rules of the road.  I could have complained, but truth be told, I knew it would take more than twelve hours behind the wheel no matter who sat beside her.

I was duly panicked to take the passenger seat but husband jumped in with his signature, ‘It’ll be fine’ attitude.  It wasn’t fine.

Six months after receiving her permit Principessa was still unclear about right-of-way and traffic lanes.  She blamed her confusion on the conflicting instruction she had received from husband and me.  Not to mention the way it was delivered – with a healthy dose of yelling.

Poor Principessa – first in line.   All along the way, she has suffered the brunt of our parental inexperience, helping us to carve out rules that would be solidly established by the time her siblings came of age.   They can thank her for the following rules of the road:  no driving with both parents in the car at once, no radio, no eating, no friends, no flip-flops…. Take note, parents.  I give you lessons learned the hard way.

The most helpful tip I can share was created by a desperate and teary-eyed Principessa, “Mom, maybe it would help if you pretended to be someone else.”  What?  You want me not to be your crazed, anxious, white-knuckled mother in the passenger seat?   Genius!  From thence forward, I became ‘Bernard’ (pronounced Bah-naaahd) and Principessa became ‘Barbie’ (prounounced Bahhh-bie).

From the moment we adopted our alter egos with thick Boston accents, the mood in the car transformed.  It’s wondrous that we didn’t crash, so steeped were we in humorous banter.  Barbie and Bernard had a grand time on the road – for the most part.  To say that I became a flawless driving instructor would suggest a level of aplomb beyond my abilities as a quick-tempered Italian.  But I was a vast improvement incognito.

As the License Exam day approached, I found myself afraid that Principessa would fail, thereby extending my tenure as driving instructor.  So we crammed in late night sessions of parallel parking and three-point turns.  She would pass this test, damn it.  My sanity depended on it.

Alas, she did.  I waved goodbye to her on her maiden solo voyage, and recalled a radio advertisement that claims “the first year of a teen’s driving is the most dangerous year of her life.”  What the what?!  I needed that terrifying tidbit like I needed an inflated auto insurance premium.

When Principessa offered to take her siblings on an outing to the beach, I nearly vomited from the thought of losing all three at once in a car crash.   It’s going to take me a while to get used to this and to appreciate the positive aspects of having one less child to shuttle around.  In the meantime, I’m losing sleep and gaining gray hair.  And, despite that, loving it all.

The Old Shoe

20 Jan 2014 6 Comments

by Deb D in Growing Up, Just Life, Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

 

I am an old shoe, shoved to the back of the closet, worn thin and out of style.  But in my hay-day I was really something.  Your consideration of my needs will polish me and help me to shine again.

 

I am slowing, not fading.  Please give me time to catch up.

I am needy, but not helpless.  Allow me to do what I can, and trust me when I say ‘I can’t.’

I am dull in senses but not without feeling.  Be gentle with me.

I am less clear mentally, but not stupid.  Treat me with respect.

I am fearful, but still hopeful.  Protect me and my remaining dreams.

I have less bodily control, but no less dignity.  Shield me from embarrassment and teach me things in a way that doesn’t diminish me.

I value the old ways that defined my youth.  Please don’t invalidate my long-held  beliefs.

You cannot expect me to be who I was. I am changed.  But I have not lost ‘it’ and you have not lost me.  I am still the mother who carried babies, the man who supported a family, the person who achieved and gave generously of resources.  I’m a little more crusty and vague, I admit.  But I am still valuable.   I hope you see that too.

 

This post is dedicated to the clients whom I am privileged to work with every day.  And to aging people everywhere.

Good Morning, Monday

06 Jan 2014 2 Comments

by Deb D in Uncategorized Tags: ,

keep-calm-and-love-mondayGood morning, Tiredness.  Hello Bad Mood.  Greetings, Schedule That Makes Me Cringe.  I’ve barely opened my eyes and there you are waiting for me.  How did you get in again?  Did I leave the door open?  I’ve got to remember to lock it when I go to bed.

You creatures are like a cold draft blowing through the cracks of my house.  I shiver and shudder at the feel of you and roll over to pretend it’s still dream time.  But you don’t leave.  You get increasingly loud, demanding that I rise and start the week.

Listen up.  I want you to wait outside the door.  You can’t be gathering at the foot of my bed like this.  I’m likely to trip over you and hurt myself.  I need some space in the dark of the early morning.  If you’d step aside, I might be able to peel myself off the pillow and proceed with my morning.  Making this body move is hard enough without you getting in the way.  Shoo.  Away with you.  I want to get off on the right foot.

I close my eyes tight and wish like a child for the demons to be gone when I open them again.  Someone save me.

Oh, hello Gratitude – my knight in shining armor.  Slay my dragons and whisk me away.

“You are not paralyzed.  You have the ability to move on your own.”  Grateful.

“You have a job and a home and food to eat.”  Grateful.

“You are fortunate to have lived another day.  It is a gift.”  Grateful.

Thus, Gratitude pulls me up and leads me out of the nightmare of Monday.  It splashes water in my face and opens my eyes to what’s really happening.  A day.  That’s all.  Not a nightmare.  Not a curse.  Just a day.  Seize it.

Oh, the tricks I have to play to ward off negativity.  It blows through the cracks in my soul like the cold winter wind.  Perhaps if I caulk the spaces with enough gratitude,  I can insulate myself against the pain of it’s bite.  It’s all I can hope for.  Monday mornings, like the New England winter, aren’t going away anytime soon.

Dog Mirrors

05 Dec 2013 8 Comments

by Deb D in Greatest Hits, Love and Other Things Tags: , , , , , ,

I’ve always wanted a mutt, solely because of the common endorsement that ‘My mutt was the best dog I ever had.’  Of course there are more philanthropic reasons for choosing a rescue dog, but ultimately our decision was made by the fact that our family of five could not agree on a breed.

Husband wanted to enjoy longer than two months of dog-freedom after the passing of Rex.  But the rest of us were impatient, and very convincing with our reasons for jumping back into dog ownership.  Husband accused us of engaging in ‘puppy porn’ which is a fairly accurate description of our addiction to browsing PetFinder.com.

Principessa and I would fall in love anew every day and casually leave photos of glossy-eyed puppies on the family computer for husband to stumble over.  Gradually we wore him down with four-legged cuteness and took his reduction in resistance as a green light to move forward with adoption.  When this irresistible ball of fur jumped out of its crate, husband was sold.

oakley 10.13

It was I who had second thoughts.  We had a two week return policy in case things didn’t work out.  As if.

The following weeks included two trips to the vet, three prescriptions, hypo-allergenic food, and a subscription to pet insurance for a dog who was, well, sick as a dog.  Instead of returning our damaged goods, we became even more attached and protective and committed to dog rehabilitation.  We now have a healthy, energetic, puppy and a few less shoes, rugs, and electrical cords – all lost to the chewing nuisance.

Now, instead of worrying about ill health, we focus on ill behavior.  This, thanks to my passion for discipline.  Husband teases that by the time I’m done with dog training, Oakley will have more diplomas than the rest of the family combined.  Probably true.

On a regular basis, I haul the kids to puppy class and insist on their participation in training for good manners at home.  Principessa approached me with sincere concern that Oakley might be deaf.  “Why?” I asked.  “Because he doesn’t listen to me when I tell him to sit.” she replied.  Oh, my dear daughter.  Oakley is not deaf.  He’s a teenager.

Principessa has also complained that Oakley won’t cuddle with her.  “He’s so ungrateful.  I feed him and play with him and still, he ignores me.”  She could be me, reflecting on her.  The parallels are uncanny.

At a recent dog-training class, Peach and I discussed the common observation that dogs resemble their owners.  We giggled about the shaggy dog with the shaggy-haired woman and the aggressive dog with the angry-faced handler.  Turning the mirror on ourselves, we observed that   10-year old Peach, distracted by so many puppies in one room, had difficulty controlling Oakley’s similarly curious demeanor.

I’d like to say that Oakley is a perfect specimen at my command, thereby reflecting my own composed nature.  But in truth, when I find myself worrying that he is hyper and barky and unfocused, I have to admit that I, too, am off the rails.

Friend asked why, with a typically chaotic family life, I would want to add a dog to the mix?  Despite the ample research on the benefits of pet ownership, it resembles a crazy decision.  True, this.  But at the end of the day, five out of five of our family members agree that dogs make us better humans.  We are more compassionate, less self-centered beings when caring for a canine.  And more importantly, when our worlds are ablaze with problems we can’t solve, there is always this…

sleeping dog 2

waiting for us at the end of the day.

The Costume Party of Life

01 Nov 2013 3 Comments

by Deb D in Just Life, Parenting Tags: , , , ,

sneakersWhen nine-year old Peach’s eyes lit up at the sight of these sneakers, I couldn’t share her enthusiasm.  In fact, I was repulsed and had to bite my tongue to avoid hurting her feelings.  What will people think?  Should I let her buy the sneakers and risk being teased?

I fretted over the decision while texting husband for support, and tried, unsuccessfully, to convince her to want a more socially acceptable pair of school shoes.  It was comical, really.  Me thinking that I could influence her taste because I wanted it to be in line with my own.

Eventually I came to my more evolved senses and stood by the ‘live and let live’ philosophy I claim to subscribe to. I do believe in, and have preached to my children, tolerance for the differences of others.  Clothes, hair, and jewelry  are all harmless forms of self-expression that each is entitled to.  We can’t take these things too seriously.  They’re part of the costume party of life.

One could say that the costume party extends well beyond appearance.   We cloak ourselves in images – good girl, leader, hero, bad-ass, geek, bookworm.  Whether intentionally or subconsciously, we pick out words, deeds and attitudes that suit our unique style and earn us labels.

I warned Peach about labels and the potential fallout from her choice, before allowing her to purchase the sneakers.  She resolved that ‘If anyone makes fun of me, I know it’s their own fear talking.  I’m not going to be bothered by someone else’s fear.  You taught me that, Mom.’

Did I?  Bravo.  Remind me to practice that one myself.

Recently I became privy to a conversation between two close relatives on the subject of Peach’s sneakers.  “What was Deb thinking?” they wondered.   “ Yes, children have individual styles, but they need guidance.  That’s a mother’s job.”

What this person really meant was, a mother should mold her children into a limited scope of acceptable, squeezing them into the one-size-fits-none gender biases.  Determined to be as fearless as Peach, I defended her decision and mine with the conviction of the greatest of feminists.  I contend that it’s not a mother’s job to feed into the insecurities of others just to make them comfortable.

This Halloween, Peach pretended to be Coco Chanel – signature black dress (with pants underneath, of course), pearls, hat and yes, the ‘boy’ sneakers.  She educated us on Coco – the gutsy, progressive, designer with male-inspired style.  We marveled over the Coco Chanel story, laid out in an inspiring video montage.  After watching it, Peach declared, “Mom, someday you’ll read about ME in chapters, just like Coco Chanel.”

Yes, Peach, I bet I will.

The Death Watch

14 Oct 2013 2 Comments

by Deb D in Reconciling Tags: , , , ,

death watchI recall a promise made to myself in childhood ignorance – I will not become a bitter adult.’  It was clear to me that adulthood had the potential to suck the fun out of life.  Heavy responsibilities weighed down the big people.  They seemed to smile less and complain more.  Cynicism leaked from their pores as a result of letting life’s ugliness seep in.

As I walked into the wake for a neighbor who committed suicide, I felt myself becoming that bitter adult.  This was not the first time I’d been to a wake of this sort, but no matter the circumstances, death has a way of interrupting a harmonious , if not ignorant, mindset.

In coping with this loss, I cling to the wisdom that the only real suffering comes from believing that things should be different.  ‘Resist nothing,’ say the experts, because resisting only prolongs misery.  Trying to manipulate life is like trying to sculpt concrete with your hands.  Hard as we try, we’ll never crack the code with human reason.  Life will continue to astonish us no matter how much of it we’ve experienced. And it will end when it wants to.

Enter the ‘Death Watch’ – an actual device that bases the date of your death on a series of medical questions in the hope of inspiring people to make the most of their remaining time.  The watch shows the amount of time you are estimated to have left in years, months, days, hours, minutes and seconds. Yikes!

In theory, I see how it could be valuable to know how much time one has left on earth.  I had my own death countdown experience that yielded a wealth of insight.  But being cognizant at every moment of the impermanence of one’s existence is no picnic.  This is territory that should be tread-on carefully.  That being said, could it change the world for the better?  One of the first reactions I heard when my neighbor died was, “I should have been nicer to him.”  Would we treat people better if we knew the end – ours or theirs – was near?

Death is a reminder.  It screams so loudly that we have no choice but to listen.  Every passing is an opportunity to delve deeper into this wild existence.  It is a chance to bear witness.  What I witnessed this week was a controversial life and death.  No two opinions or reactions about this man were alike.  Yet still there is a common thread – Every Life Is Meaningful.  Not one person has more right to be on earth than another.  Each life has its place and its perfect timeline, whether we agree with it or not.

Perhaps that timeline is better marked by a Now Watch instead of a Death Watch.

now_watch_01

When focused on the Now, we see that there are no problems.  Problems only exist in the past (coulda, shoulda, woulda) or in the future (I hope not…I fear that….)  Staying present to each moment as it unfolds allows us to bring our whole selves to any situation, thereby warding off regret and worry.

I doubt I’ll ever make friends with Death, it scares me so.  But I respect it and am learning to trust it, because I know that it possesses a wisdom beyond my understanding.  My name is on Death’s calendar along with everyone else’s and I don’t want to know where.  For now, I’d like to live in blissful ignorance, enjoying life whilst Death knocks on someone else’s door.

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