“I’m having more fun than I’ve ever had in my life,” Anna, a wellness coach and trainer, said to me recently, giddiness in her voice. We’d been working together for a while and her business was gaining momentum. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she said. I was struck by how we douse ourselves consistently with limitation, tell ourselves, before we even take in our joy, that all good has to come to an end. What goes up must come down.
“We are meant to grow and expand. It’s natural,” I told her. We have the drive to develop our capacities, just like the pianist who commits herself to practice. It doesn’t mean that every day is a banner day. But with practice, we develop, and everything gets better. “The better it gets, the better it gets,” I said, quoting Esther and Jerry Hicks, some of my favorite teachers in learning how to consciously feel good.
This is the work for all of us courageous ones committed to living our best lives. We’re not ignoring threats. But we’re not minimizing love, astonishment, or the time of our lives either. We are taking in the nutrients in our lives so that we can grow stronger. We will not be harmed by taking in our good. We are designed to thrive.
When good things happen to you, don’t wait for the other shoe to drop. You’re just getting started. You are tapping into who you really are, which is why it feels so good. You are connecting to the Great Love, which is available to all of us. And you can do even greater things with greater love. You’re just revving up. So, I wouldn’t say the shoe in the air is about to drop. I’d say the shoe on the ground is about to fly.
TURNING POINTS:
Wait for the Other Shoe to . . . Fly
It’s time to stop calling negativity “realism.” I have an idea. Let’s just call it negativity.
It takes grit to allow a force of good to work through you and for you.
Life gives us the chance to get realized, instead of “realistic”—as in to let go of the small stories we tell ourselves about what is possible.
It’s a travesty to ignore, discount, or block the goodness in your life. You can unwittingly live a life that is smaller than your true nature.
You will create the life you fear by paying attention only to the stories that reinforce what you do not really want.
One of the greatest choices you will ever make is to take your joy seriously, at least as seriously as your pain.
The following disappointment didn’t change the truth of the original life-changing moment—until I let it.
When good things happen to you, don’t wait for the other shoe to drop. You’re just getting started. You are tapping into who you really are, which is why it feels so good.
SOMETIMES, YOU HAVE TO FEEL THE PAIN
A spiritual perspective does not deny your pain or any aspect of your human experience. It simply denies its power over you. It gives you the strength when the tears are falling, and the power to invoke miracles that lie beyond.
MARIANNE WILLIAMSON
Acceptance is the key word here. If we resist pain, it will tighten its hold and strengthen its intensity; but the moment we fully accept it, we may overcome its stern dictatorship.
PIERO FERRUCCI
Life is the art of facing what you don’t want, on the way to creating what you do want. The moment you chase the blue butterfly of desire, it’s likely that you will move through the wastelands of disappointment, rage, and self-criticism. It’s just the nature of transition. You are always passing through uncomfortable territory on the way to expansion.
I’ve also noticed that the more conscious I’ve become, the more sensitive I am to pain. In the past, I might have been numb or unaware. But now, no such luck. I’m involved in my own life. It’s like when your foot falls asleep. As you wake up, you suffer the pins and needles of becoming more alive.
So, let me tell you this, my precious, conscious chickadee. How you deal with pain will determine your success and joy in this life.
Years ago, I discovered a courageous and profound way to deal with myself when I’m in pain. It does not involve tequila, Percocet, or binge-ordering cubic zirconia jewelry from the Home Shopping Network. Nor does it rule anything out.
This happened some years ago, but it’s not like I’ve never dealt with pain again. I’d been “triggered” again by a nasty bout of self-comparison. My insecurities were raging. “It’s not fair!” some part of me cried over and over. I slid into a funk of deprivation and frustration.
Let’s just say I’ve been here before. It’s the same sorry broken record of “I will never get to where I want to be.” I don’t want this agony to return. It has come to my house so many times and broken the dishes and kicked in the walls. But when it comes I feel as though I have little say. All my years of therapy, spiritual practice, and even teaching do not protect me from this vulnerability—which really, really makes me want my money back.
I know some spiritual leaders say that this pain is “optional.” Well, let them walk on water in stilettos; I’m drowning. My pain is the only dish on the menu—the only menu in the only diner. Basically, it’s what’s for dinner. You may find yourself here sometimes. You’re hurting. Yes, you know you’re making yourself miserable by what you’re thinking. But you are so far beyond finding that helpful right now. You just want a helicopter out of your despair.
Ironically, I was at a beautiful retreat center when this experience happened. Yes, life does have a sense of humor. There were ongoing workshops on meditation, yoga, and healing taking place. I paused by a still pond blossoming with water lilies. Barefoot and bald meditators walked by me, smiling with serenity. I wanted to trip them as they passed. I am not well, I tell you.
Heal my mind, I pray to any God who will listen. Take these thoughts away. I say the words, pleading and demanding. I stomp my foot, a princess calling upon the powers of the heavens as though they are disobedient maidservants. Nothing happens. Evidently, in this pain I cannot even pray right.
“Try focusing on something positive,” I demand of myself. It’s almost embarrassing how much good there is in my life, and how I choose to lie down on a bed of rusted nails instead. Realizing this makes me feel worse. “There are children starving in Africa, and they’re probably singing,” says my suddenly “spiritual” inner critic.
I’m sure I’m messing up my “vibration.” I can see the quantum physicists shaking their heads now, whispering, “And it’s not like she didn’t see The Secret.” I bet I’m creating a force field of negativity, which is like a calling card attracting—no, begging the lowlife energy of the universe to find me, because, obviously, I’m simpatico. Now I’m in even more pain, because I’m feeling bad about myself for being in pain.
That night, I talk to Nancy, a woman I have just met. Nancy is a healer by trade. But more than that, she is a healer by the way she looks at me. Her face is as open as a window in springtime and her eyes have seen it all, yet they look at me with burning interest. I feel the air slow down around her. I swear she is charming the molecules into sacred space. I start telling her about my situation, strategically inserting only the details that validate my cause and make me look pretty good, and not as much like the ragged, spiritually inept character at her table. I ask her how to deal with the pain of the situation.
I am hoping she will give me some Sanskrit mantra or insight to make it instantly disappear. I am hoping she has some kind of talisman tucked up her sleeve. I am hoping she will say something to prop up my wounded, terrified ego, maybe something like, You’re obviously a rock star who deserves better treatment. Or better yet, Here let me wave my magic wand, and don’t worry, just for you, I’ll waive my fee. Or worst-case scenario, but still fine with me, I expect her to say, I know a woman who can tell you which mother in which past life did this to you. I know a guru, a lobotomy specialist, a smack dealer; I’ll get you connected.
But she says none of those things. She says something I am not expecting. When I as
k her, “What should I do?” she says quietly, “I guess there is nothing to do—but feel the pain.”
I guess there is nothing to do but feel the pain. These words slow down time.
Part of me wants to say, “Come again?”
But the wise part of me, the one that instantaneously recognizes truth, wants to giggle and toss jelly beans at her feet. That part understands and claps its hands.
“Feel the pain,” she says, and she says it with the kindness of a thousand years, like water that has loved a jagged rock and smoothed it into shining. Her healer’s voice surrounds me with spaciousness, as though she can wait forever for me to take in this message.
I feel her recognize my sorrow and suddenly I recognize it—and I recognize that it’s okay to feel sorrow.
I don’t need to deny it or make it wrong or try to sweep it off my doorstep and scrub away its shadow. The moment she says, “Feel the pain,” I feel as though the broken sorrows of the whole world are laid before me, the raw hearts of everyone, everywhere, who has ever felt pain. The hungry. The sick. The frightened. Somehow, we’re all in this together, we’ve all been hurting at times, suffering in our own way, and I would not make these others wrong for anything—and finally, I do not make myself wrong either. I feel compassion.
This is what whispers to me in her words: Stop running and come in out of the rain. Wrap your little girl in a warm woolen blanket. Let’s put on a pot of barley soup. Forgive your ego, your frightened one, for its tirade, for demanding the moon as proof of being loved, for needing things to be otherwise, for taking offense because the wind blew a certain way—not your way. Take those tight shoes off. Why, you’ve been running away from your truth for so long, you must be tired. Here, let’s soak those feet in lavender oil.
The moment Nancy says, “Feel the pain,” I don’t feel lonely or separate from my life anymore. I feel as though I can be in this exact moment, in this exact state of mind. I feel as though she is asking me to allow Divine Genius, the eternal lover of the present moment, back into my heart. I feel as though she is reminding me of my real nature, a presence so beautiful and vast, it could sit with pain of any sort, frustration, anger, and betrayal, and welcome every wasp, spider, and aphid into the garden. Love isn’t asking me to change or improve. I’m being asked to allow myself to experience the medicine and message of the moment.
Suddenly I realize I don’t need Spirit to take away the pain. I only want Spirit to sit with me while I feel the pain. I need to sit with this part of myself. I need to hear her story, not fix it, agree with it, push it away, or try to change the circumstances that have caused it. I need to sit with this frightened part of myself. She needs to be heard. This is mercy. This is maitri, a Buddhist practice of loving-kindness. With acceptance and love, the poison will move through. This frightened part of myself will know how to move forward from here.
In the past, I have envisioned the Presence of Love sitting down by my side. It’s the Holy Spirit, Jesus, Buddha, Allah, the Shekinah, or the spirit of the trees, sea, and grasses. Strong Love sits beside me. Strong Love sits behind me. Strong Love sits before me and above and below me. Strong Love can witness and contain anything. Strong Love can absorb the sting. Strong Love doesn’t want to be anywhere else.
In the end, pain opened my heart to myself. It’s always that way. I feel the love of the Infinite when I feel my own love. I feel that love when I stop running away from any part of myself or any experience I am having. I am willing to feel my pain. I am willing to feel my love. I am willing to feel my life.
An inspired life is not a life of avoiding pain. It’s not negative to feel pain. No feeling is ever wrong. I am not weak or limited for feeling pain. This life is one of impermanence and change and demands a great deal from all of us. My spirit remains invulnerable. Which means it’s safe for me to feel vulnerable. It’s not pain that makes me feel isolated and frightened. It’s my resistance to pain that closes my heart to myself and my experience.
“I feel the love of the Infinite when I feel my own love. I feel that love when I stop running away from any part of myself or any experience I am having.”
I invite you to sit with yourself in the middle of a feeling that is uncomfortable—and bring in self-compassion. You deserve this grace. Feel the pain. I hope you can hear me whisper this to you, with the wisdom of the ages in my voice, a fierceness and gentleness that wraps around you.
I have faith in your ability to heal yourself.
I have faith in your ability to allow and absorb and find comfort with the truth of exactly where you find yourself in this moment.
I have faith in all of us.
TURNING POINTS:
Sometimes, You Have to Feel the Pain
You are always passing through uncomfortable territory on the way to expansion.
I guess there is nothing to do but feel the pain. These words slow down time.
I need to sit with this part of myself. I need to hear her story, not fix it, agree with it, push it away. . . . She needs to be heard. This is mercy.
With acceptance and love, the poison will move through.
Strong Love sits beside me. Strong Love sits behind me. Strong Love sits before me and above and below me. Strong Love can witness and contain anything.
I feel the love of the Infinite when I feel my own love. I feel that love when I stop running away from any part of myself or any experience I am having.
An inspired life is not a life of avoiding pain. It’s not negative to feel pain. No feeling is ever wrong.
My spirit remains invulnerable. Which means it’s safe for me to feel vulnerable.
BECOME YOUR OWN COMFORT ZONE
We are meant to walk forward no matter what. As warriors for authenticity, we choose from love, the juice of being awake and on fire. Or maybe just awake and crawling. Or sometimes, just moving forward any freaking way we can.
TAMA KIEVES (journal entry)
Don’t listen to the crows. There is one within you who knows.
TAMA KIEVES (journal entry)
If you want to live a self-actualized life—and trust me, you do—you will face fear. Now, I don’t know about you, but my limiting ideas about myself can get as loud as crows. It can get damn uncomfortable. Maybe you think that emotional pain is the sign to turn around. But sometimes pain is the index that you’re moving in the right direction. Sometimes, the only right direction is the direction of your pain.
I’m not talking about the kind of pain that signals to you that you’re doing something wrong for you, like staying in an abusive relationship because of vows or continuing to ski, beating your chest like a silverback gorilla, when, really, you’ve broken a femur and should be screaming for morphine.
I’m talking about the fears that come up when we decide to grow. You may hold back from what you want, and you might call it lack of time, money, or inner strength. But I will tell you, you may be choosing from unconsciousness. I’d hate to have that happen on my watch.
The habitual self is motivated to keep us the same. It’s wired to attack or flee any circumstance that rocks the boat. Yet going through life on autopilot is a suicide mission, because our soul’s desires require us to break through this conditioning. Your True Self has the mandate not only to stay alive, but to feel alive.
It takes an act of mutiny to step into your destiny. That’s what birth is.
But how do you get past that immediate impulse to fight, flee, or eat massive amounts of Danish butter cookies? These beautiful options are brought to you by the amygdala, the primitive, reptilian brain that doesn’t know a thing about your inner spiritual warrior, or daring to date again or to direct a documentary. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a lizard in charge of my evolution. I want an eagle. I want an archangel. I want Steve Jobs in his black turtleneck, or some other inner rock star CEO with monster vision and the cojones to fall down and dar
e again.
I want to choose from my soul’s needs—what I passionately want—more than from the involuntary fears and pride that cheapen my potential. This is hairy, soul-splitting work at times. But the prize is sweet and outstanding and I can’t seem to settle anymore for a life that offers anything else. Like an entire wave of people on this planet, I’m staying committed to making choices from my evolving self rather than my defended self.
It’s not easy to go up against the herculean force of the familiar. As for me, I’m not into fanaticism. I’m no Navy SEAL. I won’t be boot-camping my way through life’s transformations. Go all the way, all at once—no exceptions, no excuses, no buttered popcorn.
I need to find my own pace. And I will make my boldest moves by listening to the kindest voice of guidance rather than being ridiculed and shamed into making the “right” decision.
That said, I do believe in supervising myself. Some of my unsupervised impulses are teenagers. They would eat bags of Doritos, joyride in residential neighborhoods, and smoke dope and crumpled packs of Marlboros if I let them. They would chase dark beautiful men into dark mysterious places that turn sad in the light. I’ve found that following my bliss is not a path of hedonism. It’s a spiritual path, which means I am growing my devotion to the highest part of myself. That means I make choices that lead to bliss but don’t always feel blissful.
Balancing these considerations, here’s my bottom line: Face the uncomfortable things you need to face. But face them with kindness for yourself and a love that doesn’t quit. I want you to win the marathon. I don’t want you to have a fleeting week of discipline. This isn’t an affair. It’s a powerhouse marriage. I want you to open a door inside yourself that never closes again. I want to help you to keep walking forward, no matter what. Your destiny calls to you. You ache for it. And you deserve to go past your comfort zone into the stellar zone.
Thriving Through Uncertainty Page 20