Tag Archives: joy

We Gather Together: or How to Have a Happy Thanksgiving 2016

IMG_0091Thanksgiving is here and families are assembling from all corners of the country.  And unless you come from a family I didn’t know existed, this year brings with it a new challenge, on top of the usual political, religious, sexual, gender, racial, and on and on differences.  This year all of us…ALL of us…experienced something that let’s be honest:  blew us away.  A business man is going to be the 45th president of the United States of America…and it has a lot of people…well, feeling pretty un-united.  This is problematic in too many ways to opine about now, plus I’m probably not smart enough to make any fetching points that haven’t already been made by people like David Remnick and Noam Chomsky.  (Now you know who I voted for.  And why my teenager says, I shouldn’t post this because when you talk about politics, you get “butt hurt” for it.)  I don’t even want to know what that means.  But I am sure:  we all need to find our Thanksgiving gratitude.  So…

I’m not here to talk about politics today.   I’m here to write about something I’m truly worried about for us as a nation:  How to make Thanksgiving work this year.  Really work.  Uh oh…I smell a top ten list coming on.  As you might have noticed, I loathe top ten lists.  But this year…we need to boil some sh** down.  So here goes.  No hate mail please.  I’m trying to help:

1)    Maybe don’t bring up politics or religion AT ALL, and I mean a total moratorium on both of them.  Like even in the family Grace and in the What I’m Grateful For thing.  Talk about the weather.  Talk about the gravy.  Talk about why you love the person sitting next to you.  Talk about the walk you’re going to take after the meal, and on the walk after the meal, don’t talk about anything other than the weather and why you love the person you’re walking with and what you’re going to buy on Black Friday, especially if it’s at your local independantly owned mom and pop shop.  Wait– stay off the homogenization of America theme.  Maybe go back to why you love the person walking next to you and call it good.

2)    Maybe, unless you’re from Cleveland, talk about the Cubs winning the World Series.  And if you are from Cleveland, talk about what a super bitching game it was all the way to the end.

3)    Maybe…be the artsy token weird aunt and say, “Why don’t we take a vow of silence during our meal, in honor of the Pilgrims and how they felt silenced enough to leave their country and fight for their religious freedom.”  Oops.  Axe that.  We’re not bringing up religion or politics, remember.  Or race relations.  Maybe just take a vow of silence.

4)    Maybe ask the host to give you a play by play break down of how she/he cooked the turkey.  If she/he brined…FABULOUS.  This will take up at least ½ an hour of the meal and the pride which he/she deserves will gush.  Gushing joy and pride is a good thing in the way of feeding loved ones.  Let’s raise the rafters on that!  (True to the holiday, we’re going for gratitude.)  If he/she deep fried the bird, you can compliment them on their rogue courage.  If she/he basted every half an hour and made their own giblet gravy, you can take deep bows and call them Martha Stewart.  If you need more content, you can ask them about their position on to stuff or not to stuff.IMG_0097

5)    Maybe play an after meal family game.  Like Pictionary.  Or Scattegories.  Just stay away from Celebrity Apprentice the Board Game, and Bridge.

6)    Maybe decide that this is the year where you truly will put your unconditional love barometer to the test.  Love them all.  Love them especially because they voted for someone you couldn’t stand.  Love them for their differences.  Love them for the conversation that is behind it all:  I need to believe in something.  Everyone is scared.  Voting shows hope.  And that’s what we want in the end:  a hopeful nation.

7)    If you are in grief over the election, find someone who is too and talk to them.  Do it privately in hushed tones.  Is stirring the pot, or even raging at a friend or family member (or some random innocent who was invited last minute) going to help anyone, especially you?

8)    If you are in victory over the election, see #7 and do the same.

9)    Maybe sing Kum-bah-yah and mean it.  It just means Come by Here, which is what you did in trusting sacred traditions and the community of family and friends.  Sing it loud.  Sing it proud.  Sing it because you have the freedom to sing in the first place, no matter who you did or didn’t vote for.  Maybe dust off your old Free to Be You and Me album and sing along!  (maybe skip William Has a Doll)

10) And ten…maybe have a dry Thanksgiving to keep the fight, the right, the wrong, the very ugly out of it.  Or heck, if you’re in MA, CA, OR, WA, NV, or CO, pass a joint around.  Oh wait.  Don’t talk about that either.  Stick to the “this is what I love about you” theme.

May we all enjoy peace this holiday season.  Let love and gratitude show us the way.


IMG_0093Peace and love, (and some humor for crying out loud)

Laura

Are you longing to say what you want to say?  Find your voice?  Haven Writing Retreats is now booking for 2018.  The gift of voice awaits you in the woods of Montana.

Now Booking Haven Writing Retreats 2018

You do NOT have to be a writer to come– just a seeker who loves the written word, and trusts the power of the wilderness of our Montana Haven to inspire the wilderness of your unique mind!  Come find your voice this February…  For more info, and to contact the Haven team, go here!

February 28-4 (a few spaces left)
April 18-22
May 16-20
September 19-23
September 26-30
October 3-7 & October 24-28

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A Haven Writing Retreat Loveletter

The 2015 Haven Writing Retreat calendar is full with wait lists, and we are now booking for 2016! 

(You do NOT have to be a writer to come.  Just a seeker, wanting to dig deeper into your voice and stories and set them free under the big sky!)

February 24-29
June 8-12
June 22-25
September 7-11
September 21-25
October 5-9
October 19-23

6_15_collageA Day to Observe You.  (Sent to all Haven alums with my deepest heart…from Montana, where you will always find your footprints.)

You are home now.  And I am in Montana, slowly waking to the world I left before you made the journey here and shared Haven with me. 

Home.  Re-entry.

There are all the usual things to trip on:  bills, the tea mug in the sink with the almost-dry bag, the clothes that didn’t make the cut strewn on my bedroom window-seat, the still-slow leak in the downstairs bathroom toilet, expected evidence of mouse activity in the kitchen, the hornet nest on the front porch twice as big, the rose in the vase by my bed dried to a dark pink.  The people who are wondering.  Needing.  Judging.  Expecting.  Like I expected the mice.

This is the part where I can’t quite let you go but know that I have to.  This is the part where I have to pick my pen off the page and close the book and trust that you got what you needed in playing with me in those pages, in those five sacred days, with this exact group of humans, taking intention to form to words written, then spoken.  Then released. 

Wind.  Your wind. 

Your wind has wake.  I stand in it.  All day, I will stand in it and observe it and honor it and feel it all around me, and breathe it in and out, in and out, as the sun heats up the earth and the earth heats the air and turns your wind into thermals that hawks ride…all day…knowing power for power…until the sun sinks behind the ridge, and the birds sing a dusk Taps, and your wind gentles, and trees stand sentry again, and the nests are quiet again, and your wind settles at my feet and turns to dew, and feeds bugs and sleeping frogs, and stars come out to tell me it’s time to sleep.  Your deep peaceful Montana night that is of you now.  You in your small corner, and I in mine—my grandmother’s lullaby.  All tucked in until tomorrow. 

I’m not ready for tomorrow.  I still sit in our circle.  I watched your ripples embrace the pond as I sent each of you off on your journey home, lying on the dock, my face reflected back to me, saying your name.  Each of your holy names.  Every time, (and there have been many now, hundreds of names to name)…a wind comes to blow the ripples back in a loving squall that I receive as you have received Haven. 

Thank you.

Thank you from this day of observance, a place in me that is so windblown by your honesty, your courage, your words, your wild loving windful VOICES…that I can’t imagine the world without them.  Your WIND is powerful.  YOU are POWERFUL.  You know that now.  I know you do.  Use it now.  Sometimes wild.  Sometimes gentle.  Sometimes hot and sometimes cool.  Use it.  Know that when you use your voice…your unique rare gift of a voice…you are that wind.  Those hawks.  That earth.  That sky.  And everything in-between.  That’s all there is to know about writing.  You knew it.  You just had to come to Montana to find out for sure.11390215_10152771872081266_5713115019216739589_n

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Five Nice Things

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It’s 3:00 in the morning and for some reason I can’t sleep.  That never happens to me.  There is so much going on in my mind that I just have to write it out and then hopefully get back to bed.  My dear friend Jennifer Schelter said something to me yesterday that has my mind spinning.  She said, “Why do people resist joy?”  She’s the founder of Mindful Strategies for Living and a fabulous yoga instructor and life coach.  In her daily work she sees people striving for happiness, but stuck.  “Everybody takes everything so seriously.  What’s wrong with sitting down and eating a big piece of chocolate cake?” she said.  “Where’s the joy?”

It’s a good question.  So I took her question on a field trip as I went through my day.  At a baseball game, in the local café, at the ranch where I hold my writing retreats, at the grocery store, out for dinner…I listened to people with this central question in mind:  where is the joy?  Specifically I listened to the answer to the question:  “how are you?”  I didn’t hear, “Great!”  I heard, “Oh, hanging in there.”  “Okay.”  I even heard, “Still alive.”  A few times I heard groans, and once I heard no reply at all.  I’ve decided the question “How are you” has been infected.  And it’s messing with our joy.

I have a foreign exchange student here from Sweden this year, and the first week, as she was processing our cultural ticks, she asked me, in all honesty, “Laura, in this country, when you get asked How are you are you supposed to answer?  Because it doesn’t really feel like people are asking a question.  They say  it like a statement.”

And I thought about it and started paying attention.  She was dead on.  Almost half the time, people ask “How are you” as a greeting, not as a real question.  It made me self-conscious, because I usually answer truthfully and at length.  Which probably makes me a pain in the rear end in the grocery check-out line.  Oh well.  All the world’s a stage, right?   But how am I contributing to this “resistance to joy” that my life coach friend talked about yesterday by swirling around in the longer version of, “still alive?” by giving examples of what’s hard in my life– rather than what’s wonderful in my life?  Our answers to “how are you” help influence the general pulse of the human heart and our society at large.  I want to start saying, “Great” even on a crappy day.  Because there is something great about even a crappy day and why not think about that!  It just plain feels better.  I want to feel better.  I need to remind myself to see what’s “great” in my life and spread that around town.  (And sure– at length because that’s the way I fly.  Sorry, grocery line.)  It’s almost a social responsibility, really.  Community service.  Spreading the joy.

Here’s another question we get asked in passing that has turned into a joy suck:  “What do you do?” which we usually translate into “what do you do for work” and answer accordingly.  “I’m a writer.”  Or “I’m a stay at home mom.”  Or “I’m in the technology field.”  We take the verb to do and assign it the meaning of job occupation.  Which is our societal currency.  We’re used to filling in that slot like robots.  Sometimes it hatches a conversation.  But often, it doesn’t.  We hear crickets.  Or get a glazed-over nod.  And we walk away feeling pinned like a bug in a science project. I met somebody recently who calls herself a loveologist.  I think the next time somebody asks me what I do…I might just reply with that and see what happens.

I’ve never been a fan of that question, probably because for a long time, the answer to it was:  “a writer” and for a long time I didn’t get paid for being a writer, so as far as society went…I wasn’t really “allowed” to call myself a writer.  I was supposed to answer what I did to make money.  And so the answer was anything from “a nanny,” to “a barista,” to “a bartender,” to “a flower delivery girl.”  (I ALWAYS said “writer” anyway, by the way, for those writers out there!  You must!)  So I changed the question. I ask people a different question, upon meeting them.  I ask, “What do you like to do?”  Every time their eyes brighten up and they tell me their joy.  Sometimes, yes, it has to do with their occupation.  But usually it doesn’t, which is a sad statement about our society in its own right.  Around here, in Montana, the answer is often, “ski,” or “ride horses,” or “hike in the mountains.”  Try it sometime.  It’s much more fun than “what do you do?”  I want to see the light in people and I know it’s in there.  Don’t you?

I want to see the joy.  And I want to find mine, even in the most mundane moments.  I know it’s in the way I think.  And if the last hour lying in bed, thought after thought whipping through my mind, weed-whacking my joy into shredded bits of tax, and bills, and teens, and mortgage, and career compost all over the otherwise lovely prospect of my sweet dreams…I simply know there is another way.  So I stopped my thoughts.  I actually sat up in bed and said, “stop.”  And then I gave myself a challenge:  think of five things you like about yourself.  It was hard.  It spun another half an hour or so of self-flagellation.  Because every time I thought of something, I weed-whacked it.  “You’re a good mother” quickly turned to “I haven’t taken my daughter to visit enough colleges yet and she’s going to be a senior this fall” and “you didn’t read enough with your son when he was little and now he watches too much TV.”  Ugh.  Five things you like about yourself, Laura.  Finally, I got three and called it good.  Three positive, thoughts about myself to stabilize and soak in, without whacking them.  And interestingly, in order to do it, I had to think of myself from the perspective of the little girl I once was.  She told me:  You’re a good cook.  You’re funny.  You eat chocolate cake without apology. 

We have to re-train ourselves back to that child in us who joyfully woke up to the possibility of the day.  Who loved herself.  Whose goal was to play.  And be joyful in it.  When you wake up tomorrow and see this blog post, take a moment and try it.  Think of five things you like about yourself.  Or maybe three.  But please…at least one.  And hold it close all day, saying it over and over to yourself.  And when you’re in that grocery line, and someone asks you, “How are you,” think about that thing…and say, “I’m great.”  Because you are.

I’m going back to bed now for what I hope will be sweet dreams.

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Christmas Fire

Sending Christmas blessings from my hearth to yours. yrs. Laura

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Free Boys.

I haven’t put my kids’ faces on my blog before, but I just couldn’t resist this. My son and his dear friend made up a song and they sing it all the time. May we all sing. And sing. And make up songs. And smile. And shout them. And share them. Without self-consciousness. Yes is a world that children well know. I want to live in that world. (my kid is the one on the right.)

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A Boy and a Dog

Possibility:

Action:

Result:

Glee:

Surrender:

Gratitude:

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