Authenticity: Your Superpower

Authenticity means to be the author of your own life. ~Tom Shadyac

There was a time, not that long ago, when my outside---those external things that the world recognized me for---my marriage, my residence, and my job, looked pretty impressive indeed. Successful, handsome, entrepreneurial husband. An award-winning, historically-restored homestead with a center chimney for Santa to slide down every December. A circular drive with a new luxury vehicle parked in it every year. Exotic vacations to faraway lands. Boxes of designer clothing that would arrive weekly on the backs of rumbling UPS trucks. Shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. (Ironic, considering that I've been a barefoot/sandal kinda girl all along.) A freeform, in-ground pool. Professionally landscaped and manicured acres. A potting shed with a wood stove hook-up. A second home in the mountains. Horses, barns, pastures, and a riding ring to rival any Olympic arena. All the trappings of an upper-middle-class, successful married life.

To any outsider looking in on the charmed world I actively built and inhabited, it looked like a modern-day fairy tale. But like the alcohol I used daily to self-medicate, self-will had run riot, and in reality, the stuff just created a bigger wall between me and God. My inside suffered mightily. My family imploded. My marriage failed. No amount of home improvement, world travel, and fancy parties was ever going to fill that God-shaped hole deep within my heart. Alcoholics Anonymous literature refers to us this way: "The alcoholic is like a tornado roaring his way through the lives of others. Hearts are broken. Sweet relationships are dead. Affections have been uprooted." For me, recovery didn't come because of the things I lost. Recovery came because I could no longer deny that my inside and outside worlds did not match.

Today, I bring my imperfect, spiritually evolving, and authentic self to every part of my life. What you see is what you get, folks. That smile on my face? The way I am willing to look you in the eye? My eagerness to engage with you, grab a coffee, and share heart-to-heart? Yup. It's the same honesty and openness I extend to newcomers, trusted friends, family members, clients, and here on the page. If you are willing to bring your authentic self to the table, I promise to bring mine. And if you can't, or won't, don't be surprised if I see through your outside to the inside waiting to be released and recognized.

Check out: https://positivepsychology.com/authentic-living/

Less is More

"Clutter forces the brain to consume energy. Create uncluttered environments instead." ~Carmine Gallo

I took my artist date on Wednesday this week. The IKEA store in Stoughton, Massachusetts is always a source of inspiration, and it's been a year since I visited. A friend and I used to drive up every few months to browse and feast on their famous Swedish meatballs. I felt drawn to immerse myself in a lifestyle I am passionate about---minimalism. If you know me, even virtually, then you know my mantra is, less is more. Less baggage, less stress, less attachment. More freedom, more connection, more memories. 

I've had the big house. I've had all the stuff. Over the years, I've lived in a 3,800-square-foot reproduction Colonial with four other family members, and I've enjoyed a second home in the White Mountains. Now, I live in a 750-square-foot vintage cottage with my sweet cat, Carla. My happiness could be due to several factors. I am single-by-choice (that means I'm not waiting for someone to show up with the key). I live debt-free. My three adult children lead lovely lives of their own and they often welcome me into their worlds. In short, I live an uncluttered life. Only the people, places, and things that I love occupy my time, my home, my life, and my world. 

I experienced a convergence of thoughts on my drive back to Rhode Island on Wednesday. With several IKEA room dimensions dancing around in my head (all under 500 square feet), I caught the tail-end of an NPR segment about the boom Amazon experienced during the global pandemic, as more and more people sought to fill their homes and empty hours. Finally, I drove by one of those metal storage facilities that people rent to store the stuff they don't have room for, and I flashed on our landfills chock full of waste. 

As a woman in long-term recovery, I have a pretty good understanding of addictions and the compulsions that drive them. My drug of choice was alcohol, but make no mistake, alcohol and drugs are just one distraction. People also use food, shopping, sex, gambling, and relationships to fill their despair, longing, and dissatisfaction. But the stuff just adds another layer between you and your higher self. 

I used to provide in-home massage therapy to a 90-year-old artist in her assisted living apartment. It was warm, cozy, and inviting. Upon moving in, Alice had selected memorabilia and furnishings that she loved most to decorate her new home. When she passed away I thought about her adult children dutifully cleaning out her apartment. She only left what she loved, and I hope that made her children's tasks easier and more poignant. 

The next time you feel you can't live without that new pair of shoes, plush home good, or fancy kitchen gadget, consider some quiet contemplation instead. Consider the possibility that now, and in the long run, less just might be more. 

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Spiritual Deadheading

"Happiness does not come from the things that we have but the abandoning of things that we cling to, by letting go of the attachments to things we don't want." ~Kevin Griffin

My best friend in high school, Nancy, had a green thumb. Her house, and later her college apartments, were resplendent with all manner of hanging and potted plants. I particularly admired her ability to grow coleus---especially the big, bold, eye-catching, serrated varieties. Back in the 1970s, my alcoholism was gathering momentum, and I was more preoccupied with where my next drink was coming from than watering and maintaining houseplants. Nancy, on the other hand, had a knack for nurturing green things, and under her care, they flourished. Routinely, Nancy pinched off the purple buds protruding from the centers of the leaves. "What are you doing?" I wanted to know, fascinated and puzzled at the same time. She patiently explained deadheading to me. By definition, to deadhead means to remove a plant's spent flowers. To do so channels the energy away from seed production into further flower production.

Decades later, deadheading has become a metaphor for an important tool in my spiritual arsenal. I have learned (the hard way) that holding on to anything out of fear blocks wisdom and spiritual growth.  To grow I must be willing to relinquish the fear of "what if." If I quit this job, will I find another? If I end this relationship, will I find another?  If I move to a new community, will I make new friends? Being fearless today, I don't lament dead flowers. I don't mourn the people, places, and/or things that have had their glory and weren't meant to last. Like the coleus and other greenery flourishing in the windows of my cottage today, I must be willing to discard the old and await the new. Experience has taught me that with faith and courage, I can channel my energy into spiritual production instead of atrophy. What/who are you clinging to today? What seeds can you channel into flowers?

Check out: http://bit.ly/3FhTJud

When My Time Comes

 

What will you do today so tomorrow becomes the legacy you wanted to leave? ~Bill Jensen

As I write this week's column, my adult children are gathered in central Massachusetts for the funeral of my former husband's sister, their beloved aunt Laurie. One of my daughters and her husband have flown up from Florida. My son and his partner arrived yesterday from Missouri, and my oldest daughter, her husband, and three kids drove up from Rhode Island this morning. I'm home watching the rain pelt down, thinking about the requiem Mass, graveside service, and the bread family and friends will break later. At 61 years, gone too soon, is a woefully inadequate expression.

I'm on the outside looking in and thinking about the circle of life and death. Laurie and Gary married young and stayed that way for 45 years. Their teen marriage survived the test of time. They were rooted in the same community they were born into and there they remained to raise their own family of two boys and one girl. 

Today, I honor her commitment to her husband, family, and community. 

Fifteen years ago, I made a decision to address the alcoholism that had taken my heart hostage and was indeed pointing me toward an early grave. As a result of my recovery, each day intoxicates me, and I want more. I've made peace with the past, broken hearts, and lost opportunities. 

When my time comes, raise a glass, lift up your voices, and say simply, "Regrets, she had a few, but then again, too few to mention."Let’s all shift our gaze, and in the words of late musician Wayne Shorter, think of human death as a “time to go get a new body and come back to continue on this immense journey into the unknown.” 

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Start Where You Are

"Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.” ~Arthur Ashe

A long time ago, in what seems like another lifetime, I decided to start a clothing company. Aptly named after my firstborn daughter, Katherine's of Kingston, was supposed to be a custom collection of simple, whimsical, colorful dresses for toddlers and little girls designed and manufactured by me and a handful of University of Rhode Island textile majors.  Slam dunk, right?  Could of, should of, been.  What derailed my business plan was my inability to start. More specifically, my inability to start where I was. Married to a custom home builder at the time, I convinced him that I needed a bonafide sewing room, and he was only too happy to oblige. Needs were assessed. Measurements were taken. Blueprints were drawn up. Trim was fabricated. Colors were selected.

By the time dozens of cones of serger sewing machine threads were systematically color-coded and arranged in a custom built-in cabinet, I had already moved on to painting floorcloths, and the bolts of fabric I had stockpiled grew dusty and faded. Distractions diverted me from my primary purpose. Today, I know better.  Whether it's taking up a running practice, yoga, or photography, I can just show up as is. I don't need fancy shoes, mats, or the newest equipment.  All I truly need is an open heart and the willingness to be a beginner every day.

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