My Year of Hopefulness - Personal Statements

Today I began writing my personal statement for my PhD application to Columbia. I have been thinking about it for a week. Usually writing comes very easy to me. It's something I love and a skill I work on every day. The words usually come faster than I can type them. Several times I have sat down to write this personal statement and starred at a blank page for a long time, closing my laptop with nothing to show for my time.

What is it that's getting to me? Why is it that putting fingers to keys to write this personal statement is so tough? I can talk about why I want to get my PhD; I know my dissertation topic and I know what I want to do post-PhD. So why is this personal statement giving me writer's block?

In one to two pages I have to explain who I am and what I'm most passionate about to people who barely know me. Every word counts. Because of the critical importance of this piece I was editing before I even started writing. I let my quest for perfection get in the way of telling the truth, plain and simple.

While I need perfection before I click the 'submit' button, I was forgetting that the first draft, along with the second, third, and thirtieth can be far less than perfect. A final piece that shines from beginning to end is composed of bits and pieces of glimmer from the many drafts that come before it.

Life's the same way. Love's the same way. Careers are the same way. We usually don't get things perfectly correct the first time around. It takes a lot of trial, and error, and trial again. It takes the courage to fail, to follow a dream as far as it will take us. And many times our dreams dead end and we have to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and start all over again. Life, love, and careers take many drafts, and in each new experience we gain a little piece of magic, a little piece of awareness that will get us a bit closer to our own version of perfect. The trick is to never call it quits until we get exactly what we want.

My Year of Hopefulness - The Power of Silence

"Let us love, since our heart is made for nothing else." ~ St. Therese

I have completely lost my voice to this cold I have been fighting. I can barely eek out an audible whisper. This is especially hilarious because talking is one of my favorite activities. Truly, I've been known to have a very interesting conversation with a brick wall. I talk to myself in my apartment, as I'm working through problems. I have lots and lots of opinions on just about everything. And now I have been silenced.

I was in DC this weekend with a load of my business school friends for our friends' Chris and Steph's wedding. I don't know that I've ever seen a groom that happy. Seriously, if Chris's smile was any wider his face would have cracked. It was wonderful to see someone I love so much so happy.

After the wedding and reception, my voice was really getting hoarse. The trouble with this sore throat is that it is not currently accompanied by any other symptoms. I feel fine; I just sound a little funny. Actually, I sound a lot funny. To get the blood flowing in my throat, I went to a yoga class with my friend, Julie, at 9am. I always learn so much going to a yoga class. I watch for teaching technique and I invariably learn a new pose or a new way of thinking about a pose that allows me to deepen my practice and teaching.

In Savasana, corpse pose, I was completely relaxed, or so I thought. Savasana is done at the end of virtually every yoga practice. It allows our bodies and minds to approach a meditative state after being worked through the preceding asanas. People have become so relaxed in Savasana that they've been known to fall into a sleep / dream state.

The teacher came around to each of us, pressing our shoulders firmly to the mat and down away from our ears. Until she did this, I didn't realize that I was holding any tension there at all. In fact, I was scrunching up my heart a bit. With the teacher's pressure, my heart opened with a little bit of a creak and a crack. I felt lighter. I felt a bit more love.

It is an amazing thing about silence and time with friends and yoga and the witnessing of an act of love and commitment. In the past few months, I have been shown how risky and wonderful loving with an open heart can be. I looked around at the wedding reception: at Chris and Steph, of course, and also at my friends Daphne and Eric, and Courtney and Brian, also newly married this year. Their lives are richer for having one another. There is this unspoken chemistry that just works with all of them. At some point, they must have all been a little bit scared, too, maybe afraid to keep their hearts open. Somehow, they worked through that fear and emerged happy and healthy and whole to find another person happy and healthy and whole with an open heart ready to love them.

Today I felt more certain than ever that eventually I'd find the guy for me. That creaking and cracking of my heart was symbolic of that openness I've been able to find in the second half of this year. In the midst of my forced silence and voluntary yoga practice, my heart and my mind came together, my mind accepting that this heart o' mine after being put through the fire many times is now shined and polished and poised for the kind of love and commitment that so many of my friends have generously shown can work.

The image above is not my own. It can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - In Love with Love

"Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along." ~ Rumi

This year I've been very fortunate to bear witness to come of my very favorite people finding the loves of their lives and getting married. Some people will say that they hate going to weddings alone because it makes them feel badly about their own romantic situations, or lack thereof. Though I do wish I had been at these weddings with the love of my life there with me, I never for a moment would say that it made me feel badly to go to these weddings on my own. If anything, they left me feeling more hopeful and joyful about love.

Tonight I had the great honor to attend Leah and Peter's wedding. They are friends of mine from college. I've ever been to a wedding where there was this much love so abundantly present; there was no way to pack even one more ounce of love into the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity without it bursting. It was a beautiful thing to see, and even more incredible to feel love in that magnitude.

As an institution, I find marriage slightly terrifying and as a result have shied away from it in the past. It's only this year, and actually only in the past month, that I've been able to see that a marriage based on love and respect and kindness is quite possibly one of our greatest hopes for happiness. To see two people bring their lives together with so much courage and faith in one another is awe-inspiring. As Rumi says, it's not about meeting our love, it's about finding the love that has been with us all along.

Peter said it so beautifully to Leah in his vows: "I have been sailing home to you all my life." And that line did it for me - that sentiment helped me make the leap, leaving fear behind. No wonder my friends who have gotten married this year haven't felt scared about marriage. No wonder they could put their trust into someone else so completely. Love is about finding our way home, about providing a home for the heart of another. In its most authentic form, it is about being on a journey toward someone who has been journeying toward us. Here's to love, and those brave enough to take up the journey.

The photo above is not my own. It can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - What We Love

"Let the beauty of what you love be what you do." ~ Rumi

So often we spend our time wondering what we should do with our lives that will make us successful, useful, and financially stable. What will bring us the greatest amount of happiness is always secondary to these other considerations when we think of our careers. We think "what can I do as a career so that it will give me the freedom to pursue what I really love down the road or after hours." Today I thought a lot about how much more good we could actually do in the world if we approach our careers from a place of love first and everything else - success, money, utility - second.

This is especially on my mind today because another group of people I know lost their jobs. The news completely blind-sided all of us. It's with a heavy heart that I went about my business today, wondering how I'd feel if I were in their shoes. How would I react? What would I say? Would I view the news as a great opportunity or an unfortunate circumstance? And then the question that caused me the greatest discomfort - who's to say it won't be me tomorrow? "Down the road" could very well be right now.

This idea of impermanence keeps running through my mind. In my new apartment building, there was a fire on the 10th floor on the other side of the building. When I heard the news, I panicked for a moment. Last night I kept waking up because I could not get images of black smoke out of my mind. That awful scent seems stuck in my nose. I remember too clearly rounding the corners of those stairs in my old building, clinging to the railing, crouching and scrambling and praying, as I was passing by apartments that were burning just on the other side of those walls. I remember how lucky I was that I left that building when I did. A few more minutes and it would have all unfolded very differently.

This little fire on the 10th floor of my new building was successfully extinguished before causing too much trouble, though it's as if the Universe is flashing a great big reminder at me just as I'm getting comfortable in my new surroundings. "Remember the important things in life aren't things. You cannot afford complacence." I wanted to reply, "Yes, thank you Universe, I hear you. I'm working on a new plan for my life right now and I'm getting all the details ironed out. Now could you please stop playing with fire in my presence? And by the way, it's rude and cruel to be so threatening."

All joking aside, I'm trying hard to live every moment of my life from a place of love, love for my self, and my community, and the people I care about. I want to take Rumi's idea one step further and let the beauty of what I love be not just what I do, but also who I am. It's easy to put on disguises; it's easy to tell ourselves this is who I am at work or school or with this person or that person or when I'm alone. What I'm striving for is to be one kind of person all the time, to make "down the road" today, to make my after-hours activities my every hour's activities. In short, I'm striving for authenticity. And it seems to me that the surest way to authenticity begins with always with knowing what and who we love.

The image about is not my own. It can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - Tony

“Abundance comes not from stuff. In fact, stuff is an indication of non-abundance. Abundance is in the sacred; it's in the connection of love. We will find abundance through hard times when we find each other.” ~ Rebecca Adamson

I fell in love with Tony 8 years ago at first sight. To date, it was the most immediate reaction I’ve ever had to anyone. Two and a half years later, after about 1,000 ups and downs, we parted ways romantically, not because we didn’t love each other but because Tony didn’t love himself as much as I loved him.

I rarely talk about my romantic life on this blog, mostly because I keep those relationships extremely private. This one though has taught me so much that I know will help others and so I’m taking a risk here and putting a little more of my heart into my writing than I have ever done. Tony taught me a lot, more than anyone else I've ever been in a relationship with, and these lessons should be re-told.

To date, he is the only person who sends me text messages around 4:00am exclusively. I never reach him or hear from him during the day or even at a reasonable hour in the evening. We just don’t work that way. He’s a night owl, a serious night owl. Usually I don’t get his text messages until the morning on my way to work. Last night I happened to be awake when my phone buzzed, and of course it was Tony.

“I’m still not happy in my career. The only difference is that I’m not hating me anymore…just what I let myself lose.” Now, I don’t think he’s referring to me at all when he talks about what he lost. I think he’s talking about time and effort and energy lost to a career he doesn’t like and really never wanted. He just never thought he deserved anything better. By not liking himself for so long, Tony lost a lot of his life.

I smiled when I read his message this morning. Not because Tony lost a lot of years of his life – that I will always think is tragic. I smiled because finally, finally, finally all the love I felt for him, he now has for himself, and that’s all I ever really wanted for him. He is a good, good man with a good, good heart. He’s kind and generous and brilliant. And for so many years, I wanted him to see himself the way that I saw him. No matter what I did, nothing worked. So I let him go. In the end, there was no other choice. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see what I saw. Now, he does.

I wrote back to him, “T – I am so happy for you. You are on the right path. And it’s never too late to make a change. Xo” I meant this – every word of it. I’d like to believe that somewhere along the line all the love I gave him helped him in his journey. I’d like to believe that me being in his life helped him flip the switch from self-loathing to self-loving. I’d always like to believe that love, when given freely and in abundance makes a difference eventually. That love, unrequited or not, is never for naught.

I thought of him all day today - of so many good times and so many not-so-good times. I thought about who I was then and what I wanted then, and how much that has changed. I thought of all the things about him that made me smile, and those things still make me smile. What's amazing about my journey with Tony, though so long ago, is that all the hurt I felt upon leaving isn't there anymore. Somehow all the hurt faded, and only the good stuff remains. Even the bad times just don't seem so bad when placed side-by-side with all the happy and wonderful times we had. I hope he feels the same way. Our hearts and memories are funny, malleable things, and for that I'm grateful.

Tony showed me how much love my heart could hold. This is a powerful lesson. As much as I fell in love with Tony, just as he was, I fell even more in love with his potential. I used to regard falling in love with potential as a waste. Today, I changed my mind on that thanks to him.

Potential might be more worthy of love than anything else. Potential is hope. Potential is something to look forward to. Potential keeps us looking up and working toward a better tomorrow, toward bettering ourselves. My love for Tony’s potential was not a waste at all; it’s a remedy that he eventually used to build a better life for himself.

He gave me so much and now I finally feel like I was able to return the favor. Even though it didn't work out for us in the long-run, I regard my time with me him as precious. I am nothing but honored and privileged to have been a small part of his healing.

The image above is not my own. I love it though, and found it here.

My Year of Hopefulness - When Choice and Logic Meet

"We either make ourselves happy or miserable. The amount of work is the same." ~ Carlos Castaneda, American anthropologist and author

I've been thinking a lot about work this week. Not necessarily where I am employed, but rather the broader definition of work that encompasses all of the activities that I am engaged in every day. The most valuable, affecting, satisfying work I do all day involves my writing. Whether it's on this blog, for TJCC, the fiction I'm currently working on, or my after-school program, I now know that writing is what I'm meant to do. I really can't imagine taking up another profession that doesn't have writing and content creation as its main activity.

Now I've been down this road before. I've had several opportunities to take up writing full-time and I've turned away out of fear. Again, I am at this same, familiar cross-roads: Can I jump off the cliff as so many successful writers say they ultimately had to do? We hear it all the time - lawyers who just couldn't be lawyers for one more day, doctors and nurses who couldn't work one more overnight shift, corporate employees who lost all interest in climbing any kind of ladder. They wanted so much to do something creative that they could no longer make their living any other way. Can I be that brave (or ignorant as the case may be for me)?

There are a few tough things about taking great risks, whether the risk is in our professional or personal lives:

1.) Once you jump off the cliff, you can't change your mind. You can't get back to where you were before.

2.) There are no guarantees.

3.) You won't know if it's the right choice until you actually jump.

These are weighty considerations. I think of my friend, Allan, who is very close to returning to school for a degree that he knows will lead him in the direction of his dream job. Or my friend, LT, who is a phenomenal and engaging public speaker who is beginning to lay the groundwork for his own business. Or my friend, Lissa, who left behind her work as a GYN so she could build a supportive on-line community for women and conduct self-empowerment and personal development workshops. And my dear friends, Amy and Rob, who are in the transition process from financially lucrative careers in the arts to personally fulfilling ventures in peace building and social work. I'm drawing my inspiration from them these days. "Maybe I can do this," I thought this morning in my cubicle.

The latest iteration of this thought started to take shape on Wednesday. At 10am I had a full-on argument, not raising the volume of my voice. Thank goodness it was by phone and not in person. Then someone basically told me to shut up and do what I was told. Hmmm....that doesn't exactly sit well with me. I don't do any of the things in that phrase well - I don't shut up, I don't like being told what to do if I completely disagree with it, and I certainly don't take kindly to being told to do those two things in combination. And then I completely surprised myself - I articulated with passion and clarity why I would not comply with this person's request. And my comments were met with complete silence. My friend, Jeff, calls it "The Ba-bam Response", as in "Ba-bam, take that!" In that moment, the person yelling at me is the one who sat down and I stood up, way up, perhaps as straight and tall as I have ever been.

Today I read the quote above by Carlos Castaneda, and I have not been able to get it out of my mind. Castaneda is right. To not write requires that I work very hard at something that I'd rather not do for a living, and to choose to write full-time (and make a living at it) will be a tremendous amount of work, too. So shouldn't I do a tremendous amount of work for something I really want to do rather than something I don't want to do?

I went through this same process in my personal life a few years ago. I used to be afraid, very afraid, to fall in love. I flat out refused to do it. There is a great risk involved in opening up our hearts and loving someone. We could get hurt. Very hurt. And then one day I was able to consider the alternative: if I don't open up my heart, if I never fall in love and never allow anyone to be close enough to fall in love with me then I will always be a very lonely person who feels disconnected and isolated from the world around me. This loneliness and isolation is its own kind of hurt.

So then I reasoned, "shouldn't I take the risk and open up my heart because at least in that scenario there is a chance that falling in love can bring me great happiness and joy?" Loneliness and isolation will always, certainly lead to being hurt. And with that reasoning my heart opened up. And yes, I did get hurt, many times, and I also found a lot of joy and happiness, too. Falling in love generates a much stronger likelihood for happiness than not falling in love so I could no longer keep my heart locked up inside of me. It was no longer logical to resist falling in love.

And so it goes with writing full-time, and I think that this time around, when that fork presents itself, I will choose to go down the writing road. Carlos Castaneda's quote made me realize that any other choice just doesn't make sense.

My Year of Hopefulness - Lunch with God

On Monday afternoon, I got angry. Throughout the day I found myself running into the ladies room for short spurts of tears, and then cleaned myself up and returned to my desk. I don’t like to work this way but the heavy load demands it at the moment. In the shower this morning, as I was crying, again, over the loss of our family dog, I started to shake my head in disbelief. How could the Universe let this happen?

At lunch time, I went to my favorite little sandwich shop and took a seat in Trinity Churchyard near Alexander Hamilton. I've been going to Trinity a lot during lunch lately. Last night I didn't sleep too well and I thought a walk over to Trinity might help me clear my head. And then something very odd happened, as if Hamilton's feisty spirit and his inability to ignore injustice inspired me. I was tearing up behind my sunglasses and then this burst of anger came to the forefront of my mind. It was a little un-nerving because I am not at all an angry person by nature. Anger, mine or anyone else’s, makes me very nervous. Without being able to stop it, I began to have a stern conversation with God, silently.

“I really hope you’re happy because now you’ve really done it. You have screwed up royally here. It wasn’t enough to have my apartment building catch fire, have me almost get trapped inside, and then destroy most of my belongings with smoke. You had to take my dog, too? Really? You must be really proud of yourself up there, divine and content, messing with all of us down here. My sister’s crying. My brother-in-law’s crying. I’m crying. I accept that most of the losses that I’ve had in my life were timely. Sebastian’s was not. He was only 7! Our last dog lived to be 17! A full decade longer! I hate to say it, God, but you were wrong on this one. Completely wrong. I must emphatically disagree with you; it was not Sebastian’s time yet. You pulled the plug on him way too early and I’m really pissed off at you for that. We needed some more years with him. He deserved some more years with us. I really hope the next time something like this comes up, you think a little bit harder about what you’re doing. And by the way, I have had more than my fair share of sadness this month. Actually, I’ve had enough for the remainder of the year, maybe for the remainder of the next few years so you are really going to have to back off. I’m sick of going through boxes of tissues in a day. I’m sick of feeling disappointed and sad and frustrated and scared. There’s a big ol’ lesson in all of this for me. I get it. I hear you. 'Nothing is permanent.' Fine. 'We have to be flexible.' Got it. 'We need to accept that with great love must also come great loss.' Check. 'Some days, we’re the pigeon and some days we’re the statue.' I understand that, and I’m telling you I’ve reached my quota of statue days. Enough!”

And then I let out a big, big sigh. I looked over at Alexander Hamilton, and then around at the other people sitting near me having lunch. And though my thoughts just now raged inside my mind, it seems that no one else heard me. Except God. He heard me. I knew he did, and I think he’s a little ashamed of his recent behavior toward me. And he should be. The piling up of this month’s events was really uncalled for. Whew – that was scary but it felt great. I needed to get that out.

As I got back onto Broadway and headed North, I found my smile again. I even laughed a little. I just yelled at God – really yelled at him. (I’ve never yelled at anyone like that ever. Actually, I can’t even remember the last time I raised my voice. I was probably a teenager!) Tiny little me, 5’2”, 110-pound me, just yelled at the Creator of the Universe. And he listened. He didn’t try to deny my grief or anger or sadness. He didn’t try to make it better or soothe my weary mind. He showed up and just listened. He eeked out a very small “I’m sorry” and I whispered back “I accept your apology.”

We have a funny relationship, God and I. Throughout my life I have at times adored him and doubted him. Sometimes I have flat out walked away and left him in the dust. And then I realized that I wanted him back, and when I peeked around the corner of faith again, a little embarrassed that I stormed off, there he was. Right where I left him. Waiting patiently, just like Sebastian would wait for us to get home. They're more alike than I realized. Animals are more virtuous that we recognize - they might be the closest we ever get to a holy presence on Earth. I think God and I are going to be okay now. And I think Sebastian is okay, too.

As I got closer to my office, I felt that awful terrible weight from Sunday lift off my heart slightly. It’s still there. I got over my apartment and belongings going up in smoke, though I really miss Sebastian, and always, always will. I miss knowing that he’s not in the world anymore. That I won’t be able to hug him again, or take him for a walk, or rub his cute little belly. I would have liked just one more hug, and sadly that wish will not be fulfilled until I cross over to where he is now. Waiting for us, as he always was here on Earth. God better make sure Sebastian’s up there, well taken care of, and ready for me to take him for his walk when we all get back together again.

My friend, Amy, is a conflict resolution and trauma expert. I spent a long time on the phone with her on Sunday night, talking through what I’ve been feeling this month. She refers to this process of grief as the glass of water analogy. We can think of difficult times as being a specific amount of water and ourselves as glasses. Each time we encounter something difficult, the respective amount of water gets poured into our glass. I could have dealt with any one of the sad circumstances from this month, but putting them all together within 3 weeks' times was just too much and my glass has overflowed with sadness.

The overflow happens sometimes, and as my pal, Laura, said to me "it sucks and it's okay to feel like it sucks for a while." Eventually the only thing to do is to sop up the excess water and start to empty our glass, even it’s just one little teaspoon at a time. The love and support from my friends and family this month has been such an amazing source of strength, and they're helping me bail out the water from my glass. It’s going to take me a little time to get that glass emptied but I am 100% committed to getting it done. Alison Krauss, one of my favorite musicians, sings a song that goes “Just get me through December, A promise I’ll remember, Get me through December, So I can start again.” Her December is my September, and I am almost through it. After a very long, sad month, I feel like I’m moving in the right direction.

The photo above is not my own. It can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - Sebastian

"Dogs are good people." ~ A very wise man

"Animals are reliable, full of love, true in their affections, predictable in their actions, grateful and loyal. Difficult standards for people to live up to." ~ Alfred A. Montapert

September certainly has been a rough month. My most recent loss, the passing of our sweet family dog, Sebastian (known to us by the affectionate nickname of "Val"), broke my heart. The other losses I've incurred this month were painful certainly, though the loss of a family member who's love never wavered, who always wanted to be around us, who saw us through so many days - good, bad, and indifferent - is almost too much to bear. If I had to sum up our brave little dachshund in one word, I would have to say that in everything he was constant: constant hopefulness, constant love, constant loyalty.

My sister brought him home in the winter of 2002, and immediately upon meeting him we fell madly in love with one another. He was the best snuggler. He always knew exactly what we all needed - a smooch, a smile (yes, he actually did smile!), or a funny pose to make us laugh. I learned so much from him. In all his wonderful dog-ness, he made all of us more human.

Early on Sunday morning my sister, Weez, called to say that my brother-in-law, Kyle, had taken Sebastian to the animal ER. His back legs had given out and he was unable to walk. At the ER, they took some x-rays and found that 4 of his vertebrae had collapsed together, putting tremendous pressure on his spinal cord and leaving him in a lot of pain. Because this ailment is very common to the breed and almost near impossible to treat, there isn't anything the vet could do that would cure the condition. Now that it had happened once, it would continue to happen, and each time would be worse. The only humane and decent thing to do was to let him go to greener, pain-free pastures. And though rationally we know that this was the best choice given the circumstances, the loss is still so difficult to bear. It was pouring rain, everything outside seemed wet and gray and sad. In other words, it fit the news of the day.

Harry S Truman once said, "If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog." How true those words are, not just for Washington, but everywhere. A dog is the one presence in our lives that never disappoints us, never lets us down, that always, always makes every situation we face better. Somehow we are braver in their presence because they are always so willing to bear our burdens and share our joy with us. They always show up. If only people could be more like dogs.

It's with a heavy heart that I imagine the upcoming holidays without him, this year and every year going forward. I always made him his own special Thanksgiving plate and we unwrapped Christmas presents with him. He always had a Christmas stocking with his name on it stuffed with doggy treats. I looked forward to naps with him as we curled up on the couch after a good meal and watched TV. We sang together, danced together, ran together, played together. That backyard at my sister's house suddenly seems very empty without his tiny stature standing in the middle of it.

After these awful events unfolded, I had to get out of the house. I took myself for a walk in the rain, minus the umbrella, to the grocery store. Though the rain was falling heavily at the time, I just couldn't feel anything. I was numb all over. I'd been through several boxes of tissues by then and quite frankly needed some more, along with some kind of food since I hadn't eaten all day. I passed by the Petco ("where the pets go"), my neighborhood vet, and an all-natural pet supply store. Reminders of Sebastian everywhere.

Coming straight at me was a long-haired black and tan dachshund, bigger than Sebastian, with nearly identical markings. He was galloping along, just like Sebastian used to do, chasing a couple of pigeons. I smiled. I've long-considered dachshunds that cross my path my good luck charms. I couldn't help but think that our brave little friend sent me that dachshund to let me know that he is okay now and that I shouldn't worry about him. And then I started to cry all over again, right in the middle of the sidewalk. I guess there's no way past this kind of pain except through it.

After the grocery store, I went up to the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine. On Sundays at 4:00 they have an Evensong service. I sometimes like to go hear the opening number and stop into the Children's Garden that depicts Noah's Ark. In the Garden, they do the blessing of all the neighborhood animals every year. I'm not much for organized religion, but that Cathedral is a special place. I feel like I enter another world when I walk through those doors. I can take my sorrows there and cry them out, drowning in that glorious sound from the choir. In those walls, I am certain that the Universe can hear me and comfort me. I lit a little candle for Sebastian and for my family who is taking this loss so hard. I tried to smile, but my face wasn't having any it. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. After all the good days that Sebastian gave us, I can spend this one just remembering him and paying tribute to his indomitable spirit.

Of all the dogs I've loved in my life, and my family has been beyond fortunate to have had so many over the course of 40+ years, Sebastian was the one I loved the most.

August 10, 2002 - September 27, 2009

R.I.P. Sebastian, our best and most faithful friend

My Year of Hopefulness - Ancient Wisdom

"The interdependency of Humankind, the relevance of relationship, the sacredness of creation is ancient, ancient wisdom." ~ Rebecca Adamson

On the 17th floor of my apartment building, I feel a little closer to what's miraculous and sacred in our world. In the past few weeks I have felt some energy driving me toward something new; I've felt my life taking on a different kind of meaning. Last night as I was getting my apartment ready for the movers to arrive, I had my music on, washing my new kitchen supplies and watching the sun sink down behind those lovely water towers. In one moment I felt intensely overcome with gratitude, as if my heart had opened up in a way that it never has before. There seemed to be so many opportunities laid out before me and all I had to do was select one, like taking a book from a shelf.

I began to tick through my personal relationships and all of the strength and hope and inspiration that I find in each of them. I started to recall kindnesses and favors and support that I've been offered, not just in the past few weeks but as far back as I can remember. I wanted to give the whole world a great big hug, followed by a great big thank you, for everything.

I wonder if this feeling, this sense of belonging has been available to me along and I just didn't see it or didn't know how to tap into it. I'm intrigued by the difference between looking and seeing, by how often we run around desperately seeking that which inevitably ends up being right in front of us. What if we just stopped, for a brief moment, and saw with a new kind of clarity the many blessings we have, recognized are tremendous capacity for change, for goodness, for creation.

We can construct a richer, happier, more meaningful existence, for ourselves and others, by tapping into the wisdom that is all around us, by recognizing that we are all always in this together. All of a sudden when we realize we aren't alone, when we recognize that there are ancient, fundamental learnings that connect us across generations, across the globe, across time continuums, our feelings of loneliness and isolation are replaced by community and love. The impossible becomes not only possible, but imminent.

My Year of Hopefulness - Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean

On Tuesday night I attended an event at the New York Society of Ethical Culture. The event was a talk moderated by Ann Beeson, Executive Director for U.S. Programs at the Open Society Institute and former Associate Legal Director at the ACLU. She interviewed Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean on the eve of the release of a documentary entitled The Most Dangerous Man in America: Daniel Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers. Judith Ehrlich and Rick Goldsmith, the film makers, were in attendance as well. I'm looking forward to seeing it some time soon, and you should, too. We all should. While its set around the events of the 1970s, its moral implications are just as relevant today.

From the moment the footage began to role, my eyes started to tear up. With scenes of the massive amounts of missiles that we poured into Vietnam, 7.8M tons, it was hard to not consider all that we have been doing in Afghanistan and Iraq for years. And while the specific circumstances and players may differ, the outcome is likely to be the same. Innocent people are placed in the line of fire, and harmed. Those people are looked at as casualty numbers, the equivalent of statistics in some government report. In truth, those people are someone's parent, sibling, child, friend, neighbor, lover. And after years of watching the news night after night, watching the death tolls climb higher and higher, I can't find a logical reason to have incurred any of those losses.

Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean, government insiders, stood up once they realized that we could not win in Vietnam, once they had proof in black and white, via the Pentagon Papers, that there was no morally, ethically, or even legally correct reasoning for our occupation of Vietnam. At great personal peril, they risked everything, even their own freedom, their own lives, to reveal these findings. It would have been easier, far easier, to turn a blind eye - at least in the short run. In the long run, they just didn't feel like they could live with themselves if they didn't release the classified information they had that showed the fallacy of the war. They saved, literally, thousands, tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, of lives by standing up with every odd stacked against them. Their courage is immeasurable.

As I sat in the audience I considered the bravery and fear these men must have had for years, how they risked everything of personal value for the good of the world. It was completely humbling to be in their presence. The most fascinating piece of the talk was the last question they answered: "What would you say to other potential whistle blowers out there who are contemplating taking the path you took?" John Dean couldn't recommend it. Daniel Ellsberg asked those people to seriously consider taking the same road he took. I left understanding both of their points of view, wondering what I'd do, what my friends would do, if faced with similar circumstances.

I fell asleep Tuesday night thinking about the Dalai Lama's letter to the world after September 11th. We later found out that he didn't write the letter at all; it was a hoax written by someone else who was very concerned that in the wake of the attacks, we would find ourselves entering a deadly war that we could not win. The author may have felt that it had more relevance coming from the Dalai Lama; perhaps the author felt more people would listen to its reason. Perhaps that person didn't have the ability or the knowledge to be as courageous as Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean. No matter; the author's intention was the same - he or she felt compelled to stand up, speak up, and try to encourage others to do the same.

The letter is a beautiful one and bears repeating. I still cry when I read it; it's that powerful. It's reproduced below and can also be found on the website of The Government of Tibet in Exile. Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean seized the time of their teaching. I wonder if we will have the courage to seize ours, too, not just in issues of war but in issues of every day life as well.

"Dear friends around the world,

The events of this day cause every thinking person to stop their daily lives, whatever is going on in them, and to ponder deeply the larger questions of life. We search again for not only the meaning of life, but the purpose of our individual and collective experience as we have created it-and we look earnestly for ways in which we might recreate ourselves anew as a human species, so that we will never treat each other this way again.

The hour has come for us to demonstrate at the highest level our most extraordinary thought about Who We Really Are. There are two possible responses to what has occurred today. The first comes from love, the second from fear.

If we come from fear we may panic and do things -as individuals and as nations- that could only cause further damage. If we come from love we will find refuge and strength, even as we provide it to others.

This is the moment of your ministry. This is the time of teaching. What you teach at this time, through your every word and action right now, will remain as indelible lessons in the hearts and minds of those whose lives you touch, both now, and for years to come.

We will set the course for tomorrow, today. At this hour. In this moment. Let us seek not to pinpoint blame, but to pinpoint cause. Unless we take this time to look at the cause of our experience, we will never remove ourselves from the experiences it creates. Instead, we will forever live in fear of retribution from those within the human family who feel aggrieved, and, likewise, seek retribution from them.

To us the reasons are clear. We have not learned the most basic human lessons. We have not remembered the most basic human truths. We have not understood the most basic spiritual wisdom. In short, we have not been listening to God, and because we have not, we watch ourselves do ungodly things.

The message we hear from all sources of truth is clear: We are all one. That is a message the human race has largely ignored. Forgetting this truth is the only cause of hatred and war, and the way to remember is simple: Love, this and every moment.

If we could love even those who have attacked us, and seek to understand why they have done so, what then would be our response? Yet if we meet negativity with negativity, rage with rage, attack with attack, what then will be the outcome?

These are the questions that are placed before the human race today. They are questions that we have failed to answer for thousands of years. Failure to answer them now could eliminate the need to answer them at all.

If we want the beauty of the world that we have co-created to be experienced by our children and our children's children, we will have to become spiritual activists right here, right now, and cause that to happen. We must choose to be at cause in the matter.

So, talk with God today. Ask God for help, for counsel and advice. For insight and for strength and for inner peace and for deep wisdom. Ask God on this day to show us how to show up in the world in a way that will cause the world itself to change. And join all those people around the world who are praying right now, adding your Light to the Light that dispels all fear.

That is the challenge that is placed before every thinking person today. Today the human soul asks the question: What can I do to preserve the beauty and the wonder of our world and to eliminate the anger and hatred-and the disparity that inevitably causes it - in that part of the world which I touch?

Please seek to answer that question today, with all the magnificence that is You. What can you do TODAY...this very moment? A central teaching in most spiritual traditions is: What you wish to experience, provide for another.

Look to see, now, what it is you wish to experience-in your own life, and in the world. Then see if there is another for whom you may be the source of that. If you wish to experience peace, provide peace for another. If you wish to know that you are safe, cause another to know that they are safe.

If you wish to better understand seemingly incomprehensible things, help another to better understand. If you wish to heal your own sadness or anger, seek to heal the sadness or anger of another.

Those others are waiting for you now. They are looking to you for guidance, for help, for courage, for strength, for understanding, and for assurance at this hour. Most of all, they are looking to you for love.

My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness."

My Year of Hopefulness - Super-powers

"It's no trick loving somebody at their best. Love is loving them at their worst." ~ Tom Stoppard, The Real Thing

Our capacity to love is so much bigger than we can imagine. So big that it's something I was afraid of for a long time. My ability to let someone into my life in a loving, intimate way is the one thing I feel I do exceptionally well. Tonight I was reminded of a boyfriend from a long time ago, someone whom I loved very much for a long time, and in many ways continue to love albeit in a much different way than before. Of all the gifts he gave me over the course of our relationship, the one I treasure most is that he showed me what an enormous capacity for love I have.

Over this past week I have felt so loved and protected and cared for. So many people from so many areas of my life stepped up to help me carry the burden of this building fire. I lost my home. I lost a lot of my belongings. It is an almost unbearable thing to imagine. And I'm getting through it, smiling, shining, rising, because of the amazing people in my life. Without them, I'd be lost. And I learned that Tom Stoppard's quote isn't just a clever line in a play - it is an absolute truism. Anyone can smile and love and laugh through the good times; it takes something altogether different to love someone and be there for them when they are down and out. I'm truly blessed to have so many people who've loved me, and continue to love me, through this tough time.

Some of my clothes might be salvageable. Today the specialty dry cleaners came in to get every item of clothing I own so that it can be cleaned properly, if possible. That sent me out to do a bit of shopping. I hate clothes shopping. One of my least favorite things to do. I wound up with some underwear, two shirts, a pair of pajamas, and a pair of shoes. One of the t-shirts says in big bold letters "Give Love". After this week, I had to buy it. For all the love I've been given, especially as of late, I wanted a reminder that I must continue to give love back, even more so than I have before.

I was thinking about super-powers tonight. When I was little, I wanted to be able to run at the speed of light. I guess I thought that if I could run that fast, I could outrun any bad times. Then earlier on tonight, I thought the power of a never-fail immune system would be the ultimate super-power. With that, I could live forever. And there is so much I want to do that this super-power seemed like a very good idea. Now though, as I write from the lobby of my new apartment building (I don't yet have internet in my apartment), I know exactly what super-power I want. I want to be able to keep loving, no matter what. I want a heart so big that it is impossible to discourage it. I want to be able to keep loving, come what may. And the best thing is that this super-power isn't just something I can only wish for. It's something I can have, that we all can have, starting now.

My Year of Hopefulness - Unwitting Angels

I believe in guardian angels, divine moments of intervention, and the continuous play between the world we see and the world just beyond our vision. While I do believe that angels walk among us, I also believe that we have the ability, at every moment, to be angels to one another.

In the aftermath of the fire in my apartment building, there is a lot of chaos. I am now dealing with adjusters from my renter's insurance. (Thank God I have renter's insurance. If you don't, please stop reading this post and by it immediately through Liberty Mutual at http://www.libertymutual.com. A $181 annual premium buys you $25,000 worth of coverage with a $500 deductible.) I also have buyer's protection on my charge card so I need to make an inventory for them so I can be reimbursed for damaged items. I have to find a new place to live. I'll have to rebuild a stock of personal items.

And you know what? It's all okay. I am monumentally lucky to be alive and physically unscathed. Much of that is due to the amazing love and support and concern of my friends and family, from people who read my online writing and follow my usually fun antics on Twitter. This is the power of community. This is the power of unwitting angels - people who show up as little rays of light just when we need that light most. It's always there, it sometimes just takes a different lens of experience to see it.

My friend, Amber, one of my unwitting angels in this situation, has graciously offered me her apartment for the week while she's out of town. I came to pick up the keys from her, and we got to talking about how incidents like my apartment building fire change our perspective. She thinks I will quickly adopt the policy of "omeletitgo" - I'm just gonna let it all go. From this point forward, all those little frustrations and annoyances that build up in our day to day lives just don't matter. The physical stuff we accumulate just doesn't matter. If all goes up in smoke, it doesn't matter.

All that does matter is kindness. How do we support and love and care for one another in good times and bad? How can we help those in crisis? How can we serve one another to make all of our days a bit easier? How can we all be a part of the global brigade of unwitting angels?

The image above is not my own and can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - One Life at a Time

"It does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people's minds." ~ Sam Adams

It's a glorious thing to get to live a day exactly the way we want it to be. This weekend, I'll be trying on the costume of a full-time entrepreneur. I'm getting ready to send my after-school program proposal to public school principals. Checking every "i" and "t" in the proposal, researching the best fit schools to target, and beginning to write the curriculum. I'm already fantasizing about spending tomorrow at my kitchen table, writing while the afternoon sun softly filters through the windows. It will be glorious.

Except when I'm scared, which I often am, when considering this proposal. If I think for too long about the task before me, my stomach starts doing back flips and my eyes well up. There are so many kids who have so little and need so much. I'm one person, with one little project. What kind of impact will that have when I consider that I want to reach hundreds of thousands, millions, of kids around the world? I am one small person. When I'm alone, this thought comes to the forefront of my mind and is undeniable.

I was just on the phone with someone, explaining why this project is so important, why it matters, and why I have to do this now. As I spoke, I felt the strength rising within me, the tears of frustration turned to tears of possibility and hope and dreams realized. And then he said something to me that I wish I could box up and carry around with me forever. Something that Jane Goodall communicated last night, too. He said that while I might need to pour everything I've got into this curriculum, that's only half of the program. The other half will be the love I give while teaching. Love I can give - I know I'm good at that. So now I know I'm already halfway there.

Last night, the 92Y had a slide show running with quotes and photos of Jane Goodall pertaining to her work around the world. One quote that struck me so hard was one in which she talked about having goals with a wide-reaching impact. "Although the challenges seem daunting at times, this is ultimately the only way to make lasting change – one life at a time." My pilot program is for 10 kids, barely a drop in the bucket compared to how many need this program. My hope is that those 10 will help others in turn, and so on. We'll use leverage and multiplicative efforts to achieve this ideal of helping every kid grow up to be a productive, creative, empowered adult.

Yes the challenges are daunting. They're downright overwhelming. I know in my heart that we can do this, that a small group of passionate people can start to set the world going in the right direction. Simply put, that's all I'm trying to do.

My Year of Hopefulness - New Life

Today my friends, Alex and Shawn, welcomed a new baby boy into the world. 7 and a half pounds, 19 and a half inches of new, beautiful, perfect, healthy life. Alex and Shawn will be amazing parents. They're the funniest couple I know. Their love story is one of my favorites. Having met their freshman year of college, they've gone through so many life changes, together and apart. After more than a decade together, they remain intensely interested in the other's interests and they support one another endlessly in all their pursuits. Spending time with them has always made me feel optimistic about the fate of love and marriage.

And now they begin this new piece of their history with a new member of their family. I went to Providence a few weeks ago for the baby shower, and they were both so happy. Though neither of them seemed stressed or worried or afraid. This was just another great event in their lives.

With everything we hear in the news about the difficulty of remaining in love, raising kids, and keeping a marriage strong and healthy, it's easy to feel like it's just not possible to have all three. And then I watch Alex and Shawn and realize that marriage and family and love are what you make of them. Too often we imagine that they are entities unto themselves that we have no control over, as if our own feelings of love live outside of us, independent of the rest of our lives. What's amazing about Alex and Shawn is that their love resides firmly at the center of their lives, while also giving them the confidence and freedom to pursue their own independent ventures, too. It's really something to behold, especially when you consider how young they were when they first met.

I can say with certainty that their son is one of the luckiest little guys in the world. He has these incredible parents who will provide such a prime example of what love can and should be. I can't stop smiling when I think about how much happiness he will know in his life. All kids should be so lucky.

The photo above can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - Is Human Connection More Powerful than Prayer?

"The way is not in the sky. The way is in the heart." ~ Buddha

How often do we raise our eyes to the sky and ask for help? I find myself doing that from time to time. Today I got word from a partner of mine on one of my projects that we are facing some critical obstacles. I asked if there was anything I could do to help. "Pray," she said. "Lots."

Now, I know she's doing much more than praying. She's actually working her tail off, jumping through dozens of hoops to keep us moving forward. I find that with any trying circumstance, the default solution is to pray. But what are we really doing when we pray? What am I doing as I go to my yoga mat in times of distress? What am I asking for and who am I asking it of?

Maybe prayer is better directed not up towards the sky, out of our reach. Perhaps it's much more powerful if we turn in and not out. When I go to my yoga mat and create an intention for my practice, I'm asking for help and guidance and assurance. I'm tapping into my creative well. I'm actually searching for my soul and its wisdom. It's an overwhelming idea if I think about it too long. Can we actually tap into the energy and light around us, all around us, by looking in?

My experience has demonstrated than the answer to this question is a resounding 'yes'. Yoga and Buddhism have some basic tenants that I try to keep at the forefront of my mind, especially during difficult times: 1) the world will provide us the exact learning that we need at the exact moment that we need it and 2) to tap into the energy around us we must recognize that while we live in this world, we are not of it. Our souls are old. They have been through many trials. They are the ties that bind us to one another. They have knowledge far beyond what we carry within our minds and our own limited experiences. Meditation, yoga, or any other contemplative practice bring that soul knowledge to our consciousness.

While in Virginia, I used to teach yoga classes at my business school. They were my small way of making the stress that all of us felt in our studies a bit more manageable. (This Winter I'll begin my 500 hours certification process. It will be a long road, though one I have wanted to be on for some time now.) I would close each class with a simple statement to my students that a teacher of mine used to use: "the light that is in me, honors that the light that is in you." I've found that connecting with people, one heart to one heart right here on the ground, has brought me more lasting joy and peace than raising my eyes and prayers to the sky. I have more faith in us and what we can do together, here and now, than I do in anything else.

The image above can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - The Velveteen Rabbit

My friend, Eric, got married this weekend. He is one of my closest friends from business school, someone who got me through many tough assignments and helped keep me sane. We also had a lot of fun together. I’m so happy that he found someone as wonderful as he is and that they’ve started their lives together.

The one reading that he and his new wife, Daphne, had at their wedding is from The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. The quote considers the very pertinent question “What does it mean to be real?”

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day…

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes. When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

It is the perfect allegory for starting a relationship with someone that is based on love, and therefore the perfect reading for a wedding. It’s also the perfect thing to consider for our lives in general. Our lives, from beginning to end, are based on the art of becoming.

As we grow older we develop new interests and relationships and dreams. Some we accomplish, others die away without coming to fruition for one reason or another, and still others have yet to be found. The end process of becoming is to be real. Authentically, imperfectly, beautifully an individual who will never be replicated nor replaced.

The process of becoming takes patience, with ourselves and with others. It can’t be rushed. We can’t skip to the end to see how it turns out. We can’t work backwards and engineer our way into the best possible ending. It can only be created forward. There will be unexpected instances that must be folded into the process, some will be welcome changes, strokes of luck and genius, and others may be painful and sad. They all matter and all contribute to the piece of art, the life, we get in the end.

Becoming real is not easy. It takes work and perseverance, compromise and sacrifice. And it requires that we take the long-view, always. There will be moments of great triumph and great loss. Those losses are the risks we take and the price we pay for actively living and participating in the world around us, the risks and price for becoming real. And those triumphs and happy moments, big and small, are what make it all worthwhile.

My Year of Hopefulness - Love is all around us

Yesterday my friend, Ken, called me with an incredible story that's too good to keep to myself. Last Fall he lost his mom to a terminal respiratory disease that she had managed for a number of years. Ken was very close to his mom and he's a rough go of it for the past 6 months. One of his friends gave him a gift certificate to a nearby greenhouse and nursery so he could buy a tree in honor of his mom to plant in his yard.

When Ken was a teenager, Evita had just opened on Broadway and the song "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" was the mot popular song around. Ken's mom used to crack herself up by changing up the words to "Don't cry for me Sargent Tina..." She'd sing that all the time, making everyone around her laugh.

Ken was at the nursery yesterday with a friend, choosing a tree to honor his mom. They were specifically looking for a crabapple tree because of their beautiful flowers and found one they really liked. Variety: the Sargent Tina Crabapple. Maybe a coincidence...

Ken and his friend, Linda, get back to Ken's house and plant the tree in the yard. They place the last shovelful of dirt around the tree and head back inside the house. Just as they get into the house, the song Hold Me Kiss Me Thrill Me was on the radio. That song was the only song Ken's mother requested for her memorial service when she and Ken were choosing the music while his mom was in hospice. Coincidence, I think not...

Losing people is hard, though experiences like Ken's remind me that we don't ever lose the ones we love. They just cross over, and they'll be there when we cross over, too. We'll be with them again, and while it's hard to accept that they don't exist in the form in which we knew them and loved them, their love is still very much a part of our lives, always. Their love is truly all around us.

The photo above depicts the blossoms of a Sargent Tina Crabapple and is from http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2072/3534629428_bef4ba6e37.jpg?v=0.

"Man can touch more than he can grasp." ~ Gabriel Marcel

We have a very short time on this planet. While we might think that 80 or 90 years sounds like such a long time, in reality it is the bat of an eye when considering the length of history. In our lifetimes, we'll see and take part in many different experiences with many different people in many different places. And while we might have the instinct to take part in any and every way that we can, we just can't. We have to choose where and how and on whom to spend our time and energy.

Where will we have the most impact? Where will we find the most joy? Do we care about life-long learning or is it connection with others that is most important to us? These types of questions are critical for us to consider and answer when we think about what we'd like to do with our time here.

There are millions of ways for us to make a difference - there are so many places, people, and things that will somehow enter our lives. The only question we really have to answer is, "which experiences we will witness and let pass and which are the ones that are we will hang onto for longer than a moment?"

My Year of Hopefulness - Follow Me by Joanna Scott

As a writer, I read a lot, always looking for new styles and interesting turns of phrase. Joanna Scott has become my new favorite author. I quickly ran through her book, Follow Me, in a week. I couldn't put it down and wanted to enjoy every word of this consuming, at once bitter and sweet, story that spans several generations of women. Mistaken identities, family complications, love, and a sense of place dominate the books intertwining themes. At points I loved and hated all of the main characters, a sign that Joanna Scott is capable of creating personalities that are so true to life that I have found myself thinking about them as if they are my neighbors and friends.

Even more lovely and intriguing than the plot twists and turns, Joanna Scott uses language that made me realize that English can be just as beautiful as any romance language. Her poignant sentiments are dramatic without being saccharin. For example, early on in the book one of the characters runs away from her life and family after a traumatic event. "But still she runs. Running, running, running. How many lives start over this way, by putting one foot in front of the other?"

I considered how many of us today must start over because our investments have decreased so dramatically in value or because we, or someone in our family, lost a job. Starting over is frightening and painful. And yet, Joanna Scott is right: starting over is simply putting one foot in front of the other in a different direction. What I find so inspiring about Follow Me is that its characters are not afraid to start over. Indeed, they find it almost impossible to not immediately start over when life doesn't go their way. A lesson that at least bears consideration, if not emulation, by all of us.

My Year of Hopefulness: Martha Graham

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. --Martha Graham

Quotes keep me going in good times and in bad. This one from Martha Graham really struck me and is a good lesson for all of us as we continue what we'd like our life's work to be. My friend, Linda, sent me an interesting link that she found on the Get Rich Slowly blog. At a recent conference, the author of the post Linda forwarded to me, listened to George Kinder, a financial planned with a unique approach. He asks all of this clients three questions regarding their future:

1. Imagine you are financially secure, that you have enough money to take care of your needs, now and in the future. How would you live your life? Would you change anything? Let yourself go. Don’t hold back on your dreams. Describe a life that is complete and richly yours.
2. Now imagine that you visit your doctor, who tells you that you have only 5-10 years to live. You won’t ever feel sick, but you will have no notice of the moment of your death. What will you do in the time you have remaining? Will you change your life and how will you do it? (Note that this question does not assume unlimited funds.)
3. Finally, imagine that your doctor shocks you with the news that you only have 24 hours to live. Notice what feelings arise as you confront your very real mortality. Ask yourself: What did you miss? Who did you not get to be? What did you not get to do?

George Kinder asks people to think of these questions as a funnel. The first question is easy and the others get progressively harder to answer. Life planning is about getting to the bottom of the answers to questions #3.

My answers to questions #3:
I didn't get to be my own boss, ever.
I didn't get to find the love of my life, though I did have a lot of love in my life.
I missed traveling to so many place that I wanted to see, though I did get to go on some pretty amazing trips.
I didn't get to publish a book, though I'm glad I published my own blog.
I never owned my own home.
I never learned to play a musical instrument well.

In short, if I only had 24 hours, I would die with the music still in me, as John Lennon said. And that alone provides me with a good deal of motivation to get and keep moving forward. Thanks, Linda!!