LYBS Archives - Page 6 of 6

I’m Walking… Still Walking…

January 15, 2016

Goals stink so says I. Why? Because you can’t just order them off a menu like they don’t belong to you. In order for them to work, they have to mean something. While placing your mouth watering want with the waiter in front of you might feel like a big deal – the reality is once the food is gone so is the meal.

A goal has to has to be rooted in a yearning in order for you to keep going. Lets face it, none of us would tread through snow up to our knees with our cheeks, ears and nose screaming cold from the wind, unable to see more than three feet in front of us if we didn’t believe that the promised warm cabin just 100 metres away wasn’t really there. We just wouldn’t do it – well, we wouldn’t do it by choice.

Goals are choices.

Goals are destinations.

Goals are stakes in the earth, in our mind, and on our calendars.

Goals are decisions.

This morning I set a bunch of mine in motion because I put them to the page. I’ve been self-employed for almost three decades and goals make me nauseous and angry now, yet try as I might I can’t seem to ditch the word. When I pick up my pen and my auto-pilot goal-setter kicks in, she writes: My Goal for TinaOLife…. My Goal for LYBS…. My Goal for my Network Marketing Business… My Goal for Me…

Man oh man… I just can’t ditch the word goal even though I don’t believe in them.

I believe in story.

I believe in walking.

I believe in direction fueled by a yearning.

and then I walk. as I listen. as I follow and lead, and move in the direction of the story of which I’ve chosen to be the main character.

I just keep walking.

Where do you walk? Why? Do you care? Are you willing to?

xxT

I Love You – She said Quietly

January 14, 2016

So I’m reading Olympic Medalist Clara Hughes’ book Open Heart Open Mind this morning at 4:30am and something interesting happened. I’m up that early because I’m a hockey mom and I gotta get the boys sorted as they hit the rink before school: put something in their tummy for breakfast, pack a lunch for school, and throw in all the stuff into their pack that they’ll likely forget about. This is the to do list of a forever in training mom for sure. Our youngest is still in bed – he’s not a hockey kid yet. I’m crossing my fingers that he falls head over heels in love with the arts so we can skip the third round of early morning family insanity. We shall see. Passion is as passion does.

The boys and their dad are off by 5:30am and by then I’m too awake to sleep but not quite ready to take on the day, probably because it’s Thursday and I’ve already put in three mom mornings this week so I crawl back into bed and crack open Clara’s book. My husband bought Open Heart, Open Mind for me for my birthday, probably because her story is coloured with dark corners, her triumphs have sharp edges and her drive is fueled by fire, unstoppable, wild, raw, and almost retchingly honest fire. Okay so honesty can’t retch, but maybe that’s why writers have been known to say things like: I just gotta barf it out first, get it on the page, get into the guts of it…

Thank you Clara. You clearly got into the guts of it and that’s why it’s carrying me away.

I’m only half way through the book but if I had to sum up your message so far I’d say it’s all about ‘self-love’ instead of ‘self-loathing’ right? Hmmm… such a universal quest to heal the scars of so many. It’s almost as if getting to that place requires understanding your own Escape Room: an insane past time where people are willing to be pushed, screamed at, and even terrified as they scramble to escape simulated life-threatening situations. The crazy part about escape rooms is that we get locked into them knowing there is always a way out. What makes it so intoxicatingly addictive is the adrenaline pumping through our veins as we question whether or not we’ll actually find it. The self-loathing to self-love conundrum is just like that. The only way to rewire our brains out of self-loathing is to step into our darkest blindspot: self-love.

That’s the thing about blind-spots, they’re bloody obvious once we see them and then they vanish as if they were never there at all.

So there I was at 6am, about a half an hour in to Clara’s book , when, as I’m all curled up and warm, out of my mouth tumbles: I love you Tina.

I love you Tina.

I’m like: What?

I love you Tina.

Oh. I thought that came from you.

Okay so I’m no stranger to the self-help world. I’ve read Louise Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life. I’ve affirmed my way into a happier disposition, I know how to talk to myself when I need to pull my sorry behind out of a crap load of poor me, or a give my brain an etch a sketch shake and redraw a nasty perspective into a positive one. Oh yes, I get the whole self-talk thing but that’s not what happened. I wasn’t standing in front of the mirror talking into my own eyes, or reading a magic yellow affirmation sticky, or even writing in my gratitude journal (I don’t have a gratitude journal shhhh..). Nope, I was in the fetal position, feet tucked under the covers, ankles crossed with one fist under my right cheek and the other cupping the edges of the book. I was in lala land and then out of nowhere, my inner me, the one who feels the same now at 45yrs as it did at 7yrs blurted out I Love You Tina just so I could hear it. It tumbled easily out of my mouth, and out loud.

My next thought was: ‘uhhhh… how did that happen? Ohhhh… and I do this to my kids all the time. I tell them I love them just ’cause. It’s not a daily do, or an affirmation, or a mindset reset at all, it’s just because it’s true. I love them.’

So Clara – that may not have been the goal for your readers by page 112, but that’s what happened to me.

I love you Tina, I said to myself without any agenda at all. I love you – probably because it’s true. I do.

How about you?

p.s. I’m at the top of chapter 14 – Salt Lake City Olympics are next. Mmmm… can’t wait.

xxT

What I Love About You Is

January 14, 2016

I turned 45 this year. My birthday is on Christmas day so my family does a really bang-up job of making it special. People often think that my birthday is overlooked because of it being Christmas and all but you know, that’s just not the case though it’s a reliable ice-breaker conversation that I’m dumped into regularly. The truth is, I feel for people who are born on the 27th or 29th because those are mucky days where everyone is still eating leftovers, dealing with gifts half in half out of plastic, mulling over what worked and what didn’t, starting to think about the credit card bills that are coming… and of course, the mindfulness that once again another year is ending. People are busy man! Birthdays that fall on this transition week have more guck to wade through.

The funny thing is, celebrating my birthday isn’t even that important to me, but being remembered is. I suppose that’s tied into my history and understanding that this moment, as in right now will change in less than a second and we can’t stop it. Time moves on. People leave, tragedy happens, aha’s change our perspective, cars turn left instead of right… we don’t get to run that show – so really, who cares about birthday cake and beautifully wrapped presents? The paper is going end up in the trash because most of it can’t be recycled (insane isn’t it?), and the cake is likely some store bought thing because most of us aren’t willing to learn how to pour ourselves into food anymore… so really what is special and memorable about that?

I’m not a birthday downer I promise. What does matter deeply to me – is that PEOPLE, as in RELATIONSHIPS, as in our UNIQUENESS, as in our STORY is seen, recognized, honoured and shared. That’s what birthdays are about for me. It’s loving this thing called life and our connection to it.

We have a tradition in our house that on birthdays during cake time, we go around the table, or the couches or whatever and each person has to finish this sentence for the birthday person: “What I love about you is…” and we usually do a few rounds of it. My boys are 14, 12 and 6 right now (2016), and we’ve been doing this since they were wee. It’s old hat to them. It started out feeling kinda weird and exposing, and at various times in the boy’s development they got shy and even sensitive about it, like sharing their feelings about a family member was a bit too personal, and we’ve also been through years where ‘what I love about you’ is a silly poop, fart and bum joke (what is it about 5-7yrs old?), and now we’re in this funny mix of recognizing that this ritual we do for each other really matters, I can see on the boy’s faces. They ‘get it’, but they’re so pre-occupied with themselves (welcome teen years) that what they love about each other is what the other can do for them. “What I love about you is that you make my lunches every day… what I love about you is that you take me to hockey… that you do my laundry...”, thankfully there’s still a six year old in the mix sharing poop and fart gratitudes…

My husband totally gets it. He’s never been a birthday guy either. Neither of us grew up having birthday parties with friends over, loot bags and crazy amounts of gifts. Neither of us grew up with any kind of birthday rituals either, but we come from a time where our distractions were painful ones: my mom died when I was little, his family divorced and both of us grew up fast. It’s the relationships that matter. That’s the gift of birthdays. We remember how lucky we are to have the person sitting in front of us who is about to stuff their mouth full of cake.

This year for my birthday, we were up in a cabin away from home. We did this on purpose – opted out of the bigness of the holidays (though I’m a Christmas cracker and one could say I did it big anyway), it was quieter. The pic above is what I woke up to after having a nap on the couch by the fire. While I was sleeping after a long birthday walk in the snow, Mr. Todd and the boys hung streamers and balloons for me and while we all recognize that stringing pink crepe paper is ‘wasteful’ and ‘environmentally stupid’, this was their way of saying I Love You Tina, Mom, Wife, Cheerleader, Friend.

When we did our ritual of “What I love about you is…” for me, it was simple and silly and irreverent and kinda teenager/elementary school impersonal, and guess what? That’s what made it totally perfect.

What I love about you is…

xxT

Still Waters Run Deep

January 13, 2016

This is a pic of my husband. He’s not as public as I am, thank God. Can you imagine if we were both wired to want to share everything? What a mess that would be? Oh boy… I mean really, where would this firecracker of a mouth and mind go to just rest for awhile? And where would his ‘still waters’ go to get all wavy and stuff? We’d be a walking party – the perfect silly string storm. It might be fun for a few weeks but a lifetime? Ummm no. How exhausting.

Why do I tell you this?

Because I want to add a perspective to your ‘I wonder if only I had…’ mindset, and let’s be honest, deep breath, we all do this, as in wonder sometimes.

I wonder if I married the right person?

I wonder if we have anything in common anymore?

I wonder if we’re soul-mates or if I’ll ever have one? Do I even believe in that? I don’t know…

I wonder…?

These are the best and the worst questions. These are the topics that can drive a room full of pajama party women (do men talk about this kinda stuff? As far as I know, most don’t but I suppose it’s possible) into a frenzy of self-doubt, or mild to major panic and even start up some boyfriend/husband envy. We’ve all seen it or experienced it at some point. The first time I got married (whole other story – see I can speak to this topic honestly), during my month of pre-wedding prep, my best friend at the time (this should’ve been my first and last hint to quietly close this friendship) said to me “So, who’s your ONE THAT GOT AWAY?”. Wait a minute, I was getting married – there should be no ‘one that got away’.

Yet there it was and with every question comes an answer whether we consciously do it or not.

Who was my ONE THAT GOT AWAY?

Should I have one?

Shouldn’t I have one?

Am I doing this right?

What if there is one and I don’t know?

What does that mean about my marriage? About my life? About my my my… Oh my now what?

So I answered this ‘best friend’ of mine with the names of two old boyfriends that I still had lingering flickers for. Even saying that ‘flicker thing’ out loud seems weird. Not wrong, just bizarre. They were flickers of unrealized dreams, of stolen moments, of non-replicable touches, gazes, thoughts because they were unique to us, they were pangs of rejection that still had fire in them, zingers of physical attraction, of wonder… that’s all, of just wonder.

Wonder is rapturous.

but Wonder can also be distracting.

You know how I talk about the double edge sword of every single truth? Well, this is what my sword of wonder looks like: rapture and distraction. Two sides. Both are true.

In the world that I live in and the rules that I play by, every layer of the story is welcome to be heard because no layer is more ‘honest’ than the other. Our Living Story is how they all weave together.

Did my first marriage end? Yup. Because of the flickers from the ‘ones that got away’? – Nope. Did I date one of those flickering dudes again? Yup – both of them actually. Did either of them end up being my second husband? Nope.

Why?

Because they were flickers. Fun, fabulous hot flickers but not the right fuel for my life.

Mr. Todd and I (the still water guy in the pic and yes, that’s what I call him) were blissfully married for two years before the veil of marriage lifted and we realized we ‘chose’ each other and that meant for ‘life’. Crap really? Now what do we do? Yes indeed, over the last fifteen years or so we have had our share of marital nastiness, brokenness, detachment, resignation, deep regret for choosing each other and lots and lots of ‘I wonder if…’ questions.

The truth for us didn’t come from simply answering the questions, but rather from hearing the stories that we found in our answers.

Many times I thought my marriage (yes, not our marriage in these moments) should be over. Many times I wondered if I chose the right man.

I used to say to myself “He’s a good man, but maybe not the right man for me. He’s quiet, he’s private, he’s so black and white and he doesn’t really like people all that much. We have nothing in common anymore. What are we doing here together?”.

And he would say to himself: “She’s crazy, I can’t build a life with her. She spends money like there’s always more coming. She’s a dreamer, everything is grey with her, she’s a moving target, she’s public, loud and likes people a lot, sometimes more than me. We have nothing in common. What are we even building?”.

And then, over time, a lot of time we would take on the massive task of answering the real questions with each other. Patiently painful at times, yet always stunningly beautiful at the end of each story. We decided to answer our real questions instead of hold on to our observations.

My question: What are we doing here together?

His question: What are we even building?

And it was in the answers, and yes, note the plural: in our many answers where we found our commonality and our lifetime marital, soul-mate/life-mate connection. The answers surprised us because they often had nothing to do with being married and everything to do with being together. Silly right? We just happen to be married too.

He’s my Mr. Todd and still waters run deep.

I’m probably his – Mrs. T – and crazy hair makes me smile. (okay, so I made that up, but if I had to guess… that’s what I think he would say).

What questions might you be holding on to instead of listening to the stories of truth that live in the answers?

xxT

Thank you Body

January 13, 2016

Photo Credit Debra Stringfellow

Thank you Body

For the years of walking, running, dancing, for toes that look cute with polish.

For the belly, well deeper than that, which held four babies, of which three would breathe outside of you

For the tangles of hair that could do the flirting for me because I sucked at it and still do. It just seems ridiculous to me really. So thank you longish, brownish, redish, curlyish hair for doing for me what I never really understood the purpose of.

For the hands that plunge daily into hot soapy water, twist and scrape cookie dough, change propane tanks, strike matches, hold me upright on a bicycle and know how to love by wandering.

For the mouth that never stops wondering, chatting, chewing, kissing, smiling and welcoming people to this inner circle of mine.

For the brain… oh my brain… oh this wild engine of mystery that calls for me to know more about it though doesn’t need me to at all. For letting me take you for granted for so long, because I can.

For this heart that beats in perfect rhythm, my unique footsteps through time. A heart that doesn’t measure, only beats beats beats. Thank you.

Do I talk about sex here? That feels weird but even more ridiculous to skip it. Okay… thank you … ummmm sexy bits for delight, for words that have no sound, for an invitation an ever constant invitation for more of me of you of we of of of so much.

For this skin that holds me together.

For this skeleton that stands me.

For these eyes that not only sees you, but allows you to really see me. No pretending. No hiding. Sees me.

For wonder. Thank you body for knowing everything while I do not.

Thank you for this. I live because of you.

xxT

Give Your Mind a Shower

January 7, 2016

No doubt about it, my work this year is all around mindset. Okay, so I have more than just that to do: catch up on my taxes (oh gawd again?), sleep more (still), let my guard down (melt melt melt), keep listening, write my books, grow my network marketing business by 20% each month, make love a lot, oh yeah and train for a triathlon. How did taxes, business, sex and a triathlon all end up on the same to do list? Life. It’s awkward isn’t it?

Integration is my thannnnng and so as not to muddle you up, I don’t mean that I throw everything all in together and call it the same. I’m not saying that all roads are the same road and that every path leads to Rome. I’m not suggesting that integration is about being a big pot of stew with old carrots mixed with new potatoes tossed with reaching stalks of celery, rounded bumps of barley, organic garlic and crowned with a dumpling. No. That would suggest that I think our brain is a soft mushy floury globby topping to our perfect mess. Hardly a way to represent the control centre that it is. No, integration to me is identification, puzzle clicking, communication, implementation and then flow. Ultimately, it’s an exercise of living trust.

Why do I say mindset? Because in our four engines of alignment: Mindset, Soulset, Skillset and Body, I tend to lead with the soul which means I follow my instincts. I ask quesitons to the powers that be and then follow what is peaceful. My gut leads instead when my brain thinks it knows the answer (it never does by the way) and I tend to let decisions make me and not the other way around. I certainly haven’t lived most of my life this way, but over the last three to four years I’ve realized that the best steps I’ve ever taken I’ve done this way, and that living by my soul-story is what brought me home to myself again. All that said, when my mindset is locked into some old pattern of fear, let’s be honest, for me it’s wayyyyy bigger than that, it’s more like sheer panic most of the time, my soul story, or what I call my ‘living story’ stumbles. I get bruised. I have to pick myself up more times than is probably necessary and why lay face down in the mud more often that I need to right?

The mind is the control centre of the body. While I am not a brain doctor or specialist and I’m not a master of EMDR (eye movement desensitization and re-processing connecting the right hemisphere and left hemisphere of the brain for re-patterning thoughts and reactions) like my good friend Dr. Carolyn Nesbitt and by no means am I an expert on neuroplasticity like Shad Helmstetter, I have personally experienced the difference that adopting a possibility mindset can make.

I’m a leader in a network marketing business and as my husband says, I’m also become one of this life’s ‘social leaders’ which means that what I say and do matters greatly if only to me – because I bare some responsibility (frankly I think we all do) for how the way I live affects the world. Here’s the thing, while I’m not wired to think ‘negatively’ – truly, I’m probably as deeply, and authentically positive as they come, my life’s experiences have developed a ‘seek and prepare’ or ‘stay alert and rely on no one’ neuropathway that I habitually walk when my auto-pilot runs the show.

The mindset is all about your auto-pilot.

The mindset is the thinking you do when you’re not actually thinking.

The mindset is the tape that you hear to without knowing you’re listening.

When I was going for my final promotion in my network marketing business I had one simple rule in my house: No negative talk – period. No Debbie Downer moaning, I wouldn’t even let Todd tell me that it was raining, or that the toilet was plugged. Oh boy, I was a sunshine and lollipops drill sergeant back then. While putting a taught shiny bubble around my thinking may have been effective for reaching my goals, it drove a wedge between my soul and my expression of it, plus it alienated me from my family – the very people I claim to be myself with. This to the very circle I love and want only for them to be who they fully are.

Positive mindset = good.

Positive mindset at all costs = bad.

Positive mindset that doesn’t have to protect itself from itself = healthy.

I had a nasty reaction to all the sunshine and rainbow messages I lived by because it sliced away my underbelly, my vulnerability and my deep connection to people and to myself. Truly… how could my children feel ‘heard’ or ‘known’ by me if I wasn’t willing to listen to the darker shades of their stories. All the years of attachment parenting just got thrown out the window for a few months of working towards a goal.

I had a positive mindset hangover. I felt guilt and shame and even embarrassment for having shadowy thoughts. I didn’t connect with my circle of achievement based, goal centred happiness friends anymore. I was sick with positivitis.

My mindset needed a shower. And showers are neither positive or negative – just wet and wonderful.

I do my best realizing when I’m in the shower. Truly. There’s something about just hanging out in hot water gushing over my head that wakes me up somehow. It sets me to neutral. It opens up space for my next ‘aha moment’ and connects me back home too.

I’m giving my mindset a shower these days because I know that all the panic driven, alarm bell ringing neuropathways that I habitually walk are of my own making. I can create new ones that are honest, unthreatened by the truth, and serve me as real until that’s not so anymore.

Take a shower. It’s a delicious thing to have clean water and a safe place to reset the control room that runs our auto-pilot. We’re blessed no?

xxT