There are many right answers

The downside to taking the summer off from blog posts is that, starting up again, I am faced with a huge backlog of interesting moments and insights that I never got to share.

What do I write about? What do I say? The pressure to come up with the right choice has been making me anxious. 

The right choice. As if there is such a thing.

How can we ever know if our choices are the "right" choices? Or even good choices?

Even with 20/20 hindsight, we can't be sure, because what happens next is always unknown. The story is ever unfolding.

In school, our kids learn that there is such a thing as a perfect 100% test score, and that there is a specific set of right answers that will earn them that grade.

But real life is not an exam. And there is no teacher -- or parent, or spouse, or even "expert" -- out there with the authority to grade your life. That is the beautiful thing about it being yours.

If there really were no rules and no "shoulds," what would you do? What would you do right now? 

You get to make up any answer you want.

I hope you had a wonderful summer. I'm glad to be back.

What am I selling?

Another true confession: I would like to make money through the Gift of Happiness. Which means I actually have to sell something.

Something, as in, a product. And sell, as in, actively tell people about it, rather than hoping they will just come to me.

This has felt daunting to me because I have a lot of baggage around the word "sell." It brings up fears of being lied to and manipulated and left with regret -- and that is not the kind of selling I want to do.

In order to not inadvertently manipulate people, it's really important to know what I am selling and why. So I've been thinking about that a lot this week.

What I determined is that the essence of what I am selling is really a set of three core beliefs:

1. Your happiness matters.
2. You can access happiness by giving and receiving love. 
3. You can give and receive love in any situation, with any person, in a way that feels good.

Number three can be hard to put into practice, though, which is where my actual products and services come in. I want people to get better at giving and receiving love, and my newsletters, message cards, workshops, and conversations are ways that I try to help.

Ultimately, it is a selfish enterprise. I want you to care about love and happiness because I care about it; because I like thinking about it, talking about it, and practicing it with people; and because I believe your happiness will make my world a better place.

If you want to pay for some of my products and services along the way, all the better. 

Embracing the weird

I am feeling so rejuvenated this week, after listening to a series of teachings from Abraham-Hicks.

At first I hesitated to share that with you, because the way these teachings are presented is bizarre, and I didn't want anyone to judge me for liking it.

But then I realized it's not the judgments of people "out there" who scare me so much as the voice inside me that likes to judge me. 

You shouldn't listen to such strange stuff, says the voice. It's not rational. Don't people who speak as if they are someone else -- or a group of someone elses -- get put in psych wards? Do you really want to be associated with that?

The answer is yes, I do.

Because it helps me. When I listen to these teachings, I get in touch with who I am and what matters to me. I feel empowered to live more courageously and creatively, and take whatever next steps there are to take in my life.  

Honestly, I'd much rather get help from someone weird than try to muddle through life all on my own. 

What about you? Do you listen to any weird stuff that inspires you? How does it help?

A confession

Last summer, I let a 5-year-old boy get washed over a dam. 

I'd thought there was something dangerous about where he was swimming, but I didn't say or do anything about it because no one else around seemed to be worried. Maybe I'm missing something, I thought. I didn't want to embarrass myself by asking a stupid question, or get involved where it wasn't my business, so I just looked on anxiously and did nothing.

Then, sure enough, the boy swam near where the water was rushing by my feet, and started getting pulled over. Reflexively, I reached down and grabbed him, but even then was unsure about what to do. The dam was only a few feet high. Maybe he knew something I didn't know. Who was I to get in the way of his free will? "Do you want to go over?" I asked him. And then, without even waiting for an answer, I let him go. 

Miraculously, he didn't get hurt. But I'm pretty sure the event traumatized his mother, who was watching from the other side of the river. And it certainly traumatized me.

What had just happened? Had I just let my fear of embarrassment override my capacity to look out for my fellow human being? 

Yes, that's exactly what happened. Hardly the superhero instinct that I hoped would come out under pressure. 

I spent almost a whole year being so ashamed of myself that I never shared the full story with anyone.

I was afraid that if I told people the truth of what had happened, they would judge me for my horrible instincts, and no longer trust or respect me. Or, even worse, that they wouldn't listen to my pain. Stop being so hard on yourself. The kid was fine, right? Why not just move on? In either situation, I would be left feeling lonely, unloved and misunderstood. 

I tried to push the incident out of my mind, but of course it kept popping up again. Finally, just last week, I was ready to give myself the same love and attention that I would have wanted to give anyone else.

Please, I thought, help me shift my perspective. Help me feel okay about this somehow. Help me experience peace.

I wrote out everything I could remember about what happened -- what I thought and felt and said and did, and all of the complex feelings and judgments that showed up afterward.

I felt the sadness of having failed to live up to my values, not out of malice but a simple lack of skill and self-confidence and awareness.

I noticed how much I wanted to justify my actions and pretend that I'd *known* I was doing the right thing, despite all evidence to the contrary.

I recognized how this same pattern has shown up in my life at other times -- when I've seen something that could be done, but stepped back and hid and waited for someone else to be the leader.

I felt a pull to commit to being different and better in the future, as well as fear that I will fail and make the same kind of mistake again.

I got in touch with how much I don't know. Would things actually have turned out better if I'd acted differently? How will the incident ultimately affect the life of the little boy, or his mom, or me? Will we ultimately be better off because of it? I just can't know.

All I can do at this point is open up to my hopes for the future: 

May this experience make me more humble and compassionate. May it make me a better listener and witness to life. May it make me a more courageous leader. May any trauma that my actions caused be healed. May the little boy and his family be blessed. May I be blessed. May all three of us become the people we need to be. May we live with joy.

I knew that I had forgiven myself when I was able to feel love again, without having to hide from the truth.

No matter what kinds of mistakes you've made in your own life, I hope that you, too, can move forward in love.

Some thoughts on forgiveness

I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness. Here is my take on it at the moment:

When I forgive myself, it doesn't necessarily mean that I did anything wrong, or that I had hurtful intentions, or that I am bad or deserve to be punished. What it means is that I recognize I contributed to someone's pain, and I'm sorry, because I don't want to be a person who hurts people.

When I forgive you, it doesn't necessarily mean that I condone what you did, or that your actions didn't hurt me, or that I want to be your friend. It simply means that I don't want to hate you. Because hating you makes me feel small and weak and horrible.

I think it's important to realize that sometimes I will hurt you, and that you will hurt me. That is the nature of being in relationship. We all have different beliefs, desires and abilities, and they don't always mesh smoothly.

Forgiveness has very little to do with things being good or bad, right or wrong.

Forgiveness is powerful because it means I am no longer fighting against reality, or requiring that life be different than it is in order for me to be okay.

Forgiveness allows me to experience the anger and sadness of a situation and then let it go, opening up space for what I do want.

When I'm feeling bad, I will often write myself love notes like this:

I forgive you, Annie, for being you. I forgive you for your petty thoughts and judgments, your fear-based excuses, your confusion and embarrassment, your self-centeredness and impatience. I forgive you for not knowing what to say, not doing what you said you would do, for being disappointed with yourself and others. You are human and imperfect, and I love you anyway.

What about you? What is your understanding of forgiveness?  Where does it trip you up? What practices work well for you? I would love to hear!

There was a tragic accident. What now?

Today I want to share a piece that my friend Betsy Johnson wrote regarding the recent news story involving Harambe the gorilla at the Cincinnati zoo. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did:

This story about Harambe has been weighing on my mind all day. I am distressed about the whole situation. Harambe was, by all accounts, a beautiful and endangered creature. He will be missed by all who knew him and his death is a tragic accident. 

Tragic. Accident.

I have read Facebook friends’ comments about how horrible this little boy’s mother must be. They have been called child killers. They have been told they are not fit to be parents. They have been told they should be in jail. I have watched the same videos as everyone else. I have read the same reports of the incident. The mother was doing everything right calling out to her son, telling him she loved him, trying to keep him calm. It was terrifying. Did she make a mistake? Yes. Did that mistake have a tragic outcome? Yes. Could you or I have done the same? YES.

Let’s face it. We’ve been lucky. I have a friend whose child climbed out of her crib, crawled downstairs and was in the kitchen all in the 3 min when her mom was in the bathroom. I have a friend whose child walked out of school and got home before the school realized he was gone. I myself led a babysitter upstairs to teach her how to use our strange tub faucet so she could give our child a bath only to realize my own child (age 2) had walked out of the house and started down the street. I have a friend whose daughter cracked her head open falling from a slide. Her mom was right there; it just happened so quickly. None of us are bad parents. Things happen in the blink of an eye.

Let’s be clear. There are bad parents out there. They willfully neglect or abuse their child or put them in harm’s way. In this case, there was no indication that the mom was abusive or neglectful prior to this incident. There is no indication of anything. This was a mom with other kids, who was distracted for a moment. Like we all are many times a day. Children can’t always be watched, even by the most competent of parents. While I can’t speak about the competence of the parents of the boy who fell into the gorilla enclosure, I can say with certainty that there is no parent out there who has never looked away from his or her child for even a moment.

A petition on Change.org with more than 300,000 signatures states the following:
“This beautiful gorilla lost his life because the boy's parents did not keep a closer watch on the child. We the undersigned believe that the child would not have been able to enter the enclosure under proper parental supervision. … We the undersigned want the parents to be held accountable for the lack of supervision and negligence that caused Harambe to lose his life. We the undersigned feel the child's safety is paramount in this situation. ...We the undersigned actively encourage an investigation of the child's home environment in the interests of protecting the child and his siblings from further incidents of parental negligence that may result in serious bodily harm or even death.”

Come ON!

I can’t help but observe also…we as parents are constantly being berated for being what is termed helicopter parenting. That we are coddling and micromanaging our children so that they can’t learn to be independent. But when something goes wrong, we are automatically blamed as not being attentive enough. So, either way, it’s our fault.

If we want a kinder, gentler community, it needs to start with us. Sometimes, there is no one to blame. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. We, as a community, need to start with compassion, not judgment. 

-- By Betsy K. Johnson, written May 31, 2016

The antidote to being fake

I often get nervous before social gatherings.

What's that about? I've been asking myself. Is it fear of rejection? Fear of embarrassment? Fear of the unknown?

Yes to all of those, for sure. But most often, what has been coming up lately is this: I am afraid that I will be fake. 

Maybe I'll meet someone I don't like, but pretend to like them. Or not remember someone's name or face, but pretend that I do. Or someone will ask how I'm doing and I'll pretend life is different than it is. Or maybe they'll complain about something that doesn't bother me, and I'll pretend to agree with them. Or I will stay quiet when really there's something I'd like to say.

In other words, I am afraid that I will be put in a situation where it doesn't feel okay to be me, and that in my fear, I will betray myself. Self-betrayal feels awful.

The cool thing is, once I notice the fear, the cure is a simple reminder: It is okay to be me.

It is okay to be who I am. It is okay to look the way I look. It is okay to want what I want, and fear what I fear. It's okay to know what I know, and also okay not to know. It's okay to like myself. It's also okay to judge myself. It's even okay to be fake. All of it is okay.

It's only when I decide some part of me is not okay that I get lured into pretending to be something that I'm not.

Maria Salomão-Schmidt likes to say, "Be full of yourself," which I love. It runs counter to how I was socialized, but really, who else should I be full of, if not me? Who else but myself could I be full of? Isn't that the key to happiness, to experience what it's like to be fully me?

What about you? How do you deal with social anxiety? Can you relate to the discomfort of being fake? How do you fill up on yourself when you're empty?

Here's to all of us being a little more real.

How do you spot a good parent?

Every once in a while, people will say they can tell that I’m a good parent because my kids are so well-behaved.

This makes me uneasy.

It makes me wonder: If you saw my kids misbehaving in this moment, would that make me a bad parent?

I further wonder: Is the mark of a good parent simply that their kids don’t make other people uncomfortable?

I think of the bumpersticker: Well-behaved women seldom make history. And I think about the kind of children I want to raise.

Do I want them to measure their success as human beings according to other people’s approval? Do I want my success to be measured that way?

No. I don’t think so.

Not that I don’t love it when my kids are kind and respectful and easy to be around. I’m just saying there’s more to it than that.

The truth is, we simply can’t know how any particular snapshot in time fits into the bigger picture of who a person is, what they’re learning, or where they’re headed. Judgments of good and bad don’t help.

So, what does help?

It helps me when people remember that they are witnessing but one moment of my journey.

It helps when people encourage whatever skills they see me (or my kids) trying to develop, no matter how fledgling they currently are.

It helps when people acknowledge their own strengths and shortcomings as well as mine.

And it helps to remember that all of us are bigger than our flaws -- even when our flaw is passing judgment.

Procrastination, laziness, and fear

In my last post, I wrote about the value of listening to your laziness, rather than judging it, when you find yourself with little energy for a task. Maybe that lack of energy is telling you that it's simply not the right thing to do right now.

But then again, maybe you're just afraid.

How do you tell the difference?

Unlike laziness, fear is not lethargic. Fear feels like excitement. It is your body getting psyched up to do something important.

As a rule of thumb, if you find yourself getting really busy doing anything but the task at hand, it's a good bet that fear is involved.

It's also a good bet that, if you're experiencing laziness, fear isn't too far behind. 

After all, as soon as you drop something you don't want, the obvious next question is: What do you want? And that can be a scary question to answer. It's something I've been struggling with all week.

I don't have an answer yet to my own confusion, but I came up with this series of questions for engaging with procrastination that I thought might be helpful to share:

1. What do I want?
2. Why is it important? (If it's not important, see #1)
3. What am I afraid of? 
4. Is it worth the risk? (If it isn't worth the risk, see #1)
5. What is there to do now? (If it's not obvious what to do, ask for help -- or see #1)

Don't get tricked into thinking that you have to answer these questions in order, or that you will ever come up with final answers for any of them. 

More importantly, don't get tricked into thinking that you don't have time to ask the questions.

You do.

There is nothing that you absolutely must do. You have permission to take a break to sort out your priorities. You created your "to do" list, and you can change it at any time.

I'd love to hear what you come up with.

The wisdom of laziness

I used to think that "lazy" was just about the worst thing one could be.

Lazy, to me, didn't just mean "lacking energy;" it meant irresponsible, childish, and bad.

By contrast, good, responsible, worthy adults worked hard and did what they were supposed to do, even when they didn't want to.

For many years, I have tried hard to be a good adult, but this week I gained a new appreciation for the wisdom of laziness.

It started when I noticed that I kept putting something off that I thought I wanted to do: submit course proposals for some local adult education programs. A number of people had suggested I do this, and it seemed like an obvious next step for someone who wants to get paid for leading workshops.

The problem was, it had been on my "to do" list for months, and each time I thought about doing it, all the energy just drained out of me. I had started judging myself as lazy, and feeling pretty ashamed that I hadn't yet done this relatively simple, straightforward thing.

What gives? I finally asked myself. Do you actually want to teach these classes or not?

And I realized that I didn't.

What I really want to do, it turns out, is offer classes for people who are already working together, and/or who share a common goal. I think I can make more of a long-term difference that way, not to mention that teaching during the day is much more appealing than giving up more evenings and weekends.

So, as of this week, the old action item is gone, replaced by some new activities that I'm actually energized to do.

I also have a new appreciation for this thing called "laziness," which I'm seeing less as a fatal character flaw and more as a source of wisdom, helping me recognize what I actually care about -- and what I don't. 

It's not like I'm lazy about everything, after all. I'm just lazy about things that don't matter that much to me. Laziness helps me prioritize my activities in a world where anything is possible, but everything is not.

From here on out, I am no longer going to use the word "lazy" as a weapon against people -- including myself -- who don't prioritize activities the way I think they should.

I don't deserve that judgment, and neither do you.