Re-learning How To Love Yourself

The white van wrapped around a tree just off the highway was a stark reminder.

Mid-week we were greeted by our first significant snow storm of the season. The timing of the storm kept many off the roads, but those of us who decided to head into the office were met with some significant commuting challenges. Just ask the driver of the white van.

Snow still brings out the kid in me. But with the first major snowfall of the year, the kid in me took a back seat to the adult driver in me as I navigated the yet unplowed interstate.

Driving in snow demands a fully present version of me, especially when it’s been quite some time since the last time I needed to. The infrequency of driving in these elements requires me to essentially re-learn how to actually do so. With my hyper attentiveness I notice everything. I notice the distance between the car in front of me and the one behind me. I notice any visible lane markings. I notice the level of traction the tires have with the road. I notice the responsiveness of the steering. I notice my mind planning for unforeseen contingencies.

I notice everything.

Most of the time driving is simply instinctive. We get in the car and obliviously go, often ending up at our destination seemingly unconsciously, distracted by music, podcasts, and phone calls along the way. Driving in less than ideal conditions is far more intentional and deliberate, with our awareness keeping us fully present in the process. It’s a process I need to re-learn every winter with every first snow.

Life can often feel instinctive. We get up each day and just obliviously go, going through our days seemingly unconsciously, distracted by the same things which distracted us yesterday and the day before. Sometimes life creates some less than ideal conditions for us to experience, internally or externally, and our unconscious almost automatic life now requires our full attention. Life becomes far more intentional and deliberate, we become more fully present in the process.

If we choose to.

Living a more intentional and deliberate life is a decision we get to make. In any moment. We need not wait for life’s storms of illness, heartbreak, and disillusion to push us to our breaking point in order to do Continue reading “Re-learning How To Love Yourself” →

I Found Your Broken Heart On The Beach

You’d think with all the miles I’ve walked on beaches over the years this would have happened sooner.

But there it was, at my feet.

A heart-shaped stone.

I’ve jealously seen a great many heart-shaped stones posted on social media, many from beaches I’ve actually walked on. Yet never had I seen one in real life. But there it was.

And it was broken.

The symmetrical shape of the symbol we equate with love wasn’t quite perfectly symmetrical. A small section on the upper left side had broken off, the roughness of the break contrasted against the weathered rounded and smoothed surface of the rest of the stone.

I found a broken heart on the beach.

This broken heart got me to thinking about the symbolism it may contain. Was there some significance in such a find? Was there a particular message or lesson behind me being in the right place at the right time to discover a fractured heart right in front of me?

A broken stone heart is easily seen. A human broken heart is much more difficult to see, the fractures and pain concealed within, with facades of smiles and laughter concealing the hurt even further.

Most of us with some years behind us carry within our own asymmetrical heart, a heart fractured and broken by the impact of simply being human, of simply being alive. Maybe finding this broken heart was to remind me that while broken hearts, specifically the human ones, can never be perfectly fixed, they can be cared for with love, kindness, patience, and understanding.

Hurt is universal.

So, too, is our capacity to respond with compassion.

Towards your heart.

And mine.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Love & Kindness Are Always In Season

Change.

Here in New England, October is full of changes. It’s getting colder. It’s getting darker. The leaves explode with their vibrant fiery colors, the foliage the defining signature of the season know as Fall.

As each season has it’s own unique characteristics, each will be rendered impermanent by time as one season eventually transitions into the next.

But some things need never be seasonally fleeting.

Like love.

And kindness.

The winds of the world can at times be cold and relentless. We can choose to respond with an equal Continue reading “Love & Kindness Are Always In Season” →

Unpacking The Gift That Is You

You simply cannot escape the wrath of this man’s kindness.

A spontaneous left turn sent me off in an unfamiliar direction. As someone who appreciates consistency of routine, I will at times resist its very pull and venture off on a different path. Sometimes life uses those alternative routes to show me what it hopes I will see.

I’m heading south on Brayton Avenue and there he was. With determination and purpose in each intentional step, he walked as if he owned the sidewalk. He was there for a reason. That’s when I noticed The Wave. As each northbound vehicle approached him, up went his right arm, fingers fully extended, his hand enthusiastically greeting every driver passing by, making eye contact with each one. He was happy to see you, and he made sure you knew how happy he was to see you. Judging by the smiles on their Continue reading “Unpacking The Gift That Is You” →

Blessed Are The Cheerleaders

The ones who stand on the sidelines of your life, and no matter the score they remind you that the scoreboard isn’t an indication of your worth or value. That no matter the score they will always remind you how much they believe in you, support you, and will push you a bit further because they do.

While we often associate cheerleading with high school and college sports, some of the most important cheerleading is done in our adult lives, when the inner score isn’t as obvious to those outside, when life’s challenges and burdens are often dealt with in silence, when the adult world somehow outgrows encouragement and support at the exact time that we honestly probably need it the most.

Encouragement and support have no age restrictions.

Blessed are the cheerleaders, the ones who care enough to ask, who know that at times we’re not strong enough to ask. Blessed Continue reading “Blessed Are The Cheerleaders” →

A Teaspoon Of Love, Compassion, and Kindness?

Something was missing.

I’ve made my Turkey Chili & Beans for years. After countless tweaks and adjustments, the recipe has evolved into a family favorite. Always yummy all the time.

But this time it was off. It just didn’t have the flavor it was supposed to have.

That’s what happens when you forget to add the spices.

I had pre-portioned out the blend of cumin, cilantro, chili powder, and turmeric and set them aside, waiting for the right time to add them to the simmering pot. Apparently I forgot to add them in, and the result was rather bland.

The spices made up such a small percentage of all the ingredients, yet their absence made such a huge impact on the entire dish.

Little things certainly do make a big difference.

In cooking.

And in life.

Things like love, compassion, and kindness, three of life’s most important spices. Their absence will also make a huge impact. Yet their presence has the power to change the world.

Your world. My world. The entire world.

When life feels a bit bland, when it feels like something is missing, maybe that’s the time to add a bit of love, kindness, and Continue reading “A Teaspoon Of Love, Compassion, and Kindness?” →

Where Has All The Encouragement Gone?

Maybe it’s just easier to beat people down instead of building them up?

A friend of mine was having a conversation with her young neighbor. The young neighbor had grown frustrated with his inability to finish a project he had started. Inability, as in he didn’t think he could figure out how to do it. My friend mentioned to the neighbor that since he had already figured out how to get the project to this point she was certain that he’d be able to figure out what to do next. “You’ve gotten it this far, I’m sure you’ll be able to get it done. You’ve got this.”

Encouragement. It’s not something the young neighbor was too familiar with. “I can’t remember that last time anyone has told me they believed in me.”

Kind of sad.

I was raised by two loving parents. One was an optimistic encourager, the other a pessimistic pointer outer of what I did wrong. A bad grade on a school exam produced two distinctively different parental responses. While both were disappointed, one responded with a compassionate encouraging vibe of “I know you’ll do better next time” while the other grounded me and made sure I didn’t watch TV for a week. One left me feeling empowered, the other simply watered the seeds of doubt I’ve now been uprooting for years.

I prefer the encouragement, please.

I think we all do.

But where has all the encouragement gone?

For those who weren’t ever encouraged it’s often difficult to be encouraging. It goes against what they’ve known, of what they’ve experienced. Often our ability to be encouragers is passed down, almost genetically, like the color of our eyes.

Further putting the hurt on encouragement is society’s growing bias towards negativity. Reality shows, “news” outlets, political grandstanding, and to a great extent social media are all fertile breeding grounds of hate and tearing others down. Apparently it’s quite good for their business.

Kind of sad.

We often think of encouragement as something we do for our kids. Like it’s something that is eventually outgrown. But at what point in life do we ever truly outgrow the benefits of being encouraged? Or the need? We all carry within us our own personal heaviness, mostly unseen by others. Unseen, because it’s visibility we fear would make us appear weak. Especially us men. Our world is unkind to those perceived as weak, so we embrace the facade of strength. And the people we see as strong never need any encouragement, we tell ourselves, so none is ever offered.

Pick one day. One day to simply notice how much encouragement you witness. Listen. Observe. How much are we picking each other up? My experience of purposefully noticing the tone and content of conversations usually results in witnessing very little encouragement. But there are so many opportunities to do so.

We just need to decide to share some.

Even at my advanced age I still appreciate and benefit of words of encouragement. I’ve figured out a great deal about life, but that knowledge alone doesn’t always make life easy. Sometimes being the recipient of a few positive words can change my energy and move me forward.

Each day will present us with opportunities to offer words of encouragement to those we interact with. Friends, family, and strangers alike.

It’s also extremely impactful and important when we are interacting with our self.

In a world somewhat obsessed with the negative, we can offer a different voice, a voice of encouragement which will always create a more positive impact.

Closing the encouragement deficit starts with us.

Each of us.

Me. And you.

I know you can do it!

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

The Promise

I probably won’t have the answer.

(Questions sometimes don’t have answers.)

I probably won’t fully understand, either.

And, no, I won’t know exactly how you feel.

What I can give you?

My presence.

Compassionate presence.

My full attention.

My open ears.

My open arms.

My open heart.

My infinite patience.

My silence if that’s what is needed.

I will never minimize the burden you carry.

I promise I won’t let you carry it alone.

Photo by Brent Ninaber on Unsplash

Receiving The Gift Of Receiving

It was a priceless, transformational moment.

I was sitting on one of the player benches, just trying to catch my breath. The family and I were at the local ice rink, enjoying a couple of hours of ice skating just after Christmas. As a kid, ice skating was a regular weekend activity during the fall and winter months. My skating skills were never that great, but I managed to do OK. Now, some 40 years later, my daughters’ interest in skating has gotten me to lace up the skates once again.

Time has not improved my skating skills.

Apparently, Kyle thought I was pretty good at skating.

He said I was an expert.

I have no idea who Kyle is. He looked to be about 10 years old, enjoying some skating with his family. As I was sitting on the bench, exhausted, Kyle stopped and asked if he could tell me something. Surprised, I said “sure”. He said “you’re an expert at skating. I’ve been watching you skate and you’re really good…like an expert.”

Kind of stunned by what I heard, I wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

I’m glad I didn’t respond as instinctively as I often do.

My initial thought was to somehow try and convince Kyle he was wrong. In my mind I’m really not that good at skating. But instead of doing what I’ve often habitually done, I did something different.

I simply smiled and said “thank you”.

How often, when someone expresses an unexpected compliment toward us, do we find a way to try and minimize it? As if we couldn’t possibly be what the other thinks we are?

For me, I’ve noticed that had, in fact, become an instinctual response.

As we go through our life journey we develop a story about who we are. We listen to others, often those we look up to, and their comments, either intentionally or not, greatly shape the vision of who we think we are. We also learn about the power of comparison and how that can further shape our limiting beliefs, further eroding our worthiness and solidifying our vision as someone who shouldn’t be on the receiving end of complimentary words.

And it works both ways. Think about how often we offer someone a compliment or strong positive feedback only to be met with a response somehow trivializing our opinion. If you take the time to notice, you’ll see it’s quite prevalent.

I’m certain that my skating skills are not close to being at the expert level. But in his mind, I was pretty damn good at it, so much so that he actually approached me to tell me what he thought of my skating. With his honesty and sincerity, I felt Kyle deserved a “thank you” and not an explanation as to why he was wrong.

I was touched by Kyle’s actions and words. I hope he continues to express his positive opinions to others when he sees fit. I didn’t want to ruin this experience for him. I didn’t want to show him through my own words what minimizing yourself looks like.

Thank you, Kyle, for helping me be better at being me.

Sometimes allowing yourself to receive a gift is more important than the actual gift itself.

photo credit: Ben White via Unsplash

Candles, Confessions, & The Art Of Self Forgiveness

It’s been a couple of weeks now since Mom passed. Expected yet unexpected all at the same time. It’s not something you can ever fully prepare for.

Recently, I found myself back in my old hometown and for some reason I felt called to visit the chapel Mom would quite often visit.

Mom was a woman of deep Christian faith, a guiding and comforting source for her throughout her life. Mom was also a prolific candle lighter, and Our Lady’s Chapel was the place she would light them. For family and friends in time of need or distress, Mom lit candles for us all.

It was my turn to light one for her.

After the candle was lit, I found myself sitting in the back pew of the Chapel. Just sitting. Observing. Remembering. Decompressing. A small boy sitting a few rows in front of me wandered away from his Mother and playfully pushed back the curtain to the Confessional located just to my left. His Mom was not at all pleased, but his actions got me to thinking about something I’ve not thought about for quite some time.

Growing up Catholic, I’ve certainly spent my share of time in the Confessional. As a boy, I’d kneel fearfully in darkness awaiting the priest to open the screen and I’d tell him of my sins for the week. Mostly about the number of swear words I’d used that week (I did my best to quantify my transgressions) and the occasional taking the Lord’s name in vain. Then, with nervous anticipation, I’d await my penance which usually involved a great deal of praying in the back of Church.

Spiritually, I’ve meandered a bit over the years. I’ve confessed a great deal over the years, just not in a Confessional.

Confession is the first step in forgiveness. It’s reflecting upon and acknowledging your actions, or, at times, the lack of them, and asking God to absolve you. In the secular space, I, too, have asked for the forgiveness of others for the times I’ve not lived up to my own Higher standard, for the actions I’ve taken or the lack of them.

Others have also occasionally asked for my forgiveness as well. Forgiveness is always granted, as the weight of holding grudges is more weight than I choose to carry, especially as I get older. I know I’m still far from perfect myself and I like to think I afford others the space to be less than perfect as well.

There is one person, though, I’ve often had a difficult time forgiving.

Me.

Funny how it’s often easier for us to forgive others than it is for us to forgive ourselves.

As I reflect about forgiveness, I realize that self-absolution has never been easy for me. The grudges I chose not to hold towards others I would easily hold against myself, mercilessly holding me perpetually accountable for my actions or lack there of.

Maybe you can relate to not giving yourself the space to be imperfect? To allow yourself to reflect and acknowledge the times in your life where you wish you responded differently, or had taken another path, and then forever beating yourself up for it.

Much of this changed for me when I was able to change the most important of all relationships.

The one with me.

The compassion and forgiveness I so easily dispensed to others? I threw a little of that my own way. I cut myself some slack. I accepted that no matter the result, I did the best I could at the time. I compassionately questioned why I’d befriend others yet wouldn’t extend that same level of friendship towards myself.

I stopped emotionally kicking my own ass.

I’m certain my issues with self-forgiveness can be traced back to the self-identity narratives which were created, nurtured, and perpetuated many decades ago. Many of them based in limitation, steeped in unworthiness, rooted in insecurity. What we are willing to accept as true for who we think we are impacts just about everything.

But narratives can be changed, if we are willing to question them.

It’s a conversation worth having.

It’s the most important conversation I’ve ever had.

Peter Mis LivingHalfFull.com

Lessons From A Life Unfolding

Tag: kindness