Pressed: A Love Letter to My Husband by Shelley Robinson

 

I write this love letter to you, my new husband of one year, to remind you of our age (50 something), and as a result, our collective wisdom (over a hundred years together).  Yes, we still have lot…

Source: A Love Letter to My Husband by Shelley Robinson

Pressed: How to Share A Bed (and Sleep)

How can people sleep together without killing each other?

Source: How to Share A Bed (and Sleep)

 

The Perfect Sleep:  Sleeping is one of those things that couples rarely talk about.  To admit that you are not sleeping well together is not a conversation starter that couples generally have when getting together with others.  “God, I had the worst sleep.  I almost smothered him.  How about you?”  It is just not a topic that I have heard broached often, especially by the inner sanctum of the “married world”.  When I refer to the “married world”, I mean the secret society that makes a silent creed when they become married not to reveal anything about their relationships.  You know the people.  They smile effortlessly, look well-rested, and you wonder what the heck is happening in their happy worlds that you know nothing about.   I have chosen to ignore the marriage code, and break the silence.

I always thought that being in a new relationship would equal love which would, in turn, equal sleeping in blissful harmony.  At 50 years of age, coming into a new relationship (having secured the magnificent space of a full queen-sized bed for most of my unmarried life), I am uncovering some of the un-romance of sleeping together in a queen-sized bed (Yes, I know, first-world problems).  At 50, getting a full night’s sleep can be a real luxury even when we are by ourselves, let alone with anyone else competing for the same purpose.  Negotiating a good night’s sleep takes strategy.

The Bed Itself:  I know that my parents and my grandparents, and likely all of my unfortunate ancestors before that, shared smaller bed coil spring mattresses (or worse) on creaky bed frames that announced to everyone their every move.   In other countries, I have learned to sleep on the floor, on mats, straw mattresses, and other.  All of these have felt a bit precarious because I had mice scuttling around me, or mosquitos fighting through the unfortunate holes of mosquito netting.  However, recently, my nights sharing a queen sized bed with  my sweety have felt just as perilous.

The bed can be the key factor.  Had I known earlier, I would have invested all of my savings in a king-sized bed.  Yes.  I think that in this case, size, unfortunately matters.  As well, all of the rave reviews about memory foam, are illegitimate.  My wonderful partner praised the merits of his new bed that he recently brought to our relationship.  It was supposed to be like riding on a (as he would describe) “a white fluffy cloud of joy”, or a “chariot to heaven”.  This, however, has not been my experience.

You can go online and search the topics “couples sleep advice” and some pretty provocative sex sites come up.  Bed reviews also make the hit, and I have become educated that millions of people spend time and energy buying new beds with all sorts of promises of perfect sleeps.  Many of the same people (mostly women), write reviews about these beds (warmth, height, firmness, and other).  Men don’t seem to bother posting their bed findings.  Either they are sleeping blissfully on their new mattresses, having too much sex to bother, or they are too tired to write, but the male voice on sleepless nights is not appearing as much online.

However, many of the reviews by women confirm my findings.  Expensive foam mattresses equals heat (Yes, I know there are some bed companies that claim that they have ways to manage the heat).  However, in my case, if you are a hot person, it keeps you in the throes of what feels like a very high fever for most of the night.  When this same bed is shared with another person creating additional body heat, it can bring about a full-blown heat wave.

When you first see our bed, it appears to be this tranquil oasis of restfulness.  However, what lies beneath the pretty duvet and mattress cover is a placid pool of molten lava. We have put on several layers of flannel fitted sheets, and duvet comforters to insulate the matter, but the heat generated from my body on this bed, gets trapped into the bed, never to leave until I leave the bed in a sleepless raging nervous break-down in the morning.   No amount of opening windows, doors, and experimenting with different blankets has helped.  The terrible reality is that the bed will have to go at some point when we can afford it.  In the meantime, we have to create some bed ground rules.

Bed Ground Rules:  It is obvious that my new partner has slept blissfully on a king-sized mattress in his previous marriage because he gets nervous when he has a foot to spare from his shoulder to the edge of the bed.  When I asked him politely if buying a king-sized bed might be a good idea for us as well, he assured me that a king sized bed also holds the danger of too much space, and I heeded this as a reminder that he likes to cuddle.  I call this worry of too little space, the “edge of the bed syndrome”.  Any reminders that he might be a bed hog are not appreciated in the wee hours of the morning.  The game of who has the least space is likely to occur, and this is best avoided with a clear benchmark on the head board.

Blankets are also a tricky venture.  When one rolls over, the other is reminded of the tossing and turning that the other makes, often leaving either one of us exposed and cold.  I thought that I had this solved by bringing two nice light blankets into the bed that we could graciously separate for each of us when the time to sleep became obvious.  This idea was not entertained easily as the blankets often build up between us, creating a huge mountain that can become difficult to manage and traverse in the middle of the night.  Sharing blankets means too much heat.  Separating blankets can mean awkward space sharing.  The challenges of finding the right pillow and blanket amounts and types, continues.  It is an endless saga of trial and error, and we are always certain that at some point, the perfect fix will eventually emerge.

Sweet Dreams:  Therefore, we are learning that until we become rich and famous, we will have to figure out how to share this bed.  We have found doing some stretching (amoung other things), can reduce some tension before we embark on the tumultuous journey of sleep.  Sleep aids and other may be an option, but I like to think that we can overcome these difficulties without pharmaceuticals.  Many millions of others sleep on worse beds and in worse conditions, and so we will persevere.  Soon, we will be that well-rested couple that smiles effortlessly, and feels no need to discuss the horrors of the sleepless night.  In the meantime, should neither one of us appear for work, or just simply go missing, this might be my last plea for help.  Wish me luck.

Pressed: And They Lived Happily Ever After

And They Lived Happily Ever After.

And They Lived Happily Ever After: July, 2015

Shelley Robinson

Warranty Runs Out at 50: Sometimes it takes travelling away to see a new relationship for what it really means to me. Being on a trip to Hungary, Slavakia, Austria, Germany and Holland on a river boat cruise given to my sister and I by my parents to share with them, forced me to really take stock of who I am having just turned 50, and my new relationship with Chris. First of all, I had not counted on the first five months of our relationship to be when my body warranty decided to come up for renewal. Medical issues crept up on me from my bladder to shoulder to incredible work fatigue and now to a matter with my eyes. Chris had not counted on losing a position that he had quit a position for in Alberta in order to move back to the Comox Valley so that we could leap into this relationship with both feet; and, as well, so that he could become better connected with his family on the island.

However, I still see our new romance like a fairy tale. Like all fairy tales promise ” and they all lived happily ever after”, actually seemed possible for me in this new situation. I am interested in knowing what that actually means. I hope to explore that more with Chris who has agreed to document some of our journey together in order for us to make sense of it, and as well, to share our ideas with others who are learning about relationships.

Jumping Right In: Regardless of our life obstacles that seemed to jump out in front of us at every turn, Chris and I embraced our new dating relationship with a bit of wild abandon. We started with a romantic trip to Tofino. Here we explored the rain forests of the west side of Vancouver Island. Soon after, I took him to my little cottage on Pender Island where he helped me to set it up for the season. I was so pleased to share this little hideaway that I had been keeping to myself most of the time. Then we backpacked into the Elk River Valley, and experimented with our new hiking equipment. We planned how we would approach our next treks together, and more importantly, how we would lighten our pack loads. Trips to Victoria, Calgary and then again to Pender Island helped us to solidify our relationship by meeting friends and family. Words of love and forever were shared, and we started to believe in each other as a strong partnership that might enable us to approach our life dreams in new and dynamic ways.

The Peanut Gallery: Like all new relationships, there is always commentary from the gallery (family, friends, colleagues and other). Everyone has advice for the new couple, but more importantly, they want to make sure that Chris and I are incredibly happy. “Happy”, by the conservative definition, means being very very careful. “Are you sure?” “How do you know?” “This seems very fast.” These kinds of comments were anticipated, and surprisingly, despite a few cautionary tales, we were well-supported by most of the people that we cared about, despite a couple of disappointments. It seemed to be a consensus that at 49 and 50 we really had more to lose by not trying out something that we could see to be so very special, than by being laden with fear and speculation. Everyone seemed to say how lucky we were to believe that we had found our soul mates. “Taking on a new relationship would take hard work”, was the general theme of most conversations, and I was prepared to learn what I could from some of my married friends and family. It continued to surprise me that after so much time as a dedicated single person, that I had finally let down my guard to become a couple.

A Second Look: What I am finding as I look at our relationship from a distance, is that I am learning more about relationships by jumping into one than by standing precariously on the edge wondering what it might be like. It has not been our first time apart given that he was in Fort MacMurray for work, and then I was in Austin Texas on holidays for some of our time together. However, being away from Chris until the end of the month, has forced me to really evaluate where I am standing in my head and heart in our new connection together. What is abundantly clear, is that I miss him very much. What I have learned through our exciting romantic encounters, and through some real life challenges are the following three things that perhaps I am only seeing now for the first time as an older person in a new relationship:

Sex is Important: At this age, if the sex isn’t good, it is telling of the relationship. Sex is the relationship thermometer of so many things. It is good to be with someone who has a similar intensity about the physical side of a relationship as I do. This means learning to be as creative as possible while understanding what makes the other tick in so many vital ways in and out of the bedroom. Sharing a strong sexual energy with each other is a spiritual connection for us, and it helps us stay very close in ways that words and actions are not always capable of doing otherwise.

Intention, Words and Actions: Follow-through is the foundation of trust. What has meant more to me than anything about my relationship with Chris is his commitment to do what he says that he will do. We have agreed to “say what we mean and then do what we say”. I cannot believe how this is playing out so well in terms of us trusting each other. When he says that he is going to do something, despite a few normal circumstances, he always gets things done. Perhaps this type of behaviour is a sign of maturity, but it was seriously lacking for me in previous relationships. When his words turn into actions, it feels like respect to me, and I believe that it encourages me to do the same for him in return.

Mind the Gap: One thing that we have agreed to do regularly is to “check in” with each other. When we speak about checking in, it is about connecting with each other in really deep and intentional ways. We ask each other questions, usually at the end of our day, to insure that we are close and connected. Sometimes these conversations have led us into some really interesting directions because we are forced to disclose how we are truly feeling with each other where we might normally have skirted over topics in favour of a good night’s sleep. We have also agreed to talk about things when issues arise and to anticipate and respond to matters where we feel that there might be a gap developing with each other. This has been our biggest joy and challenge together to learn how to do this together.

Reflections: In a nutshell, anyone can be in love, but not everyone can stay in love. Both Chris and I have experienced the devastation of failed relationships. It can be a humiliating thing to lose people that we believed we would stay with us in long term relationships. However, we both believe that we had the good fortune to learn from our previous experiences so that at this time in our lives, we can be sure to give each other our best. Chris is always telling me that he wants our relationship “to be extraordinary”. He also says quite regularly that he wants to learn to be the best boyfriend that I have ever had. What a wonderful thing to say to someone that you love.

I have much to learn to be the best girlfriend in return. I stumble over my humanness on a daily basis. I learn more about myself and Chris everyday, and I hope to continue to feed this relationship with grace and kindness wherever possible. We both believe that we have been given a special gift, and now we have the choice to decide what we do with this chance afforded to us by the universe.

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.

Albert Schweitzer

Pressed: 52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Eight: What Happens When God Answers?

52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Eight: What Happens When God Answers?.

Getting Bossy with God:  Elizabeth Gilbert references in her book entitled Eat, Pray, Love this idea of petitioning God for what we want. Earlier this year, I made a very deliberate request to have certain things happen to me in order for me to be the best that I could be for myself and everyone around me.  It felt a bit like bargaining with God and saying, “Look God, I have been waiting for a long time to find, accomplish or experience certain things in my life, and I am determined to make this happen.  Your help is required, and I hope that you will ‘step up’ and help make it happen.  If you do, I can fulfill my dreams and be in a place of greater abundance to help others as well”.  It was not a typical experience to negotiate with God as a conservative Protestant who was always a little bit shy to ask the universe for anything knowing that I am better off than most people around the world.

However, I had been waiting 49 years for one very important thing in my life–a relationship with someone special–a champion.  I wanted a relationship in this new and wonderful place where I had dared to start a new life on Vancouver Island.  People were starting to worry about me being alone, saying things like, “There is no perfect person out there, and you might have to lower your standards.”  I always shook my head and responded quite confidently, and convincingly (even to myself) that I knew what I was looking for.  I would find it, and when I met him, I would know it.

One of my friends asked me, “What if you had to wait until your next life time to meet someone?  What if you are not intended to meet this person now or any time soon?”  I replied pretty definitively, “No, I am not prepared to wait on this one, nor die in order to experience another lifetime to do so.  I am going to get bossy with God and say exactly what I want, and when I want it.”  The deal that I had made explicitly with God was this:  Meeting someone special to share a life with would need to happen before I turned 50 years old.  This relationship would need to be a good fit, and so much so that I would feel very “wowwed” by this person.  The “wow” factor was something very important to me.

She continued to debate the matter, “You don’t need to have someone in your life.  When you are ready to really love yourself, you will not need anyone else, or you will attract someone to you who loves you just for you.”   Of course she is correct.  This is absolutely the case.  I have spent many years learning how to love and respect myself on many levels and for many personal and professional outcomes, not just finding a partner.  However, I felt ready.  In fact, I was liking myself so much that I was starting to choose my own company instead of going out with people on dates on the off-chance that they didn’t have crazy deal-breaking habits that I could not overlook (smoking dope, lying, being married, being a workaholic, posting naked pictures online, cheating, anger management issues, addictions, etc.)

And then one day…just when I was pretty close to closing down my online dating site (as it always seemed a bit more like viewing America-Canada’s Most Wanted than a perfect life mate), I got a message.  He commented on my profile picture that happened to be a picture of me in the exact same setting as his profile picture on the top of Mt. Maxwell on Saltspring Island.  We were posed similarly, and had the same gorgeous Gulf Island view behind us.  I was in a practical mode of thinking at that point, to meet over coffee.  My observation in the cyber dating world was that there is a serious “failure to launch in the real world” phenomenon of emailing and texting, and I was not interested in this type of protracted dating process with little outcome.  Given some recent dating encounters that I had experienced since I had moved here, a couple of which had gotten my hopes up about, I did not want to invest too much energy and hope into something until I investigated the situation first hand.

We efficiently negotiated our early morning meeting time and place like a business deal in a quick phone call.  It felt like a business transaction.  You can tell a lot about someone by their ability to engage in a phone call.  He was polite, responded to my questions, and asked me a bit about myself.  I had been used to phone conversations where I either had to carry the entire interaction, or had to sit listening in a zoned out state of utter disengagement.  Instead, this gentleman had phone call etiquette figured out, and I liked him immediately.  I reminded him that I would prefer to meet him in person instead of walking in the woods alone with a stranger, which was his original suggestion.  I joked that I might be an axe murderer, and it might be in his best interests to meet me in a public place.  He agreed.  We met for breakfast in downtown Courtenay.

At First Glance:  It did not take long for me to know that I would love this man.  Not only did we like the same food, but we loved to hike.  We quickly decided to go on a walk by the ocean, and I noticed that we were literally tripping over ourselves to talk about what we liked to do; and the types of experiences we hoped to have in our lives.  We did not talk about our personal lives (families, ex’s or anything really intimate).   It was an immense relief not to be interrogated by someone about personal matters that I preferred left to a later time.

The topic of travelling quickly identified itself as a priority to us.  I had done more than him, but he was keen about it.  He had lived a few places around the world because his father had been in the military, and liked being centered in a home base on the island.  I had lived in one solitary city all of my life, and had travelled to escape the monotony of living in one city for my whole life.  However, we both agreed that as we approached turning 50 (although he was quick to remind me that he was 10 months behind me from doing so) that we had to start putting some other priorities ahead of work and family.  It was quickly apparent that we were the responsible types, used to taking care of other people–the stable, yet predictable backbone of society that had the potential of propping up others instead of ourselves.

At one point on my dating site, I had simply asked, “Who is interested in travelling the world?”  I had a couple of responses, but none that were very serious about the idea.  Most men wanted to travel the world (and never had), and those who had travelled the world were somewhere else in the world at this time living a nomadic experience far beyond my reach.  This fellow seemed tenuous about life changes, but keen to reconsider a life plan where he was presently working in Fort McMurray to frugally save and help support his family.  I presented to him early on in our walk, the fact that at some point soon, I intended to quit work and travel the world.  He did not baulk at my candid admission which I usually used to scare men who lacked any sense of wonder and adventure, away.  However, in his own even-tempered way, he considered my question, and he seemed interested.

See You Around Sometime:  However, just when I though the date had gone well, he dropped me off at the car, and left me with the words, “I had a great time.  Give me a call if you would like to do something outdoors.  I hope to see you around sometime.”  I smiled, and thought to myself, “Like hell…”  I have never been interested in passive men lacking initiative, and especially a man who would choose to leave me to ask him out on a second date after one that I felt had gone very well.  I smiled and said, “See you around sometime,” and walked away.  As I drove home, I thought to myself glibly, “Well, you win some and you lose some.”

The next day I got a text.  He invited me out for a date for dinner.  A text, I pondered, was not the best way to be asked anyone out, especially me, but it was a start.  I contemplated the demise of our social norms as texting in sound-bytes in incomplete sentences and poor spelling or grammar was quickly becoming the new social reality.  I had grown up in a face-to-face age.  However, I decided that I would meet him again because I had enjoyed our first date.

Oh, by the way…:  Somewhere between a walk on Goose Spit in the Comox Harbour and our date for dinner at the Atlas Cafe, I knew that something magical was happening to us.  We talked about very innocuous things–in fact, we talked a lot about nothing at all.  We spent most of our evening talking about places we had been and food that we liked to cook.  I liked the simplicity of the encounter, and his good humor in response to most topics.  He was witty, and made me feel interesting.  The conversation was easy, and it was pretty apparent that we shared some similarities that we marveled at each time something came up that we had in common exclaiming, “Me too!” numerous times throughout the evening.  It was obvious that we had good connection.

He drove me home, and kept his hands nervously on the steering wheel as we said our good nights.  I asked for a hug, and we awkwardly exchanged ones in the confines of his sports car.  He mentioned just as I was leaving, “Oh, by the way, I will be away for three weeks with work.”  Long distance was not something that I had met with success in my life.  In fact, no one I knew had ever found it very easy.  I was alarmed that I had the good fortune of meeting someone so special, but would be yanked away from building this connection any further for almost a month.

I smiled.  I said good-bye, and made a decision to answer God.

52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Nine: What’s in a Name? My Journey of Names

What’s in a Name?  My Journey of Names

Dr. Shelley Robinson

The Significance of Titles:  Our society seems fascinated with this idea of titles or we would not keep using them.  Both women and men have been addressing each other with titles in front of sir-names for centuries.  It has been a way to formalize social significance and relevance, business prominence and academic status.  It helps people to understand that certain people fit into various social categories, perhaps due to their status by birth, marriage, caste system, regal relationships, academic performance and other.  For example, when women move from the title of Miss to Mrs., it has traditionally been the way to show that they belong to, or are (in some countries) owned by their husbands. Having a title is also a way to remind people of our roles in a hierarchical organization such as the military where there are clear chains of command.

For the “entitled” person, a title can help define us to the world in ways that mean something to us and everyone around us.  However, I have also learned that having a title can be perceived as a means of setting us apart from the people around us.  I have learned that titles can garner respect, admiration, jealousy, disinterest, curiosity, confusion and a sense of belonging in various communities.  My observations in my own experience in this journey of titles is simply this: whether we choose to take on a title, or to ignore it altogether, people pay attention.

Miss:  In the past, when people referenced me as Miss Robinson, I got the distinct impression that they were reminding me and others around me of my age and the fact that they did not see a ring on my finger.  Being a “Miss” felt as though I was very young and very single.  However, when  I was referred to as Miss Robinson by my students, as opposed to them simply referring to me as my first name, which is Shelley, I felt as though I was being treated with respect as their teacher.

I grew up in a family where I referred to all my parents’ friends by their last names.  I would not think of calling my parents’ generation (friends or otherwise) by their first names.  It just did not seem appropriate, and my parents nor their friends encouraged me to use their first names.  To this day, I have a difficult time referring to anyone who is in a higher position of authority, age or position of respect by their first names.

Mrs.:  When I was getting married, this idea of being referred to as a Mrs. was both exciting and perplexing.  I was not keen on giving up my last name as I was born with it, and had accomplished a lot in my academic and professional work with the name Robinson.  However, I found this idea of identifying myself as a married woman a very acceptable shift to everyone around me.  At my age, it was just the socially acceptable thing to do and like all rites of passage, the wedding and celebration encouraged it.

However, to give up my last name was a major life shift for me.  I struggled with this shift because I didn’t recognize myself by the name, nor did any of the music community where I had established myself as a musician.  Each time I had people refer to me by this other name, I looked around to see who it was.  I also felt as though I was giving up on the Robinson name as the oldest child.  I worried that if my sister and I changed our names, and our children took our new married names, the Robinson name would be lost.  As it happened, my son did take on the Smith name, and my sisters’ children are now Taylor, and so the Robinson name will not pass down through my father’s line.  However, I returned to my maiden name after my divorce, and continued on in my life both personally and professionally as a Robinson.  It felt like putting on an old pair of comfortable shoes, and I decided not to make another change to my last name again.  However, giving up the title and name was easier for me than the world around me.  My son then had a different last name than myself.  When I travelled, people had difficulty wondering why I was not a Mrs.  It is less common around the world to be a woman over 40 without a married title.

Ms.:  However, the conundrum of titles continued.  As I aged, it was obvious that I was not a Miss to people any longer.  People stumbled over calling me Ma’m and I had no ring on my finger to identify myself as a Mrs.  The title choice then remained to be called a Ms.  For some women, this title is a source of pride and neutrality that prevents them from falling into any social category.  I remember my French teacher demanding that her students never forget that she was a Ms.

For me, it reminded me that I was now a “mature”, unmarried, and confusing social anomaly to the general population, including myself.  I was not impressed with this idea that I had to announce on paper forms at every turn that I was now “divorced”, and a “Ms.”  In fact, I would often defiantly check off “single” and refrain from choosing off any title at all.  Whose business was my title anyway?

Dr.:   After many years of being in formal education to achieve a doctorate of education, I graduated with a PhD.  At the graduation, we were told by our valedictorian to never be embarrassed by our education and titles; rather, to be proud of our experience and knowledge in the world of academia and beyond.  It was an important name to share with others, including the younger generation of academics, and in my case, young women who aspired to the same level of education.  I was told by a couple of fellow graduands that same convocation that the title Dr. could never be taken from me.  When I returned to school the day after my graduation ceremony, the principal at that time, had my name plate on the door changed.  It now proudly announced that I was Dr. Robinson.  In Alberta, this academic status change was well-respected, and I felt good to have students calling me Doc Rob.  As well, with some relief, I no longer had to explain my lack of marital status.

However, what I have learned recently is that this title is also one that other people find intimidating.  In a world where academic accomplishment can be perceived as pretentious, we are sometimes encouraged to shed out titles.  Therefore, despite being called Dr. Robinson for a number of years in Alberta and then in BC; now in rural BC, and smaller community settings, I have been told that the norm is to refer to each other without titles, and by our first names.  For me, giving up both my title and my last name has been difficult, but I have embraced this idea given the cultural disposition and in some cases, outward hostility towards what they perceive to be an unnecessary formality.

Reclaiming My Name:  What becomes apparent to me is that my name is my own choice.  My name is also a sense of personal and professional identity.  I can choose my own name and title, and yet, I need to be thoughtful of being new to a community where this does not seem to be socially understood or acceptable.  I suppose I need to examine why the title and last name are important to me.  Do I need to be distinguished as academically superior, or is this title something that I should be proud of representing all of my hard work?  It was a very rigorous program and a huge accomplishment to complete as a single mother at a time where I was working full time.  As well, does being referred to by my first name actually strip me of my self-respect?  Has my upbringing of being referred to my last name make this my preference in the work world right?

But then after over-thinking all of the above and this matter of having had four titles and two last names in my lifetime, I find myself gravitating towards this final conclusion.  I think when I am about to turn 50 years old, I can choose to be called by any name that I choose.  Perhaps I’ll refrain from being called Queen of Sheba or Madam President and especially single names like God.  However, I think that my name Dr. Shelley Robinson needs to be reclaimed for my own re-identification.  I am a Dr. due to my academic degree because I have earned it.  As well, I am no longer a Miss, Mrs. nor Ms.  But most importantly, I want to carry on the Robinson name, and I would like to be referred to it as a form of respect when working with people in the world at large.  My first name has, and will always be Shelley, but I will continue to reserve it for those who are close to me in family, personal and professional circles.

52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Eight: What Happens When God Answers?

Getting Bossy with God:  Elizabeth Gilbert references in her book entitled Eat, Pray, Love this idea of petitioning God for what we want. Earlier this year, I made a very deliberate request to have certain things happen to me in order for me to be the best that I could be for myself and everyone around me.  It felt a bit like bargaining with God and saying, “Look God, I have been waiting for a long time to find, accomplish or experience certain things in my life, and I am determined to make this happen.  Your help is required, and I hope that you will ‘step up’ and help make it happen.  If you do, I can fulfill my dreams and be in a place of greater abundance to help others as well”.  It was not a typical experience to negotiate with God as a conservative Protestant who was always a little bit shy to ask the universe for anything knowing that I am better off than most people around the world.

However, I had been waiting 49 years for one very important thing in my life–a relationship with someone special–a champion.  I wanted a relationship in this new and wonderful place where I had dared to start a new life on Vancouver Island.  People were starting to worry about me being alone, saying things like, “There is no perfect person out there, and you might have to lower your standards.”  I always shook my head and responded quite confidently, and convincingly (even to myself) that I knew what I was looking for.  I would find it, and when I met him, I would know it.

One of my friends asked me, “What if you had to wait until your next life time to meet someone?  What if you are not intended to meet this person now or any time soon?”  I replied pretty definitively, “No, I am not prepared to wait on this one, nor die in order to experience another lifetime to do so.  I am going to get bossy with God and say exactly what I want, and when I want it.”  The deal that I had made explicitly with God was this:  Meeting someone special to share a life with would need to happen before I turned 50 years old.  This relationship would need to be a good fit, and so much so that I would feel very “wowwed” by this person.  The “wow” factor was something very important to me.

She continued to debate the matter, “You don’t need to have someone in your life.  When you are ready to really love yourself, you will not need anyone else, or you will attract someone to you who loves you just for you.”   Of course she is correct.  This is absolutely the case.  I have spent many years learning how to love and respect myself on many levels and for many personal and professional outcomes, not just finding a partner.  However, I felt ready.  In fact, I was liking myself so much that I was starting to choose my own company instead of going out with people on dates on the off-chance that they didn’t have crazy deal-breaking habits that I could not overlook (smoking dope, lying, being married, being a workaholic, posting naked pictures online, cheating, anger management issues, addictions, etc.)

And then one day…just when I was pretty close to closing down my online dating site (as it always seemed a bit more like viewing America-Canada’s Most Wanted than a perfect life mate), I got a message.  He commented on my profile picture that happened to be a picture of me in the exact same setting as his profile picture on the top of Mt. Maxwell on Saltspring Island.  We were posed similarly, and had the same gorgeous Gulf Island view behind us.  I was in a practical mode of thinking at that point, to meet over coffee.  My observation in the cyber dating world was that there is a serious “failure to launch in the real world” phenomenon of emailing and texting, and I was not interested in this type of protracted dating process with little outcome.  Given some recent dating encounters that I had experienced since I had moved here, a couple of which had gotten my hopes up about, I did not want to invest too much energy and hope into something until I investigated the situation first hand.

We efficiently negotiated our early morning meeting time and place like a business deal in a quick phone call.  It felt like a business transaction.  You can tell a lot about someone by their ability to engage in a phone call.  He was polite, responded to my questions, and asked me a bit about myself.  I had been used to phone conversations where I either had to carry the entire interaction, or had to sit listening in a zoned out state of utter disengagement.  Instead, this gentleman had phone call etiquette figured out, and I liked him immediately.  I reminded him that I would prefer to meet him in person instead of walking in the woods alone with a stranger, which was his original suggestion.  I joked that I might be an axe murderer, and it might be in his best interests to meet me in a public place.  He agreed.  We met for breakfast in downtown Courtenay.

At First Glance:  It did not take long for me to know that I would love this man.  Not only did we like the same food, but we loved to hike.  We quickly decided to go on a walk by the ocean, and I noticed that we were literally tripping over ourselves to talk about what we liked to do; and the types of experiences we hoped to have in our lives.  We did not talk about our personal lives (families, ex’s or anything really intimate).   It was an immense relief not to be interrogated by someone about personal matters that I preferred left to a later time.

The topic of travelling quickly identified itself as a priority to us.  I had done more than him, but he was keen about it.  He had lived a few places around the world because his father had been in the military, and liked being centered in a home base on the island.  I had lived in one solitary city all of my life, and had travelled to escape the monotony of living in one city for my whole life.  However, we both agreed that as we approached turning 50 (although he was quick to remind me that he was 10 months behind me from doing so) that we had to start putting some other priorities ahead of work and family.  It was quickly apparent that we were the responsible types, used to taking care of other people–the stable, yet predictable backbone of society that had the potential of propping up others instead of ourselves.

At one point on my dating site, I had simply asked, “Who is interested in travelling the world?”  I had a couple of responses, but none that were very serious about the idea.  Most men wanted to travel the world (and never had), and those who had travelled the world were somewhere else in the world at this time living a nomadic experience far beyond my reach.  This fellow seemed tenuous about life changes, but keen to reconsider a life plan where he was presently working in Fort McMurray to frugally save and help support his family.  I presented to him early on in our walk, the fact that at some point soon, I intended to quit work and travel the world.  He did not baulk at my candid admission which I usually used to scare men who lacked any sense of wonder and adventure, away.  However, in his own even-tempered way, he considered my question, and he seemed interested.

See You Around Sometime:  However, just when I though the date had gone well, he dropped me off at the car, and left me with the words, “I had a great time.  Give me a call if you would like to do something outdoors.  I hope to see you around sometime.”  I smiled, and thought to myself, “Like hell…”  I have never been interested in passive men lacking initiative, and especially a man who would choose to leave me to ask him out on a second date after one that I felt had gone very well.  I smiled and said, “See you around sometime,” and walked away.  As I drove home, I thought to myself glibly, “Well, you win some and you lose some.”

The next day I got a text.  He invited me out for a date for dinner.  A text, I pondered, was not the best way to be asked anyone out, especially me, but it was a start.  I contemplated the demise of our social norms as texting in sound-bytes in incomplete sentences and poor spelling or grammar was quickly becoming the new social reality.  I had grown up in a face-to-face age.  However, I decided that I would meet him again because I had enjoyed our first date.

Oh, by the way…:  Somewhere between a walk on Goose Spit in the Comox Harbour and our date for dinner at the Atlas Cafe, I knew that something magical was happening to us.  We talked about very innocuous things–in fact, we talked a lot about nothing at all.  We spent most of our evening talking about places we had been and food that we liked to cook.  I liked the simplicity of the encounter, and his good humor in response to most topics.  He was witty, and made me feel interesting.  The conversation was easy, and it was pretty apparent that we shared some similarities that we marveled at each time something came up that we had in common exclaiming, “Me too!” numerous times throughout the evening.  It was obvious that we had good connection.

He drove me home, and kept his hands nervously on the steering wheel as we said our good nights.  I asked for a hug, and we awkwardly exchanged ones in the confines of his sports car.  He mentioned just as I was leaving, “Oh, by the way, I will be away for three weeks with work.”  Long distance was not something that I had met with success in my life.  In fact, no one I knew had ever found it very easy.  I was alarmed that I had the good fortune of meeting someone so special, but would be yanked away from building this connection any further for almost a month.

I smiled.  I said good-bye, and made a decision to answer God.

Pressed: 52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Six: Making Space for Someone Else

52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Six: Making Space for Someone Else.

Making Space for Someone Else?

Shelley Robinson

“Looking into the spirit of others is sometimes like looking into a pond. Though we aim to see what’s deep in the bottom, we are often distracted by our own reflection.”  Katina Ferguson

Re-shaping the Figment Within:  When we defy all of the odds and find someone who loves us in deep and meaningful ways, one thing becomes glaringly obvious.  Things have to change so that this new wonderful gift to us from the universe can fit into our worlds.  The first steps, I’m learning, are to really take an honest look inside of ourselves to see who we really are so that we have the capacity to let someone else into our lives.  This is not an easy concept.  In my recent discovery of this new loving relationship in my life, I am grappling with how to find some sort of loving and sensible way to truly be in partnership.

I believe that we are all highly invested in re-shaping the image we present outwardly to be our most attractive forms possible; however, we often overlook the shape-shifting that happens within us on emotional, spiritual and psychic levels almost hourly.  Wayne Dyer (2002) speaks about this idea that throughout our lifetimes, we are many different versions of ourselves.  The epiphany that I am having is that if my outside version of myself were to change as much as my inside metamorphoses, no one would actually recognize me unless he truly knew my “essence”—my soul.

The Belief about the Sameness of Self:  Sometimes, I grab onto my soul and remind myself that at my deepest centre, I am the same person that I have always been from the time that I was a young girl.  Now that I am forced to pay attention as someone cracks me open to my core, I realize that the transformations happening to me on a daily basis from the inside out are pretty dramatic.  To the outside observer, I am relatively steady, and even-keeled.  I have liked thinking of myself as a static personality.  I have found that society commends me for my consistency of mind, body and spirit because I am then familiar, and predictable by those with whom I come in contact.

The brutal reality is that my sameness is not actually possible, nor reasonable.  By trying to be this way, I am actually fighting the force of nature that is intrinsic to my most basic cellular activity.  My body is always changing as it awakens and metabolizes and realizes its potential.  As I let another person into my life in intimate and powerful ways, I am witness to this idea that “Human beings are millions of things in one day.” (Nick Hornby, 2014).  While opening the door to let this special person into my life, I discover and re-discover who I am over and over again every day.  As my soul breaks open, I have to filter the broad spectrums of ultraviolet light that spill out of it.  I also have to break the sensory waves that hit the shores of my soul with every new and intimate interaction so that they do not engulf me.

Ever-changing Life Force:  What I eat; how I sleep; whether I am living with passion or obligation; how I breath; what I create; how I connect with nature;  what I touch; whom I am surrounded by– all influence my ever-changing life force that is never truly generalizable of the whole me.  I am a product of my past, my present, and the intentions that I hold for the future.  My mother’s voice sings out of me as a daughter.  My son’s memories recall my role as parent.  My work reminds me that I am an educator.   My new relationship asks me to be a lover.  Nature calls on me to be part of its sacred experience.  My body tells me to rest.  My mind tells me to figure things out.  My heart urges me to let go.  My soul rests into the fact that a miracle of self is emerging.  Where my various selves formally enjoyed their separate paradigms, I now need to re-integrate of all of these little bits and pieces of myself into a stronger and purer version of my “whole” self so that I can be in partnership with another.

Stopping to Pay Attention:    Therefore, in order to really appreciate all of it, I must stop and pay attention.  I need to do so in order to see who he is with clearer lenses.  I don’t want to get in my own way of truly understanding another person.  As well, in order to be his mirror (as true relationships tend to afford us this type of honest feedback of each other), I have to wipe my own image clear so that it clearly reflects back to himself what is valuable to him in our connection.

As a result, it becomes imperative for me to just stop.  It is not a gradual and gentle deceleration.  I need to make a lurching and immediate stop.  I can no longer just keep functioning at the speed with which I have been operating on auto-pilot for years.  I can no longer do everything that previously filled up my life with stimulation and activity—busy energy.  In order to stay clear, and to prevent absolute exhaustion and confusion, I have to trim out the extraneous, the redundant, and the minutia of my life.  It is time to purge.  I need to get real and get present.  Instead of attending to the thirty tasks (mostly obligatory) that are normally waiting for me to complete (and likely were an effort to fill up my life), I need to get in touch with what is unfolding in my new connection with another person.  I can no longer simply surf on the face of the waves of a turbulent life.  I need to take a deep breath and dive down deeply below the froth.  By plunging into the depths of my own experience, I hear my own heart.  I allow myself to feel the silence in place of all of the noise that usually distracted me up above.  By doing so, if I listen very carefully, I can hear the pulse of my new partner.  I can also see him clearly.

Down here, I am still.  In these quiet depths, I imagine another way of being on my own and in the space of someone special.  The stuff that is unimportant floats away, and I hold onto the part of me that is intrinsic to all of it.  And then, when I am ready, I swim back upward toward the light and resurface differently.  I hold open my arms and I can breathe.  Time slows down.  It bends just a little.  It creates just enough space for someone to come closer.  I let go.

52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Six: Making Space for Someone Else

Making Space for Someone Else?

Shelley Robinson

“Looking into the spirit of others is sometimes like looking into a pond. Though we aim to see what’s deep in the bottom, we are often distracted by our own reflection.”  Katina Ferguson

Re-shaping the Figment Within:  When we defy all of the odds and find someone who loves us in deep and meaningful ways, one thing becomes glaringly obvious.  Things have to change so that this new wonderful gift to us from the universe can fit into our worlds.  The first steps, I’m learning, are to really take an honest look inside of ourselves to see who we really are so that we have the capacity to let someone else into our lives.  This is not an easy concept.  In my recent discovery of this new loving relationship in my life, I am grappling with how to find some sort of loving and sensible way to truly be in partnership.

I believe that we are all highly invested in re-shaping the image we present outwardly to be our most attractive forms possible; however, we often overlook the shape-shifting that happens within us on emotional, spiritual and psychic levels almost hourly.  Wayne Dyer (2002) speaks about this idea that throughout our lifetimes, we are many different versions of ourselves.  The epiphany that I am having is that if my outside version of myself were to change as much as my inside metamorphoses, no one would actually recognize me unless he truly knew my “essence”—my soul.

The Belief about the Sameness of Self:  Sometimes, I grab onto my soul and remind myself that at my deepest centre, I am the same person that I have always been from the time that I was a young girl.  Now that I am forced to pay attention as someone cracks me open to my core, I realize that the transformations happening to me on a daily basis from the inside out are pretty dramatic.  To the outside observer, I am relatively steady, and even-keeled.  I have liked thinking of myself as a static personality.  I have found that society commends me for my consistency of mind, body and spirit because I am then familiar, and predictable by those with whom I come in contact.

The brutal reality is that my sameness is not actually possible, nor reasonable.  By trying to be this way, I am actually fighting the force of nature that is intrinsic to my most basic cellular activity.  My body is always changing as it awakens and metabolizes and realizes its potential.  As I let another person into my life in intimate and powerful ways, I am witness to this idea that “Human beings are millions of things in one day.” (Nick Hornby, 2014).  While opening the door to let this special person into my life, I discover and re-discover who I am over and over again every day.  As my soul breaks open, I have to filter the broad spectrums of ultraviolet light that spill out of it.  I also have to break the sensory waves that hit the shores of my soul with every new and intimate interaction so that they do not engulf me.

Ever-changing Life Force:  What I eat; how I sleep; whether I am living with passion or obligation; how I breath; what I create; how I connect with nature;  what I touch; whom I am surrounded by– all influence my ever-changing life force that is never truly generalizable of the whole me.  I am a product of my past, my present, and the intentions that I hold for the future.  My mother’s voice sings out of me as a daughter.  My son’s memories recall my role as parent.  My work reminds me that I am an educator.   My new relationship asks me to be a lover.  Nature calls on me to be part of its sacred experience.  My body tells me to rest.  My mind tells me to figure things out.  My heart urges me to let go.  My soul rests into the fact that a miracle of self is emerging.  Where my various selves formally enjoyed their separate paradigms, I now need to re-integrate of all of these little bits and pieces of myself into a stronger and purer version of my “whole” self so that I can be in partnership with another.

Stopping to Pay Attention:    Therefore, in order to really appreciate all of it, I must stop and pay attention.  I need to do so in order to see who he is with clearer lenses.  I don’t want to get in my own way of truly understanding another person.  As well, in order to be his mirror (as true relationships tend to afford us this type of honest feedback of each other), I have to wipe my own image clear so that it clearly reflects back to himself what is valuable to him in our connection.

As a result, it becomes imperative for me to just stop.  It is not a gradual and gentle deceleration.  I need to make a lurching and immediate stop.  I can no longer just keep functioning at the speed with which I have been operating on auto-pilot for years.  I can no longer do everything that previously filled up my life with stimulation and activity—busy energy.  In order to stay clear, and to prevent absolute exhaustion and confusion, I have to trim out the extraneous, the redundant, and the minutia of my life.  It is time to purge.  I need to get real and get present.  Instead of attending to the thirty tasks (mostly obligatory) that are normally waiting for me to complete (and likely were an effort to fill up my life), I need to get in touch with what is unfolding in my new connection with another person.  I can no longer simply surf on the face of the waves of a turbulent life.  I need to take a deep breath and dive down deeply below the froth.  By plunging into the depths of my own experience, I hear my own heart.  I allow myself to feel the silence in place of all of the noise that usually distracted me up above.  By doing so, if I listen very carefully, I can hear the pulse of my new partner.  I can also see him clearly.

Down here, I am still.  In these quiet depths, I imagine another way of being on my own and in the space of someone special.  The stuff that is unimportant floats away, and I hold onto the part of me that is intrinsic to all of it.  And then, when I am ready, I swim back upward toward the light and resurface differently.  I hold open my arms and I can breathe.  Time slows down.  It bends just a little.  It creates just enough space for someone to come closer.  I let go.

Pressed: 52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Two: Waiting for Grace

52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Two: Waiting for Grace.

The Waiting Room:  I remember this quote from the movie Shadowlands where Anthony Hopkins speaks to his colleague about his difficulty with waiting for a new season.  It captures, very aptly, the impatient space where I find myself right now:  “I’ve always found this a trying time of the year.  The leaves not yet out, mud everywhere you go.  Frosty mornings gone.  Sunny mornings not yet come.  Give me blizzards and frozen pipes, but not this nothing time, not this waiting room of the world.”  Lately, I have found myself waiting—waiting for people to do what they say they are going to do; waiting for people to communicate with me; waiting for my work to get started after a strike; waiting for some financial matters to resolve; waiting for the outcomes of an insurance matter to be concluded; waiting to meet people in my new location who can inspire me further on my life path (lover, and mentor roles as outlined by Downs, 2002, although I am meeting some very special and interesting new friends); waiting for my lifestyle to kick in physically so that I look and feel better; waiting to have fun; waiting for my next trip; waiting for some sign of what it is that I am supposed to do next with my life–my calling…I am waiting.  At this exact moment, I am waiting for the appliance repairman to come and fix my dishwasher.  It is the last straw on the camel’s back.  For God’s sake, will everyone (and the divine), just hurry up!

Let’s Go! I have never had trouble living “in the meantime” before (Vanzant, 1999) to the degree that I am struggling with now.  Now, I do not want to wait.  In fact, I am ready to move forward in so many facets of my life.  I have done the work.  I am in a state of openness.  I feel primed to leap outward, but thoughtfully because anything that I choose to do now will have a great impact on the latter part of my life.  With this being said, I feel prepared to say, “Sure, let’s go!”  I am sending these signals out the universe daily, hourly, and in every moment when I can no longer bear doing something that does not inspire me.  Something important is bellowing from the sidelines, but I cannot quite make out what it is saying.  Instead, I feel that I am in a holding pattern.  

Although I feel physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually ready to go on a journey and to share this leg of it with someone significant, or with like-minded people who are on a similar path, where are they?  Everyone is pretty involved in their lives, and they are not all looking outwards to share in new experiences at this time.   However, those variables of meeting “the right people” are outside of my control.  As well, I want to do something meaningful and to have some impact on the world for the short time that I am here; however,  I believe that that this flow of vocation needs to come from the synchronous source that leads us all to our purpose in life.  

The Universe in Slow Motion:  The universe is testing me of my patience because not all of the things that I want in my life are within my control, despite my efforts to take the reins, and seize the day.  At times, life feels as though it is unfolding unnervingly–painfully slowly as the universe gets around to what is supposed to manifest.  However, time is of the essence.  It feels as though it is running short.  I am feeling my age; my mortality; and my dreams keenly.  I know that I am on the cusp of experiencing something new.  It is at the tip of my tongue.  It is this ethereal tapping on the inside of my head.  Something is tempting me from another realm, and I know that I am supposed to be doing it.  But what?   

Letting Go:  I have done my part to front load my life work so that I am in shape and prepared to take the next part of my journey.  I have done everything that I can to be open to the signals.  I have learned what makes me flow, and at the moment, I am ebbing.  I know what authentically grabs me, and I have also learned what wastes my time.  I am long past “willing [myself] to do something when [my] mind says no…[which takes setting the] ego aside…” (Dyer, 2004, p. 41).  As a result, I have opened my arms up wide to the universe and said, “I have done my best.  Now it is up to you!”   

“Then, when you know in your gut that you have done all that is required, that is, all you know to do at this moment, turn loose.  Breathe a sign of relief, and turn the results of your actions over to the powers that be—whether you call it God, the Universe, a Higher Power, angels, the fates, karma.  Consider the matter done and out of your hands;  trust that whatever happens will turn out to be for the greater good…This creates the space for magic and synchronicity.  It allows the Universe to do its part”   (Belitze and Lundstrom, 1998, p. 181)

However, in doing this, and believing that I have let “it” go, I am still impatient.  “Come on Universe!”  I cheer from the sidelines of my life.  I am well-educated, well-travelled, well-read, and experienced enough to know that I know nothing.  I have a lot more to learn.  I know that there is a big world out there that I have not sunk my teeth into it in ways that I know would be absolutely delicious.  “Come on Universe and make it happen!”  Instead, for multiple reasons, and some more notable than others, I am waiting on a few things:  the right job (calling), the right partner (champion), the right logistics to support the dreams; the right timing; the inner knowing that, “Yes, this is it!”

And so I wait.   I am trying to “[r]emain confident that through continued reliance on [my] imagination, [my] assumptions are materializing into reality (Dyer, 2004, p. 41).  I have taken risks to set some of my dreams into motion. I moved to the island to seek inspiration and refuge in its stunning beauty.  It has replenished me and afforded me inspiration and insight.  I realize the enormity of operationalizing my recent move out to British Columbia from Alberta (leaving my friends and family, and a successful career) at this stage in life.  However, it felt right, and I have no regrets.  I know that I am on the right track, and that this is one big step towards the next leg of my “raison d’être”.   However, now I need to wait for a bit of divine intervention to afford me insight and patience so that I do not feel this “nothing time, not this waiting room of a world”.  

The Perfect Citation:  The answer came to me today as I wrote this article.  I pulled my faithful friends, which are my books, down from bookshelves, and put my mind to this matter of waiting, and out popped the answer that I needed to hear.  The right books leapt into my hands, in particular, Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth (2005).  The perfect citation jumped out at me as if the Universe wanted to answer me:

So while you are perhaps still waiting for something significant to happen in your life [Shelley], you may not realize that the most significant thing that can happen to a human being has already happened within you:  the beginning of the separation process of thinking and awareness.

Many people who are going through the early stages of the awakening process are no longer certain what their outer purpose is.  What drives the world no longer drives them.  Seeing the madness of our civilization so dearly, they may feel somewhat alienated from the culture around them.  Some feel that they inhabit a no-man’s-land between two worlds.  They are no longer run by the ego, yet the arising awareness has not yet become fully integrated into their lives.  Inner and outer purpose have not merged. (pp. 261-262).

It is eery to come across a citation that gives me goose bumps because of its poignancy and uncanny personal relevance.  It also never ceases to amaze me how quotations find me when I write for personal meaning.  

Making Peace:  It is also difficult to write anything beyond this profound excerpt that so eloquently addresses all of the difficulties that I have raised above. I will, however, say one thing.  As Tolle describes, I do feel keenly discombobulated lately as I grapple with an open sense of liberation in myself that other people do not seem to understand.  And so, I feel a little alone in this journey.  It heightens my need to be around other people who “get it”.  I now feel keenly that it is through relationship that I will be better able to understand my next steps.  Therefore, it reminds me…again…that I am waiting to meet these types of people who are conscious and awake, and who are open to connecting with me and talking about something spiritually important.  

Therefore, the other things I list above, like waiting for the dishwasher repairman, are manageable (by the way, he did come, and we ate dinner together, which in itself is a bit unusual).  It is this waiting for this enlightened connectedness that is truly difficult to do.  I now understand that because I am waiting for this sense of spiritual connection (impatiently so) that it has drawn my attention to everything else in my life that is taking time and taxing my patience.  So, now I need to breathe and make “peace with the present moment…[because b]eing one with life is being one with Now” (Tolle, 2005, p. 115).  In other words, by being present, I am creating “space for magic and synchronicity” (Belitz and Lundstrom).

I’m not afraid of death, but I’m in no hurry to die. I have so much I want to do first.

Stephen Hawking

Pressed: 52 Weeks Being Now: Week Forty: Silent Knowledge

52 Weeks Being Now: Week Forty: Silent Knowledge.

Stopping to Listen: Every so often we get caught up in the inertia of our lives and in the words and actions that precipitate what we believe to be the “truth”. We are so busy trying to figure out what the truth means, that we lose the essential point of why we are trying to learn it in the first place. We want to experience joy. We want to experience love. We believe that the absolute truth will allow us some sense of security in knowing our goodness and that of those around us. Then, and only then, can we experience true joy and love. However, the truth is only a story that we tell ourselves, or that we allow others to interpret of us:

“I am only one half of the message; you are the other half. I am responsible for what I say, but I am not responsible for what you understand. You are responsible for what you understand; you are responsible for whatever you do with what you hear in your head, because you are the one who gives the meaning to every word that you hear” (Ruiz, 2010, p. 104).

Usually, we listen to the words of those we hope are telling us the truth. We watch their actions. We try to align their words and actions so as to have them make testaments of what we need to believe to be true. However, in the end, it is all a story. It is a perspective, and what truly matters is what is beneath the story. “The truth is silent. It’s something you you just know; it’s something that you can feel without words and it’s called silent knowledge” (Ruiz, 2010, p. 110). I refer to it as intuition.

Quiet Communication: Intuition is sometimes fed by little clues. If we really listen, we hear someone’s character by subtler things found in between the words and actions. These sometimes imperceptible details become magnificent, in particular when we are at odds with ourselves and each other. Compassionate details matter most in moments of difficulty. For example: the sound of the patient breath; a loving look; our tears wiped; a patient tone; loving eye-contact; arms open; whispering tones of gratitude; no rushing; quiet rest; the benefit of the doubt; a hug; a loving presence; strong persistence; a belligerent belief in our internal goodness despite the proof in the moment of something less; a hummed melody; pure stillness; compassionate space and intimacy; staying awake; a caress; a touch on furrowed brow; a knowing look; and never ever feeling ignored. All are quiet forms of love that are somewhere between or beyond words and action.

When we show this quiet love, we believe in ourselves more. This silent belief in our own goodness are the roots that we grow into the ground around us. These are the roots of disciplined empathy which I like to call integrity. These roots give ourselves and people confidence in us, even when the wind blows.

Although you are a talisman protecting a treasure,
you are also the mine.
Open your hidden eyes
and come to the root of the root of your Self.
(Rumi, Root of the Root)

When we are quietly strong this way, we and the people around us always know that we only tremble a bit in the storms, or when we are tired. Regardless, we remain standing, and continue to grow upward into the sunlight. There is a tacet understanding that unless we are forcibly chopped down, or burned, our goodness is intrinsic and constant. We do not tire from being this way because it is a good way to be, but it takes effort. We see no limitations to it because we understand that “the mind that perceives the limitation is the limitation” (Buddha).

If we are really listening, we do not question the internal goodness of ourselves and others because it is just there, sometimes covered up by confusing words, and complicated actions and the assumptions that we draw from both. However, if we are really listening, we hear each other in deeper timbres. We know intuitively of the pain and the love that resides deeper inside of us and those around us. We ask different questions. We appreciate the power of the pregnant pause when we respond, not react. We step forward into the wind, not backwards. We sing inwards, rather than shout outwards. We pull forwards rather than push away.

Don’t go away, come near.
Don’t be faithless, be faithful.
Find the antidote in the venom.
Come to the root of the root of your Self.
(Rumi, Root of the Root)

In other words, when we are rooted, we stay. We stay present. We stay connected. This staying is the silent knowledge of our spiritual love as compassionate people in all of our complexities.

“Human beings are millions of things in one day.”
― Nick Hornby, A Long Way Down