The "Year of Yes" ends

“Life is a long lesson in humility.”*

Looking back at my earlier posts and thinking about the year overall, 2013 was a success. Of course there were times I failed to cheerfully, or completely, or confidently say yes to things during this "Year of Yes.  Old habits (that formed for good reason) of over thinking and assuming control have ceased to be useful, but die hard. Yet, on the whole, accepting the world, doing my best, seeing what happens and sharing success were worth the effort. And this approach to life is worth trying to get better at.

In 2014 my goal is to push the envelope of "Yes" and add a healthy dollop of humility. Having proved to myself that I benefit from saying "yes" to new and even uncomfortable things, how much better could I feel/do by dismissing the accompanying shroud of judgment that still automatically drops onto every "yes?" Could I more fully embrace whatever I'm saying "yes" to, release the attachment to "owing" it and be a better co-creator? I think so. And if I'm honest, I think it would be welcome by those across the table and the world at large.

None of this is rocket science. At the same time, change is hard. After a lifetime of frustration over the lack of change by the world to fit my view of it, now I'm trying to change only myself.

* This quote is attributed to James Matthew Barrie, a Scottish dramatist and novelist best known as the creator of Peter Pan. He lived from 1860-1937.

Thank you Maya Angelou

Where was Maya Angelou when I needed her wisdom? What a wonderful statement of the appropriateness of doing the best you know how. The best given the circumstances. Rather than blaming myself for not doing something or not doing it perfectly, it would have been so comforting to accept that learning inevitably means that it's likely that there will be many, many mistakes.

The other side of the statement though does imply an obligation. Once you know better, it's not ok to continue to do less. We are obliged to put our learning to work and do better. If only we would....

Giving Thanks

 

This is exactly what I needed. I stumbled on this on the Internet as I tried to divert my mind from dwelling on sad things and be proactive. It's not that I want to be sad. It's just that sometimes it seems to be my default setting. I know that I have much to be thankful for. Yet I get lost in the past or the future rather than being - as they say - "here, now."

The sadness that had me in its grip was a jumble of things. Missing people who are no longer here, missing opportunities no longer available, questioning the twinges and whatnot that have inevitably settled in as time passes and my body ages. And more things dealing with the past. And to give the future its due, worry about what is in store as those twinges and whatnot may develop into full blown diagnosable things, anticipated sorrow at not being able to do things and progressive slowing, plus the relentless loss of my peers and friends. Yet today, I am in neither of those places so need to shake them off. 

What I'm feeling is the result of things I had no control over (like my genetic make up and where I grew up) plus the result of choices I've made (such as the jobs I've taken and the relationships I've avoided.) My sadness or dissatisfaction with those things is - at the core - sadness or dissatisfaction with myself.

My mother was a very wise women. One who lived with at least occasional depression I'm pretty sure, yet of a generation that didn't become obsessed with "feeling" it or allow it to debilitate her. She was of the school that if she was feeling down, she needed to get busy. I'm not sure  it mattered with what, but just busy - cleaning, cooking, sewing, doing laundry, visiting with her parents, writing a letter to an elderly aunt. All things that got her out of herself and were done with at least a partial if not full focus on others. At the time I saw her life as drudgery, lacking excitement and fulfillment. It wasn't flashy and she wasn't famous or doing "important" things. Now I know that she was doing the most important thing of all - doing what she could that was needed by others. Appreciated by them - too often silently. And she was living a good life. When I remember that I can snap to the present and leave the past and the future alone, at least for a while.  This Thanksgiving, my thanks are for her.

Further thoughts on my "year of yes"...

FOUND IN DRAFT FOLDER (it was written 8/31/13) - MY BAD!


Yesterday was my birthday. A few years back in the weeks leading up to that day I was pretty miserable, and now I understand why. I thought I understood then, but I think I was wrong.

Then I was facing one of those momentous birthdays. A "big 0" birthday. The ones that clearly - particularly as the number before the "0" gets larger - mark progression if not progress. Progression is inevitable and over time it became quite obvious that the progress didn't match my plans. And my ability to make up for lost time was slipping away. Such a view is clearly a "half full" one. Possibly even a lot less than half full.... From such a perch it was easy to fall into a loop of negative thoughts that even further limited whatever was possible. My attitude was quite negative and was leading me into a "year of no." I can't. It's too late. It's not worth...you get the idea. I put the losses of aging in the front seat with me on my remaining ride.

Now, after having gone through more than half of my "year of yes" things appear very different. Consciously choosing to look at the positive aspects whatever happens, while seemingly Pollyanna-ish, has allowed me to do more. Rather than being mired in inaction and all the "can'ts", I've embraced opportunities and invitations to act that I would never have expected. Working with people on planning events, starting organizations and more. These were things I didn't see in my future but were grabbed the moment they appeared. Having a plan to the future is good. Being blindered to any other than a single route to get to that future was a recipe for sadness. Opportunities and invitations rather than losses are now in that front seat with me. The trip is much more pleasant.

Saying yes to things has proved to be a wonderful antidote to the reality of time passing. Let it pass. Who knows what it will bring?

Donations, De-Stuffing and Guarantees

Old lights  - nice and bright

New lights - a bit subdued even though bigger

As part of year-end planning, I had a conversation with my financial adviser and my tax adviser. Seeing that written looks pretentious. I don't have tons of money. However I decided long ago that I wouldn't have any if left to my own devices. I wasn't a spendthrift and saved regularly, but wasn't interested in investing the way others in my family were, and banks were not the places where funds left on deposit would grow significantly. And since I wasn't the kind of risk taker who would tackle starting a business, there seemed to be wisdom in having someone advise me on how to manage my money. It was a good decision. But back to the conversation...

Part of the conversation was trying to guestimate what I will owe in taxes and if there is anything that can be done between now and the end of the year - let me be quick to say, legally - to minimize those taxes. As a result of that conversation I began a serious round of collecting items to donate. I do this other times during the year, and truthfully have not been as ruthless in weeding things out as I should be. I have (I think we all have) too much stuff. So on the hunt I went.

While doing this I happened to be checking email and saw something from The Triple Pundit (I think) about swapping out incandescent Christmas lights for LED lights. There was a monetary incentive to do this and I knew they would use less energy and be cooler on the tree, thus less risky as the tree dried out over the holidays. While clearing out my old lights didn't fall into the category of a donation, it would still accomplish the second goal of de-stuffing my home.

The Christmas lights I've been using on my tree are very dear to me. They were used when I was growing up and seeing them in the box and on the tree reminds me of my father, my mother, my childhood, my home, well, you get the idea. They are a part of me. I didn't want to turn loose of them. Yet, intellectually, I knew it was the right thing to do. Or was it?

That question arose after I made the trip to the store to do the swap. I'd screwed up the gumption to trade five strands of my lights for five strands of LED lights. In perusing the too-many choices (don't get me started, that's another issue) I saw that lights carried a range of guarantees for how long they should be expected to last. The guarantees ranged from one year to seven years. Huh!? The lights I was giving up had lasted more than 50 years and were still going strong. This screamed planned obsolesence!

I suppose the argument is that technology is changing so fast that it doesn't make sense to make things that last a long time. But at what cost? What is lost in this mentality is the pride of workmanship that made it possible to hand down Great Grandma's sewing machine or Uncle Harry's roll top desk. They were made to work. To look good. And to outlast their owners. Now, not so much. Maybe today's humans feel threatened by things that outlast them. I don't know. But I do know that I still value things that will outlast me. I don't need the newest and shiniest things to be happy or feel successful. And I think Christmas lights that are still working after 50+ years are to be celebrated.

So did I swap out the lights? Some, not all. I'm not a total Luddite. I know the benefits of LED lights are real. At the same time I know the value of long-lasting products, like fond memories, are real too. Both need to be kept and handed down.

Confused Flora

I believe in climate change. I have for a long time. Although I don't have deep technical, scientific knowledge of the issue, I don't know that I need it to see an impact close to home. The potential for radically changing the growing season. In my lifetime.

For several seasons an arrow-head type plant in my front garden has grown far too late into the season after having died out and assumed that the brief cold snap was winter and the sure-to-be brief warm snap justified popping up out of the earth again.

But today, while walking, I saw what is in the picture above. Buds on a nearly dead rose bush, on November 10th. Buds sitting side by side with massive rose hips from dead roses and spotty leaves that appear just about to give up the ghost. Clearly the plant seems pretty confused. If roses are confused it's sad. If food crops are confused, and don't fully complete their growth cycles, then what?

Pop up poster show - Day 2

The first seasonal (Fall) show of Lexicon of Sustainability posters ended and quietly disappeared, leaving no physical trace of its presence. No trash. No damage. A simple end.

However it did leave some things behind. It left an energy behind to continue lots of conversations with new connections. And it left other people with next steps for projects in their backyards that promote local, sustainable food. And too, it sparked ideas for how people could work together to get more done collaboratively than they could alone, all without reinventing wheels. The two-day show was a start. It's up to everyone to keep the momentum going.

Watch the Art of Sustainability Facebook page for information on where you can see more posters at the Winter Pop Up Show.

Pop up poster show - Day 1

One of the posters from the show November 2 -3, 2013 in Three Oaks. More information here.

Yesterday was the first day of the Lexicon of Sustainability pop up poster show in Three Oaks. The weather - sadly - didn't cooperate. It was mostly drizzly and got colder over the day. Overcast, dull and gray. Yet there were some hardy folks who came out to see the show and talk to those of us who were there. And in the venues, Edington Gallery and Pleasant House, chance patrons who knew nothing about the show saw it, engaged with it and perhaps one of the hosts. And so it starts.

Then a few of us stayed to continue the conversation around the Viking Table at Journeyman. 

Today, we start again. It's sunny and promises to be warmer for the show's second day. Fingers crossed for a bigger crowd and more conversations. The topic is important. Although the show had no specific outcome in mind other than focusing attention on the importance of our local food system and the meaning of sustainability, that itself is a big goal.

Today at 6pm the show disappears (although the issues it raises don't.) But mark your calendar for the next pop up show - January 18 and 19 at Journeyman - and more terms from the Lexicon of Sustainability. In the meantime, you can contribute to the conversation at the Art of Sustainability Facebook page (link is above under the image...)

Pop Up Poster Show

Words and images - address the meaning of sustainability in relation to our food system.

Early last summer I learned of a national project - The Lexicon of Sustainability - which was an effort to focus on local food systems and the meaning of terms that get thrown around referring to "sustainability" and all its nuances. After seeing images on their website, then a subset of them in person in Goshen, IN, I decided that I wanted to do a show here in Southwest Michigan.

Michigan is an agricultural powerhouse, yet we, like most areas, import most of the food we eat. That makes no sense to me. Oh I understand that we are at a point where we also probably can't support our population without some level of imports (imports meaning "originating outside the state") but I do believe we can do better at sustaining ourselves with what we have nearby. Our food system has over the years morphed into something that I want to change. I believe it's time to chip away at it in a mindful way. And I believe that it is everyone's responsibility. Everybody eats.

So when the opportunity presented itself to bring posters dealing with sustainability and the food system to my little part of the world, how could I not?

Information on the show is here. I hope you will stop by and join the conversation.

A Tribute to Evelyn

Back in May I posted about starting to rid myself of excess paper and the weight of past. Lots of things intervened in the months since then to thwart my progress at shredding all those old tax returns. But I'm going back at it and also trying to eliminate lots of other "stuff" in preparation for transitioning to a tablet (replacing a notebook) and transitioning to a different home (downsizing and simplifying).

I've started to throwing things out again. Literally throwing them in the trash as I run across them. Real trash that gets taken away every week. And the swooshy/crumply sound as computer files hit the virtual trash.

The other day I ran across a Word doc reflecting on a friend who had died. It was (I think) written shortly after her funeral. Shown to no one it sat on my computer for several years before I stumbled on it again. I vaguely remembered writing it and reading it I was glad I had run across it. Maybe some things need to be carried on life's journey. Understanding what is important and what isn't is a lesson I'm still learning. I'm keeping this. Here it is...

A Tribute to Evelyn

When I knew she was dying my first thought was for myself. I suppose it always is for everyone – “what will I do” or “I will miss her so” or “oh, we never got to....”. As time passed, my self-absorption gave way to a healthier focus on her. “She is dealing with this so gracefully” or “you are such a great friend because you....” or “you have every right to decide not to have any more chemo or radiation.”

She had been the glue that held a small band of people together around breakfast, once a month. Breakfast Club had been going on for decades and in my last conversation with her just nine days before she died, she said she was looking forward to the next Breakfast Club. Did she think then it would be her last? And she also said she was looking forward to the Greek Festival this same group of friends had been going to for even longer. It was two weeks after Breakfast Club.

The day before Breakfast Club was scheduled the email arrived saying she’d been taken to the hospital in great pain. Pancreatic cancer is a bitch; I’ve seen an aunt and another good friend die of it. They were going to try to regulate her meds to deal with the pain. I knew this wasn’t a good sign.

Later in the day, in the shower, I found myself saying out loud, “Evelyn, I don’t want you to die, but you do what you need to, do. It’s ok for you to die. We’ll get along, muddle through without you.” I had given my father and uncle permission to die as I was by their bedsides, and even though I wasn’t by her bedside, I guess I believed she could hear me. Hearing is the last thing to go the experts say.

During the evening I exchanged emails with a mutual friend and learned that she had been moved to a hospice, that the hospital had been an effort to regulate her pain so she could be in hospice at home. When I saw her last less than a month ago she mentioned she had to see her insurance guy; I didn’t ask why. Was she making moves to hospice then? She knew she was dying; was she that determined to be as organized and as little of a burden as that?

As is normal for me, I woke early, before dawn and read to fall asleep again for a while. In that early morning sleep I often dream, and today was no different. I dreamed I was in my garden working with people who I had just the day before been working with in horribly hot sun and high humidity. We were slowly, slowly building wood paths through all the gardens, ostensibly to keep the weeds out of the paths and the weeding to a minimum. It was a much bigger process than envisioned. (Evelyn had had a small garden in her back yard, probably as big as one of the 50+ beds we have where I garden. Enough. Not so much as to be overwhelming as I’d been finding mine to be.) In the dream the people I was working with  were in various gardens, one on the other side of the greenhouse where I couldn’t see them. Suddenly there came a high pitched “Oh!!” from the other side of the green house. In the dream I thought to myself, “oh, Brad has hurt himself” then I thought “no, Evelyn has died.” I woke from my dream to realize this, and looked at the clock. It was 6:15 Eastern time.

A while later, I got up and was doing laundry before going downstairs to eat and start the day. The phone rang and I groaned. Of course, I already knew. It was a number I didn’t recognize. Oh, let this call not drop the way so many do on my cell, I thought as I answered. “Hello?”  Again, I said “Hello?” Then I heard his voice, “Paula, I have...” and I knew “...bad news. Evelyn passed away over night.” Without missing a beat I said, “I know.” He said, “Oh?” “Yes, I said, I heard her.” He went on to tell me she died without pain (a blessing of hospice where she had been moved) and that he didn’t know anything about services. I was enlisted to pass the word to others as Jim didn’t have their phone numbers at home and his internet was down. He had known Evelyn longer than I (and I had known her 31 years) so he was likely feeling even deeper loss than I.

Recently at my brother’s funeral (just a few months back) I heard a saying that at an earlier time in my life I would have taken umbrage at. “Don’t let the dead get in the way of the living.” It is true; it is not heartless. The living have to live – that is what they do. Grieve, yes. Reflect, yes. But live, nonetheless. Dying while alive is not giving tribute to all that life is. Evelyn knew that. She lived so fully until she couldn’t. Then she died. It was simple. It was 

True Choice

I was saddened and angered to learn something at a farmers market this past weekend. If I'm totally honest I would have to say it doesn't surprise me. But to have it occurring in my back yard is almost more than I can bear.

Around here we're pretty proud of what we grow. After all, we're "The Fruit Belt." And this time of year the joy of fresh, local peaches - particularly the Red Havens that are a favorite - is much anticipated. Of course peaches are available year round in the grocery, but they virtually never taste really good, like true, just picked fruit. They can't. They weren't tree-ripened and just picked. But that's another story.

Farmers markets are touted as places to meet the people who produce your food, to have a chat and build a relationship. To get close to your food like in the past. To get fresh peaches in season. What's there to be sad or angry about?

What made me sad and angry was that I'm told some of the very people who we've been encouraged to trust because they grow our food and who we can look at eyeball to eyeball at a market are betraying that trust. How? In this case by buying Georgia peaches and selling them in peach season in The Fruit Belt. I was told that they even peeled off the Georgia labels and stuck on Michigan ones. Huh? How did we get here? Not only misrepresenting what they were selling, but since when did growers small enough to consider the work of a farmers market worth the effort, start stickering their fruit? Is there any hope of reconnecting people who shop at farmers markets to their food sufficiently that they no longer tolerate such practices?

In a world where the food system is so interconnected that I can have virtually whatever I want, whenever I want it, it my reaction may seem unreasonable. Yet the choice that is most important to be is to be able to confidently buy local produce from local farmers. I want the truth from the people I entrust to grow my food. I stopped trusting the big food companies years ago. Please don't tell me I have to stop trusting small farmers now too...

My father had a pack-rate gene that, try as I might to dodge, it seems I've inherited. Things that should have been disposed of long ago have followed me from place to place, storage area to storage area. Occasionally over the years I would resolve to thin out things that didn't see the light of day but were kept because of sentimental value, or because they were family items, or oddly enough, because they caused pain in the past and it was somehow important that that pain be remembered, if only occasionally.

So things would be handled, reviewed, restacked, reboxed, refiled, reordered and ultimately returned to storage areas. It might be clothes, paperwork, tools, furniture, knick-knacks or assorted detritus that I wasn't even sure what it was, but it was part of something at one time that a family member had kept.

Now, reading the above it seems completely silly to hold on to such things. In bins and drawers and closets. But turning loose of them has been even harder. I've told myself a time would come when I could part with them but it never seemed to come. Until now.

In the last month or so I've started shredding old paperwork. Tax returns beyond the statute of limitations that my accountant/attorney says are ripe for pitching. This is freeing up space in my storage area and significantly reducing the flammability of my home. Historically I would fail at accomplishing this only in part because I didn't have a shredder. That would have been easy to remedy. No, I would fail because I would get stuck looking at the papers, trying to recall (or perhaps worse, recalling and reliving) the time they represented. In this case my recent shredding encompassed a year that I:

• Made more money as a self-employed person than I had before or have since
• Spent a goodly sum on a life coach for the one an only time in my life. 
• Assumed responsibility for my father's affairs after he had a heart attack and went into a nursing home
• Lived two weeks in a model home in anticipation of buying it. I didn't because I felt I needed to be able to get to my father more quickly than if I moved. 
• Spent the night in a hotel room with my brother to save money when we went to my Aunt's funeral in Washington, DC (a very bad decision - the hotel room, not going to the funeral)
• Went to funeral of the mother of my best friend from high school. 
• Visited a dear friend in Kansas City who, with his wife (several years deceased) had served as my in loco parentis when I moved from southern Indiana to Chicago decades before. Shortly after my visit he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died within a few months. 
• Went to the funeral of my best Chicago friend's father. 

And there were all kinds of things that, in looking at the paperwork, receipts, notes and statements, I didn't recall at all. Who were the people I had penciled in my Day-Timer for lunches? What were all these payments for? Why did fly to Baltimore - it said to meet with the ABA, but why? 

My memory has never been perfect. I don't remember lots of things that I think other people do. But in looking at this year, 15 years back, there seems to be such a sadness running through it. I didn't see it at the time I suspect, but that thread of mortality, all those losses, they seem to have been a precursor to the future where there were even more. 

• These days I make probably 25% of what I made at that high point. The difference is that now I don't care. Then it was much more important. 
• My life is in many ways what the life coach predicted based on all the tests, conversations and intuition she brought to bear. It is a good life and the money was well spent. 
• My father's care and affairs were my job for four years. It came to an end when he died and I was left with no responsibilities and no need to stay where I was. 
• The year after my father died I went back to consider that house I'd lived in. I didn't buy it but it ultimately led me to the one I did, which is a better choice in many ways although I paid the price of not getting the land I wanted. 
• My brother died a few years ago. I was never able to understand him, nor he me. 
• We've buried my high school friend's father and she's had a sister die as well. 
• After the friend in Kansas City died it was the end of an era. He and his wife were the hub from which so many connections were made, without them the connections weakened and frayed. 
• The Chicago friend whose father died is now dead as well. 

Everyone loses people in their life. Everyone has good things and bad things happen. Everyone has things they take pride in and things they regret. Keeping paper around for decades to prove it makes no sense to me any more. The shredding continues and somehow not remembering everything is probably a good thing. 

Year of Yes update...

It may not be true, but it really seems that my intentional "year of yes" - doing things I've not done, trying foods I've never had, approaching things differently than what would be automatic - is not only working to my advantage, but keeping me busier than I've been in a long time.

There is very little time left for thinking negatively, for being upset or hurt. With an intentional "yes" outlook I am more positive, initiate more and take more chances. While I might fail, the year of yes allows me to look at what used to be failure and genuinely call it learning.

There is always something to do and - suddenly - people are depending on me to do all manner of things. It makes a difference to me and to them if I don't, unlike before when no one depended on me for anything so doing nothing seemed to harm no one - but me of course.

What is the difference between a "yes" mindset and whatever mindset I had before? Positivity, yes. Fearlessness, yes. Curiousity, yes. And trust, yes.

Situations are positive now, there is always something that I can gain even if it's hard to see at the beginning of a situation. There is always a silver lining to be found, so digging in a looking for it is part of yes. And that means that things that would have previously stopped me in my tracks no longer do. Taking a deep breath I screw up my courage and forge on, mindful of others, not intending to trample or offend, but forge on toward the object of the yes. My curiosity is active - questioning why, how, when, who, where, what if, and why not - rather than taking everything at face value. Too many questions can be annoying, it's true, yet a well phrased question can also shift thinking, change outcomes and relieve frustration by allowing events to be seen from a new perspective. Or allowing me to see my own situations anew. And finally trust. Taken for granted too often, trust is something to be demonstrated and earned. The more I demonstrate that I am trustworthy, the more I am trusted. And the more I am trusted, the more I am willing to extend myself and be open to trusting others first. Sadly that is not something I have always done easily. But now, wow!

The bottom line: the experience is good so far. That curiosity thing makes me wonder what more good things are in store in the balance of the year.

(For prior posts on this "year of yes" see posts from December 27, 2012, January 8, 2013 and March 16, 2013.)

Follow up thoughts

There has been a lot of discussion of the great disconnect that has separated people from the food they eat. Migration from the farm. The rise of processed foods, originally designed to help reduce the amount of time spent by women (mostly) cooking. The migration of women from home to workplace in large numbers and the shrinking (or completely disappearing) window of time to cook after work. There are all kinds of reasons why children (and some adults) don't know that carrots grow in the ground and that "seasons" are actually times of the year when different foods grow naturally in their geography. The disconnect problem is well identified. And I believe we need to care about it and work to reverse it.

I know people who raise virtually everything they eat. These people bake, and preserve, and freeze and are almost completely self sufficient. They are the people of the Barbara Kingsolver ilk, (Animal, Vegetable, Miracle) who have walked away from what others would say is convenience. They spend the majority of their time on all things food: tending their garden, dealing with harvests; planning for planting; reading up on news about how to naturally deal with pests of all kinds. This is hands on gardening by people who aren't caught up in the fast-paced way of life that seems all but inevitable. 

I also know people who are in love with the idea of gardening. Who believe in the concept of being close to their food and who sincerely care about the quality of what they eat. They plan, the plant, maybe even purchase a CSA. But they may poop out. Their garden does what gardens do and grows, but perhaps isn't tended, harvested or even visited because they are busy with other things. Their CSA arrives and if it doesn't contain exactly what they like, they scratch their head and question"what am I supposed to do with this!?" This is bounty wasted. Both in terms of the money to plan and plant on their part and their CSA farmer's, as well as the time that is often in short supply for us all. Sad for all the waste, not to mention the potential guilt/stress that "failing" to keep up with a garden and/or CSA can bring on.

I also know people who don't give a thought to where their food comes from. They assume they can get what they want, when they want it and it will be affordable. This has been the reality they have grown up with in this country. They may believe they are entitled to it and be seriously upset if they are inconvenienced when something they have a taste for isn't on the shelf when they reach for it. Yet more and more these people may find the cost of food increasing and its availability limited. Thanks to climate change and fossil fuel costs. According to the UN, the world is heading for a food crisis. Not the poor countries, the world.

Perhaps those people who live close to the land and rely on their own ingenuity to feed themselves will be ok when the food crisis hits. Perhaps those who are in love with gardening will find ways to rearrange their schedules and their preferences and become more engaged with their food. But in this country those two groups are not the majority of people, so what about them? What options do they have? 

Tempus fugit and choices

View the original image here. 

The old adage about time flying is too true. It seems to move much more swiftly and fluidly than in days past. Perhaps because fewer days lie ahead than behind. Not a lament, just an honest appraisal. Yet for whatever reason, the days slip by and good intentions, even accomplishments, feel inadequate. Just a few more minutes here or there, please. Another day before the project is due. But no, it can't happen.

There is no shortage of problems to try to rectify, experiences to learn from and events to share with friends (most family no longer here). Yet there isn't enough time to do them all, so we choose. And our choices don't always meet with others' approval. Perhaps they see strengths or abilities in us that we either don't see, may choose to let stand, or apply elsewhere. Yet our choices can't possibly meet the approval of everyone because they are, after all, choices. This, not that. Tomorrow, not now. Or even more finally, no, not at all.

Alternately there are the things we say yes to. Yes, this. Yes, today. Yes, I will. Choices we hope will bring us satisfaction at least, joy at best. Your choices may not be the ones I would make, yet your choices are not mine to make. Nor are mine yours to make. Obvious? Yes. Frequently forgotten? It seems so. And there is no guarantee that anyone's choice is good. An ancient Chinese story illustrates that:

A farmer and his son had a beloved stallion. One day, the horse ran away and a neighbor commiserated, “Your horse ran away, what terrible luck!” The farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

A few days later, the horse returned, leading a few wild mares back to the farm. The neighbor shouted out, “Your horse returned, and brought others. What great luck!” The farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

Later that week, the farmer’s son was trying to break one of the mares and she threw him, breaking his leg. The neighbor cried, “Your son broke his leg, what terrible luck!” The farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

A few weeks later, the army marched through town conscripting able-bodied men. The farmer's son was left behind with his broken leg. The neighbor shouted, “Your boy is spared, what tremendous luck!” To which the farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

No event (or choice) in and of itself, can truly be judged as good or bad, lucky or unlucky, appropriate or inappropriate. Only time will tell the whole story and unfortunately, it is rare that anyone gets to live long enough to learn the "whole story." So in this Year of Yes I choose not to squander precious time judging others' choices. With luck, others will afford me the same freedom. And maybe we all will be a bit happier.  

Year of Yes - update

Update 1...

It is just a week into the Year of Yes. Too soon to consider it either a success or failure. Yet worth considering since it's so easy to let resolutions drop by the wayside over time.

The idea of saying "yes" to things has somehow, magically perhaps, stayed at the front of my awareness. I've gone through with things that I previously might have made excuses to avoid and - perhaps more importantly - I've acted on ideas that I had that involved reaching out to friends. In the past I wouldn't so much have avoided these things, but deferred them to a "more convenient" or "more appropriate" time. And I've also done business things that I would have worried about doing - might this be seen as intrusive, or phrased poorly or, or, or - anything that you could possibly think of that would stand in the way of simply doing something and seeing where the chips fell.

All of this is of a piece. The common thread is that I've avoided things when I couldn't see how to control the outcome. Silly really. Outcomes are rarely controllable. Predictable sometimes, but truly controllable, rarely if ever.

This Year of Yes, rather than being a struggle, has been strangely liberating. Unspooling the even unconscious vestige of perfection that has been so confounding, so binding, so downright unpleasant making. It's only a week, but it's been a good one.

Onward.