The Yes! of “YES”

I am borrowing the title of this missive from the song by Carrie Newcomer. Carrie Newcomer is a singer/songwriter from Bloomington Indiana who sings about finding the sacred in the ordinary. Her songs touch deeply on topics including justice, spirituality, kindness and possibilities. She has been an inspiration for my own journey of navigating the tricky waters of life.

In fact, she is inspiring this submission of “Risk-a-day” when she sings these words from another of her songs: The Things I’ve Gone and Done.

“I don’t intend to live my whole life
Just to find I was asleep”

I was raised to appreciate the joy of saying yes to possibilities. When given an opportunity recently, I faced all sorts of reasons why it wasn’t a good idea. There were many cards on the table and in my hand that led me to believe that it couldn’t / shouldn’t be done. When I mentioned it to a wise friend of mine she said why not? I told her I was afraid. Her response will sing in my ears for quite sometime. She said lovingly: “oh, don’t be an old woman!” Well, she is right. It is sometimes easier to pass on an opportunity. There are risks, sometimes it is out of your comfort zone, and it involves the unknown.

Listen to the siren call of opportunity that taking risks offers us. You may make new friends, and clients. You may learn a thing or two. You may be given chances and the opening of doors that you didn’t even know were there. But the best part is that saying yes will keep you young. There is a time and place for limitations and boundaries. Yes, yes, I get that. We have all been burned out by saying yes to everyone and everything that people ask of you. I am not talking about that. I am talking about getting in the car, opening the sunroof, cranking the tunes and blowing out the cobwebs of limitations. Maybe you have been putting off getting a massage. Is there a yoga class that looks especially exciting to try out? List the possibilities for trying a thing out and then DO IT!

Once I called my parents because I had an extra ticket for a cruise. When I asked mom if she wanted to go on an adventure my Dad said excitedly: ” Bets, when it comes to adventure, whatever it is, your Mom will always say YES!”

Yes, yes, it will keep you young. Yes, yes it will be good to stretch yourself. The gifts of saying yes to something that your heart wants to do despite what your head says are unlimited.

“It’s not the things I’ve gone and done I’ll regret or be ashamed.
But the things I did not say or do just because I was afraid.”

Thanks Carrie Newcomer for your inspiration. “Yes!”

When  my partner Linda and I had been together for nine years, we decided the time had come for us to have kids; we wanted our family to grow.  Easier said than done, really, on so many levels.  And after many talks — including our extended family and friends,– we met and talked with our friend John (who had always wanted to be a father).

With glasses of wine and gulps (but hopefulness!), we opened our hearts to what was next for all of us.  Two years after that talk our first son, Brogan, was born.  Soon afterward John himself (the wonderful Dad) partnered and our parenting became a set of four parents, now including Rande.

After three years of our learning this co-parenting thing together (day-in and day-out), we welcomed second-son Sam.  (And the sleepless nights started all over again.)

Parenting is risky. And that truth holds the essential truth of all of this for me. When the kids were born, we started a fund for college or therapy — whichever came first for them.  Parenting is exhilarating and exhausting — usually at the same time.  It’s a privilege and a miracle and it’s the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life.  It’s a daily promise with no escape clause.  I was 42 when Brogan was born and he started sleeping through the night on a regular basis right about the time Sam arrived.  So my own advanced “maturity level” contributes to some of the challenges I face.

But I know that when someone at work asks me, “Do you have kids?” I am about to tell them a significant thing about me –perhaps more than their seemingly simple question asked.  There is always a “coming out” and with that task, there is always a risk.  My family has brought me out bolder than I ever imagined when I first fell in love.

Being a child of lesbian and gay parents is risky too. Being in this particular clan has been “the norm” for the boys; this is what they’ve always known.  We live in a pretty eclectic community and have a great school system.  But/and it’s interesting how the “two moms and two dads” come into conversations for the boys.  Brogan is in 5th grade, so I know with adolescence there will be another chapter (confusion? gratefulness? disappointment?).  For now their friends seem to be OK, or adjust (“one of Sam’s moms . . .”).  For now the parents and teachers seem to be OK, or adjust (“could one of you serve on the committee?” – like there are so many choices).  Driving home from school is a good way of paying attention.  For a couple years now girls have been chasing after 11-year old Brogan.  Recently in the car he said, “Lelley, the first time you kissed a boy, or a girl, that doesn’t matter, this is about me . . .”

And is there a greater, more encompassing risk – a “for the greater good” kind of hope?  Our family pays taxes and goes to church, we are members of the Y and the boys play Community Rec Sports.  We participate in this place.  Perhaps my hope is that our family (like those “risky ones” who have gone before us) may be yet one more reminder of the greater possibilities of “yes.”  If we are, each one, created in God’s image, perhaps parenting our children will open all our hearts a little more. Like I said, parenting is risky.

The end of a regular paycheck is nearing.  At the end of this month I will no longer have an employer but will be working for myself making pottery and building websites.  I’m excited, exhilarated, overjoyed, and scared shitless.  I’ve been selling my art for many months now, people like it and seem to be fine giving me money for it.   That always makes me feel great.  I have been self employed in the past and I did not starve, I know how to run a business.  I have lots of support from loved ones in more ways than I can count.  For this I am grateful.  I recite my positive affirmations many times a day, and I usually believe them.  I’m even really looking forward to not being required to go to an office and look busy all day.  So many odds are in my favor yet I’m still afraid of failing.  When I was in college I had a back up plan, I’d get my teaching certificate so I could have a steady paycheck.  I’d teach ceramics and then sell my pottery when school was out.  The reality is that I would probably have done like most people and work my regular job then try to enjoy life after work hours.  I actually left school, drove around the country in a Pinto and then went and got a job.  So I’ve been avoiding this career move, into something that I love for many years.  Why?  I guess I’ve been afraid to fail at something I love so much.  On March 26th I will start risking failing or succeeding at my art full time.  I’m determined to succeed despite my fear.  I’ll let you know how it’s working out.

I don’t know who wrote this short bit of wisdom, but it popped into my mind the first time Laura mentioned Risk-a-Day to me, so I searched until I found it.

To laugh
is to risk appearing a fool.
To weep
is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out for another
is to risk involvement.
To expose feelings
is to risk rejection.
To place your dreams before the crowd
is to risk ridicule.
To love
is to risk not being loved in return.
To go forward in the face of overwhelming odds
is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing. The person who risks nothing does nothing; has nothing; is nothing. She may avoid suffering and sorrow, but she cannot learn, feel, change, grow or love. Chained by her certitudes, she is a slave. She has forfeited her freedom. Only a person who takes risks is free.”

As I read this again after so many years, I wondered what “new risks” might be appropriate for me now. Is there a new freedom to learn?

To be still and quiet
is to risk hearing my own soul’s voice.
To let go of certainty
is to risk not knowing.
To let go of seeking approval
is to risk being unacceptable.
To let go of control
is to risk giving someone else the lead.

Maybe some risks are particularly appropriate for certain times in our lives. What is appropriate for you, then, at this time in your life?

I think we all know that any REAL risk will push our comfort zones, but I’ve realized in the past few weeks that some zones are more uncomfortable than others.

Consider my January daily audacious goal to write or edit a poem five days a week. I was excited about it, many of you were kind enough to be excited with me, and some of you even participated with your own daily audacious goals. We all celebrated in February when we reported back; while we may not have made our goals EVERY day, we still accomplished a lot.

But do you know what I’ve realized since then? Sure, my poem-a-day was a great goal, but it was also a relatively easy goal because it was mostly within my comfort zone.  I mean, I’m not afraid to write poetry; in fact, I’m in my element when I’m writing poetry. Regardless of how a particular poem turns out, I know some things about writing poetry. I know how the process affects me; how it works into my priorities and impacts my family. I know the let-down of a rejection from an editor; I know the elation of an acceptance; I know the pure joy of the creative process. I know I can carry a poem in progress around in my purse to pull out when inspiration strikes or opportunity unfolds. I know I can obsess over the right word in the back of my mind all day, and still get other things done. In short, I know how writing poetry fits in my life.

Fast forward to today, when I’m midway through an online course on Benedictine Spiritual Practices from the Abbey of the Arts. If I were getting a mid-term progress report on this course, I’d probably be staring at a big fat “F.”

The premise of the course is that I’m supposed to be having a time of meditative reading and prayer every day. Only 20-30 minutes a day. How hard could that be, especially after my success with stepping up to the poem-a-day challenge?

Excuse my colloquial speech, but it ain’t happening.

Photo courtesy donzeladef, www.sxc.hu

To be fair to myself, I have managed to do the readings and meditations about 30% of the time. And a couple of those sessions have resulted in some good, insightful, “I get it” kind of moments.  I also continue to read my text that accompanies the course, although I’m a bit behind schedule.  But what’s most significant is that many days I’m just blowing off the commitment. I’m not showing up to click on my email, find the reading, light the candle, or go to that contemplative state. And I’m not even feeling very guilty about it. So what’s the deal with that?

Here’s what I’ve decided: Although I’m undeniably drawn to this spiritual practice and the wisdom or insight it may bring, I’m more concerned – in a mostly subconscious way – about the changes this practice might ultimately bring to my life. I’m afraid, at some deep level, that I’m going to somehow meditate my way into – I don’t know – quitting my job, moving to the country, converting my wardrobe exclusively to tie-dye, learning to play the upright bass, raising chickens in the backyard, and opening Kory’s School of Poetry and Tabernacle of Creativity. And all of that doesn’t sound so bad (well, I’m not sure about the chickens), but then what pops in my mind is, “How could my husband and family possibly tolerate that much change? How could I, even?” And I have to remind myself:

I’m a believer in the grace of gradual change.

In the first few years after I started writing and experiencing a bit of success with publishing, I was so eager to hit the big-time and publish a great American novel.  Now that my first book – a slim volume of poetry – is out, I find that I could spend all my time on the business side of writing. And I’m here to tell you, convincing bookstores why they should put my little book on their shelves is not nearly as much fun as writing, and spending time with my writing friends. So, although I’m still adjusting to my new destination as a published poet, I suddenly value the ol’ journey much more than I did even a year ago. And, my youthful impatience for “success” aside, the career shift that I made so gradually now seems like such a blessing (I also migrated from software development to corporate communications at my “real” job while working on my novel and poetry). I haven’t crashed into a new place; I’ve evolved into it.

As a former Sunday school teacher, I’ve taught so many books from the “Christian living” genre that they don’t appeal to me a lot anymore. However, the writing of John Ortberg has stuck with me for many years. His book If You Want to Walk on Water, You’ve Got to Get Out of the Boat is about taking spiritual and emotional risks in order to discern and follow God’s calling for your life. One thing he says in this book is that any new calling will still honor your existing obligations. I often reminded myself of this in the early part of my writing career, and I think it’s something I need to remember now.

Sometimes, of course, we experience drastic change due to circumstances or choice. But at other times we hold change – or a calling – at bay. Because of mind games we play with ourselves; because we don’t quite trust God or the universe; because we’re worried what we’re going to learn about ourselves in the process.

Photo courtesy MeiTeng, www.sxc.hu

So today, as you all are my witnesses, I’m going to try that meditation again, with the faith that if it leaves me with an uncontrollable urge to immediately acquire an incubator full of baby chicks, I will somehow deal with it.

I ask you: Like me, are you subtly – or not so subtly – sabotaging a change you sense you want to make in your own life?

Thanks for sticking with me – today’s post was long, but I hope it resonates with some of you. Next month: You know that business of promoting my book that I mentioned? I don’t particularly like doing it, but with your encouragement, I know I can put myself  “out there” and do better!

The Risk of Choosing My Religion

Have you ever been afraid to look too closely at something because you may no longer be able to accept it despite its flaws?

When it comes to religion, I never made a conscious choice.  Instead, I inherited it.  My parents are and always have been active members of the same church for their entire lives.  As a child, I was baptized, took religious education, and attended the school affiliated with my church.  But in the last couple of years, even though it is a regular part of my life, I don’t feel like I know enough about it and I find myself seeking more information.  When my husband asks me questions about my religion, too often I answer, “just because.”  He grew tired of that a long time ago.  I am growing tired not knowing.

My church offers a class that would give me the opportunity to learn more.  But, I have been afraid to look too closely at it and find out I don’t whole heartedly agree with it.  I have worried about how it will affect my relationship with my religion.

Until now.  I have reached the point where I am willing to take the risk so that my questions will be answered, so I can learn more, and maybe find what I am seeking.  For Lent, I have signed up for the class.  I am nervous about what my other classmates might think of my questions.  Will I be among the choir?  Will I be the rebel at the back of the class?  Will it strengthen my faith, have no effect, or make me search elsewhere?  Will I be able to overlook its blemishes and love it for its whole being?  Will I find unacceptable flaws?

At the end of Lent, I will report back on how I felt about taking this risk.

You got me bloggin’ babes. I’m scrambled, scrambling, scramed – is that a word? I’m too busy to make hay or horsetails and I don’t know what I’m talking about.

In brief – a fellow poet asked me to be her PR Flack. I said – Hey – RISK IS GOOD! So I am her PR Flack. And now also the PR Flack of our state Poet Laureate and also the PR Flack of a historical novelist. Yesterday client #1 – my ground zero poet – won the state book of the year award! Talk about PR! I’ve spent the last 18 hours sending out info, images and press releases. WHOA NELLIE!

What to do?! Celebrate the joy of risk! I said yes and, so far, the world is saying yes back even if I can’t hear it over my to-do list!

Forgive the grammar, the spelling and the exuberance – no time to proofread in this flack’s bubble.

Yes – I’m still writing and submitting my own work.

Tonight’s risk – make a truly comprehenisive list of my commitments (knowing I’ll forget a few) and take a deep breath!

My company website is
www.littlebirdandco.com
Let me know what you think!

I used to be in the tippest, toppest of shape. And that “used to” feels like yesterday. But it certainly doesn’t LOOK like yesterday in the mirror. And let’s be honest, it was over 15 years ago.

In the mean time, I’ve had my bouts of disciplined exercise, although they’ve been short-lived. I was a short-lived, self-taught yoga disciple while living in a mud hut in the Sahel Desert of Niger, for example. Then I was an even shorter-lived boot camp/kickboxing fanatic while living in beautiful Charleston, South Carolina.

And then about five years ago, I began the endurance training of champions – motherhood. This is certainly not short-lived. Rather a regimen for life, alhamdililahi (thanks be to God!). Unfortunately, the fact that I don’t sit down all day long and am in continuous, joy-filled motion – lifting, carrying, folding, wiping, chasing, tickling – does NOT equal fitness. Physically exhausting? Of course! But it does not bring about the level of fitness that will keep me fit enough to be skipping and running wild after possible grandkids one day far in the future.

It has taken me a long 5 years to face that truth. And so the risk presents itself – in the form of an adult swim team, no less. A swim team coached by a three-gold-medal Olympic champion, to boot! Egads!

The good news is that this team welcomes all kinds of swimmers, from beginners to elite competitors. The uncomfortable news, at least for me, is that I still have to squeeze practice into a day of professional and personal responsibilities, don a swimsuit, show up at an outdoor pool in unpredictable winter weather, and make it through an hour of intensive non-stop drills.

I took the initial risk 6 weeks ago – facing my fears of ability, strength, motivation, and flab. My biggest fear, however, was that I would not stick with it – that I would disappoint myself again by initiating what might become another in a long list of short-lived endeavors. Today each drill, each stroke, each breath gets stronger by the lap.

Now that the sun is rising later, there is a glorious moment of clarity as sunlight pierces the water’s surface. And thus the risk continues – the risk of adopting this practice for the long-haul, one long, lean, sun-kissed stroke at a time.

When Olympic skater Evan Lysacek won gold in men’s figure skating last week, he cried with joy.

Evan Lysacek

His coach, however, was embarrassed by such an outward show of emotion. Coach Frank Carroll was quoted in the New York Times as saying, “I kept wanting to say, ‘Stop it, just stop it.’ I’m very stoic in a way, very disciplined, and I think, when the ski jumpers, when they win, they don’t start to cry. Let’s put it this way: I don’t like figure skaters to cry.”

I’m not here to judge Frank Carroll’s opinion, but to reflect on my reaction to it.

I come from pleasant, upbeat people who don’t cry and emote in big ways (we do laugh a lot!). Emotion – when absolutely necessary – would sort of neatly leak out. Not too much. Easy clean up. This was Tide® Country, after all!

Somewhere along the path, I began to discover the beauty of raw emotion and felt a strong pull toward it. Fast forward to now (and after much unpeeling of myself over many years): I’m pretty darned comfortable with a wide range of emotion – whether mine or someone else’s. I can be with a lot. And yet, I can still feel that tug in the “oh-my-god-don’t-let-anybody-see-this-sloppy-outburst” direction on occasion, so I can partly relate to Frank. But I know that reaction comes from my most stifled, scared, lizard-brained place. Not a very alive place within me. And I’m glad I don’t spend too much time there.

I’m particularly enthralled with tears of joy. How much more ALIVE can one be?! And to share your joy with others – telecast to the entire planet, as Evan did – I see this as a gift, an invitation for the rest of us to find our deepest joy and release it into the world. Cry me a river of joy-filled tears.

Composer Edward Joseph Collins said, “By starving emotions we become humorless, rigid and stereotyped; by repressing them we become literal, reformatory and holier-than-thou; encouraged, they perfume life; discouraged, they poison it.”

I invite you to take the risk of experiencing full, perfumed emotion.

And my risk? Well, I have toyed with an idea for a good long while now, and I am taking the (gulp) risk of saying it out loud so that it may come to some form of fruition: The Tears of Joy Project. I want to gather up people’s stories and examples of when they experienced tears of joy. I have no idea what format this will take – a book, a blog, a Spielberg movie?

But for now, as a first tiny (risky) step, I begin by asking YOU: What scene from a movie evokes tears of joy for you? Be specific and tell us why you think this scene sparks such joy.  (And let me know if I have permission to collect your story for some future “whatever” thing that I will create.)

I’ll start by sharing one of my favorite examples in the comments here on riskaday.com (so if you are reading on Facebook or elsewhere, come over to the blog and join in the JOY!).

As a successful, semi-retired health and fitness guru, I’ve decided I can take on one more client, as long as she’s not too much work, as in: undisciplined, unmotivated or a whiner. She has to be willing to listen and be approachable when it comes to altering her lifestyle in order to achieve her intention. She must eat what I tell her she can eat, and exercise as frequently as I have planned in order for her to reach her goal of a healthy, pain-free body. She must refrain from runaway negative thoughts and practice daily meditation to acquire the focus necessary to achieve her desire to walk with peace in her heart and mind. This is only the beginning…

I’m meeting my new client this morning for the first time. Synchronistically it is her birthday and I wonder if she is givng herself a gift. Let’s see, what’s her name….ah yes, here it is–Micki.