Balancing the Give and Take

As I looked at my calendar for this month, I noticed there are a number of pro bono engagements, times that will not be fully compensated, at least in a monetary sense.  I am writing a final paper for a course in Leadership and have been asked to describe my leadership philosophy.  Well, I thought, mine must be "give it away".  Often the flip answers that I say to myself in the Q & A time that goes on in my head are worth pausing to consider.  What is it about this desire to bestow something to someone that can have it return such value to us?  

It is not as though I provide anything less of myself to my non-paying clients.  Quite the opposite, I am almost more free to share all of me because there is no assigned value to live up to.  I am coaching or advising them purely because I want to see them glow.  There is nothing in it for me other than being present to the absolute magic that occurs when another human being gets a measure of themselves and sees their world from a brand new perspective.  I have known for a long time that is priceless.  And as I puzzle my way through this, I wonder how this balances out in the karmic world?  Will it lead to the life I envision simply because I am willing to be generous now?  

You may have noticed there are more questions than answers here (which probably doesn't bode well for the 1500 word paper due at the end of the week...).  There is still the concrete, in the world reality, of paying rent and buying groceries that doesn't get handled just because I have shining eyes from my last fabulous conversation.  I can consider a world where remuneration might be that my housing is covered or someone provides me with meals for a week but I don't yet have the structure built to participate in my life that way.  I have a sense we are moving towards that but for now my freedom to travel, to eat at wonderful restaurants and indulge my loved ones is based on my bank balance not whether I have sufficiently balanced giving and taking.  

Showing up in the world

As I notice my reluctance to complete the task of polishing my website so it is shiny and ready to be seen widely in the world, I get to consider what may be behind my hesitation.  I have always thought of myself as an introvert, a shrinking violet and an easily forgettable little person.  I have come face to face with a different person who seems to bear little resemblance to who I know myself to be.

I have tackled my Masters program with zest and enthusiasm and it has resulted in academic excellence.  It turns out that I am pretty good at this school stuff and I love the challenge of expressing myself in a scholarly manner.  More than that, it has been impossible not to notice that I have an impact on the groups/classes/cohorts I am engaged with and that my input and opinions have been welcomed and appreciated.  Not something I expected.

The fact that my MBTI came in solidly as an extrovert and no one else was surprised is another indication that I may not have been as self-aware as I claimed to be.  How could I have missed what others have clearly seen?  What would have me want to be invisible and keep pretending that I am?  I am reminded of trying on a pair of pants in a shop last summer and the clerk saying that I should try on the small.  I said, no, that couldn't be and she said why wouldn't you want to be a size small?  In pondering on that, I wonder why I wouldn't want to be out there and overt instead of covert?

Well, I won't get all therapy-like on you here, as much as I am sure there are explanations in my childhood.  Suffice to say that I am ready to be conspicuous and noticeable.  Launching my website with my newly branded self is a great next step.  Stay tuned, here we go...

Is it really working?

Bounty.  That is what summer means to me.  Bountiful sunshine, warmth, time, gardens, fruit, indulgence.  That is what I am experiencing in my life right now which sometimes occurs as truly magical.  And being the small human being that I am, I also observe the shadow thought that follows... is this really working?  And by "this", I mean the amazing unfolding of my life with all of my fondest desires and dreams coming true.  And what is more, the teensy possibility that it is working out there in the rest of the world?!  The Guardian from London has reported that we are entering a post-capitalist era.  I am excited about that, even though my proclivity for online purchasing may come to and end, I am clear that would be a good thing for the planet (although I may need to increase my wardrobe and pairs of shoes before we shut it all down - wait a minute, is buying shoes from Tom's capitalism?  Doesn't it count as doing good?  I digress...).  

In the world that I have imagined, we have found a conscience collectively and are working to make it better for each other and rely upon fun and silliness as a measure of success.  Many times I have been reminded of my kumbaya attitude, which you may be interested to know is actually in the Urban Dictionary, defined as "blandly pious and naively optimistic".  Well, I wouldn't go so far as blandly but I can see why some people could see me that way.  However, I have been toying with, allowing myself to briefly touch upon the thought that life could be this grand always.  What if each day was completely incredible and there was something to smile about at each turn?  It could be that The Universe is right that life is "brimming with adventure, abundance and infinite possibilities" (huge shout out to Mike Dooley who leads the way for so many!).  Is it that easy?  Is it really working?

Now, I know that toilets still need to be scrubbed, gardens weeded and sh*% happens.  I am very conscious that I was blessed to land where I did at birth.  Not everyone grew up without ever being really hungry or fearful.  But it proves to me that it is possible.  The very fact that I do experience this wonderful existence means that others do too.  And we all could.  

I am going to dwell here in this place of contemplation of a turning.  Moreover, I want to look back and see that I lived through this turning, that we will recall the time when the shift did occur and the optimism became reality.  I am responsible for my part.  I actively share my beliefs about a glorious future and I have recently noted my willingness to be disturbed as Margaret Wheatley describes. This relatively new inclination to be pushed out of my comfort zone of thought has opened new avenues and given me a grateful perspective on the non-kumbaya folk, as that is where the new ideas come from. Margaret Wheatley put it perfectly when she said "we don't have to agree with each other to think well together".   

Come and think well with me.

A new contract for life

I always thought that I would write fiction and perhaps that is what this is. It truly is fiction if the words only stay locked in your brain.

Thoughts this week about a contract with yourself/with others/ a different kind of employment contract.  What if we wrote out our terms and conditions with our employers that went beyond the dollars/hour (week, month, year) and the usual blah blah blah about hours and roles and responsibilities.  What if it described how it would feel to have success, recognition and satisfaction?  What if it detailed your long term dreams and ambitions?  What if the opportunity to have a nap on Tuesday afternoons was included?

Now, Google may have already had this brilliant idea and re-written the usual working agreement, but I suspect most of us are still signing work papers that look pretty much how they did 60 years ago.  And yet this document and the implications for how you spend your time govern most of your waking hours for most of your adult life.

We have been told we now have the freedom to have multiple jobs, several careers, pursue our passions and not be stopped by reaching age 65.  60 is the new 30, right?  You can carry on living (working) your dream until you die.  How enlivening is that?  How much does that make your blood pump faster and your breathing increase?  I would bet that if it does, it is because you might feel a little panicked.  Oh sh*^, I have to keep doing “this” for the rest of my days?  Crap, I would like to go back to the fantasy of “Freedom 55” please.

But this idea of a contract or agreement that sets out much more than the bare bones of how you want it to be has expanded in my head.  What if pre-nuptials took a different look at what the expectations are of that partnership?  What if we re-wrote a contract with our children every year of their lives?  What if we revisited our relationship with our elderly parents – reviewing how we want that to look on a regular basis?  And our close friends?  Could we be more clear on how friendship is described and circumvent some of the pitfalls there?

There are many places we fail to describe how we want it to go, especially when time goes by and we gain familiarity with each other.  We live with discontent and sometimes downright anguish without a clear description of what would be perfect.

As I begin the journey of post graduate education – really at the early steps right now, application in, first on-line course, a recommended pre-requisite, started 2 weeks ago – I have come face to face with how little of my life has been described in sufficient detail to increase the likelihood of success.  Even at this late stage (let’s just say the “Freedom 55” boat has left the harbour), I am extremely challenged by the necessity of a structured business plan for the next 15 years of life.

I am in the situation that at least some of my peers are in.  We didn’t pursue careers, or in my case, even higher education.  We just kept working the next job that came along, sometimes moving up the ladder, sometimes not lasting that long.  Kids and all the endless hours of commitment to raising a family were along the way, as well as supporting a spouse in their pursuit of success or advancement.  Speaking for myself, I came up for air at about 50, realized that I had no plans for retirement, no funds set aside for my golden years, no mortgage that was just about paid off to secure a home for the future and no idea what to do about all that.  In fact, at that time, I was working with a group of fabulous people who averaged 15 – 20 years younger than me so I just kept working my fanny off to keep up.

When that job ended, another not quite 5 year engagement (pretty much the maximum time I spent in any one place), I had a patchwork resume, a little bit of self-directed education which thankfully left me with a certificate in professional coaching and some vague thoughts about a loosely described future doing what I loved, coaching others.

Not sure what else to do, I high tailed it into college, jumping into a 2 year program in Human Resource Management.  It was fantastic and I adored the challenge of post-secondary education.  For the first time, I was directed to think in a different way, dive deeply into a program that offered many pieces of education which I was interested in.  Being a generalist course, it didn’t really prepare me for much and as I found out part way through, I couldn’t even join the professional HR organization because I didn’t hold an undergrad degree.  Not well thought out.  However, the love of higher learning was sparked and I committed to completing a Master’s program, eventually.

Fast forward a couple more years of scraps of part time work, occasional contracts, facilitating coach training and time to ponder a future that seems to be gaining speed in becoming the present.  A friend’s recent death from cancer, three months after diagnosis -  not the first friend I have lost, impacted me differently this time.  The trite expression of realizing how precious life is and how little control we have over the eventual end of it actually stuck this time. 

During a long awaited holiday with my husband in Mexico, I began to notice my resistance to saying yes to my dreams.  How hop-scotching through the stages of my life without fully landing on any square has habituated me to a life that will be fulfilled one day – maybe, possibly, if the stars line up, if my kids or mother don’t need me to rescue them, if I can justify the money, or, or, or….  In other words, never.

I don’t have a terrible life, don’t get me wrong.  I have few regrets and maintain a happy, optimistic view on the world.  I am loved and deeply love others.  I practice gratitude and appreciation every day and reap the rich rewards of that perspective on the world. The question remains about kicking it up a notch as our old friend Emeril would say.  And that is going to take an elaborate, explicit blueprint; a new contract, if you will.

As I prepare to write the Personal Statement required for the application to the Master’s program, I am finally preparing to write the Personal Contract for me for the balance of my life.  The focus entering this program has created is the opportunity to articulate exactly how I want this to go.  I will keep you posted.

A postcard from the way to kindergarten

I began a practice of sending my mom postcards from a wonderful Canada Post app on my phone, which transformed a photo on the phone to a printed postcard with the space for a message on the back.  Every month or so, I would send her one with an update on the family, a photo of my garden or a funny picture of one of us.  It allowed her to be connected with us so far away.  Now that she is close by, I found that I miss the regular opportunity to share what is new or silly that way.  

Writing on a regular basis seems to be a challenge and yet I am so very present to the value of pausing to reflect.  So marking the landmark of the first day of school for precious grandson number one is a perfect chance to write a postcard about the event.

As we walked together with his mom and baby brother in the stroller, my sweet grandson would alter between running ahead of us and lagging behind, holding my hand as the pace slowed when we got nearer to the school.  I watched his clear brown eyes widen when we got on the grounds with the children filing back in after lunch.  They all seemed really big compared to him.  The little "kindies" were there for their first time in the classroom, only 90 minutes to meet their kindergarten teachers and stay with their grown-ups to try on a mini session before the first full day.  

He is used to group activity, having been in organized daycare pretty much full time since he was two years old so some of the process was familiar.  I could see his nervousness though, as he sucked on his sleeve and his finger and stuck pretty close to his mama.  I stood back with the wee-est one to let his mom share this experience.  I remember the importance of being there for the firsts.

I know he will be fine, he is a strong, resilient dandelion kind of kid, cheerful, happy, funny and bright.  He will make friends easily and weather the storms well because he knows he is deeply loved by many people.  So, why are there tears as I type this?  When I think about the letting go of my own children and how flippin' fast those years went by, I want to freeze frame this tender little being.  I want him to be able to keep the soft, loving way he is with the people in his circle.  This is a kid who hugged all his friends every day before he left daycare. Insisted upon it, wanted to make sure that his buddies knew he loved them and was going to miss them overnight.  

Is there room for that in public school?  In the world of boys growing up and comparing themselves with their peers?  How do I support him growing up, strong and resilient and yet preserving that sparkling essence that is so bright and visible in him right now?  Will it still be okay to hang out with his Grammy and pretend to be space pilots on missions to Pluto? 

The grace of grandparenthood is the perspective of having done this before and yet that is also the challenge.  I know, like really get it, how soon it will be that he is graduating from high school - a blink of an eye.  The brilliant piece of all of this is knowing that the foundation we have built, the rock solid relationship we have will continue and we will talk. We will converse about the crummy teachers and the ones he loves, the rotten kids and the new best friends, the stupid girls and the ones that capture his heart.  

When his mom called me this morning just after 9 am in tears, I knew she had just dropped him off for his first full day.  I assured her that he will be totally okay, but I know what she was feeling, watching his sturdy little body, in his new school clothes, backpack on and lunchkit in hand, entering a whole new world.  Be safe out there, little one.  We won't let you forget who you are. 

Letting go and passages of life

I was going through the dresser in my mama's bedroom, preparing the few things that will accompany her to the Long Term Care community that is her new home.  At least, I certainly hope it will be, the final answer has not been determined, but like one of my wise friends advised, I am moving ahead as if what I want has already happened. I will only be able to bring a few suitcases of her belongings on the first part of this journey and need to organize what other pieces will be shipped in the coming weeks.  

The top drawer was stuck and I could barely get my fingers in to feel what was preventing it from opening.  After a number of frustrating moments with a wooden spoon, I pulled out the drawer beside it and reached in to push an old picture frame down to free the drawer.  The contents are many old photographs, documents and keepsakes from my father, my grandparents and my mom.  The photo that was stuck was a portrait of my mom at about 20 years old, a beautiful sepia toned black and white of this gorgeous, vibrant young woman, her curly thick hair pulled back from her face and her full lips are in a welcoming smile.  She is wearing rhinestone earrings that I recognize from a set she has since given to me and a matching brooch.  Her eyes capture you with their pure determination and her flawless, smooth skin glows.  She is a stunning woman and at once I understood why this photo stopped me from opening the drawer.

My mom is 89 almost 90 years old and is at the end of her life.  She nearly accomplished her wish to die in her home and would have, had the Health Care aide not found her collapsed by the side of the bed with a nearly fatal low blood oxygen level.  I flew to be by her side, not knowing what to expect when I arrived and she has now spent over two weeks in the geriatric unit of a local hospital.  In her typically stubborn manner, she has rallied, sufficiently to be ready to be discharged next week, but has been assessed incapable of being in her home alone, due to dementia and incapacity to be mobile without assistance. The opportunity to move her to the retirement community where I work part time came up and most of the paperwork is complete to set the wheels in motion.  

It is a huge move, away from the city that has been her home for 85 years and the house that she has lived in for the past 56 of them.  She and my father raised my brother and I here but my mom was the glue, the backbone of the family.  My father's life was an interesting one, fodder for many other blogs. He died at the young age of 67.  Mom has been here on her own for almost 28 years.  Being in her home has been the single driving force for her life in the past decade and up to 3 weeks ago, I would have bet money on her not ever leaving it.  Now, given the choice of living in a Long Term Care home here in Calgary with none of her family nearby, or a move to Victoria where we all are (me, my brother, my husband, her two grandchildren and two great-grandchildren), she chose to trust me to move her to somewhere safe.  She has also entrusted me with emptying her home and selling it to finance the steep monthly care fees to keep her going.

I have spent the past two and half weeks in my childhood home, sleeping in it alone for the first time.  It has been a period of letting go and saying goodbye.  My mom's memory, gracefully has already faded many of the details of the house and she seems quite accepting, if a little frightened, of the change.  For me, it represents a huge task, but one that I have found can be paid for with a service that will clear the entire house in 4 days.  My brother wants some time to be here but I am leaning towards the fee for freedom method!

Today, I am celebrating the magnificent young woman who smiles at me as I type this from her dining room table.  I honour you, Mama, and promise I will take very good care of you and all that you have collected over the years.  In my heart, I understand why that drawer wouldn't open, she doesn't want to leave, any more than she wants to be in that creaky, painful old body.  I am absolutely certain that the spirit of this being is alive and well inside my mama.  

There will undoubtedly be more reflection as the final days here wind down, along with a whirlwind of tasks to be completed.  I felt it important to pause today, Easter Sunday, to love and let go of this piece of my mom and to move swiftly to the place where we are now, with joy and anticipation of the time to come.

It works... love grows to fill the space!

Well, it happened again.  This incredible, everyday, happens all over the world, ordinary,

miracle that is the birth of a baby.  I was honoured to be present to the happening with my darling daughter, this time for a home birth and the memories of that 24 hours are warm and fresh.
    -  The quiet house in the dark, lit only by the streetlights, daughter in a rocking chair, flanked by me and a dear friend with another at her feet and another snoozing on the couch.  Whispered conversation between contractions about love and life and children and relationships.  
    -  The energy that flows when a baby is on the way - running effortlessly on an hour and half's sleep into the next day.
    -  Bringing my four year old grandson home from daycare so he can be part of the birth at home - playing in his room for a time - coming out to be with his mom - sitting with me, his hand on top of hers as she is seated in the birthing pool, going through the contractions - his love and concern for her with no fear and no hesitation.
    -  The skilled and calm midwives - the celebration when we heard my daughter was at 8 centimeters - she thought she still had a long way to go.
    -  The authority of the midwife who has caught hundreds and hundreds of babies, to get my daughter out of the pool for the final delivery - babe's shoulders were stuck - we just all reacted instantly and instinctively - she was out and onto the couch, which was prepared with the plastic sheets and bedding - Torin was out in one more push.
    -  The moments afterwards with my son-in-law and my grandson gathered around the couch, touching my daughter, hands on the new babe, with the daylight streaming through the window and the beautiful green plants all around - the warm intimacy of being at home with this new life just being brought into the world.

All my doubts about how to share my Grammy-ness with this new one vanished.  I knew as I held him a little later, when he opened his eyes and looked up at me as I sang to him, that we will have our own special way with each other.  He is unique and different and not-his-brother.  We already have our connection and it will grow as we get to know each other.  My heart, like the Grinch's, grew three sizes that day.  

As our community gathered last night, sharing food and passing the baby, I was present to the wonder that a fresh new little one brings to us all.  We are reminded of the poignant possibility that exists in each of us when we are brand new and how we can access that again and again.