Moving Past The Old Familiar Sting

On the sidewalk of a small strip mall I noticed a sandwich board sign in front of a liquor store. “Beer doesn’t ask silly questions. Beer understands”. Google “words of wisdom” and it’s highly unlikely that those words printed on that sign would ever come back in the search results.

Perhaps they should.

As someone who endured a rather intense 18 year “relationship” with beer, those words on the sign struck me deeper than I expected them to. Because I know them to be true. Beer was a loyal friend, very predictable, and always took me where I needed to go, unconditionally. Even if where I was going was detrimental to myself. It didn’t question or evaluate what I needed from the relationship. It had a purpose to serve and that’s exactly what it did.

There is something powerfully reaffirming when you feel understood. When you have nothing to justify nor defend. When you’re simply accepted as is. Familiarity provides an intoxicating comfort, even if what’s familiar is undermining your own emotional well being.

Growing beyond the familiar is quite uncomfortable. Alcohol made it easy for me to not have to deal with my own deeper issues, the things on some level I knew I needed to work through but I never had the courage or willingness to do. I decided to stay stuck in the familiar instead of embracing the uncertainty of growth.

Growth asks way too many questions.

In the hauntingly beautiful song “Hurt”, Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails speaks of “the old familiar sting”, widely accepted as a reference to substance abuse, though others have interpreted this line Continue reading “Moving Past The Old Familiar Sting” →

The Color Of Courageous Authenticity

Fourteen.

That’s our personal record. That’s the number of paint samples we evaluated as we looked to refresh the family room. The first five samples weren’t very exciting, neither were the next five, and the last four were one final attempt to find that one elusive color we’d been hoping to find to bring the room alive.

Ultimately we selected one of the first five we looked at.

With infinite color choices readily available, we ended up with more of what we already had. At the sample stage we were bold and adventurous, inspired to create and take chances. But when it came time to commit to something outside of our ordinary we instead chose more of our ordinary. Bold and adventurous gave way to the familiar and safe.

What could have been had we been willing to actually create it.

Life sometimes feels like a room that could use a little refreshing. A chance to recolor our world to better reflect who we really are and who we know we were created to become. To no longer accept the narrow color palate of a life that was expected of us and to instead embrace our own bold and adventurous colors, colors only we can bring into this world.

There’s nothing fundamentally wrong with familiar and safe. Unless familiar and safe serve as limiting parameters preventing us from growing, evolving, and expressing our truest colors.

In a world where we can be anything, may we find the courage to express our most authentic self.

Photo by russn_fckr on Unsplash

Which Voice Do You Listen To?

Clarity.

The search for meaning, purpose, direction. Of sorting through the past and the present in hopes of shaping your aligned future. Those willing to dive into the deep end of their own emotional pool will first need to faithfully navigate the murkiness of what is in order to then be able to find the pathway towards the version of themselves they’re looking for.

But clarity has its detractors. Usually those who’ve never chosen to confront their own inner murkiness.

The process of becoming is a lonely one. The voice within often taunted by the voices outside of you, familiar voices, voices you’d expect to give you the space to grow instead working to keep you where they’d rather have you stay.

Which voice do you listen to?

On my meandering path forward I’ve learned to focus more on the expectations I have for myself. I’ve given myself the space to grow. My path is my responsibility and my voice is the one I’ve learned to value and trust to guide me down my path.

Others don’t have to understand nor be supportive.

I’m not waiting around for them to do so.

Photo by Papaioannou Kostas on Unsplash

A Safe Space For Emotional Authenticity

I remember her tears when she fell off the swing and broke her forearm many years ago. That was one of my bittersweet recollections as I stood before the swing set on a Friday afternoon, ratchet in hand, as I began to disassemble a part of her life she had simply outgrown.

She outgrew it well before I was ready to accept that she did.

Life is full of transitions, many of which happen well before we are willing to accept them. The impermanent nature of everything can lead us to resist realities we are not yet ready to embrace, clinging ever tightly in hopes of prolonging the inevitable. But the inevitable is called inevitable for a reason.

There is a delicate balance between holding on and letting go, a balance I struggled with as the pile of rusted bolts grew at my feet. Over the years I’ve learned to allow myself to handle life transitions however I need to handle them, giving myself the grace to toggle between the holding on and the letting go. There is no “right” way to measure my response against, as my journey and my process are uniquely mine to experience. No apologies or explanations needed. For others or for myself.

Just a safe space where I am free to be emotionally authentic in any moment, in any situation.

Even on a Friday afternoon with a ratchet in my hand.

Creating such a space was one of the most significant transitions I’ve made in my own life.

A space we all deserve.

Photo by Clay LeConey on Unsplash

Every Day Is Graduation Day

One by one, alphabetically aligned, they crossed the stage as their names were read aloud much to the enthusiastic delight of proud families gathered to witness one of life’s important milestones.

To say it’s been a while since my own high school graduation would be an understatement. Many decades have passed since the seventeen year old version of me with long hair and no clearly defined path forward crossed the stage and left with a diploma of my own.

I’m still looking for that clearly defined path forward.

Graduation ceremonies celebrate both the effort it took to get this far as well as infinite possibilities ahead for those who wish to seize them. On this day an introspective and reflective significantly older version of me is asking what I did with all those infinite possibilities that had my name on them. What did I do with the time I’d been given? What have I done? More importantly and often painfully, what haven’t I done?

There are two things in life I will never get back. My shoulder-length hair and time. Of the two, time both scares me and motivates me. Life’s infinite possibilities are maniacally juxtaposed with a life that is itself finite. It’s all possible until it isn’t.

I’ve come to understand that many of my infinite possibilities were never seized because I never allowed myself to seize them. Who I told myself I was often conflicted with who it was I was created to be. In that confliction I remained stagnant, fully aware of what was possible yet not willing to believe I was worthy of their attainment.

Perhaps there was some clearly defined path forward and I convinced myself not to take it.

Graduations need not be a formal ceremony clad in caps and gowns and pomp and circumstance. Graduation can be a decision made on any day you choose in the presence of only yourself, when you acknowledge how far you’ve come in your life and decide to embrace your own infinite possibilities. To break free of the self-imposed limitations long accepted as true and graduate to your own next level.

You are your own clearly defined path forward if you choose to decide to move yourself forward.

Decisions have the power to keep us stuck or to set us free.

Every day is graduation day.

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

One Decision At A Time

To the outside world it wasn’t that big of a mountain. But it was my mountain and when you’re standing at the base of a mountain you’ve never climbed looking up towards the peak can feel quite daunting.

Mountains come in different shapes and sizes. Some are physical in nature, a great many more are the emotional and psychological inner mountains no one else can see. Embracing life-defining decisions can be even more daunting than standing before any physical mountain.

The process of getting from where you are to where you want to be is the same no matter what kind of mountain you are climbing. It’s the decision to start, it’s the decision to keep going. One decision followed by the decision to keep moving forward and then the next decision to do the same. One next step at a time. One decision at a time.

Will I take one more drink to keep numbing the pain? Will I decide to sleep in instead of get up early to exercise? Will I keep tolerating their behavior because I tell myself it’s just easier?

Every moment gives us the opportunity to decide if we are willing to move forward or if we are willing to stay where we already are.

We don’t have to climb the entire mountain at once. We just need to be willing to take the first step and then the next one after that.

Not always an easy process. But that’s the process. No matter the mountain you’ve chosen to climb.

One decision at a time.

Photo by Lindsay Henwood on Unsplash

No One Is Going To Claim Your Peace For You

You’d think with something as important as inner peace would come with instructions as to how to find it. And maybe that’s been the problem. We think we’re supposed to be looking for it as if it’s out there somewhere, elusively eluding our efforts to find it.

Peace isn’t something you find. It’s something you claim.

Peace is a decision gift-wrapped in self awareness and discernment. I don’t have to engage, respond, react, nor participate. I don’t have to defend, deny, explain, nor justify.

I need not allow myself to get sucked up in a vortex of contentious hostility.

Yet I often do until I realize what I have done.

“Is this worth my peace?” I’ve learned to silently ask myself.

It almost never is.

My peace is my decision. It is an intention. It is always an available option, in every moment, always worthy of me prioritizing and protecting it.

When I remember it’s not something you find.

It’s something you claim.

Photo by Nathan Fertig on Unsplash

Working Against Your Own Inner Peace

“The inner emotional battlefield is dramatically different when you’re no longer fighting against yourself.”

If consistency is good, I guess I’ve gotten good at being more mindful. With intention and practice I’ve grown much more self aware of where I am emotionally and energetically. My morning meditation has played an important role in me getting myself reset and grounded as I start my new day.

It’s become a daily ritual whose benefits are often undermined by others longstanding daily rituals.

Feeling a bit tired and lethargic, a little over a month ago I voluntarily entered into my own beverage detox program. No coffee, no tea, no soda, no energy drinks. All I’ve been drinking is water. And it’s not because I don’t like caffeine and sugary drinks.

I just don’t like what they do to me.

Much of my “inner work” has been about me trying to find an emotional equilibrium. Of trying to get to emotionally firm ground and to be better at managing the inevitable peaks and valleys of Continue reading “Working Against Your Own Inner Peace” →

The Wind Beneath Your Own Wings

Who knew it was a butterfly moment.

An elementary school teacher friend of mine recently sent me a screen shot of a nine year old Facebook post. The unnamed subject in the post was one of my kids involved in some humorous banter about the naming of some beetles in a classroom project. A conversation unexpected from a kid of that age, but a conversation I was happy the kid felt comfortable to be a part of.

Teachers have a way of creating safe spaces for kids to participate, to feel seen, valued, and accepted. In that safe space, a child is free to shine a light only they can shine. And when they start to shine, they’re empowered to shine even brighter, fueled by the momentum of an ever-growing level of confidence.

The Butterfly Effect on full display.

As adults, finding our own safe spaces to shine becomes a bit of a challenge. Many family and organizational structures usually don’t make room for such spaces. Because, hey, we’re adults which implies there’s simply no need for the safe spaces we needed as children.

We never outgrow a need for a safe space to shine.

The outside world is usually too busy to even notice us, let alone create a space where our most authentic self feels free to shine. Short of going back to third grade, the most reliable safe space is the one we create for ourselves.

It can feel quite daunting when you need to be the wind beneath your own wings, to create a safe space for you to shine when you’ve been conditioned to believe you’re the only reason why you’ve yet to fully do so.

The butterfly imprisoned by the the weight of its own wings.

But those are the only wings that will set you free.

We need not wait for others to create a safe space for us to shine. We don’t need their permission to express our authentic energy and light. We need our own permission to do so. To start, to flutter, to allow ourselves to move forward at our own pace and shine in the way only we can shine. The more we are willing to move the more confident we will become in our movement.

The more wind beneath our wings.

It took me the better part of a lifetime to allow myself to become a safe space for me to unfold more fully into me. To allow myself to trust me with me. To allow myself to be me, embraced with patience, kindness, and unconditional love.

Some lessons certainly take their time being learned.

Your safe space to shine is yours if you want it.

You just need to be willing to start.

The Homes I Can Never Go Home To Again

Ruben’s Atomic Chicken Fingers!

I unexpectedly found myself back in an area I briefly lived in about 30 years ago. A break in the meeting schedule and I was free to roam around for a few hours and I spontaneously decided to retrace some footsteps I had left three decades earlier.

Driving around brought me back mentally and emotionally. I even found a Spotify playlist of 1990’s alt-rock and grunge to bring me back even further. Salem to Nashua via Rte 111. Much was the same. Much was different. I knew I was different, much different than who I was back when I first traveled these roads those many years ago.

And then I remembered Ruben’s Atomic Chicken Fingers.

The more youthful me would find himself many a night belly to the bar at Shorty’s Mexican Roadhouse, never a need to review their rather extensive menu. I knew what I was there for, and the only question was for how many.

Lightly breaded, deep fried chicken fingers served with a sweet-yet-hot thick and sticky dipping sauce, the sweetness lowering your guard making it easy for the heat to find its way down the back of your throat. A cold beer at the ready and at that moment everything was perfect with the world.

I found my way into Shorty’s once again and at the same bar I excitedly ordered the same Atomic Chicken Fingers and I was ready to pick up where I had left off. But one bite in and I realized something had changed.

And it wasn’t the chicken fingers.

I’d always heard you can’t go home again. I understood that to mean time inevitably changes what home had always been. What was simply no longer existed as it was. But at the bar, I realized the only thing that had changed was me. I couldn’t go back to what was because I was no longer who I was. It wasn’t the food. It wasn’t the bar.

It was me.

I outgrew the memories.

I was the reason why I couldn’t go “home” again.

There is a perceived comfort of going home again, even if home wasn’t a very comfortable place to be. But it’s familiar, predictable, and known which tempts us to want to relive and cling to and even slightly revise the narrative to accommodate what we may have wished home actually was.

But you can’t really go back because you’re no longer who you were when you were originally there.

I appreciate all the homes I can never go home to again. The physical and the emotional. They were important parts of who I was, foundational building blocks of who I am. But who I will become? That needs me to allow myself to outgrow myself, to not let the lure of the certainty of the past prevent me from moving forward into the uncertainty of the future.

The past had its place, but it’s no place to live. It served its purpose, it was an important teacher, but holding on to our yesterdays weakens our grip on our tomorrows.

When we create an emotionally clear space to grow, it’s likely we will do so.

Photo by Victor Bouton on Unsplash

Peter Mis LivingHalfFull.com

Lessons From A Life Unfolding

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