Christmas day I was watching our two year old grandson Andrew circle the glass coffee table. There was food on it at exactly the right height for him to help himself. He was contemplating his choices. We adults were also making choices, dining buffet-style from a sumptuous banquet my husband Tom had lovingly prepared. Andrew was totally in the moment and present as he selected chick peas, olives and red pepper, the last of which he showed me and pronounced very clearly, before he recommenced chomping.

Every year at Christmas I feel caught in the vice-like grip of my past; in the dark non-verbal places of childhood. Every year I work hard to stay in the present, to be in gratitude for what I have made my life become with the help and love of many people. The time I lose has become less and less over the years but the holiday still claims some of my ability to relax and fully be my joyful self.

I know I am not alone in this. At this time of year, my therapy clients, as well as friends, often speak of the discrepancy between their past and present lives. For many people it is just too much, they become severely depressed. The suicide rate increases this time of year and folks often get sick because their bodies and spirits have trouble handling the pain.

This is the time of year, consciously or unconsciously, in which our holiday fantasy collides head-on with what was and is real, the reality of the past may clash with the present or visa versa. And sometimes the longing is so great that the sorting is not possible until later.

For me I couldn’t do the sorting until now. I experienced more of the burden and less of the bounty. Now it is the first day of the New Year and I feel reborn and rejoiced! Full of hope and what I learned this holiday season yet again; that showing up and doing our best is gift enough.

I want this New Year to be lighter for myself and everyone; I want us all to laugh more, to appreciate each other and what we have. I want Andrew to feel and believe his life is a banquet so all the choices he makes will bring him happiness and give him a sense of well-being.

 A Shift in Perspective

Today is Election Day here in New York City and the rest of the United States. I am longing for a miracle, a real shift that would propel lasting change in our collective human psyche I don’t mean just getting many Democrats elected, although that couldn’t hurt.

Keep our hearts open and our fingers crossed no matter what happens.

I’m talking about a tangible shift in consciousness; an energy that would wake us all up to the possibility of peace and prosperity for every single one of us living now and to come.

I want a world in which all of us have enough food to eat, a warm and safe place to love and live, good care if we get sick. And when we go to sleep at night, none of us are afraid of violence during the night or in the morning when we wake up.

I want a world where it is considered matter of fact to equally consider our own and other peoples’ needs.

I want a world that develops social policy based on the latest DNA research findings that conclude we all have 99.9% of the same genetic make-up. No matter where we come from or what we look like, we really are one family!

I want a world we can all feel proud of; glad we were here and did what we did and happy to pass on to our children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews when we go.

I want to live in a world where to want these things and to believe we can ALL have them is as American as apple pie.

Full Bloom

There is a big beautiful pink tree in Fort Tryon Park that I worship on my daily morning walks. It makes me so happy to see it, smell it and stand under it. Sometimes a gentle breeze will cause a stirring of pale pink blossoms to fall on my upturned face. Feeling their aromatic softness is truly heaven’s touch.

There are many glorious buds, bushes and blooms all lined up shouting colorful greetings to passers by. All decked out in their finery just for the glory of it every day, not waiting for special occasions.

Several years ago I attempted to become more formally acquainted with all of them. I tried to memorize whether they were annuals or perennials and what their Latin names were. But I started to feel less close; they became less mysterious and magical. I guess I like thinking of my own special categories for them. "Purple velvet flower:" I know it’s an Iris but I like purple velvet flower better. It feels more intimate to me, appreciating its essence. Plus it’s definitely more descriptive, don’t you think? And I’m in good company; Shakespeare knew that “A rose by any other name … ”

The big beautiful pink tree inspires me and makes me giggle with delight and I am grateful to it. I wait for it every year and I am never disappointed.

The tree and all the flowers can teach us not to hide who we really are behind outmoded definitions of ourselves or titles that no longer matter.

I myself aspire to be a purple velvet flower or better still, a big beautiful pink tree. Enjoy!

 Morning Begins

Spring is taking its time this year, at least in the temperature department. At 6:30 this morning it is below freezing, brilliantly clear and the dogs being walked still needed their coats!

I love that no matter how cold it still is, there are flower buds in splendid new colorful outfits poking through the gentle rebirthing earth. I smile at strangers and they at me; we all know what’s coming. Like little kids waiting for presents, our mother earth will reward us with spring's fertile magnificence.

My morning walk is a meditative exercise that helps me set my intention for the day. I pray as I walk, and sometimes I sing and hum. Often it is the only time in the day I feel absolutely free of worry; totally present and embraced.

This morning I found myself humming “I Do Not Know a Day I Did Not Love You,” from Two by Two, a raucously wonderful musical about Noah starring Danny Kaye. I saw it thirty-five years ago with a man I loved dearly. I thought of him as I hummed this warming melody. Then I started to see all the faces of the people I love, past and present. Even people I have had conflict with, their faces came to me. With each batch of faces I repeated the line of the song blessing all who appeared and felling blessed by all of them.

It has been an emotionally hard winter for me and for many people I love, yet this morning I sensed the sweet coming of hope.

Mary and I have been close friends for over thirty years, she is my third sister. At their request, I read from Shakespeare’s Passionate Pilgrim before they exchanged their new rings. We kissed and hugged and I felt an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude.

Two weeks earlier, when my Dad died suddenly, Mary’s soothing presence comforted me enormously, as it had eighteen years earlier when my Mom died.

As the delicious food arrived and the band played, I thought about how much my Dad loved parties, like a kid at Christmas; he would joke with the men, flirt with women and play with the kids.

Marty’s cousin Dennis gave the first toast. A couple of months ago he had closed his psychotherapy practice, and after enduring thirty years of Syracuse winters he and his wife retired to Biloxi, Mississippi. They had just finished renovating their new home when Katrina struck and demolished it.

Dennis spoke poignantly about the difference between “homelessness” and “houselessness.” Yes indeed they were houseless, but they felt deeply spiritually connected: to each other, to family and to friends, and through this life experience, to all of humanity. They were not homeless. There was barely a dry eye in the room as this deep truth resonated with all of us.

Part meditation, part self-reflective therapy, my walks are central to my staying grounded and grateful.

Something wonderful happens for me on my walk--without any conscious effort on my part. I become lighter, more connected to myself and others. I feel more hopeful and in powerful surrender. Like a spiritual chiropractor, the universe intervenes and aligns me with all the good stuff. It is my job to get to the park; what happens as a reward for my effort is priceless.

What in your life allows you to feel this way? It has to be relatively easy, or it won't feel like a gift. Figure out what it is and make it a priority to give it to yourself every day. This is important, even if it is only five minutes a day. Something special you do for yourself every day will build happy muscle and help you, and everyone you interact with during the day will benefit.

Receiving

"And did you get what you wanted from life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth."
- Raymond Carver

Many of us were told as children, some of us relentlessly, about the primacy of giving. Yes, it is very important to give of ourselves, our time and our money. We also need to understand that in graciously receiving we express the dignity of giving; they are part of the same flow of energy.

In order to give from our hearts we must replenish our own emotional supplies. If we don’t give from a sense of having enough for ourselves, we may start to build resentments, or feel victimized. Sometimes we mask our own need/hope/wish to be taken care of.

More importantly, doing from a place of obligation or burden is not really giving, it is taking prisoners.

Is it really a crime if we are selfish, to want time, space and pleasure for ourselves? Are we afraid we are less spiritual if we have needs and we want them met?

Perhaps we are confused by the vulnerability of our humanity. Maybe, for a few minutes each day, we might stop doing; we could surrender our hands from the steering wheel of life and let ourselves be chauffeured through the day and experience the gifts that await us.