Church of the Mighty Alrightness

Give More

My wife Betsy and I have had quite a year.

She has been laid off twice this year, and I have had multiple surgeries and scary medical events that just keep on going. A really mean recession also has its foot on everyone's wallet, and weighs in with a daily  negative undercurrent that can drag down everything else, so it's easy to get lost in the drama.

It's enough to drive a person nuts.

To be more specific, it's enough to make a person fearful, anxious, defensive, paranoid and self-centered, all of which are normal human reactions to deep distress and lots of losses. Trouble is, that's no way to live over any length of time, because you really can drown in your sorrows if you can't figure out how to swim.

So I want to share with you how I stumbled upon a cure for the blues, something that works no matter what.

It's to give more.

No, I haven't joined the Boy Scouts or a new church, and I'm not putting on a smiley-face to hide the pain.

I have found that giving more is an antidepressant/aphrodisiac/calmative/digestive aid/purpose-inducing/anxiety-lowering/sleep-restoring cure for just about everything that ails us. It is a magic bullet that can probably even cure the common cold or warm a cold heart.

It snuck up on me.

Coaching company executives is part of my work, and I noticed one day that I had started giving a little extra time to clients in our coaching sessions without even thinking about it.

Once I noticed how I felt about doing that, I decided the next step would be to let no good deed go unappreciated; I started speaking up and giving a verbal appreciation whenever anyone did anything right, anything good. Everyone qualifies -- friends, clients, grocery store clerks, mailmen, even used car salesmen. I simply say, "Thank you for ______________. I really appreciate it."

This felt so good that I decided my wife could use some extra love with all that's going on, so I started looking for ways to ease her way, do more than my share, to give her more of everything she likes. Let's just say that the feedback was... satisfying.

Dang, this feels so good that I realize I hardly have any time left to feel afraid or sorry for myself. Guess I'll have to schedule it.

When I'm busy giving more, my primitive, tight emotions relax into joy, connection and peace of mind. I really like how the pinched look on someone's face drops away and they smile really big just because I took a moment to give them a positive jolt. I'm having a blast spreading a little more love in my business, and I am crazy-happy about how my marriage gets better and better.

Perhaps these times could become the best of times instead of the worst of times. Maybe we have a choice about that. What would happen if we all give a little more? How would doing that transform the mighty toils and troubles of the world? 

Try it and find out.

I double-dare you.

It's Always Halloween On Planet Earth

Life is good.

Life is scary.

Both things are true.

Halloween is a celebration that drags scary things out into the light -- spiders, monsters, skeletons, bats  -- to diminish their power and reduce our fear of them. For one night, we turn 'Bogeymen' (not  boogiemen, for Pete's sake; a boogieman is someone who plays piano blues in a bar!) into comic figures as a way of saying, "I can deal with the dark side of my life."

In daily life, it's not so easy.

In real life, there are so many monsters under the bed: (take a deep breath...) global warming, terrorists, politicians, swine flu, economic recessions, horrible housing markets, high unemployment, people who won't love us back, divorce, being with the wrong person, poverty, bad food, obesity, boring jobs, low pay, animal extinctions, natural disasters, smelly seatmates on airplanes, bad grammar, pharmaceutical commercials on TV, depression, illness and death. To name a few.

There are so many things in this life that have the potential to weigh us down into immobility that it's a wonder any of us can uncover our eyes and make it out of bed every day.

How can we go on with life, have a good life, while we're surrounded by all the monsters?

I believe we get up every day because we know, deep inside, that there's a lot more to life than monsters. And we demonstrate that truth every day around the world through thought, action and words.

A young woman with cancer concentrates upon helping and inspiring others. A lone Chinese halts a tank by standing in front of it. A divorced person remarries. The examples are endless.

What all these people have in common is that they mobilize their love and their goodness to come dance with the monsters and wear them out.

That's the true meaning of Halloween.

-- The Acolyte

No Judgments

What do you chatter about in your head?

Have you ever really listened to your internal monologue?

When I pay attention to my thoughts as I move around in the world, the first thing I notice is how many of them I have. Busy, busy, busy mind.

I've got thoughts about everyone in the supermarket line. "Nice legs." "Looks stressed." "C'mon, buddy, write the damn check."

While driving: "Wakey, wakey... are we totally asleep up there?" "This must be idiot day on the highway."

Waiting in line at the theater: "You're not buying a new car... could you just choose a movie and pay for it?"

I notice that I am often pretty merciless in my mind.

Then there are times when it's 'positive radio' in my head.

"God, what a beautiful day." "Look at that sky!" "What an interesting person." "This is fun!"

It's a constant radio station in here, with opinions and comments about everything. I have to tell you that I was not happy, once I really started listening, about how much of the chatter is negative.

But I have a theory about that.

The brain is an analytical device, and it's a threat-assessment machine. It's always looking for problems, for threats. It's a threat radar. That's a good thing when there are tigers waiting by the path to eat you.

Trouble is, too often it's a destroyer-class radar in a rowboat. So much threat screening that there's no room for the lovely pond the rowboat is floating in to make an impression.

Comprehending the lovely pond is a function of the heart, not the mind.

I confess that the combination of my family history and the snap judgment habits of our culture combine to lure me into focusing too much on the threat instead of the pond.

I am getting happier and happier as I learn to monitor the internal radio station and step in to change channels when the narrative goes negative.

Here's how I do it. When I notice myself nattering on and on in constant criticism, I say softly to myself, "No judgments." If necessary, I say it again.

When I do that, it startles my mind into silence, and the background 'alrightness' becomes noticeable. My shoulders come down. My breathing becomes deeper and calmer. Everything relaxes, and all the quietly fine things going on off the radar come to the fore.

Have you ever really listened to your internal radio station?

Try it. Change channels if you dare.

Allow the Mighty Alrightness to emerge.

- The Acolyte

In Good Times Or Bad

The first time I committed marriage, I didn't trust it at all, and I didn't know what I was getting into.

My lovely first wife captivated me in many ways. She was interesting, high-verbal, beautiful, and a great musician. I fell hard.

When we got married after being together for a while, we left out the "'til death do us part", "in good times or bad" stuff in our co-written marriage service. We concentrated on the good stuff, and why shouldn't we -- we were in our twenties, with all of life stretching out in front of us.

Twenty-five years later, when I married my current wife, we were more traditional. Got married in a church, and used the old phrases that were left out the first time.

Now I'm finding out what they mean.

I recently discovered I had two hernias (hernia? herniae?) that were getting in the way, so I had surgery to fix them. In telling people I knew about the impending surgery, it was amazing how many men had already done it. "Piece of cake" was the predominate phrase. "Hurts for a week, then go about your life". Stuff like that.

I had the surgery, and a day later my kidneys failed.

I was in the hospital with balloons for ankles, wrists and chin. Water collecting everywhere, but none coming out of you-know-where. Much pain as I swelled up, and finally they inserted a catheter, which allowed me to begin feeling human again.

For years I had an enlarged prostate, which sits astride the urinary canal in men. When it enlarges, urination gets difficult, and so it was that for many years I was up at night four or five times to pee. My sleep turned into a series of naps, which is not the same as a good night's sleep, and I didn't know it, but my kidneys were becoming weaker and weaker under all that stress.

So when the surgery tipped me over the edge and I got 'bagged', the bummer of that fact was offset by my sudden ability to sleep the night through without getting up. Oh. My. God. Sleep, and sleep, and sleep I did, and still tend to do.

I hook my bag to the side of the bed, and I'm tethered closely by the tube, unable to even turn over to hug and smooch my bride. Never mind sex, with a tube and bag getting in the way.

And you know, cleaning up after my accidents (yes, there is the occasional leak), watching her husband drag around a bag 24/7, my dear wife was very clear. "I didn't marry you just for fun. Marriage is about this, too, and I love you."

I was astounded.

I never saw that kind of commitment before, nor did I previously feel it myself. This was a whole new thing where my wife loved me every day, even when I was pissing on myself.

It is the mark if incredible maturity and a way-big heart. This is love, not infatuation, and I was never so clear before about the difference.

I wish for you a love like this, where no matter what befalls you, your sweetheart is right there loving you. In your darkest, weakest hour, s/he is unwavering.

I'm not out of the woods yet. One more surgery -- on the pesky prostate -- is on the docket, and more days and nights of pain and trials.

What I know now is that my Betsy is there, no matter what. We'll get through it. She's right there, even when I am the least of myself.

And how precious is that?

- The Acolyte

Fearless Again

The thing I remember most about my early twenties was the lack of fear.

I had plenty of fear growing up (see earlier posts about family), but once I cleared the gates on my way out of that house, the world was wonderful, and I inhaled it through every pore.

Oh, I had troubles. Don't we all. Relationship dramas. Medical events. Job and money challenges. But compared to the joy of my newly emancipated life, it was fun, it was swell, it was cool, and troubles were just minor speed-bumps.

It was also the sixties. Sex, drugs and rock-'n-roll. Way cool.

Fast forward to current time.

Yesterday I noticed how much fear I've been feeling as an undercurrent beneath all my other feelings. It makes me flinch, roils my gut, pushes sleep away.

Somewhere between now and all that young fun years ago, the fears within me that had been taking a nap woke up and started prowling.

I think having things has something to do with it.

A good house. A music collection. A car that's fun to drive. A relationship precious as gold. Work I love and a little money in the bank.

Perhaps fear goes into the incubator when you have something to lose. All it takes to birth it is a trigger.

In this case, the events of the last six months really kicked it into gear. Banks failing, car makers begging to survive, stock market in free-fall, jobs lost in record numbers.

Then it got very personal.

My wife Betsy lost her job in early February. New clients have become harder to find in my business. Savings dwindled. My stuff might have to go.

What I realized yesterday was that fear had started squeezing a lot of the fun out of life for me, that it was getting bigger.

Then the spiritual presence in me said, "Remember how you were in your twenties", and the sense- memory of that time came flooding in. I remembered how it was to feel safe, even when I had no known security. There was all my stuff in two cardboard boxes, and I mostly flowed along with the changes.

I could feel that way again if I chose to.

I slept very well for the first time in months last night.

So I'm passing this along to you in the hope that you will also remember a time in your life when you were fearless. How it feels, the incredible freedom and joy of fearlessness.

If you felt it then, you can feel it now.

And that feeling of freedom will bring possibilities and gifts to you that will make life ever so swell and warm again.

We can feel safe even when nothing is, and that is Mighty Alright.

- The Acolyte

Moo? It's Much More Than That

OK, it's confession time. It's agonizing, it's hard, This is very private.

You see, my wife Betsy and I like to 'Moo" at each other.

Well, not quite.

If you've ever watched a cow make noise, their mouths do not move in any way that makes a "moo".

It's more like, "NAAAH...", or "NRRRR", but it sure isn't "moo".

 

Now, I've got to tell you that making cow sounds at each other is extremely soothing. 

Go ahead, laugh. Make fun of me. It's OK.

We are soothed when we do it. Soothing counts for a lot in these anxious times when our retirement looks like working at Wal Mart.

OK now, I dare you.

When you're honey comes in the door, go "NAAAH" (or NRRRRRRR), and just lean his/her way with a longing look in your eyes. 'Say' it again. 

Don't do this if you are on the edge of divorce, or your honey has had a really, really bad day. Wait until rest or drunkenness takes the edges off. 

If s/he doesn't understand, give them this blog entry, which you will have printed. Initiate him or her, seduce them to the comfort of cow. (motto: You don't have to eat cow to be comforted)

You'll also find that there's a world of nuance in cow talk. It can sound exhausted, hard day: "NRRRRugh" Or just full of life and milk: "NRRRRRRcome here, you bull/she-cow!"

I'm telling you, we just found all this out by accident, but now to 'moo' (ugh, media language distortion) with each other calms us before, during and after the disaster-filled evening news.

You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.

If you understand this, you could become a Spiritual Cownselor in our Church.

Of course, you might be a dog person. Woof.

And that's Mighty Alright.

- The Acolyte

Naked, In the Rain

My wife lost her job this week. Half our family income, zip, out the door, gone.

She became one of those people you hear about on the news every night, joining millions of others in a swelling tide of joblessness that's sweeping this country in our time of great challenge.

She had been assured that her job was safe by her boss three weeks ago. Then BAM, out the door this Monday, one week of pay for the send-off.

We felt like we'd been hit in the forehead by a two-by-four.

Betsy and I immediately swung into job-seeking mode, and started looking hard and strong.

We were in full action mode, even as we tried to manage our feelings; fear, outrage, anger, helplessness. It's like trying to walk with large sandbags attached to your feet, but walk we did.

Then I remembered that time when I was naked in the rain.

It started when when I was born, an illegitimate child placed for adoption. In therapy years later, the image of me that came to my mind one day was of a helpless infant, lying on his back on a wide city boulevard. It was cold and raining, and hundreds of people walked by. Nobody noticed the baby.

 

All during my early life, I lived with a deep, nameless fear. It was with me every day, all day, underneath whatever joys or challenges I had. An undertone of constant fear that life wouldn't support me.

In all the ensuing therapy, I finally figured out that the fear was about becoming that helpless baby again. I was in constant fear that I would loose everything and everyone, and end up helpless and die. (Babies die if left unattended out in the rain!)

One day, it even started happening.

My girlfriend and I broke up, and I had no place to live. I had suffered some business reversals, and had only a couple hundred dollars in my jeans, and no job prospects. I lit out in my car across country, running away, running toward, just running.

In the vast, empty, flat sweep of west Texas that night, my right front tire gave up and died.

There I was, far from home, near-broke, and broken down for sure.

I was naked in the rain.

Funny thing happened. I didn't die.

A trucker pulled over, put my truck onto his auto carrier and took me to the nearest small town. A gas station guy sold me a cheap new tire, and a friend in Florida sent me some money. I was on my way again, and I ended up on the east coast staying with my friend until I could get my feet under me.

I think I needed to go through the helplessness of those events to find out that I wouldn't die if I was down to nothing, that life-its-own-self would take care of me now, no matter how skinny things got.

So I remembered this experience the other night when the unemployment event was weighting heavy on my heart and mind, and I instantly felt a lot better. I could relax and sleep, quiet my nerves, move forward.

Even when you're naked in the rain, things will get better.

I remembered that I had already been to this place, and that this is just another one of those moments. All will be well, even if there is a period of great discomfort while working out of details.

When you get down to naked in the rain, life lifts you up. Things happen, the sun comes up, you're still breathing, and soon it's a better day, and that is Mighty Alright.

- The Acolyte

When We Got Sick

It's not often I come down with a bug; I'm usually a healthy guy.

But it's been a very, very stressful year. Two weeks ago it all caught up with me, and I came down with
the flu. 

My wife doesn't tend to get sick either, and when she does, it's usually a cold. She doesn't remember having the flu, so when I got it, she tended to equate it with a cold.

Fellow flu sufferers, we know the difference don't we?

A cold is a piffling thing. Uncomfortable, yes, drippy and droopy, for sure. But you can curl up with a blankie on the couch for a bit, watch bad TV and take modern cold drugs, and before you know it, you're on your way again.

Not so with the flu.

The flu actually kills people sometimes. It's a deeper thing, and when you've got the flu, all you want to do is curl up and leave your hot, trembling, nauseous, coughing, blinding headache of a body until it's over. No TV, no going to work in spite of it, just lie down and die for a while until you can move. Food? Nah. Sleep? Ha.

So when her usually dependable, active guy dissolved into a stalled-out moaning lump of sweaty, immobile suffering, my wife was quite surprised.

Her: "Sweetheart, are you OK?"

Me: "Ngbrrrrurp..."

Then she got a cold in the middle of my having the flu.

Her: "SNO-O-O-RK! drip, drip, BLO-O-O-W!!!"

Me: "Ngbrrrrurp..."

Dogs got fed, food was prepared, all in slow-motion, by the two sick zombies we had become. Anything non-essential didn't happen, and bathing became a little less frequent.

We’d run into each other in the bathroom and lean on each other like two punch-drunk boxers, checking in: “Still alive?”, “Check, still alive.” Whatever malady was producing the most noise at the time, the one who had it slept in the guest room.

Through it all, we managed to remain civil and supportive. We’ve known we are both good at care-taking the other when one of us is sick and one of us is well. Now we found out we could still stay positively connected even when we are both in pain.

That’s no small thing, to slop around together in our dregs and still do a passable form of our marital dance. It didn’t look pretty, but we did it.

And that, in fact, is Mighty Alright.

- The Acolyte

On Being Rich

I am a very rich man.

I'm not measuring that wealth in money, although having lots of money can be fun. Nothing wrong with money, as long as it doesn't become too important.

Let me share my wealth with you and see if you can relate.

One of my most, most favorite experiences of abundance comes during a night when I'm not sleeping well. I lie there with my mind clicking along, trying not to move too much so I don't keep my beloved Betsy awake... she has such a challenging work life, and needs her rest.

But being awake is not being asleep, and she senses, way down, that I'm awake and restless.

I tend to sleep on my left side, and on a sleepless night, I'm there, ever-hopeful that I'll sink down and go.

That's when I feel her gently mold herself along my back, one arm over my waist, hand on my arm, warm breath on the back of my neck. Maybe even a kiss on my neck, right there, and then she's asleep again.

I feel her warmth, her deep relaxation, and it's so soothing and glorious that I drift off.

I'm rich, I tell you. Moments like that can't be bought.

Or take Saturday mornings.

We have a ritual. There's a relaxed waking up -- usually she beats me out of bed and I wake up smelling coffee and hearing the small sounds she makes out there beginning her day.

I wander into the kitchen mussed and sleepy, and we make some kind of plan for the day, the special day when we get to be together and do whatever we want.

It always begins with breakfast out.

There's a wonderful cafe down the road where we claim a table, music quietly filling the air, a relaxed, informal vibe. We load up on breakfast sandwiches, scones and juice, reading the paper and taking our time -- a shameless weekend luxury -- until we're ready to go.

We wander about, stopping here or there on our chore list, picking up dog food, groceries, a wall switch. The superb luxury of being together and unscheduled is a high like a drug.

There might be a nap in the afternoon.

After that, I might read while she checks emails. Football or gardening or cooking. There's an undercurrent of contentment that we're here together, snug in our house in the woods, just hanging out.

We're rich... rich, I tell you, and that's mighty alright.

Come on, snuggle up.

- The Acolyte

Fear and Money

You know how we get those big storms that roll across the country -- ice, snow, , wind, flooded streets and homes? 

Well, we're having big 'fear storms' sweep the nation these days, and those storms are about money.

Ever since the rot in our financial system surfaced and financial companies started their swan dives, a lot of people have been in a swoon about "the economy".

The media love it. We get breathless reports and worried looks from all the reporters who can't wait to tell us how much trouble we're in.

I've got news for them, and for everyone who is full of financial fears.

First of all, there is no such thing as "the economy".

There are millions of economies -- your family economy, your city economy, the economic realities of your business or profession, and all of the economies of other people and nations in the world.

The newsies would have you believe it's all one big thing that's in terrible trouble. That notion sells a lot of ad space.

The truth is, in this time or any other, there are people doing poorly, and people doing very well. All economies are not the same.

I am a business coach by day, and one of my clients is the president of a real estate firm that specializes in property rental management. In a time where many people either can't or don't want to buy houses, the rental market is booming. No worries for him.

Renovation contractors are doing pretty well. Taking care of the houses we have instead of buying houses we can't afford is suddenly in vogue.

Then there's the myth that people don't have money right now. Not true. First of all, the government prints money in a Washington basement (where do you think the bail-out money comes from?), and second, a lot of people were feeling very uncertain about the markets years ago and pulled their money out. There's lots of money out there, and a lot of it is in cash.

So, people with a lot of cash aren't going to invest in the stock market. Instead, they are investing in their friend's business, in starting their own recession-proof businesses, in all kinds of new, creative ways that broaden our economic base.

Is it a good thing that investments now are more local and less about the stock market?

I'll wade into deep waters with the view that America has been well down the road to second-tier status as a country for some time now. Over-dependence on oil. Under-educated kids. Spending without saving. Huge personal and corporate debt. A broken health care system. Shameless politics. The list goes on.

This "downturn" is a blessing in disguise. It's going to make us get off our butts and get creative again. We're going to have to connect with each other, depend on each other more, live in communities instead of being lonely loners, figure out new ways to bring services and products to each other that make more sense.

The last fifty years have been the most prosperous years in our history, and that has made us lazy and complacent.  The illusion of America the unchanging was here. No more hard times, lots of good jobs and endless credit, and above all, lots of stuff. Always and forever as much stuff as you want. (you know, STUFF, what you buy in stores...)

What we're finding out is that we're not just a nation of people who are increasingly obese physically. We are also obese when it comes to our values, to our money management. We are obese in our intellectual and spiritual laziness. 

We lost our edge, gave away our peace of mind to the ATM's and the credit cards, to the belief that it was all endless summer and we didn't have to be challenged anymore.

The good things about this shake-up time are too numerous to count, if... IF... we can raise our heads from the fear and the hunkered down, hands-over-eyes way of being and start seeing the Mighty Alrightness of what's happening.

Franklin Roosevelt had it right when he said that all we had to fear was fear itself.

Yet the scary events of the day have meaning and purpose.

There are bills due, and they aren't just about money. We must learn to save again, care for the poor again, care about our neighbors as ourselves (ahem... a fundamental tenant of religion), and care immediately for this planet again so it doesn't become a sauna.

We must accept changes such as we are going through now, just as we accept the seasons of nature. Winter isn't death, it's just a time of rest. Fall prepares for the time of rest, and then in spring, everything is reborn, and grows and grows until the harvest. On and on the great cycle goes.

Our finances, our national and international lives, are all part of those cycles, because we are first and foremost connected to nature, and we need to remember that all that is happening is in season, despite the scary realities of financial challenges.

It won't be easy to 're-frame' what's going on. We will suffer and we will be uncomfortable, but both of those things are price tags for rapid growth and learning.

Anyone who goes to the gym knows that it's hard to keep the muscle, the tone, the feeling good and healthy. You have to work at it, and when you stop, you get flabby.

America the flabby. That's what we had become.

Not anymore.

And that's mighty alright.

- The Acolyte