Step 4: The Gift of a Fallen Branch

"Use the talents you possess - for the woods would be a very silent place if no birds sang except for the best." ~ Henry Van Dyke

In that tangled tree diagram of life options, I had assumed that my life would unfold a certain way this week. Instead, the option I considered least likely came to be. The trouble, or perhaps the beauty, is that this unlikely branch is entirely under-developed. Beginning today, I get to imagine a future I didn't think I'd have just yet.

Brian and I talked tonight about the idea of prana, the intelligent undercurrent of energy that makes itself at home beneath of the narrative of our lives. In times of authenticity, that current supports our actions. When we're acting against our nature, living our lives to a lesser extent than what's possible, our prana breaks through, making room in the world for our true selves to emerge. Try as we might to suppress it, our prana will not be kept down for long. Eventually, we will have no choice but to live our lives to the fullest. We have to show up in the world and be everything we are capable of being.

I was willing to take the other branch, to remain in a holding pattern that would delay where I really want my life to go. Today the universe took that option away. No more delays allowed. Sometimes not getting what we wish for is the best gift we can receive.

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

My Year of Hopefulness - Castles in the Air

"Do not worry if you have built your castles in the air. They are where they should be. Now put the foundations under them." ~ Henry David Thoreau

This is my 365th day of actively seeking out and writing about hope. This was my one New Year's Resolution for 2009: to feel more hopeful and record what I found here on this blog to help others feel more hopeful, too.

On this day last year, I had no idea that my life would look as it does today, in any respect. I can say with great confidence that this has been a year filled with more change than any other year I have had. Part of me wonders if that is actually my doing: did I precipitate all of this change or did the change just happen to me? I suspect it’s a mix of the two. I can also say with great confidence that today I feel exponentially more hopeful than I did one year ago. And I hope that these 365 blog posts have made others a little more hopeful, too. If so, then I achieved what I set out to do in my writing in 2009.

There are so many reflections I have on this year of writing about hope, so many things I’ve learned about myself, about others, about my community, and about the world as a whole. However, one revelation stands far above the others: when I actively, passionately search for something, I will inevitably find it because I will not give up until my task is done. And the truly remarkable thing is that yes, if I span the globe I can find millions of pieces of hope “out there”, though the pieces of hope that mean the most to me are with me all the time. I carry them inside of me.

Now what will I do next? I’ve got overflowing buckets of hope; how can they be put to the best use? My pal, Laura, asked me this question about two months ago while we were at dinner. Without missing a beat, I told her that for the next year I’d do one thing every day that used all that hope to build an extraordinary life. The answer just sprang from my mouth, no thought required. It was a wish my heart made.

So here we go: beginning tomorrow, I will write a post every day in 2010 that will describe the one thing I did that day that put me one tiny step (or one great leap) closer to living an extraordinary life. The wheels of change are well greased from the events of 2009, so I expect more big changes in 2010. My friend, Kelly, has had a mantra all year of “begin again in 2010.” She’s a wise woman, someone who is both a friend and a mentor, and I’m taking her advice.

The final thought I have as I close out this year relates to nature, a topic from which I’ve drawn a lot of hopeful examples. It’s a butterfly analogy, though not the stereotypical one of beautiful re-birth. When a tiny catepillar wraps itself up in a cocoon, it purposely constructs the cocoon to be very tight so that the butterfly has to struggle to emerge. It has to wiggle and turn and twist, completing exhausting itself inside the too-tight casing. There are oils on the inside of the cocoon and when the butterfly struggles the oils are distributed over its wings. It will not be able to free itself until the oils are distributed evenly over its wings. Those oils build a layer over the butterfly’s wings that keep the wings from breaking apart when it flies. Without the oil coating on its wings, the butterfly would break apart the moment it tried to fly.

I think about my own struggles, and the struggles of the world, through the lens of the butterfly. The twisting and turning is a painful process. It wears me out, and yet that struggle is so necessary to my development and success. I would never be able to fly without the distribution of its lessons throughout my life. I have struggled long enough and my struggles have done an excellent job of building up the foundation of my life. So let the flight begin toward my castles in the air.

My Year of Hopefulness - Just Enough

"Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished." ~ Lao Tzu

We live in a deadline-conscious world. Every day there is another to-do list, another crisis to attend to, another stress we didn't count on. Sometimes I feel stressed by my to-do list. This weekend even though I had a lot to do, I focused on enjoying every task. Even studying for my GREs. My stress of to-do's comes from always thinking about the next item I need to accomplish on my list. By enjoying every moment, even the busiest ones, I felt a greater sense of satisfaction, and I got my list completed faster than I thought I could.

I wonder if nature takes this same approach with her own to-do list. Nature operates on the principle of "just enough". Just enough consumption and production. Natures conducts life in seasons, surging at certain times and resting at others. Renewing and replenishing when needed. Taking the opportunity to grow and flourish when the conditions are just right.

As I worked through my to-do list this weekend, I wondered if we could build lives that more closely resemble nature's way of working. Could we place just the right amount of effort into the different parts of our lives? Could we learn to eliminate waste in all its forms as much as possible, take advantage of positive circumstances, and learn to retreat and wait when the skies above us grow dark? Could we find a way for all the pieces of our lives to integrate into one beautiful landscape? Can we gracefully adapt to change?

With nature as such a healthy example, I'm hopeful that we can find greater harmony, within ourselves and with others if only we set our minds and hearts to it.

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

My Year of Hopefulness - Sunsets and Moments

The brilliant women over at Owning Pink made one of my recent posts to their blog their homepage this morning. I'm honored and humbled. Thanks to Keith for inspiring this post. From the comments on the original Owning Pink blog, it helped a lot of people. It's an amazing gift to be able to write things that help others - especially since this writing helps me so much.

"On Saturday afternoon as I was walking back to my apartment, I came around the corner and saw this amazing sunset, one of the most beautiful I had ever seen. I raced upstairs to my apartment, grabbed by camera, and jumped out the window to snap a photo of it. And you know what? It didn’t work. No matter what settings I changed on my camera, I just couldn’t get the photo of the sunset to look the way it actually was. My eyes saw something so much more beautiful than my camera could capture and hold.

So all I could do was stand there on the roof, basking in the glory of all those colors. As the sky turned darker, the sunset got more and more beautiful. The colors evolved and mingled and every moment was more incredible than the moment before. Our lives are like that, too, so long as we just let them unfold in their own time, in their own way.

With every experience, our lives grow richer, each one adding its own little dab of color. I know that all of the things I’m working on now are little dabs, and they might not seem like they belong together just yet. I know that they will find a way to work together, and that eventually the art of my life will emerge. That will happen for all of us. It’s not a matter of if, just a matter of when. Our only job is to show up every day, for ourselves and for the people we love, and let life unfold moment by moment.

Today someone sent me an amazing video from Radio Lab about moments. http://blogs.wnyc.org/radiolab/2009/08/14/16-moments/

I love it so much that I’ve played it over several times now. It features the moments of every day life, mostly things we take for granted. As I watched the video I became even more aware that these little moments, the things we don’t or can’t capture and hold, are the building blocks of our lives. While mostly simple and ordinary this is the stuff of our days. It reminded me that there is always time and cause for celebration.

In what ways can you slow things down, just a little? What is there to notice? How might it change the way you live, love, and celebrate?

Watching it all unfold,
Christa"

My Year of Hopefulness - Owning Pink's Tribute

I usually only publish one hopeful inspiration per day on this blog. Today is special for a lot of reasons, so I'm publishing two.

One month ago today, my apartment building caught fire, and set off a month of changes in my life that I never saw coming. Quite, frankly, none of them were changes I wanted. They were uncomfortable, sad changes that made me question everything in my life. Everything. One month ago today, at this very moment, I ran out of my burning building, fire crackling underneath my kitchen floor. I was standing on the street with nothing but my keys, watching my building burn. I was crying, scared, and alone. And much to my surprise, I emerged from this month, today, a stronger, happier, more confident person than I ever was before.

So it is with such heart-felt thanks I wanted to pay a big Pink tribute to a group of women who are one of the very best parts of my life. Today my lovely friends, Lissa and Joy, over at Owning Pink, an on-line community I belong to, honored me by making one of my recent blog posts, a letter I wrote to October, their mainstage story. I barely know what to say. I had no idea that my little post would inspire such beautiful writing from others women whom I respect and admire so much. I cried when I read the story that Joy and Lissa wrote about my post. I really don't have any words to tell them how honored and fortunate I feel to have them in my life.

Today I realized with clarity how much good we have to offer by sharing our stories. One of my favorite quotes is by Isak Dinesen: "All sorrows can be borne if you can put them into a story." I am living proof of this. As the telling of our stories frees us, they also allow others to free themselves through their own writing. The ladies of Owning Pink also made me realize without a doubt that I can make a go-of-it as a full-time writer. It's a gift that I am not sure how to repay.

Owning Pink is a community I am so fortunate to be a part of. They have gone above and beyond the call for me during the last few weeks of my life that have been so difficult. Their love and support is a gift in my life that I truly cherish and I look forward to being there for them in the months and years ahead. Here's to a beautiful, enlightened October for all of us!

To view the story on Owning Pink's website please visit:
http://www.owningpink.com/2009/10/05/mojo-monday-exercise-write-a-letter-to-october/

My Year of Hopefulness - The Woods Can Wait

I woke up at 5:45 on Sunday morning with the feeling that it was Christmas. I could barely sleep I was so excited. My friend and writing partner, Laura, made plans a few weeks ago to head up to Lake Minnewaska today with a group called Adventure Society. I've been interested in trying out their trips for over a year and Sunday was the day.

Got a new backpack, some gear at Patagonia, and bought a slew of snacks at Whole Foods. I was a bit surprised at the extensive "to-bring" list that Adventure Society emailed to us. My sister, Weez, and I used to go trekking up to that area regularly when we were kids donning sweatshirts and flip-flops. I grew up very close to Lake Minnewaska, and all we ever brought along was a bag of chips and some water. Maybe when you grow up in the mountains you're hardier than most others would be in that climate.

The subway was just not working properly so after waiting for 20 minutes, I hopped into a cab and headed to the meeting spot on 59th and 9th. I didn't want to be late and miss the group - they stated very clearly that "we wait for no one". Laura was there along with a few others. I wouldn't call the other people unfriendly, but I certainly wouldn't say I was excited about being in a van with them for two hours in each direction. Hmmmm....was this a good idea?

About 20 minutes later, we were still at Starbucks. Apparently our trip leader had been mugged late on Saturday night, had the van keys, and couldn't be located. The substitute trip leader said he was heading down to 39th and 9th to pick up a new van. I felt a little dark cloud making its way over our group.

By 8:30, I started to really questions whether or not this was a good idea. Still at Starbucks, the traffic would be tough now and the trip would be cut short by a significant amount. Being quicker than I am to pick up questionable vibes, Laura had decided 15 minutes ago that this didn't sound like a good idea at all. So we bid our group farewell, left the Starbucks, and headed up to Central Park on a hike of our own.

We wound our way East and then back West again. We eventually ended up at Sarabeth's with never-empty cups of coffee, a plate full of pancakes between us to share with our own individual meals to boot. I was overjoyed to not be in that van. Just being with a good friend, talking about our writing, was all I really needed this morning. The trees and grass and squirrels would have been great, though our ability to be flexible and accept to what the world had handed us today gave us just as much happiness.

"We can just go some other time," I said.

"Yes," Laura said. "I mean, where are the woods going?" We smiled at each other and chowed down.

We had a whole free day. Laura went home to work on the TJCC site re-design. I went back to my apartment, got out of my multiple layers of hiking clothes, and made my way to the Rose Main Reading Room to be a writer for the day. Sitting in that incredible room, laptop shining, I smiled at having the day to myself to live inside my imagination. (If ever you need to be concentrated and inspired, I highly recommend the Rose Main Reading Room at the New York Public Library on 42nd Street.) My new Patagonia pull-over was supposed to be used for hiking in the mountains and instead I made use for it in the heavily air conditioned library. I was enormously productive. After four hours of straight writing, it's a safe bet that if you're looking for me on my free days, there I'll be, fourth table from the back, glasses on, laptop opened, surrounded by books and papers, typing away.

As I headed home, I grabbed a cupcake from Crumbs, and thought about Robert Frost: The woods are lovely dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles [to write] before I sleep, and miles [to write] before I sleep. "At least for today," I thought, "the woods will just have to wait."

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

My Year of Hopefulness - The Life We Receive Without Asking

"Our plans are nothing compared to what the world so willingly gives us." ~ Margaret Wheatley

"Never tell everything at once." ~ Ken Venturi, American former professional golfer

On Saturday evening, I headed across Central Park toward the Metropolitan Museum of Art. As I crossed the park, I passed between the southern border of the Great Lawn and Belvedere Castle. It's one of my favorite little pieces of New York City. There's some sort of happy air that exists in that little triangle; it's impossible to resist smiling there. I always feel romance and unending possibility as I traverse that ground. It was late afternoon so the sun was just streaming over Belvedere, the clover and honeysuckle filled the air with a perfume that I wish could be bottled, and there was a soft breeze. For those few moments, everything felt perfect.

On Friday and Saturday nights the Met is open until 9:00pm so I wanted to take advantage of the extended hours. I checked in on my friends Vermeer and Rodin, stopped by to visit the empires of Northern Mesopotamia, and spent some time among the folk artists of Oceania. It's almost inconceivable how lucky we are to be able to walk among so many priceless pieces of art at a moment's notice.

At the Met I was on a little bit of a mission. I've been working on some children's fiction over the last few weeks. Every day that I sit with my characters, they tell me something new about themselves. In a way, creating characters is like getting to know a new friend. I uncover little pieces about them over time, just by sitting with them and letting them tell me their story. Every day I'm reminded of Julia Cameron's book The Artist's Way, when she says "Art is not about thinking something up. It is the opposite -- getting something down." While I have a general map for the story, the characters themselves are just letting me tag along on their journey. The characters themselves will provide a far richer, more intriguing story than I could ever plan. That's the great joy and magic of writing.

As I was wondering through the Greek and Roman Galleries, the art of Cyprus, and the rooms full of knights in shining armor, a lot of ideas were drifting in and out of my mind. I dutifully wrote them all down - bits of dialogue and thoughts and twists and turns in the plot. After recording them all, I stopped to wonder if they made sense. And then I realized the characters I'm writing about can actually do anything they want. Writing fiction is a little daunting for this very reason - all of a sudden the possibilities are wide-open. When you're just getting something down, there are no more limitations. Writing fiction may present our one and only opportunity for complete and total freedom.

While I went through Central Park and to the Met to accomplish something specific, I found something far greater in both places than I had intended. These experiences reminded me that the world has great plans for us, far greater plans that we have for ourselves. And while not having control may at first seem frightening, in many ways it's as freeing as writing fiction. Unexpected, incredible circumstances, people, places, and opportunities are going to appear in our lives through no effort of our own. All we need to do to receive them is to show up with an open heart, an accepting mind, and the willingness to listen. If we can do this, the magic that is all around us becomes an unlimited and constant presence in our lives.

My Year of Hopefulness - A letter to October

Sweet October,

Thank you for arriving. I had enough of September and all the trouble she brought my way. A fire that threatened to trap me inside, claiming my home and most of my belongings with smoke, and then lost my dear sweet dog. A sad, sad month.

Now you've arrived and I'm so glad to see you, old friend. You are my favorite month because you bring the start of my very favorite season - holiday time. On Halloween two of my very good friends will be getting married and I'll be celebrating with them as a beautiful and joyous way to kick off these last few months of the year.

Even better, you'll bring a visit from my sister, my very best friend, along with my brother-in-law, and toddling niece who is one of the greatest joys of my life. We'll go up to see the rest of my family where we can pick apples and pumpkins and run through corn mazes together. We'll laugh together and play together and cook together. It's a vacation I need so much as this heart of mine sets about healing itself and my soul takes a much needed break from the events of September.

And let's not forget the vibrant, bold colors you decorate all of the trees with. Soon I'll be jogging underneath a great umbrella of gold and orange and red, thankful for the cool breezes that rustle the leaves and clear my head. My mind is weary and it needs to see nothing but beauty to right itself again.

Taking inspiration from your expert paint palette, I begin this month at the very bottom of my own blank canvas. I imagine that I'm very small and the canvas is very big. I'm looking up at it, holding my paint brush with so many gorgeous colors to choose from. I'll dab a little here, and dab a little there, only the colors that make me happiest, painting only the things that make my heart sing. October, you will witness someone shining through the sadness and disappointment and frustration and loss. Someone rejuvenated and smiling. And that someone will be me.

Thank you for coming to my rescue. Thank you for welcoming me in with a warm hug and a kind and understanding ear. Thank you for letting me lay down my troubles at your feet and walk on through your days to live my best life yet. I promise I'll repay you with a painting more magnificent than anything I ever thought these two small hands of mine could make.

My Year of Hopefulness - Rest and Relaxation

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that." ~ Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Though it's just turned to Fall, I've found myself drawn to re-reading one of my favorite essays every night this week - Winter by Nina Zolotow. I first saw it in Rodney Yee's book Yoga: The Poetry of the Body. I understand this essay now more than I ever have in the 7 years since I first read it. I pull it out in times of trouble, in times when I'm feeling sad and worn out and confused about how to move forward. Her conclusion makes me a feel a little better, gives me a bit more license to give myself a much-needed break. I love that the only period is at the end of the essay, and that all of the other sentences and phrases run together in one long, cohesive thought, just like life.

And now here I am at the final day of September, ready to release this month in favor of a happier, sunnier October. And some much needed rest and relaxation. A tired heart and mind can only be rejuvenated by rest and care, not by further trial and challenge. So that's my goal for the next little while - a simple one, really. To just take care of this heart who has endured so much this month, to surround it with love, to nurture it back to its original state. It has done some heavy lifting this month and earned some well-deserved down time. Just like the fig tree, it will certainly be revived.

Last night, I listened to Professor Michael Sandel's lectures at justiceharvard.org. They were just what I needed. He spoke about how to value life and the utilitarian philosophy that seeks to maximize pleasure over pain. I was lulled into a relaxed state as he told me about Sophocles and Plato, J.S. Mill, and Jeremy Bentham. And fell into a deep sleep between my comfy sheets made of bamboo fiber and topped by a fluffy duvet. I buried myself into my new bed, cocooning and nurturing my weary body and mind, and didn't stir until the sun came up. So this is what it feels like to heal.

Winter by Nina Zolotow
"In their garden there was always a wild profusion of tomatoes ripening on the vine, and leafy basil, arugula, and lettuce, and glossy purple eggplants, and red and yellow peppers, and zucchini with its long, bright blossoms, and there was always lunch at the wooden table on hot summer afternoons, with plates of pasta and bread and olives and salads with herbs, and many bottles of red wine that made you feel warm and drowsy, while bees hummed and the sprawling marjoram, thyme, and rosemary gave off their pungent fragrances, and at the end of the meal, always, inexplicably, there were fresh black figs that they picked themselves from the tree at the garden's center, an eighteen-foot fig tree, for how was it possible - this was not Tuscany but Ithaca - Ithaca, New York, a rough-hewn landscape of deep rocky gorges and bitter icy winters, and I finally had to ask him - my neighbor - how did that beautiful tree live through the year, how did it endure the harshness of a New York winter and not only survive until spring but continue producing the miraculous fruit, year after year, and he told me that it was quite simple, really, that every fall, after the tree lost all its leaves, he would sever the tree's roots on one side only and, on the tree's other side, he would dig a trench, and then he would just lay down that flexible trunk and limbs, lay them down in the earth and gently cover them with soil, and there the fig tree would rest, warm and protected, until spring came, when he could remove its protective covering and stand the tree up once again to greet the sun; and now in this long gray season of darkness and cold and grief (do I have to tell you over what? for isn't it always the same - the loss of a lover, the death of a child, or the incomprehensible cruelty of one human being to another?), as I gaze out of my window at the empty space where the fig tree will stand again next spring, I think, yes, lay me down like that, lay me down like the fig tree that sleeps in the earth, and let my body rest easily on the ground - my roots connecting me to some warm immutable center - luxuriating in the heart of winter."

The photo above is not my own. It was taken in Centennial Park in Sydney, Australia by Mike Bogle. I can be found here.

My Year of Hopefulness - Cleansing

It's the middle of the night and I'm having a tough time sleeping. I've become accustomed to insomnia as I've had it off and on for most of my life. Tonight is a little eerie though. I'm awake because of the wind. It's keeping me up long past my bedtime. It's so gusty that as I was walking back to my friend, Amber's, apartment, I could feel the weather bearing down on me. For a moment I almost lost my footing. You'd think this was Chicago in the winter the way the gusts are going. We rarely have wind like this, especially at the beginning of September.

I can't help but think that this odd wind is a way for the greater universe to say to me that my life is being cleaned out, and it must be this way as tough as the circumstances may be. With these gusts will go all of the bad energy from the fire. And with that energy will go the fear as well - mine, and my neighbors', family's, and friend's fears, too. Rather than it being a disturbing wind, perhaps it's trying to be of great use at a time of great need. Maybe a strong, forceful wind is exactly what's called for in times of stress. At least I'm hoping that's the case.

As I headed from The Empire Hotel toward the subway tonight, for a second I thought "damn, all my warm clothes might be ruined. I have nothing to wear!" And then a second later I started laughing, out loud. Who cares? So I will have to buy some new warm clothing now that Fall has arrived. I stopped for a moment right by Columbus Circle and looked up at the sky, the clouds faintly swirling and swishing in the very dark sky. I said a prayer to whatever and whoever is up there looking down on me, blowing all the smoke away so that I might see and think a bit more clearly. "Thank you," I said. "I'm glad I'm here to witness this." And I've never meant any 9 words more in my life.

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

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.

NY Business Strategies Examiner.com: A look at Adam Werbach's book, Strategy for Sustainability

Adam Werbach wrote a short piece for this month's issue of Fast Company. In the article he outlines nature's ten simple rules for survival. They apply not only to nature, but companies as well. I've listed the principles below and added some commentary on how each applies to our day-to-day working lives, specifically focusing on entrepreneurship.

To read the full article, please visit: http://www.examiner.com/examiner/x-2901-NY-Business-Strategies-Examiner~y2009m6d30-Natures-10-simple-rules-for-survival--a-look-at-Adam-Werbachs-Strategy-for-Sustainability

My Year of Hopefulness - Stay on Path

At the Brooklyn Botanic Garden yesterday, Mom and I kept seeing these small wooden signs that said simply "Please Stay on Path". As we talked about my life and career, we considered what my path might be and how I can shape it to encompass all of my interests and passions. We thought about all the different ways that we get distracted, what causes us to lose focus, and how we can regain our bearings.

Staying on path at the garden is much easier than it is in life. It's easy to lose direction, to veer off our course, some times without even realizing exactly how it happened. Some opportunity seemed like something we wanted to follow or we had an experience that made us consider a different way forward. Sometimes these side trips are life changing for the better and sometimes our interest in these new pursuit fades as quickly as it appeared.

And then there's the question of flexibility. We get new information all of the time and we want to make sure that we have enough flexibility to incorporate the relevant info into our plans. Think of it like our bones. We want our bodies to be flexible, though the strength of our bone structure makes all of our activities possible. Without the rigidity of our bones, we'd never go anywhere! A life road map provides the same kind support.

I've found very often that I make much better life choices when I am running toward something and not away from something. It's the difference between looking forward and looking back, and making choices depending upon which of these actions has more say in our decisions. I like a good balance of both. I want to be informed by my past and not ruled by it. I want to be hopeful and excited about my future without sacrificing the wonderful things about the present.

There's nothing that says a path has to be a straight shot. Mom and I wound through the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, explored the different routes, and trusted in a healthy dose of meandering. Our map helped to make sure that we didn't miss things we really wanted to see and that we headed only down roads that interested us. We had our priorities of what we wanted to see, things that would be fun if we had time, and things that we'd prefer to skip. And we took time to smell the flowers along the way. We enjoyed being surprised by things around the bend. We let our senses guide us on some adventures to things we had missed on the map. It's a beautiful metaphor for how to live life.

My Year of Hopefulness - Mother's Day

I took Mom to brunch and to the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens today for Mothers' Day. It's easy for her to hop on a train, I pick her up at Grand Central, and away we go. Though I love my family get-togethers it's also fun to have my mom all to myself once in a while - something we had precious little of when I was younger.

All day I considered how Mom has shaped my life, how much I've learned from her, and how much comfort she's given me over the years. We drive each other crazy from time to time also, though I think that's more just the nature of mother-daughter relationships. I wouldn't swap lives with my mom - she had a tough go of it for many, many years. She came of age in a time when women were starting to be treated with equality, though she endured many unfair circumstances that had nothing to do with her ability and everything to do with her gender. I know she lives vicariously through my accomplishments and I try to live up to that honor every day.

After dropping Mom at Grand Central so she could catch her train home, I hopped onto Facebook to see a note from my friend, Heidi, that she was spending the day celebrating the great lady who now watches over her from above. I reflected back on my day with Mom, thinking about how excited she was to smell the full scent of wisteria and see the azaleas in bloom at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. I'm so grateful for this time we have together - it's one of the biggest reasons I came back to NYC. After my Mom's cancer in 2006, I realized with a sad and painful awareness that she wouldn't be with me forever, that someday I'd have to celebrate Mother's Day the same way my friend, Heidi, did today.

For now though, Mom's alive and kicking (or at least she will be kicking once she gets her new knee on June 1st) and time is of the essence. As we went up the escalator from the subway, my mom gave me a hug and thanked me so much for the day.

"You spent a lot of money, today, Christa."

"That's fine, Mom. I'm happy to be able to do it. It's only money."

And I meant it - it is only money, and I can always make more of it. I won't always be able to get more time with Mom so we need to savor it while we can. Happy Mother's Day to all!

My Year of Hopefulness - What Honeybees Teach Us About Business

In this current economy, the key is flexibility. Easier said than done, so I have gone looking for examples of successful work flexibility beyond the borders of business school books and analyst reports. My favorite find so far was in today's New York Times in the Opinion column "The Wild Side" about evolutionary biology. The guest columnist, Leon Kreitzman, wrote "Let's Hear it for the Bees", about the remarkable career example that honeybees set for us.

The whole article is a fascinating read. Here are the key points I found most relative to business:

1.) Do the work that needs to be done. Honeybees have an amazing sense to know when a task needs attendance and when a task would be wasted effort. Their sense of efficiency and innate to ability to always make themselves useful is enviable.

2.) Different stages of life call for different types of work. While very young, honeybees care for eggs while older honeybees with be charged to forage for nectar and pollen. And if need be, they'll flip back to tasks they have done before. It's a good lesson in gathering knowledge from the ground up so that it can be called upon when necessary. They don't get stuck seeing themselves in specific roles. Their jobs evolve as they gain experience.

3.) Communication and generosity are keys to a healthy hive. Honeybees are in constant communication with one another. Foragers let each other know where they've found strong supplies of nectar and pollen. They assist one another in a way that brings the saying "many hands make light work" to life. They don't build fiefdoms or silos - they work for the benefit of the hive as a whole.

4.) Awareness of our surroundings and external circumstances inform the actions of our lives. Foraging bees only visit flowers when nectar and pollen counts are at their highest. They do this by synchronizing their internal clocks with a daily floral rhythms of flowers they've visited. This assures that their trips to the flowers are as beneficial as possible, and that they spend other times of their day on more useful activities.

We spend a lot of time buried in paper work at our desks. There is currently a lack of inspiration around the gray cubicles of America. I've been finding that I garner the most motivation by looking outside of business, into areas like science, health, and art. There are teachers and sources of education all around us if only we take the time to look and appreciate the knowledge they have to offer.

The above photo was taken by Kathy Keatley Garvey, University of California, Davis Department of Entomology

My Year of Hopefulness - Peace Lily

I've killed every plant I've ever tried to care for. Even a cactus. I overwater and pay too much attention to them. They actually make me nervous. I obsessively nurture them to the point of killing them. It's odd really - plants make their own food. They really don't need me and as I force myself on them, I see them wilt before my eyes. Caring for plants brings out all my insecurities.  

I thought my peace lily, one of the three plants on Earth that my local florist tells me I cannot possibly kill, had kicked the bucket. It was looking sad and pathetic. Limp, yellowing, and with one foot in the chlorophyll grave. I was about to throw it out and decided to give it just a bit more water to see if I could revive it. And I sang to it. Seriously, I belted out a few songs because I heard a long time ago that plants respond to music. Why not give it a shot?

By some miracle, I was able to revive the peace lily and now it is thriving. I only water the plant when the soil is dry. No fertilizer. No special treatment, aside from the singing. I do sing to it every day. And it's working. This plant taught me that it might not be the amount of care that you pay to something, but the kind of care. Give everything only what it needs. 

My Year of Hopefulness - Monterey Bay Aquarium

I make a habit of visiting baseball parks and aquariums across the country. When I used to manage theatre tours, I would make a point of seeing as many stadiums and aquariums as I could in the different cities we traveled to. I have to say that Baltimore is tough to beat in both of those departments - I saw Shark Week at that aquarium and those hotdogs at Camden Yards are the best I've ever had.

Being in Northern California this weekend, I wanted to see the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I have heard about it since my fundraising days at Conservation International. Monterey - you're no Baltimore or Atlanta, though I learned some fascinating things while I was there this morning. They had a few octopi that I were entrancing. Did you know that octopi change their color according to the color of the surface they are crawling or resting on? Incredible. In Boston, they had an octopus who was bored in his own tank, so he found a way to sneak out of his tank at night, when everyone had go home, and would make his way to the lobster, eat his fill, and then get back home before the first staff members arrive. They only way they caught him was by video camera.

The jellyfish exhibit left me breathless. They had these gorgeous, bright orange jellyfish in front of a brilliant blue background. I could have stood there for hours to watch them float through their environment. It was a reminder to me that there are so many mysteries left in this world. There's still so much more to explore, to see, and to know. We haven't even scratched the surface - there are entire worlds underwater, canyons deeper and wider than the Grand Canyon, mountains taller than Everest. It is too much to fathom - we couldn't possibly take it all in

70% of our planet is covered by water so if you ever feel life is too much for you to bear on dry land, I encourage you to go under the sea. Or at least get to your nearest aquarium. It will give you hope by showing you what's possible.

The photo above can be found at: http://justinsomnia.org/images/monterey-aquarium-orange-jellyfish.jpg

My Year of Hopefulness - Winter Cocoons

My friend, Monika, was telling me about her recent spell of wanting to remain on her couch as much as possible. Though she likes the winter weather, this season she's felt the need to hunker down and stay inside. I've been feeling the same way. It reminded of a story I like to read several times over the winter. It's only one page, written by Nina Zolotow in Rodney Yee's book, Yoga the Poetry of the Body.

Nina writes about her time in Ithaca, New York. Her neighbors had this incredible garden and the summer time lunches they would spread out in their backyard transported her to Tuscany. These lunches would always end with beautiful, fresh black figs from the neighbors' garden. There was a massive fig tree in the middle the neighbors' yard and she couldn't understand how that tree would survive the rough upstate New York winters.

She finally got up the courage to ask her neighbor his secret. It's very simple - after all the leaves have fallen, he severs the roots on one side of the tree, folds the flexible trunk down to the ground into a ditch he digs, and covers it with soil to rest, warm and safe, until Spring arrives. I think of this story all the time during the winter season.

Winter is a time of incubating, of resting and recouping, of letting ourselves get comfortable with peace. It's a cycle. Monika's cocooning really is a natural reaction, one we all should have. We burrow in to reflect on what's happened to us in the more hectic Spring, Summer, and Fall. And we plan - for warmer days, for greeting friends when the sun comes out again, for reintroducing ourselves to the world when our surroundings take on that brilliant green hue again. 

For this next month or so of winter, I want to have that fig tree always in my mind. I want to imagine myself resting and regrouping, healing and soothing my tired soul, mind, and heart, gearing up for the best Spring of my life. 

The photo above can be found at here. 

A Change of Scene Without Moving

I am in the midst of reading the book Wild Nights by Anne Matthews. It's about the world of New York City that emerges between dusk and dawn. Matthews isn't talking about the party-hopping nightlife, but rather the natural world that emerges when the archipelago's dominant species, people, largely take their leave. An underworld of song birds, wild animals like coyotes, bears, and deer emerge. 

I think of myself as a New York City expert - I know many of the neighborhoods like the back of my hand. I spend a lot of time walking around Manhattan Island, and unlike many Manhattan-ites I venture to the outer burroughs on a fairly regular basis. In such a small geography, I assumed I knew most of what's out there in my city. This book is opening my eyes in a whole new way, and has me planning weekend outings to parts of the city I've never even heard of, much less seen. 

All this new discovery in this book has me thinking about how to change our scene without changing our location. How can we make our space brand new, even if we've been in that space for a long time. And the same can be said for the actual housing space we live in, our jobs, our relationships. It's about developing a fresh set of eyes, a new perspective, finding new joy and gratitude in what's been right in front of us all along. A pretty decent New Year's resolution that we can all make, right 

Lessons from an albatross

Seth Godin wrote a post today on his blog that made me pause and re-consider some questions I've been thinking about recently. He talked about the patience of the albatross. It can often sit in the water or on land for days waiting for the right wind to carry it up, up, and away. It can fly for days or weeks, non-stop, with a resting heart rate. It's an incredible lesson in biology, with many applications to our lives. 

Seth talks about Albatross businesses - those that favor a long, slow ramp-up with an eye toward longevity. He promotes patience as more than a virtue - it's a method of survival. And this is a good lesson not only for business, particularly entrepreneurial ventures, but also anything that is worth our personal time. This can be a personal relationship, a friendship, a hobby. I am thinking about it in the context of my writing and career and I hope these thoughts will help you think about this principle in the context of your own life. 

My writing: I started this blog on a whim about a year and a half ago. My friend, Stephen, said he liked my writing and hoped I'd continue doing it. I knew nothing about social media at the time. He suggested a blog. I googled the words "create blog", Blogger came up as the top search engine return (no surprise since Google owns Blogger), and I put up a few posts that were copies of the newspaper articles I had written over the course of a year. I didn't know what else to write about so I'd just jot down funny or interesting things that would happen to me throughout the day. And pretty soon, I was cranking along with a decent body of work. Over 400 posts to date. Where am I going with my blog? Not quite sure yet - but goodness am I enjoying the writing and it's become a hobby I hope to continue throughout my life. At my friend, Anne's, suggestion I am consider turning some of the posts into a collection of essays for publication on a more public scale. Just like the albatross, I'm searching for the right air current to launch a project like that.

My career: I'm 32 and have spent the better part of 10 years intensely studying human behavior and product and service development. I've cobbled together this beautiful tapestry of experience with that experience I have found a many colorful characters that have become my greatest treasure. Their collective diversity is a reflection of the many twists and turns my life has taken. I review the expertise I've built and the successes I can point to and wonder what's next? Where do I go from here? How do I know what current to look for?

Part of the albatross equation is knowing where you want the current to carry you so you can quickly identify it when it comes your way. Extending your wings is the easy part. The challenge, and ultimately the reward, comes when you have taken a 360 look around from wherever you are now and determined the direction you need to go. The albatross doesn't concern itself with the length of trip, his wings will carry him as far as they need to. He cares only about the destination. 

The above photo can be found at: http://www.blather.net/abroad/antarctic/_MG_7970_albatross_skimming_500.jpg