Your turn at bat, Dr. King

When Dr. King's and Rosa Parks' lives intersected, the world changed forever

On the internet, I read a Yahoo question by a curious Brit, “What does ’step up to the plate’ mean?  I looked it up and it means to take one’s turn at bat, so I assume this is an American saying, but can someone explain the metaphor?”

I’m not a huge sports fan, but I am grateful for the numerous metaphors baseball has given us, and “step up to the plate” is one of my favorites because it has a lot to do with personal responsibility.

But more than that, it also has to do with accepting your calling in life.   “Accepting,” and not “naming.” Some truly special people, not knowing what lay ahead, have stepped up to the plate and lived out a role that was inspired by God, powered by the Holy Ghost, and executed by one who believed it was his or her job to walk the walk of the righteous without giving in to fear or doubt.

Which brings me to Martin Luther King, Jr.  He was well-prepared for his task, to be sure.  But he didn’t choose it. He accepted the call.  In his autobiography edited by  Clayborne Carson, his doctorate from Boston University was about a year old when trouble began brewing in Montgomery.   His life intersected with fate the day that Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat, and at that moment in history, he was simply one of many who gathered to discuss the response to this event, the response which became the famous bus boycott.

At that point, they were a bunch of individuals, some representing the NAACP and others representing the interracial Alabama Council on Human Relations, but they needed an organization to lead the boycott.  Thus, very quickly the Montgomery Improvement Association was born.  When it came time to decide on a leader, Dr. King recalled “As soon as Bennett opened the nominations for president, Rufus Lewis spoke from the far corner of the room:  ’Mr. Chairman, I would like to nominate Reverend M.L. King for president.’  The motion was seconded and carried, and in a matter of minutes I was unanimously elected.”

Now, how many times have we been in that position during PTA board nominations, or any other committee that is trying to pinpoint the unwitting volunteer?   That night Dr. King might have felt both flattered and cornered.  We know the feeling.  But he stepped up to the plate, and this country was never the same again.

That’s what I mean when I say he accepted his calling, but did not name it or seek it.  Martin Luther King was not sitting at graduate school thinking, “When I get home, I’m going to start a civil rights movement.”  He wasn’t thinking, “The next time a black person is treated unfairly, I’m going to start a boycott.”  He was simply there at the right time, and stepped up to the plate.

He also didn’t tell Rufus Lewis, “Sorry, I have a daughter at home.  The wife expects me home at night.”  And he didn’t say, “Listen, I’ll be the VICE-chair.  I’m a busy preacher after all, and I just don’t have the time to devote to heading up this thing.”

Of all the many things I truly respect and admire MLK for, I think the one I admire most is the fact that he accepted his calling.  Stepping up to the plate he said “Not my will, but thine be done,” and took his place among the saints.

The courage it takes to simply accept one’s calling is tremendous.  We would rather name our path in life.  We don’t want to get diverted from what we want to do.  But a few ignore their self-interest and answer the call.  Whatever they do after that is wonderful, but nothing ever happens without that first step up to the plate.

Infinite Riches in the Present Moment, on the Basketball Court and Elsewhere

The road sometimes seems endless, but deep looking at the magnificent sky can keep you in the moment

I haven’t had as much time to blog lately, because of work commitments.  A large part of my job is to go to different cities and interview people at 45-minute sessions.  These past few weeks I’ve had over 100 of these kinds of interviews to do.  Of course, I am so thankful for the work, which I love, but as you can imagine the interviews tend to get repetitive.

I used to get to about the 6th interview in the day and start counting ahead–”oh, good, only 4 more.”  But I have a different outlook now, because I’ve found a trick that works GREAT for pushing through when things start to get mundane.  When I’m on my 7th or 8th interview and I could be thinking about the glass of wine that I’ll be having in 3 hours, I focus completely on the person I’m speaking with.  I look deeply into their eyes and I hang on their every word.  In short, I put myself in the moment.    Doing so, I open myself up to chronic peak experiences.  And in truth, time ceases to exist.  There is no, “when will this day be over” or “can’t wait for that Cabernet!”  Those thoughts become irrelevant.

Wisdom along these lines recently passed through my hands by two very different people.  One was Norvene Vest, in her book, Desiring Life:  Benedict on Wisdom and the Good Life.   She refers to a quote by the contemplative writer de Caussade:  ”the present moment holds infinite riches.”  I don’t know why, but that short phrase really stuck to me last week, and I found myself using it as a mantra of sorts.

The second person is the basketball player Michael Jordan.  I found this quote by him at the website Faith in the Workplace:

I’m trying to get in the proper frame of mind for another night in our 82-game regular season schedule. The key to being Mike during a game is to live in the exact moment of time. This means that I forget about whatever just happened prior to that moment, regardless of how I felt about it, regardless of whether what I did was perceived as good or bad. When I’m able to prepare myself, when I get in this “zone,” I have some of my most spectacular performances. Not only do I not remember anything that happened, I also don’t waste any energy thinking about what might happen in the future. When I play this way, at times I surprise myself with what I’m able to accomplish by staying focused in the moment.

So I look forward to my upcoming week of interviews, inspired by the words of Vest, deCaussade, and Jordan, ready to take the challenge of channeling the power of the present moment to enrich me and my work.

Now that it is 2010, I switched my calendar from my 2009 Thich Nhat Hanh calendar to the 2010 calendar that my son gave me for Christmas.  But before I threw out the old calendar, I pulled out one page–the page with the following:

Waking up this morning I smile.

Twenty-four brand new hours are before me.

I vow to live fully in each moment

and to look at all beings with the eyes of compassion.

Thanksgiving: Deeper than the mealtime grace

Tulip that broke through asphalt, taken in my backyard the spring after we paved over the garden

Every year Thanksgiving comes around and people pay homage to what is probably America’s most universal holiday.   Unlike some exhausting holidays, all that is required from us is time with family and good food.  Of course, by definition, it also requires a little bit of gratitude.    The various churches, synagogues and mosques in my area take turns hosting an ecumenical service–what a wonder Thanksgiving can accomplish, if nothing else other than to bring such diversity of faith together in joint prayer for one day a year!

Sometimes we may be in a situation where we are asked to go around a room–classroom, a church service,  a small group table for instance–and say something we’re thankful for.  Inevitably, we hear “I’m grateful for my health,” “I’m grateful for my family.”   We don’t often hear, “I’m grateful for my financial difficulties,” or “I’m grateful to be out of work,” or “I’m grateful for this crisis in my marriage,” even though we always hear that adversity makes us stronger and has the potential to put us in a better place–a place only God can see for us now.  Hard pressed, I’m sure that each person who may be experiencing financial difficulties, unemployment, or relationship issues might actually be able to find a silver lining–maybe not now, but in hindsight.

So, to celebrate Thanksgiving, perhaps we can forego the platitudes of the obvious–the joys of having good health and a loving family.  Perhaps, like the Pilgrims who weathered murderous winters on a foreign shore in order to get to the first Thanksgiving, we can be grateful for our ability to practice acceptance, faith and hope that whatever we are embroiled in today, we will be thanking God for it next year.

Not unlike the battle-weary Confederate soldier who, as legend has it, wrote the following prayer, which is worthy of any mealtime grace at the Thanksgiving table:

I asked God for strength, that I might achieve,
I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.

I asked God for health, that I might do greater things,
I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.

I asked for riches, that I might be happy,
I was given poverty, that I might be wise.

I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men,
I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God.

I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life,
I was given life, that I might enjoy all things.

I got nothing that I asked for
- but everything I had hoped for.

Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am among men, most richly blessed.

Found on the body of a Southern soldier
1861-1865

 

Edited to add postscript:  This is my 50th post in this blog.  At some point I had it in my mind to write something special for the 50th post,  then  forgot, and didn’t realize until just now, after publishing today, that this post is the 50th–and an appropriate one it is.  Thank you to everyone who has dropped by,  thanks to those who have shared, and thanks to all those from whom I have drawn inspiration!   cmb

Simple Home, Beautiful Home Part III: Keeping a home and a life

The cart before the horse is neither beautiful nor useful.  Before we can adorn our houses with beautiful objects the walls must be stripped, and our lives must be stripped, and beautiful housekeeping and beautiful living be laid for a foundation…”  –Henry David Thoreau

“…and beautiful housekeeping and beautiful living be laid for a foundation.”

The other day was a rainy one.  I had no particular urgent place to be, no particular desire to be anywhere else but home.  Cleaning the bathroom was on my to-do list and I started out in a usual cleaning pace, dashing around collecting the glass cleaner, the floor cleaner, the tub cleaner, the toilet cleaner and four different rags to use with them–sponge, paper towel, old terry towels, one small, one large. I yanked on my rubber gloves and went at with a vengeance.

Somewhere between the last sparkle on the pedestal sink and the first sweep of the floor, it occurred me that this was the kind of day that I could feasibly spend hours in the bathroom if I wanted to.  I didn’t have race through the chore to get anywhere, as I too often do.  I didn’t even have to race through it in order to get to something fun–what would that be, anyway?  A brain-dead hour in front of the TV?  A visit to the refrigerator to see if there’s any more Friendly’s Fudge Swirl?   I had already determined that this was going to be a slow, uncommitted day.

So, I slowed down, and committed myself to enjoying what I was doing at that moment.  After all, I had just gathered up the pile of dust and dog hair, and had begun swiping the grey-white tiles clean, and the result was beginning to delight me.    I was on my knees, hand-polishing the tiles in the small bathroom, and they were becoming almost mirror-like.  So I downshifted once more, enjoying the movement of the arc of my arm across the tile, the rhythm of my entire body against the immobile, cold floor, the emergence of the hand-wrought shine.

Housework for me is usually a necessary evil; and definitely not as necessary to me as it is to some.   Things have gone undone in my house far too often.  I think that part of the reason is that when the clutter meter starts to ding in my visual field, I mentally disconnect altogether, much like the circuit breaker in my house.  At that point, I simply don’t see what I should see.   At that point, cleaning becomes a low priority, as I involve myself in activities that are more alive in my brain.

But now I’m thinking that oddly enough, maybe Thoreau has something in common with Martha Stewart, or Alexandra Stoddard in his belief that the first step, the foundation of a beautiful home, should be the housekeeping.  Also, the living.  He says that if you are to build your home upon a rock you must keep it well, and you must live well.

In the book Sweeping Changes:  Discovering the Joy of Zen in Everyday Tasks, Gary Thorp described a zen master elevating a mundane task into a spiritual dance:

My first encounter with Zen cleaning was at Zen Center in San Francisco…After meditation and breakfast on Saturday mornings, we had a work period….My favorite part of the work period was observing the manner in which one of our teachers, Katagiri Roshi, tackled his jobs.  It was a joy to see, for example, the energy flowing through him as he applied paste wax to the zendo floor.  How could washing the floor be that important?    Yet, there hw as, devoting himself to this mundane task.  Next came the arduous, amost acrobatic act of polishing, which no one else seemed able to perform with quite the same grace and verve.  Bent over the polishing cloth, Katagiri Roshi would run from one end of the zendo to the other, pause briefly, and then run back.  The movement was graceful, natural, unaffected….’Zen is meditation and sweeping the garden.’

If housekeeping is what matters, it becomes essential.  If housekeeping is what matters, we can turn it into a prayer.  In doing so, rather than being a heinous interruption in our weekend, it can elevate our lives and turn those small acts into the rock, the cinderblock, the foundation of our simply beautiful homes.

Simple Home, Beautiful Home, Part II: Stripping of your life

The cart before the horse is neither beautiful nor useful.  Before we can adorn our houses with beautiful objects the walls must be stripped, and our lives must be stripped, and beautiful housekeeping and beautiful living be laid for a foundation…”  –Henry David Thoreau

“…and our lives must be stripped,”:

Years ago, I took this picture of my own dining room table when I saw the irony of where the bumper sticker, a gift from my son who had visited Walden, wound up.

If I had a chart that showed the times of my life at its most frenetic, and overlaid it with a chart that showed the times of my life when my house was the least welcoming and the most cluttered, they would line up nicely.   It’s hard, if not impossible, to maintain peace at home, when your life is out of control.

A study, “The Paradox of Declining Female Happiness” by Betsey Stevenson and Justin Wolfers was recently released and highly publicized in the news.  It showed that despite great strides in the women’s movement, women are actually unhappier today overall.  Why would that be?  We have spent the last thirty years bringing home the bacon and frying it up in the pan.  Does that mean we have time to eat it?

Perhaps a correlation could be made in a book about another paradox, “The Paradox of Choice” by Barry Schwartz, which makes the case that too many options does not create feelings of well-being; on the contrary, too much choice winds up being overload for our psyches.  So, the myriad of options that opened up for women in the last few decades has actually left us wondering, “What now?” in a way that is disconcerting and confusing.  And for society in general, we are simply overwhelmed.

Thoreau tells us to strip down our lives, which can be taken to mean, choose!  ”Let your affairs be of two or three, not of a hundred,” he wrote.  Choose your value system, choose your day, choose your desires, and leave the rest alone.   Richard Foster, in his book “The Freedom of Simplicity” tells us that the first step is the most important:  ”First seek God’s kingdom.”  Seems easy, but what does that mean?

Maybe we can learn from the choices made by some of the more spiritually evolved.   St. Francis sold everything in order rebuild the church.  That was how he sought God’s kingdom.   In one of my posts, “Decluttering, Purging, and Peace Pilgrim,” I talked about the woman who made her life’s work walking across the country time and again for peace.  That was how she sought God’s kingdom.    I was lucky enough last week to see the Zen Buddhist master Thich Nhat Hanh at the Beacon Theatre.  He has made it his life’s work to teach people to be compassionate through mindfulness.  That is how he sought God’s kingdom.  I’ll bet that none of these people have spent an inordinate amount of time wondering whether to buy the LG flat screen TV or the Samsung; whether they should go to Cancun or Paris on vacation; whether they should stay in their marriage or leave.  If you’ve ever owned a good SLR camera, when you focus on something through the viewfinder, the rest blurs out of sight.  I imagine that’s what seeking God’s kingdom is like.

I’m not sure how to begin the life stripping-down process, but here’s a little brainstorming:

• Let go:  of stuff, of worry, of anxiety, of things you can’t control.
• Stop being a people-pleaser:  Say no once in a while.
• Be happy with what you have:  Cut the coveting.
• Don’t go it alone:  Ask for help, hired or otherwise, to share your burden.
• Recognize that’s it’s impossible to have it all.  What are you trading off for your life?
• Be easy on yourself.

Finally, the other night, Thich Nhat Hanh told the sell-out crowd that the kingdom of God is right here.

My dining room table today

Right now.  Right now you can only be in one place.  Right now you can only do one thing.  Right now you can only think one thought. Be present right here, right now in this beautiful moment and you have found the kingdom of God.

For me, that’s where the stripping down starts.

Simple Home, Beautiful Home: Part I

The cart before the horse is neither beautiful nor useful.  Before we can adorn our houses with beautiful objects the walls must be stripped, and our lives must be stripped, and beautiful housekeeping and beautiful living be laid for a foundation…”  –Henry David Thoreau

I think there are about three blog entries that the above quote can be a springboard for, but let me start with a little visual inspiration.

“…the walls must be stripped…”

One of my favorite books is Peaceful Spaces by Alice Whately. The pictures above are all from this book.  I keep it out on one of my living room tables.  Every picture in it is inspiration for serenity and simplicity in the environment of the home.   Sometimes it’s hard to tear myself away from the picture to read the advice:

On Space Clearing:  “By questioning the purpose of everything you own, you will quickly realize that it is you, rather than the stuff that surrounds you, that must take center stage in the home.”

On Balance and Form:  “To achieve harmony in the home, it is vital to create a balance between form and function.  This concept derives from the Zen aesthetic of yin and yang, or in layman’s terms, opposing forces which, when equally represented, create a harmonious balance of energy.”

On Living Spaces:  “Opting for an uncontrived palette allows for the display of different furnishing styles and for the introduction of pattern and discreet touches of luxury.”

On Sleeping: “Keep your sleeping space simple.  Reduce furniture to the bare minimum, adopt a cohesive color scheme and rely on space, light, and texture to create a sensory haven.”

On Eating: “As long as your eating and cooking space remains warm and clutter-free, it is possible to create a feeling of wellbeing through the creation of two very different styles.  If you’re the efficient type, the clean-cut minimalist look is best.  If you’re earthier and more relaxed, the modern rustic look is likely to be more appropriate.”

The stripping-down theme that Thoreau suggested long ago is put into practical terms by Alice Whately.   My husband and I recently refinished our living room floors.  Actually, “living room” in our house is a misnomer.  Like most people whose homes were built in the 70s and 80s, our “living” is done everywhere in the house BUT the living room.  We spend most of our time in the family room.  Now, of course, the newer homes have evolved the concept of living rooms and family rooms  into “great rooms” where the living spaces include the kitchen.

Yet, I really love this particular room, which I’ll simply call my “living quietly room” because rather than making it a museum-like space for the occasional visitor, I use it as a creative space.  There are bookshelves in it, and a piano, and parsons chairs by the windows where I can sit in the light and look out on the world, and a table for writing, or eating or sharing tea with a friend.

The point is, to refinish the floors we had to remove all the furniture.  At the same time we decided to paint the walls, so we took down all the pictures and window treatments.

When it came time to put the stuff back, I made a conscious decision to put back ONLY what was necessary, rather than try to find a place for all the stuff that I had–which was a paradigm shift for me.   It made all the difference in how I feel when I’m in that room, surrounded only by things that have a purpose, whether functional, or aesthetic, or both.

The other thing that made a big difference was simply in the literal stripping down of the floor and the repainting of the walls.  When the foundation is clean and pristine, you don’t need to cover up flaws with stuff.  Before my floors were refinished, I had them covered up with inexpensive rugs.  But once they were gleaming, I was able to eliminate the rugs.  So, Thoreau’s admonition to strip the walls should be taken literally, if beauty is to be found within.

When rooms are suited to our spirits, they become our temples.  I, for one, prefer a simple chapel such as the one I frequently visit up at the Weston Priory in Vermont, with its neutral walls, flagstone floors, bare altar, and long windows from which you can watch the sun rise over their pond during matins at daybreak.

Those elements of bringing the outside in and creating a space for the soul can be adapted by anyone–you don’t need to live in a monastery.  As Pablo Picasso famously said, “Art is the elimination of the unnecessary.”  So, all you really have to do is start eliminating.

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Teeing it up: It all works out

My son told a funny story at brunch at a lovely restaurant in the West Village the other day–it was so funny that we found ourselves being “shushed” from neighboring tables because we were laughing so hard.

The story is this:  Once upon a time Jim was really in a tough spot financially.  He wasn’t going to be able to make his rent.  He had no food.  He had no income on the horizon.  All he had were the hopes of winning a golf tournament that he was presently engaged in.   This was the kind of golf tournament that most people do for fun, but he was playing for a mission:  to win the prize money and pay his rent.  Others were joking around, drinking from the bar cart–Jim was laser-focused on one thing–winning that money.

After the banquet, they were giving out the prizes, and the first prize went to the person with the second lowest score.  He was the kind that participates in golf tournaments as a diversion–not because he, like Jim at that moment, had a driving need to pay bills.  No, au contraire, he was a golf philanthropist, and as such, when he was awarded the prize money, he walked up to the microphone and said, “I don’t want to forget who we are doing this for,” and he motioned towards the young disabled children lining the stage.  ”Therefore, I want to give this back,” and he handed the envelope with the prize money to the M.C. amid applause and cheers of the audience.

“The next prize goes to the guy with the lowest score,” said the M.C., and he proceeded to announce my son’s name.  With that announcement, my son, Jim, saw a million worries flitting away… saw his short-term financial crisis being put to rest.  He imagined a worry-free night of sleep.  But when he got to the podium, and accepted the cash-filled envelope, a person’s voice from the crowd rang out:   “Give it back!!”  ”Yeah!” said another.  ”Give it back!”

There was my son, torn between his rent and a chorus line of needy kids, and the pressure of the previous winner’s generosity.  So he approached the mic, and, not for entirely altruistic reasons, buckled under the pressure and said, “I’d like to give this back to the kids.”

Whistles and cheers followed… But I’m not sure that at that moment they made up for the prospect of the looming late rent check in my son’s mind.   But it was done.

So, in telling this story, after we had been shushed and wiped the tears of laughter from our cheeks, my son said, “You know, it worked out.  It seems like when you think about the times when you didn’t think things are going to work out, no matter what it they may be, they really do in the end.”

I don’t know how Jim paid his rent that month.  But he’s still among us, laughing and sharing our company.

He’s up-to-date with this rent today.

A worthy organization is slightly better off.

It all works out.

Transition: A Moment in Autumn

Whenever you’re feeling lonely or sad, try going to the loft on a beautiful day and looking outside.  Not at the houses or the rooftops, but the sky.  As long as you can look fearlessly at the sky, you’ll know that you’re pure within and will find happiness once more.”  –Anne Frank

The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the almshouse as brightly as from the rich man’s abode; the snow melts before its door as early as in the spring.–Thoreau

It’s September 21st and therefore unofficially, or perhaps officially, fall.   Here in the Northeast there are very few signs–few red leaves sticking out like the lone grey hair on the head of a forty-year old–but the calendar says it’s fall.  The early a.m. says it’s fall, because a chill has replaced the steamy summer mornings.

The temperature is no longer an enemy–as in the summer when you barricade the doors shut and turn up (down?) the air conditioning.  Our air conditioner has been broken for three years now, so we’ve just partnered with the summer heat, pulling in the evening’s dousing of the day’s sun with a simple electric fan.

One of the many reasons I quit my job was because I was getting angry when seasons sped past in a blur.  Because I was in a typical climate-controlled office building, I lost the feeling that I was one with the winter, spring, summer or fall.  I’d rush out of my office building and into my car, also climate controlled, and then rush to make dinner in my house, also climate controlled, and then relied on the television to tell me how hot it was going to be the next day, although it didn’t matter really because I interacted with the weather maybe 30 minutes a day, at most.

So, now I sit outside briefly every day, so the days don’t escape me.  ”Just stop right there!”  I tell the afternoon sun.  ”You’re not disappearing on MY watch!”  And I take in the long shadows, the wafts of the evening breeze, the cool blades of grass.

The quotes above by Thoreau and Anne Frank tell us how lucky we are simply to be able to soak up a dram of nature, and doing so liberates us from any prison we happen to be in.  It frees us, indeed.  Thoreau’s quote speaks of being in an almshouse, yet being able to see the sky; Anne Frank’s quote is written as she is buried within four walls protecting her from a brutish political world from which she cannot escape.  Yet, the  mere sight of the sky gives her joy–the mere hope that one day, the sun will warm her again.

I would share my own experience outside today, because if I wanted to I could upload a short video, but if I’m concerned with preserving the moment, I miss the point of living in it.  I don’t want you to see my moment second hand, so there are no pictures in this post.   It would be better for you to look outside your own office window right now, or go outside into your own backyard, and mark the transition to this new season, today, this hour, this moment–before it’s too late.

Hair: Then and Now

Jane Asher

Dorothy Hamill

Julia Roberts

Me: Jane Asher wannabe

Me: Dorothy Hamill wannabe

Me: Julia Roberts wannabe (dream on, honey)

A revival of the 60s’ seminal American tribal rock musical, “Hair,” is currently on Broadway.

Farrah Fawcett died last month.

Those two seemingly unrelated events got me thinking about hair in general, and how we take it for granted.   We style it, or we cap it, or we blow it, or tie it, or flat-iron it, but it’s usually nothing more than a part of our total grooming routine.  For some, it might be a 30-second part.  For others, it might 30 minutes.  But I know that no matter what, having it, or not having it, matters.

I love the story my cousin told me.  My cousin is a political journalist for a cable news channel in Boston.  She’s interviewed political candidates on national debates.  She’s a solid journalist.  But when she was earning her stripes, she was given the chance to anchor a news show.  She prepared, she was nervous, she stared into the camera and gave it all she got.  When the cameras stopped rolling, she was sent to her boss’s office.  She sat down, and thinking she was going to get accolades for her brilliant, on-point work, she asked, “Well, how was it?  Did I deliver OK?  Were the stories relevant?”  And her boss brushed her aside and said, “Oh, yeah, all that was fine, but what was with your hair??”

My mother had beautiful platinum blonde hair and was known for it.  She never bought a box of hair dye in her life–although many were skeptical, it was so blonde, so pure.  Who was actually born with hair that color?

When she was 50, she was scheduled for brain surgery, to repair two looming aneurysms in her brain.  Before the nurses came in for the pre-op hair shaving routine, she had already done it herself–leaving piles of spun platinum gold on her hospital tray–she was OK with having her skull opened up, but the thought of losing her hair devastated her.  Of course, many victims of the side effects of chemotherapy would attest to the emotional toll of losing one’s hair.

And that’s not just a woman’s issue.  Men aren’t crazy about losing their hair either.  It seems that these days there are more and more shiny heads out there–men who intentionally have gone for the hairless look, rather than to appear to be in the process of losing it involuntarily.  Or maybe it’s about control, and maybe the choice-to-be-bald is the same as my mother’s choice to take the scissors to her own head.  It’s OK if YOU are the Master of Your Pate and shave it all off, but to have nature thumb its nose at you… that’s just not acceptable.

Hair is an easy way to make a statement–after all, it’s right on top of your head, and you’re always wearing it.  If you’re not into the tattoo as personal bumper sticker, you can still talk with your hair.  Lady Godiva did it, hiding her nudity behind her long locks.  The more progressive women of the 20s did it by letting down their pinned hair and bobbing it.   And of course, no one has to ask why young people of the 60s wanted hair that was “long, straight, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty.”  It was to differentiate themselves from the crew-cut wearing, Bryl Cream gleaming, bouffant-do-ing, pin-curling parents.   Chopping one’s locks can also be a spiritual ritual.  I still remember watching Franco Zefferelli’s movie “Brother Sun, Sister Moon” back in the early ’60s and the scene in which Saint Claire started a religious order and cut off her luxurious long hair was just as compelling to me as when St. Francis was struck with the stigmata.

I recently asked my hairdresser what the latest ‘do is, and she said that Katie Holmes is calling the coif shots now–now that her hair is short, people are flooding the salons to chop their hair off.   From Clara Bow, to Marilyn, to Dorothy Hamill, to Farrah, to Jennifer Aniston, to Katie Holmes, every now and then someone comes along with something as simple as a haircut to define a generation.

5 Ways to Work Less and Love It

 

Is this how your job makes you feel?

Work is love made visible.  –Kahlil Gibran

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation –Henry David Thoreau

I just got back from vacation in Vermont.  It’s our annual family vacation, and we all crave the time that we can get together up there, chill out, have fun, relax.  

One of my favorite things to do in Vermont is to read.  While perusing the books that were left in the house we were renting, I found The 4-Hour Workweek by Tim Ferriss.  I’ve seen that book all over, of course, since it’s a business best-seller, but the title had always put me off because of its “too good to be true” title.  But, I brought out to the Adirondack chair on the deck overlooking the lawn and dirt road, and started reading.

 

Another book that I really, really like–reading it was actually the straw that broke the camel’s back to my own freedom from the Golden Handcuffs of corporate life–is Work Less, Make More by Jennifer White.   At the time I read it, I was feeling that working in my job was like being out of sync with my personal values.  It wasn’t a bad job–in fact I’m very grateful for it because there I was able to acquire skills that gave me confidence to break out on my own.  And I loved the people I worked with, I had great benefits, and was highly respected and rewarded in the company.  

So what was the problem?

The treadmill.   The feeling that I had no choice but to put in 70 hour work weeks–either to meet my boss’s expectations, or my own.  We were short-staffed, and I fell into that trap in which I felt that if the work was going to be done right, I was going to have to be the one to do it.

Of course, that was all self-imposed bull.  I had other colleagues who were able to manage others, delegate, and get the work done and still leave their Blackberry at home for a two-week vacation (boy, did that bug me!).  

But I also felt like I was a product of the Peter Principle–I had been promoted to my own level of incompetence.  I loved my job–the JOB part of it, not the management part of it.  I wanted to do what I was truly good at.   When all was said and done, I realized, with some surprise, that I wanted to be the DOER, not the teacher, mentor,  or manager.  

Plus, the money part is not a big reason for my working.  I do not aspire to Prada bags or BMWs.   Money, as my uncle said, is a means of exchange, nothing more.  So why work 70 hours a week chasing it?

So, I took the leap and quit my job.  I DO work less and make more now.  I DO feel fulfilled in my job.   Yet, I still have a lot to learn from Tim Ferriss and Jennifer White, and I am grateful to them.

Here is a compilation of some of their lessons in five points:

1. CHANGE YOUR THINKING:  Many of us operate on outdated values from the past built on post-Depression-era industry, career-long loyalty to one company, having to give your all, and more, to the company store.  But there are new values today.  Can you innovate?  Can you communicate?  Can you produce results?  These are the things that matter now.  Doesn’t matter whether it takes you 4 hours a week or 40 or 60.
2. ELIMINATE:  You can have more time for yourself in direct proportion to the stuff you can off-load.  Systems and routine are important.  White says to focus on what you do best, and delegate the rest.  Ferriss says to find virtual assistants online–either in North America or India–to get rid of tedium and any other stuff someone else can do.  You do the rest.   Pay attention to the 80/20 Rule.  Both Ferriss and White invoke the Pareto Principle, which says that 80% of results come from 20% of the causes or tasks.    So, in a nutshell, use this rule to figure out the 20% that’s working for you and delegate or abandon the rest.
3. BE BOLD:  Just do it.  Quitting your job, or changing the parameters of your existing one, is like deciding to have children.  There’s never a “right” time, so you might as well go for it–especially if you’re not happy!  Why give your happiness over to the status quo if it’s not working for you?
4. EXAMINE YOUR RELATIONSHIP TO MONEY:  Money is often the culprit that gets us in these traps.   What are you afraid of?   That you won’t be able to get your kids through college?  That you’ll wind up a bag lady?  That you won’t be able to keep up with your friends’ latest status symbols?   The funny thing is, you become what you fear.  Many of those who have pushed through those fears discover they are unfounded–they find that they do what they want to do and wind up with the money for all those things that are important to them.   That is part of the Law of Attraction, and there are many, many books that can give you the courage to overcome that barrier.  Try old masters like Napoleon Hill or Catherine Ponder, or newer Law of Attraction gurus like Wayne Dyer or Rhonda Byrne.
5. FOLLOW YOUR GUT:  This is my own rule, although White and Ferriss also imply it.  There are books to get us from Point A to Point B and help us to Find Our Bliss, Discover Our Passion, Color Our Parachute.  But sometimes life takes us down roads that we have not mapped out, and, surprise! we wind up at Emerald City. When you are trying to figure out what is going to provide fulfillment, don’t think too hard, don’t analyze too much, and most of all, get your ego out of the way.  If there’s any tinge of pride in your decisions, you taint them.    On the other hand, if you open yourself up to the Universe and vow to honor it with your good works, it will all come back atcha.