Whether you’re grieving the loss of your job or spouse or a way of life, some moments are horrific and some are OK. It’s a wave that sometimes comes crashing in and at others is ripples of discontent. How can we move through the challenging times when a change comes uninvited to our lives?
Sometimes the only thing to do is sit and be with the miserable feeling. Mostly we are in the habit of doing anything so to avoid the hard feelings of loss. But, deep down we know the pain is looming in some corner of our mind and our heart. It’s there within our body and we just can’t avoid it.
When we experience a major loss, our heart feels sick, badly hurt, even broken. How can we heal our broken heart? Is there an answer, or are there only questions that create a safety for the heart to say what it feels? Telling the truth about what you are feeling is an integral action in the healing process.
Who in your life can you safely say what you are feeling? Who will listen, without advising, judging, or changing the conversation? What do they receive in return for their love listening?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Facing the White Space
When I’m not coaching, I’m writing. Each day I start my work by sitting at the computer. The screen and keyboard are my white space and pen. Their purpose is clear, but what is mine? Do I write because I want to teach, or preach, or just have fun? Is it a combination along with simply an expression of me being me? I ask myself what I’m learning, and giving, and receiving.
Books surrounded me as I was growing up. Reading was held as a noble way to spend your time. But I preferred interacting with others, which became a familiar past time… in my head. And since it wasn’t OK to sit and do “nothing”, I’d grab a book. I’d pretend to read, while playing and talking with my imaginary friends. I guess I could say I was writing. It must have been entertaining because I could do it for hours. What a blessing that reading was approved of in my house!
They say the artist has a challenge when looking at the empty canvas. When confronting my white space, what would happen if instead of thinking it might be tough, I would say: I’m going to the playground? Now that is fun. My spirit soars. I find a smile on my face. I write for hours, then stop, not knowing where to go next. I’m blocked, stuck, frozen in time.
I feel the hunger in my stomach, the desire to call so and so. Oh, any excuse will do. I need to stop now. I’ll come back later. OK, one more paragraph and then time for something else.
And that’s how it goes as we do what we love: Do the work, buckle down, feel like quitting, negotiate a bit more time, and then take a break.
Just remember, the purpose of our canvas is not just for producing, it’s also for having fun. Maybe when we call work—playing in the white space; we’d end up creating something new and feel the joy of a job well done.
What’s your canvas? What were you doing the last time you lost track of time?
When I’m not coaching, I’m writing. Each day I start my work by sitting at the computer. The screen and keyboard are my white space and pen. Their purpose is clear, but what is mine? Do I write because I want to teach, or preach, or just have fun? Is it a combination along with simply an expression of me being me? I ask myself what I’m learning, and giving, and receiving.
Books surrounded me as I was growing up. Reading was held as a noble way to spend your time. But I preferred interacting with others, which became a familiar past time… in my head. And since it wasn’t OK to sit and do “nothing”, I’d grab a book. I’d pretend to read, while playing and talking with my imaginary friends. I guess I could say I was writing. It must have been entertaining because I could do it for hours. What a blessing that reading was approved of in my house!
They say the artist has a challenge when looking at the empty canvas. When confronting my white space, what would happen if instead of thinking it might be tough, I would say: I’m going to the playground? Now that is fun. My spirit soars. I find a smile on my face. I write for hours, then stop, not knowing where to go next. I’m blocked, stuck, frozen in time.
I feel the hunger in my stomach, the desire to call so and so. Oh, any excuse will do. I need to stop now. I’ll come back later. OK, one more paragraph and then time for something else.
And that’s how it goes as we do what we love: Do the work, buckle down, feel like quitting, negotiate a bit more time, and then take a break.
Just remember, the purpose of our canvas is not just for producing, it’s also for having fun. Maybe when we call work—playing in the white space; we’d end up creating something new and feel the joy of a job well done.
What’s your canvas? What were you doing the last time you lost track of time?
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