A post On Becoming Empowered Citizens described my sense that Ireland was, metaphorically, in an adolescent place ready to rebel against the authorities such as the church and state, and reclaim the power relinquished to them in absolute trust  and obedience for generations. The recent election certainly reflected a beginning.

That spoke to the way we have handled our political response to the economic crisis, however, we proved ourselves fully adult and authentic in our political identity as citizens of the Republic of Ireland.

The high points of the recent visit by the Queen have been well reported. Coverage of the ceremony at the Garden of Remembrance was as moving as my own first experience of it. I’ve little doubt the British head of state mourned the loss of her dear uncle and the British young who served their country. She did so while honouring the Irish who died.  The capacity to hold the grief on both sides is born of maturity.

I was pleased and proud to count myself as an Irish citizen most significantly during her visit to Cork. Her warm reception during the walkabout, not possible in Dublin, was a fitting appreciation for her effort to come. The maturity of calling a demonstration not in protest but in celebration of Cork’s Republican past a respectfully short distance away, was heroic and historic.

The peace process is clearly that, a process. We are not all at the same stage of acceptance, of reconciliation or even in agreement. But the gathering at Sullivan’s Quay was a respectful acknowledgment of our shared process. While accepting the reality of the democratically elected government’s invitation, there was a positive assertion of another narrative. We as citizens of this Island – whether North and South of the border each have our own narrative. Respect for each other and our stories is all that is required for the peace process to move forward.

The leadership of Sinn Féin has clearly struggled within their ranks to move their narrative to a place which allowed for the respectful treatment of this particular foreign head of state. Perhaps there is a lesson in that struggle for us all.

The words spoken were clearly well chosen and even well rehearsed on all sides. I believe that will be the way that we move the conversation forward. I would support all friends, colleagues and readers to come together and develop a language for the respectful treatment of each other’s stories. None of us can afford to take offense when it is not intended, nor can we be unthinking in our choice of language.

Let us choose our words carefully, in English and in Irish. Let us choose to be inclusive and respectful of our individual sense of our identities. Let us move forward in a way that allows us to never have to say of this period that there is much “which we would wish had been done differently or not at all.”

Today I am energised and joyful.  Thank you to the folks committed to striving for “Excellence in Ireland”. I joined them in London. There was no better way for an Irish-American expat to spend Thanksgiving 2010.

Imagine optimism, ambition and a call for excellence by determined Irish folk and their supporters on both sides of the Irish Sea and across the Diaspora.

Imagine Enterprise Ireland presenting great news: 139 Irish companies entering the UK market in the last 18 months; an additional 78 to Europe. This is a committed group with a structured program of expanding markets for Irish businesses.  Imagine that Irish construction companies expand their capacity and strategically market with Portuguese and Spanish companies to open markets in South America, it’s happening!  This is not a bunch of bureaucrats ticking boxes; this is a dynamic group – aggressively bringing Irish business to the world stage, where larger markets and opportunities abound. Then imagine a technology product that is bringing the story of our innovations worldwide – via live feeds, videos and conferencing – not a boring report in sight!

Imagine a commitment to sustain the unique identity and contribution of the Irish to London illustrated in talks by our host at the Irish Cultural Centre in Hammersmith and by a representative from the Federation of Irish Societies.  The cultural centre is committed to programming that brings the richness of Irish culture to Irish emigrants, their descendants and a wider UK audience.  How Irish Are You? www.howirishareyou.com is an effort to have UK Irish emigrants and their descendants “tick the Irish box” on the UK census in March. An undercount in the last census impacted allocation of funds to specific community needs – getting it right could have an impact on funding from leaner budgets going forward.

Imagine a movement to bring the vote to all Irish citizens living abroad.  Ireland and Greece are the only EU countries who don’t give their citizens abroad the vote.  Imagine that if you are forced to emigrate for work, you would be ensured a say in electing and empowering new leadership who will pave the way for a recovery that could bring you or your children home.

Imagine a social network of Irish people worldwide, helping each other find jobs or comfort in the diaspora. A message delivered via video at the London launch of www.Rendezvous353.com came from Jordan.  (paraphrased) I’m sorry, I’d love to be there but we had a previous commitment to raise a glass and watch “the game” among our Irish friends here. Imagine mining the site for Irish business & social contacts worldwide!

Imagine a book of the found photographs of Father Francis Brown whose chronicle of Ireland and her people between 1894 and 1937 has just been published;  priest, philosopher, WWI chaplain – a Renaissance man and lover of all places and things Irish. His  grand-nephew has preserved this bygone era. A bold footnote to our meeting and – a reminder of what we love about the place the people entirely unchanged by current politics and economics.

Imagine frank talk by a Belfast entrepreneur who told us about  Northern Irish Connections. Beyond this effort to engage the Diaspora with an ambitious program to highlight and report back how best to reach folks who will add value to our island world; he peppered all our conversations with reminders of the subtle adjustments to language and simple nuance which will help us move from the still strained and sensitive relationships of the peace process to the more easy comfort we will need for the prosperity process.

Whatever you can imagine and visualise, it can happen; I’ve shared their vision – and an Ireland of excellence is within our reach.  Start grasping.

To lend a hand or add your voice to embolden our leadership in this prosperity process, contact me eve@eveearley.com, comment here – or join www.RendezVous353.com for links to some of these folks and their efforts!

Father Browne at Home is available from the author; contact me for further information.

I recently heard two successful entrepreneurs talk about philanthropy. Interestingly, both said they didn’t realize they were “entrepreneurs” or “philanthropists” until they read it in the paper.

Both were uncomfortable with the terms. There is wisdom gleaned in the precise use of language. What made them uncomfortable about the labels? We are all uncomfortable with labels and in the matter of giving they and most would probably prefer to remain anonymous. Perhaps neither wanted attention for simply doing the right thing. Unspoken was “it’s not about the money”.

Maimonides, a twelfth century philosopher and biblical scholar spoke at great length about the ethics and moral imperatives of charity. He described what we intuitively understand. There are levels of charity – the lowest is the donation you make, unwillingly. Higher is when you give and the recipient knows you. Higher still is when the giver and the recipient are unknown to each other.

I am sure that these and most donors would like to count themselves among this group.

But these people come to the table and identify themselves as philanthropists, uncomfortably – because they know that their gifts and actions will spur others on; if not to actually give in that moment, than to think and rethink their relationship to giving. I hope they come to be more comfortable with the term; they serve us well in the role.

Entrepreneur, however, is a label I would like to encourage them – and all of us to embrace. They seemed uncomfortable being cited for simply doing the work of their lives, going to the job of their choosing –they happened to be their own bosses. And decades ago – it was an alternative workstyle.

Today, it is a career choice for many. That choice – to do what they love, and to do it well, empowered them to be the generous donors they are.

No matter that they can no longer remain anonymous. Maimonides goes on to describe the highest level of charity. It is a gift, loan, or partnership that results in the recipient supporting himself instead of depending upon others.

So, thank you to all entrepreneurs, not for the donations, but for creating jobs and partnerships. These two men have empowered families and revitalized communities throughout the UK and beyond. Most of the recipients have never considered that they have received a gift and in the end, it is I and my fellow citizens who have benefited.

The word for charity as written biblically in Hebrew is rooted in the word justice. Giving is just.

Living in Northern Ireland on the eve of BizCampBelfast.com – a free conference where 400 people are registered to talk about how to rethink business, how to support emerging businesses, how to become entrepreneurs. No money will change hands but, I am seeing charity and philanthropy being practiced in its highest form.

I think it no accident that Maimonides defined this measure of charity and justice about 800 years ago; how better to ensure this peace than with people committed to this kind of giving.

November. Conscious of and indebted to the efforts of veterans worldwide – I remember. An American expat living in Ireland, in matters of politics I have pacifist leanings. I am, however, untroubled by my passion for honouring the military and sacrifices made on my behalf. Generations of sacrifices.

American veterans, British veterans, Canadian, German, Italian, Japanese, Israeli and Arab veterans, I make no distinction. Every one was called upon by his or her motherland to serve.

Service. Few of those who served or died had a say in the arguments, feuds and passions that led to the conflicts. Some followed reprehensible orders, all faced circumstances I have not. I, therefore, respect their service, even when not in service to my ideals.

On the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour every year, I am proud to say that I have thought of, prayed and cried for the sacrifices of all veterans. Perhaps due to my age or the fact that I am an American of Irish and Italian descent who is Jewish, my mind goes first to the soldiers who liberated the concentration camps. Beyond the dangers they faced in their war efforts until that day – most took to their graves the horror of what they witnessed, and only in its aftermath.

My uncle was an Italian soldier who spent most of WWII in a Russian POW camp. Was his sacrifice less noble or costly because the leadership of his homeland chose the “other” side? I have a dear friend, an Israeli veteran whose service in the Lebanon war haunts him to this day. You get my point. Veteran’s day is complicated.

I never thought that before, it was driven home by an effort to obtain a small red poppy for a British expat friend in the states. I live in Carlingford, on the border with Northern Ireland, the UK.  I assumed that in my travels I would be able to make a donation and pick up this token of remembrance known all over the British Isles.

Not so. “Ah sure, but you wouldn’t want to be trying to find that.”  “No lass, we wouldn’t be wearing that around here.” “You’re brave to be asking for one of those.”

I have learned to challenge that response. 50,000 Irish soldiers died in WWI and many now serve with UN peacekeepers. I am sorry for the legacy of the British occupation. I try to be sensitive to both sides.

That said I am outraged by the intolerance and disrespect of the young men and women who serve their homelands, anywhere. Especially here.

August (2009) marked the 30th anniversary of the massacre of 18 British soldiers in Northern Ireland. I can see it from my home. There is now an uneasy peace in that conflict. Those 18 mothers and their sons deserved to have their memories honoured. We in the Republic were largely silent.

We should not celebrate the wars – victory or defeat – but we must celebrate the gift of the young lives they and their families have given. Their gift is literally our present.

I have a US homeland, the gift of brave grandparents who emigrated. Ireland is now home. My Irish forbearers were driven out by the policies of the British. Can I hold that against a British soldier? The Irish government generously regards this grandchild still a citizen, their soldiers serve bravely with UN peacekeeping troops worldwide. Can I blame an Irish soldier for the Republic’s neutrality in the face of genocide? The genocide that left my Jewish children deprived of extended families that exist no longer? Here as a Jew I am pilloried as an extension of the Israeli occupation. I have no connection to Israel, should I disdain the service of her young?

Jews trapped in European homelands 70 years ago were citizens of countries and dependent upon the protection of soldiers in whose armies many served. Later they were grateful to soldiers of other homelands who liberated them.

Whose soldiers and what sacrifices would you have me forget?

In organising BizCamps, support and networking groups and now Carlingford Forum, the mission has been to create a safe space and to start a conversation that gets us thinking about ourselves and our communities in a new light.

Think of this place as a fertile field. Our children are the seeds. Their yield will sustain our communities for another generation. Will they grow in seasons of dearth or abundance? Will we move on, leaving overplanted fields stripped of nutrients? Or we will dig in, hoe, clear the rocks, enrich and prepare a better field to ensure the future.

We can clear the plots defined by our acres and that is good. How much better would it be if we collectively prepared our own and helped our neighbours? Village wide, county wide, country wide and island-wide.

My grandmother was a simple woman. She shared her wisdom with “old sayings” that come to me often. Her response s were predictable.

• to my pained experience of mastering the sewing machine or kitchen gadget: “it’s a poor workman who blames his tools”;
• on my frequent whinges about my lot in life: “offer it up”;
• on any matter of importance: “two heads are better than one, even if one is a cabbage”.

The last was confounding. Was my opinion as valuable as veg?

Creative problem solving can’t happen in a vacuum. That was and is the most important lesson she offered.  It is what I seek to offer via this blog.  “Who does she think she is?” is the message I often hear when I raise issues. And the answer is: “No one and everyone”.

Once uttered, thoughts, threats, fears – all lose their power.  No more nighttime monsters under the bed. When we give voice to an issue, we throw open the windows and let in the light. The situation may remain scary – but we are no longer alone in the dark to imagine the demon, or to slay the dragon with limited weapons at hand. We’ve called in reinforcements. Reinforcements with a fresh perspective. They may be unarmed ones or ones who clear the debris obscuring the escape, the ones who resupply, or the ones who rework the strategy.

Perhaps, even a peacemaker who will whisper our demons to sleep.

So lest I be misunderstood, I am merely an observer and a facilitator. At best I seek to point out that we are undermining our collective potential. At worst, think of me as a mild annoyance. Often, it is my ignorance that is displayed – and your feedback serves to educate me.

The agricultural metaphor is not born of poetry but experience.

A client – twenty years ago, was delighted that we’d produced a resume she’d struggled over for months. She smiled when I abbreviated my grandmother’s thought – “two heads are better than one”.

“Even if one is a cabbage.” She startled me, I’d never heard that part elsewhere.

“Did it make you feel as dumb as a vegetable?” I asked. “No” she said – pooh-poohing that sentiment.

Her grandmother always generously finished the thought with, “because if all else fails, you can eat the cabbage”.

Food for thought. Wise women.

Yesterday I returned home, from home. Contradiction?  Perhaps not. Ireland is my home now, then again, so is the place where my children live. Sometimes that is the Philadelphia suburb where they were reared, sometimes New Orleans where two of them go to school. In March, it was Sedona, Arizona where I joined my good friends, their children and grandson as they gathered for a family visit – regrouping in the Arizona mountains now that everyone has settled far afield of “home” in Pennsylvania.

Home. It conjures images of holidays spent with family and friends, safe places, warmth and familiar comfort. Idealised images. Hardly the stuff of everyone’s experience. Yet we are, as a culture, obsessed with it. We outfit and decorate our nests with the care of young brides planning “their day” for years. We obsess about making the best choices. We choose houses and neighbourhoods for school districts, sometimes long before children are born. We make largely emotional decisions about the most significant investment of our lives. It is little wonder that we hold fast to the illusion of the “ideal” and deny what is often the “real”.

The purpose of this visit was to empty my house and sort through the “stuff” accumulated in the last three decades. I’d lived in this house a dozen years – having retreated to it as a sanctuary when my marriage ended. And a sanctuary it was. I’d “feathered it” with the “stuff” of my girls’ childhoods, a playschool “Hello Kitty” house, and the hand knitted sweaters given to my oldest and worn by her sisters after her. Photos and scrapbooks – and unfiled photos and scrapbook material.  Kindergarten report cards and every manner of report through high school and beyond; notes to and from teachers, untried recipes ripped from magazines and my own grad school papers and transcripts. When I suggested my children go through the piles and take what they liked, there was little that appealed to them. Though for the most part they delighted in teasing me for having squirreled it all away….

I was home, comforted by their rolling eyes and their giggles, their delight and frustrations with each other, and with me.  I was at home in the same familiar way I was in a Sedona market shopping for dinner as my friends and I had done over many years on other holidays with our merged clans. In the same way that I was at home when my dog greeted me at the door of my house in an Irish village – 3000 miles away from, well, home.

So in addition to Joseph’s Campbell’s wisdom, I will add Geneen Roth’s. The author of Women, Food & God reflects on what happens when you separate yourself from your story. I paraphrase here – but her message is that you are not your story; it is merely a familiar version of yourself. You without your story will come to prefer simplicity over complication, freedom over familiarity. You without a voice rehashing that version of you to yourself will begin to embrace that you are worth your own time, you will believe that longed for possibilities are out there. That you deserve a life without a “story”.

I’d already come to that conclusion (but still lose sight of it from time to time) when I made this home for myself in Ireland.

Having embraced that wisdom again, I am happy.  I am finally home. Home after a lifetime of longing for the childhood home lost to me at nine; after inventing and reinventing facsimiles of it; after telling myself I was homeless once and would likely be again. By letting go of that story, I finally know that I carry with me the only sense of home I will ever need.

Apparently it was waiting for me to own it, all along.

If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would be not be one cheerful face on earth.

Abraham Lincoln

This timely reading from a book of daily meditations was followed by: “If Lincoln could achieve all that he did feeling such depression, can I not bear feeling down in the dumps occasionally without being driven to the insanity of….?” fill in the blank with whatever your personal demon, overeating, drinking, gambling; workaholism, irritability, controlling, fits of rage…

Thursday night I broke bread with fifteen friends and colleagues – a summer social barbecue, to wind down another year of breakfast meetings for a small cross border business group in the Northeast of Ireland.

These fifteen are among the most positive of about 25 who meet from time to time during the year.  Monthly, in fact, at 7 am for a networking breakfast in either Dundalk (County Louth, Ireland) or Newry (County Down, Northern Ireland).  There is much for this group to be pessimistic about. The economy is faltering, we are sole practioners or small business owners – many of whom started new businesses following career setbacks and redundancies. All of us struggle to live and work a “new way”.  Many thought they would be in corporate jobs, large professional practices or civil service until they retired.

What we have in common is that we wake up every morning, put one foot in front of the other and just do the work of doing the work.

I am grateful they embraced me warmly and shared their knowledge  – experience, strength and hope – when I came to Ireland two years ago.  They have carried me through low times, and I hope I have done the same for some of them.  The shared commonality of our experience is what has sustained us as a group. We celebrate each others’ successes and mourn and learn from the losses.  We encourage, coach and cajole. You cannot help leaving a meeting on a positive note.  I have gone to meetings while in the depths of personal and professional loss and I have been uplifted – either by someone’s success or the knowledge that they too have come through what I am now experiencing.  I am never alone. In the sentiment of Lincoln’s quote – whatever the emotion it becomes “equally distributed to the (this) whole human family”.

Who are your fellow travelers? What human family are you choosing to embrace? Who brings the light of sunshine or optimism to your day? What I was reminded of that evening was that this was no accident. There are days when I think how lucky I am to be part of this group – and then I remember: I went looking for them, I go to meetings on dark, cold and wet winter mornings and I just keep showing up. So do they.

Choose to find a home among like minded folk, a family of choice – a new tribe. Not sure where to start? Pick up a copy of the Artist’s Way it will embolden you, find a 12 Step group, go to a Toastmaster’s meeting, try a business or social networking group, take a class, go to a house of worship you’ve abandoned or try a new one.

Or write me.

Just stretch – a little. Take a step outside of your comfort zone.  You will undoubtedly be rewarded.

Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.  Kahil Gibran

Who chooses pain?

“Not me!”  I want to shout.

Yet on reflection, it’s clearly me.

Significantly, when I’m troubled, when focus is difficult and the morning pages have not been enough to quiet me, I pick up a book of daily meditations from one of the 12-step programs.

This quote about “the bitter potion “… begins a July meditation in the OA (Overeater’s Anonymous) book, For Today (1982).

If it were not for the pain, I wouldn’t be here (in recovery). Only when the pain of  (food addiction) became worse than the pain it was intended to kill did I become willing to abandon the pretense of controlling my life.

Getting in touch with my pain is a new experience. Until the day it brought me to my knees, food was my first line of defense against any and all pain, even that caused by the food itself.

In OA, I have come to understand that I must let myself feel the pain before I can recover.

For today: I no longer choose to avoid my growing pains. My Higher Power, my program, my meetings, my friends – all stand with me as I face, head-on, whatever must be faced.

Facing what must be faced…

Julia Cameron refers to the morning pages taught in The Artist’s Way as meditation suited to Westerners.  They work because one doesn’t actually have to be still; we write to access the wisdom of our interior self.

In my box of “recovery tools,” this one is the most reliable.  There are many others.

What works best?

“It works if you work it” is the chorus spoken in unison routinely to close most 12-step meetings.  Still, I find there are days I resist picking up any tool and “working it”.

Take Morning Pages, “I am cranky, so I didn’t write them” or is it “I’m cranky because I didn’t write them”?  Am I troubled and unfocused because I haven’t been vigilant, choosing self-care, good food, less drink, more rest? Have I been doing too much and not allowing myself to just be?

This month I can answer yes to most of those queries, and humbly admit that sometimes I still choose pain.

Have you chosen pain?

My guess is that if you are still reading and food, alcohol, drugs, or gambling is not your numbing drug of choice, perhaps workaholism, depression, perfectionism, or love addiction apply.

Whatever substance or behavior we use, we choose it to numb the feelings we think would otherwise overwhelm us.¹ 

What feelings are we numbing?

To know we have to honor the physician within us.

And choose to assemble the tools that will help us to get support for our inward journey.

We are our own physicians. Our sick or injured self is part of what keeps us from being the best we can be: the most content, the most available to joy, and the most fully present in each day.

Simple but not easy…

And let me offer an apology if this seems trite or canned or easy.

When my own struggle began I didn’t even know there was a sick self to heal.  I was fine. I was in control. I had it all.

The fact that I was irritable, cycling through moods from depressed and paralyzed to wildly energetic and creative was not a problem, that was simply “how I am”.

It took hitting bottom – multiple times to name the ways in which I avoid my pain.

You may call them patterns or ‘bad habits’, I know them as addictions.

Among them, are behavioral addictions to perfectionism, and cynicism. In relationships, codependence, control, and avoidance. And in substance, food.

Serendipity and synchronicity

Both played a major role.

And if you are still reading – I hope this provides that for you.

My way to 12-Step rooms came via an assignment for a master’s program in counseling.

The journey started with AlAnon meetings over thirty years ago, OA meetings and a treatment program shortly after, and therapy all along.

Sadly, as I re-read that – instead of the gentle voice I have cultivated in my efforts at self-care – I am hearing a bit of a judging tone, “Really, you needed thirty+ years to get this?”

So let me gently assure myself – and you –  that this is not a linear process.

Recovery is the journey of a lifetime

Choosing to live a conscious life is simple. It is not easy.

There have been, and still are, struggles along the way. Some are daily in doing the work itself, but the struggle hasn’t left me bloodied and scarred,  just honestly open and vulnerable.

This process is not about donning a layer of armor to deflect blows.

It’s choosing to strip down and shear off the thick coat of matted, coarse, and wiry fur that insulates us from real feelings.

Once exposed, we can begin to experience feelings of anger, grief, and sadness cleanly in the present moment. Furthermore, resentment all but disappears.

Present as a gift

Reacting and responding in real-time has been a learned behavior.

Ask yourself – Is the raw emotion we’re experiencing entirely related to the present situation – or is the pain historic.

I can get annoyed when a driver cuts me off. But enraged signals a link to an earlier wound.²

Un-armored, we open ourselves to the touches of kindness and support available when we seek it from the right people in safe places.

And if learning to trust the abundance of good people and safe places takes you less than my thirty + years, I’ve achieved my goal of supporting shorter learning curves than mine.

So, if throwing off self-chosen pain seems daunting, I can confidently assure you that every moment of pain in that process is redeemed with many more moments of exquisite joy.

July 2010

¹Escaping the Self: Alcoholism, Spirituality, Masochism, and Other Flights from the Burden of Selfhood by Roy F. Baumeister | Goodreads

² In a recent revision I have noted this 2020 description: “If it’s hysterical, it’s historical.” 

There it was in my #MorningPages, something so clearly observed while emerging into consciousness.

I am grateful for my unanswered prayers.

At this writing, I am now fully awake with intellect engaged. It is different. It feels like some parent just sent me off on an unpleasant assignment.

That would be the loving, all-knowing parent who knows that the wisdom – retrieved from my unconscious needs to be processed.

This “morning pages” discipline often includes a list of things for which I am grateful. After all, there is a gift in counting the things that have gone well- before I rise and start measuring the bad.

Face it, we all complain about the rain as though our very existence didn’t depend on it.  Yet if I acknowledge the beauty in the blooms or the view of the mountain, I have taken back the power of the rain to bring me down.

Grateful for unanswered prayers, but why?

I have learned to honor why they went unanswered.

Self-will was obviously problematic through the ages.

“Thy will be done” is over two centuries old. It was a powerful and empowering closing to The Lord’s Prayer for the same people who were simultaneously reminding the divine to send daily bread and forgive their trespasses.

Thy will, not mine.

Humbly, I’ll remember that…

“I am rarely granted what I ask for but always given what I need.”

Keeping Score

I’d written a litany of unanswered prayers, and a few were noteworthy.

Indeed, I’d asked for relief and healing in my marriage, a sense of my own financial security when my children were small, and life for children unborn.

What might answered prayers have looked like?

Well, because the Divine has a sense of humor – I have had to face this head-on.

• My children’s father has remarried. He is well-loved, and they’ve been embraced by a new extended family, with the added benefit of step-siblings. He and I no longer know love qualified by our disappointment. We found each other very young and thought what we saw in each other was what we wanted (largely to be different people from our parents).It was not what we could deliver after our children were born. The imprints of our original families were overwhelming.  Imposing my will to “make it work” would not have allowed any of us to move happily forward.
• “Enough money” – well, we do come to learn there is never enough (10% more would surely make life easier). Whatever I thought enough was, I wouldn’t have learned the assortment of skills gained while working myriad part-time jobs. Moving into this life stage, I find I am grateful. Not a single one of the skills I learned or contacts I made goes untapped. I needed every one of those lessons and experiences.
• Life for children unborn; I have the gift of three grown children for whom my attentions are frightfully inadequate (back to enough, I know). They all want something more or different from me – and had there been four or five of them, would the stories of these three be as they were meant to be?

Above all, I know now that the reality of the “what if” would have been disastrous.

Oh, I’d have gotten my way and…

None of the happiness I now know could have come to be.

Even with this proof, I rise every morning struggling to get out of the way of my willful, judging self.

I rise wanting other people to treat me better (really, their world is about me?)

I want specific opportunities to become apparent (really, isn’t it arrogant to think I have envisioned the best of all possibilities?)

And I want sunny days! (really, next winter’s sweater will come from a thirsty sheep?).

Lastly, I now know to begin with – “Deliver me from the evil that is my willfulness into the redemption that is simply letting go“.

For more on #MorningPages see – Personal Change Management, The Tools or Guardian columnist Oliver Burkeman’s article: This column will change your life: Morning Pages.

“Everything I write is for spiritual reasons—to help people keep their spirits up, to help transform misery into laughter or healing, to help people remember the truth of their spiritual identities.”

Anne LaMott 

There is a language in the recovery community sometimes taken for granted and confusing when spoken outside “the rooms”.  There is much talk of god and spirit.  I use the lower case and mean no disrespect. Those of us committed to change respect that we relate to the god of our understanding, each in our own way.  Those folks who came to this commitment to change their lives through traditional 12 step programs learned this on walking into those rooms.

All one need come to believe is that there is a power in the universe greater than themselves.  For some, broken and bent by the religion practiced in their families of origin – there was comfort and freedom in believing that it wasn’t a patriarchal or king-like deity at the helm, it was simply: Good Orderly Direction. Others seemed perfectly comfortable with embracing the idea that whatever the creative energy in the universe that ordains the rising & setting of the sun, the abundance of spring, all the mystery, random smashing atoms if you will, comes down to a power greater than themselves.

“…the truth of your spiritual identity”….

for my purposes I will refer to it from time to time as god, which is to say the god of my personal understanding. For you, please read simply the god of your understanding or – the self.

That which is the finest in you – the human being vs. the human doing.