Love Letter to my life #55: The incredible gift of SLOW.

 (We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life. — Joyce Wycoff)

   There seems to be a gadget in my brain that sweeps through the day’s debris as I sleep and spits out a ponder-bit as I awake in the morning. Yesterday, it was a question: Am I an empath? (Answer: probably not, but deserves more thought.) This morning it was the title for this blog post: The incredible gift of SLOW.

   I believe I was born slow and got to spend the first 13 years of my life in the slow lane before getting shoved into the rushing river which seems to go faster every year. An unrecognized-at-the-time blessing of the 2008 financial crisis was being spit out of that river. Now, I’m going on 15 years of “meandering with a mazy motion*” with only occasional bursts of shoulds and external deadlines.

   For the past two weeks I’ve been with a friend in La Paz, Baja California Sur, a place that seems designed for slow … peaceful waters, quiet beauty, and not a frantic bone in its body. I came full of plans: kayaking, snorkeling, exploring; and god laughed. My travel buddy has been nursing a sinus infection and her reduced energy invited me to let go of expectations and just relax, read, contemplate life, nap a lot.

   La Paz may be Mexico-lite, but it is Mexico. During the night, the dogs bark … a lot. We’re in a mixed neighborhood typical of Mexico: commercial enterprises (each fenced and guarded by multiple dogs) sit side by side with residences (with their own dogs), and hotels and airbnbs (where people try to sleep). 

   Often the dogs get restless at night and, since I’m not worrying about losing sleep because there’s always naps, I’ve thought a lot about those dogs. The story I’ve told myself is that one of them gets lonely or scared and calls out to his friends … “Anyone out there? Did you hear that noise? Did you see a stranger?”

   And across the neighborhood, his friends begin to call back … “Yes I heard it, too. What was it? Make more noise; maybe we’ll scare it away.” And sometimes it sounds like they’re refighting the troubles of the day, “You took my bone! I’m pissed. You do that every time. Now I’m hungry.” And the others chime in, barking their own opinions into the brouhaha.

   I listen to the canine drama as it reaches a crescendo and then drops away until one last dog … I think it’s the English Bulldog I see every day on my way to the malecon … he always seems to want the last bark. Part of me wants them to shut up and part of me wishes I knew the script.

In 1883, a lemon-sized and colored pearl was found in La Paz.
It wound up in Queen Elizabeth's crown.

   This morning, though, when my brain gadget delivered the ponder-bit about the gift of SLOW, it also added an acronym/life lesson: 

SLOW: Savor, Listen, Own, Wonder

Savor … threw me out of bed this morning in time to experience a stunning sunrise and watch the fishermen heading out for their day.

Listen … put me into the minds of the neighborhood dogs, feeling their insecurities and fears, recognizing their connection to my own, and noticing how my own mind often “barks.”

Own … reminded me that this is my life and I don’t have to respond to the shoulds and expectations of others. However, I do need to own and honor the journey I've chosen and live it fully.

Wonder … connects me to all life as I explore the how, what and why of this incredible world I get to experience.

* From "Xanadu" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Love Letter to My Life #54: Inching into Wonderland

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life.  Joyce Wycoff) 

Inching into Wonderland

   At the end of 2021, my birthday post came as I was living in two RVs (summer on a Northern California Lake and winter in the mountains east of San Diego), I wrote:

   As 2021 winds down, I want to follow my own internal music, being in harmony and grateful for everything that comes my way, for all that I learn and create, for all the people I connect with, and all the ways I share what I’ve picked up along the way. I want to do more joyful things, feel more joy, share more joy, and help this beleaguered world heal its divisions by nurturing the joy surrounding us.

All of this brought me to my aspiration for 2022: 

Just for Joy

 The prior year, 2020, was a tumultuous year when I had moved and contemplated moving way too many times, my year end plea concluded:  Dear 2021 ... it would be perfectly fine with me if we made it through the year without moving. Just saying.

While I made it through 2021 without a move, unsurprisingly 2022 involved a major reshift-everything move. This time back to the place that calls itself "home." I would be happy to deem this my frog home ... where I'll be till I croak ... however, I've lived long enough to know that I'm not in control of my destiny so I'll just love it thoroughly as long as I can.

However, I do want to continue the pattern of setting an aspiration for the new year.

The end of 2022 comes with a new journey, a new adventure in the growing older part of life. It's not a grand scheme or a Guinness World Records book candidate, but it could be scary and require a bit of courage. A friend and I have embarked on The Hero's Journey of personal and spiritual growth. We have only the faintest idea what this means, but intend to follow our guide Joseph Campbell, and the map as much as possible. Therefore, my aspiration for 2023, as we follow The Hero's Journey path is to:

Inch into Wonderland

Here's a map we like and the movie that inspired this journey in case you feel inspired to begin your own journey.

More here.

Watch: Finding Joe

Love Letter to My Life #53: I've decided to own my life

Catching sunset

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life.  Joyce Wycoff)  

 I’ve decided to own my life.

To walk through my remaining years 
skipping this way and that. 
I’ve spent too long renting space, 
fearing eviction, 
following the arbitrary rules 
of a righteous landlord. 

And who is this would-be 
controller of my world? 
That’s a bit of a rub — 
I see him in my mirror, 
hear his voice in my head, 
feel the floor boards shutter 
as he stomps down the hall 
to demand his due. 

But, I’m no longer there. 
I’ve moved out, 
without notice … just gone
to that lovely cliff overlooking the sea, 
watching waves roll in, 
listening to the stories 
they bring from lands afar. 
Free to sit all day 
crocheting finger puppets 
and dancing to the tune 
of the shimmering lights. 

Join me if you like.
***

Seventeen days ago, there was a tremor, probably only a 3 on the Richter scale. Nothing fell off the walls; no new cracks in the sidewalk. But, something shifted. Somewhere near my breast bone, I felt a loosening, a lightness entering, ushering in the words above.

During a small retreat of about forty people, questions appeared, prompting new thoughts. Songs invited misinterpretations that turned into insights. Resistance morphed into wonderings.

Two words followed me home and asked for lodging. I couldn’t say “no” … they were so small and wanted nothing more than a place to rest.

The next day when I awoke, they had rearranged the furniture.

Love Letter to My Life #52: Pollyanna Skeptic in the Laundry Room

Found on campus

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life.  Joyce Wycoff)    

Occasionally, there is a golden moment when a major project begins to wind down and no other project stands in line demanding attention. It is a sweetly quiet time where possibility stretches to the far horizon and idea waves break gently on the shore. 

Small tasks have moved forward slowly on a long turned-off conveyor belt of shoulds. The printer is finally unboxed, the in-basket of bills and trivia are filed or tossed, the dust-bunnies routed from under the bed, and, yesterday morning, the overdue laundry finally advanced to the laundry room.

It was quiet there, only one other person who seemed as loathe to break the morning silence as I. After pushing all the buttons to start the machinery, I sat down with coffee and journal and began to pick up threads from times gone by. Ideas that came and went; people once here and now not; plans, big and small, some done, some dropped.

In the midst of this quiet reflection, a question plopped into the pool: Why are we here? Followed by: What’s next? Not in the sense of what’s my next project, but in what’s next after this life? I thought about that a lot when I was a kid and concluded that heaven was a good idea although it sounded a bit boring floating around on a cloud, singing hosannahs.

As a lonely, only child, I was attracted to church even though my immediate family did not attend; that’s where the kids were. At a tent revival meeting, I heard a preacher say something that has stuck with me all these years: science and religion are not in conflict; it’s only the interpretation of them that differs. 

Over time, I’ve remained fascinated by the relationship of science and spirituality, however, the question of afterlife slipped to the back of the line, deemed unknowable and not important for now, hovering for some quiet moment in the future. Apparently that moment was yesterday, when nothing else was clamoring for attention. And, as books are wont to do, one showed up just this week: new but waving a flag from before. An update on a story unfinished.

In 2008, a neurosurgeon was struck by a bacterial brain infection and, within hours, was in a deep coma, where he stayed for a week before making a complete recovery. He returned with a tale of a stunning and baffling journey. Dr. Eben Alexander described his story in his best-selling book: Proof of Heaven: a Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife.

The story captivated me with its compelling description and promise of unconditional, universal love, and the interconnection of all life. I wound up filing it on the “I wonder?” shelf. Now he’s back with another book with a high-powered array of scientific-sounding cover quotes. So, I plunged into Living in a Mindful Universe, a Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Heart of Consciousness with great hope and anticipation.

Since science hasn’t been able to find a fixed location in the brain for either memory or consciousness, both have been handed off to the less definable category of “mind,” where, of course, things are much fuzzier. Alexander’s journey is an example of walking on the fuzzy side, a beautiful and hopeful side. 

I watched a couple of YouTubes which present the same story with tones of awe and wonder, and then pulled myself into amazon reviews, hoping for more confirmation. I start with the 1-star reviews, as usual, expecting the standard fare of irrelevant issues and sour grapes. Instead, I find serious debunking. Moving to the 5s, I find serious rhapsodies, most pointing to his credibility as a neurosurgeon, a man of science. 

The debunking reviews led me to an Esquire story by Luke Dittrich titled “The Prophet,” (link below) which is where the whole tale fell apart. With the amazon reviews, I began to question the story; with the Esquire story, I began to question myself. 

What I learned about myself through this brief journey was that I have a marked bias toward the positive. I want to believe in goodness and miracles (the everyday type), and that we live in a beneficent Universe. I hold onto these beliefs in good times and challenging ones and believe that, overall, they make my life better. 

Fortunately, I also believe firmly in science and truth and the process of looking into things which seem too good to be true. I want to share and spread good news, but only if it’s true, even if only experientially by a reliable source. 

Perhaps I am a Pollyanna Skeptic.

The Esquire article: https://www.esquire.com/entertainment/interviews/a23248/the-prophet/

Love Letter to My Life #51: Everything dies, but seldom when we're ready

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life. In  December, I get to celebrate both my birth and death days on the same day. Joyce Wycoff)   

    There’s something about having done 50 of these love letters that makes me wonder where I’ll be on #100 … assuming, of course, I make it that far. 49 months from now will put me at October 17, 2026, and safely into my 80s.  Not only is there a possibility that I won’t be here, there’s a probability that death will touch my life in the next four years, whether it be friends, acquaintances, the ultimate loss of whole species, or the multitudes that will be lost to climate disasters, famine, plague, war and other violence. Everything dies, but seldom when we’re ready.

    This week Yvon Chouinard and his family gifted Patagonia, valued at $3 Billion, to the earth. They resigned from the billionaire club and constructed an elaborate system which is estimated to yield approximately $100 million dollars per year to be used for fighting the environmental crisis and defending nature.

    Patagonia has contributed to this same cause for 50 years and has already contributed over $140 million to environmental conservation. I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking, if the Chouinards can do that, what can I do? If we all rise to the Patagonia challenge of doing whatever we can, perhaps we can stop this slide into chaos.

    Today, I took a break from a long run of focused work and decided to “make something beautiful.” I started trying this and then that, and experimenting with a couple of Photoshop tricks. It was going well enough until the words “everything dies” registered in my brain and things started turning dark.

    An egret wandered into the picture early on. That wasn't surprising. I fell in love with egrets while in Ajijic and spent many late afternoons taking hundreds of photos of them reflected on the water, colored by the setting sun. They appeared in a lot of photos and paintings. Here are just a few:

Love is in the air

Egret Evening

Egret Dance

    However, today was different. Not at first, but gradually the image took on an ominous feel until I finally recognized it as The Last Egret. I know there will be a last egret for me, just as there will be a last everything. The particular one in this image was in Florida and now I see them at the lagoon near me. I don’t know when I will see the last one, but knowing that I will makes my heart ache. 

The Last Egret

   Knowing that there may come a day when every egret is gone is heart breaking. I don’t know what I can do to prevent or delay that day but Yvon Chouinard just convinced me that I can do something … I have to do something. I hope you … all of you ... find your own something.

Love Letter to My Life #50: Asking for what I want

Wisdom Moon

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life. In  December, I get to celebrate both my birth and death days on the same day. Joyce Wycoff)

"No matter what your condition in life, 

you can always be grateful."

 -- David Meltzer, Co-founder of Sports 1 Marketing

    The podcast with David Meltzer on Erik Huberman’s “HawkeTalk” was a happenstance. I had miles to go and had run out of my favorite podcast episodes. Meltzer was a sports guy, a rich sports guy, not my normal fount of wisdom, but there I was. Plus, one of my repeating life lessons is that you never know where wisdom and inspiration will show up. Once again it happened; listening to David Meltzer changed my trajectory.

Perhaps I was intrigued by his stated mission: empower OVER 1 billion people to be happy. And also by his focus on gratitude and his primary advice: ask for help. Everyone needs help and, if we believe we live in abundant Universe, there are people in the world who can help us. All we have to do is ask.

Like a lot of us, I grew up in a world that believed that asking for help was a sign of weakness, in schools where asking for help was often called “cheating,” in jobs where asking for help could be seen as not being competent. 

Several years ago, I got to see the other side. I lived with my favorite aunt for two years. She was the person who took in kids who had no place else to go; the one who baked cookies and always had another place at the table for anyone who was hungry. In our final time together though, she had become frail and needed care. Family and friends came from all around to help, to show their love and repay in some way all that she had given them. But, she had a difficult time accepting our help. She needed to be the giver and never realized what a gift she was giving us to be able to take care of her in small repayment of all of her kindness.

It's easy to understand that asking for help is a gift, since it is an implication of trust and respect. However, it takes courage to risk the possibility that the answer might be “no” or that we would be seen as weak or needy.

Jeffrey Davis from Tracking Wonder states, “Social psychology shows people are eager to help—if you know how to ask.”

Davis goes on to explain our reluctance to ask for help, “The mere thought of asking for help can eat away at our ego, undermine our confidence, make us question our abilities, and even paralyze us with anxiety. Yet in modern life—at a time when we are more digitally connected and emotionally detached than ever—the stark reality is that no one can go it alone.”

When David Meltzer encouraged his audience to start asking for help, I felt like he was speaking directly to me, pointing out a weakness of mine that needed work. 

So, I made a commitment to practice asking … 365 times!

At first, I thought I would find a way to ask for something every day and then realized that was a bit whacko. But, I liked the number and set forth to figure out how to ask for what I wanted in a way that might elicit an occasional “yes.” Surely, if I asked enough, someone would say, "yes."

Jeffrey Davis had some great tips … until I got to #3 Make it personal. Don’t ask for help over email or text. I almost abandoned the project right there. Getting a “no” or a no response by email is relatively painless. To actually call someone would put a whole lot more skin in the game. Plus, I don’t really know some of the people I want to ask for help.

By this time, I was on #31 of my goal to ask 365 times. While I had received two substantially positive responses, I realized I was approaching this project with an expectation of failure. I was playing safe when this deserved so much more. If I wasn't willing to risk more, why should I expect someone to support me?

This is where I am today and I’m making a commitment to learn more, risk more, be more personal, find a way to be clear in what I’m asking for and know how to craft win-win asks that have a better chance to succeed.

One of the reasons I'm willing to keep going on this project which is definitely outside my comfort zone is my passion for the project I want help with: Gratitude Mojo ... your transformation journey for a better life. For the past 13 months, Lynne Snead and I have been creating a journal/workbook focused on gratitude, self-awareness, and self-appreciation based on ancient wisdom and current neuroscience. We have seen major shifts in our own lives and in the lives of a few friends who have been on the journey with us. 

The deeper we go, the more we find that GRATITUDE is the foundation of everything ... happiness, health, success, relationships ... even huge things like peace, and climate change. What we are grateful for, we protect.

The journal/workbook is in final edit, the website will be done in days, and there is now a newsletter to support people on their journey into gratitude practice, which we believe is as necessary as brushing your teeth ... and almost as easy. However, current neuroscience has revealed that it's not as simple as what is commonly claimed. Noting 2-3 things a day you're grateful for is a lovely start, but there is more and doing the right things for a few minutes a day can make a major difference in the results you see.

So here's my ask #31: Please subscribe to the Gratitude Mojo Newsletter. It's free and will help you deepen your understanding and practice of gratitude. Eventually, you may want to buy the journal/workbook ... subscribing now will provide you with inspiration, research and notices of the upcoming release of the journal/workbook and webinars.

More next month.

Sources:

7 Keys To Asking For What You Really Want (So You Get It!) by Dr Margie Warrell, Forbes, April 24, 2013

4 Tips to Effectively Ask for Help—and Get a Yes, by Jeffrey Davis, Psychology Today, February 28, 2020

Love Letters to My Life #49: Settling in to my forever home

Santa Barbara: views and natural beauty everywhere

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life. Once a year I get to celebrate both my birth and death days on the same day. -- Joyce Wycoff)    

     Two months ago, I moved into a new life.

Along with 18 boxes, two chairs and a mattress from my former life, I moved into 2 clean, white, and very empty rooms, amidst a community of 215 seniors. 

As many of you know, I’ve moved around … 60+ homes through 9 states and Mexico, winding up back in a place I fell passionately in love with 42 years ago: Santa Barbara. I never dreamed I would be able to return … the housing prices are as ridiculous as you’ve heard.

But, here I am, grateful to find a unique and affordable retirement community … the mountains and ocean feel like a familiar embrace. Long-time friendships are rekindled; new ones sprouting. Memories of former years still drift like fog through the streets, occasionally melancholy but mostly sweet.

During these first two months, I’ve sold both of my RVs and kluged together the basics of what I’m now thinking of as my forever home. 

I’m going to let a few photos do the talking on this love letter.

Beach colors

Mediterranean climate where everything grows.

UCSB Student housing mural.

Play dates and new experiences.

Mountains and ocean.

Perhaps, a mural I found today offers the punchline to this story: