Lessons in Gratitude Day 631

Posted on April 5, 2013 by mtchamblee

Tonight I decided to spin the wheel, and pick and augment a previous post for your reading pleasure. This evening’s excerpt is from Day 212, posted on January 27, 2012. I had just engaged my son in a long conversation that had gone from 2 a.m. until 4 a.m. It had been one of those wide-ranging conversations, covering a lot of territory in one sitting.

I am so grateful to have this time with my son. We began living together out of economic necessity, but I am glad to be sharing space with him at this time in his life. We have our differences, he and I–we are temperamentally quite distinct from one another and frequently don’t see eye-t0 eye on any number of things. But I continue to be proud of who he is as a human being and honor the journey he is on. I watch him struggle from time to time, sometimes covering my eyes with my hands peeking through my fingers as he navigates through the whitewater in his life. It is often painful to observe, because as a mother I want to make things easier and better for him. But he’s the type of person who learns from his experiences, and I can’t protect him from the mistakes that are necessary for his growth and learning. Sometimes I see the young man and sometimes I see the little boy, and I guess that’s part of what it means to be mother to kids this age. They are both children and young adults to me, but I have to let them go and grow up. I am learning, slowly but surely, but it hasn’t been easy.

The experience of being a mom is transformational. In my youth I didn’t think much about being a mother; I think I looked at the prospect with a vague sense of unease. I wasn’t sure I was cut out for the role, and that I had the requisite skills, patience, etc. that I would need to do the job. I imagine there was a time or two when years later my kids might have wondered the same things. But as I’ve watched them grow and persevere through their own life challenges, I will allow myself a small measure of pride at how they’ve each turned out, some parts because of and perhaps some parts in spite of me and my mothering skills. All in all, I think we’ve all done pretty well. I am grateful to be able to call these wonderful, talented, unique fabulous beings my children. May they be filled with joy and peace, may they be healthy and strong, may they be safe and protected from harm, may they live with ease and well being. May they become who they were meant to become and learn to love  and accept themselves for who they are.

I spoke to my daughter earlier this evening and to my son earlier in the week. I continue to be impressed with each of them–how they are learning to address their own challenges, solve their own problems, be their own persons. Yes, I still worry about them: I’ve been told that it’s my job as a mother, and if that’s true then I’m excelling at it. Still, I don’t pace the floor with worry. Each morning I commit them to God, wish for their wellbeing, health and strength, peace and happiness and I pray for them constantly throughout the day. Beyond that and the occasional encouraging word and the periodic deposit of cash into an account, they are pretty much on their own and taking care of themselves. And…I miss them like crazy. I look forward to the next time I’ll be able to be physically in their presence. In the meantime, I’m grateful for the connections we have via phone and Skype. May we continue to find ways to grow and connect even from a distance. Let it be so!

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Lessons in Gratitude Day 630

Posted on April 4, 2013 by mtchamblee

This evening I am grateful for the legacy of the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Forty-five years ago today–April 4, 1968–Dr. King was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. I was a few weeks shy of my 11th birthday. Things I think I remember about that terrible evening are almost surreal; and I’ve told myself the stories so many times I don’t know what I really remember and what my adult mind has layered onto it over the years of its retelling. One thing I remember because it was so striking to me was a conversation my father was having with my mother in which he was explaining that “if anything should happen” here was how to take the safety off the shotgun. I found it a bit unnerving and wondered what might happen. The television news was full of pictures of rioting across the country. At one point my vivid imagination saw someone hurling something at the kitchen windows that would light the house on fire.

My young memory and vivid imagination combined at times. I remember thinking that my father had disappeared. After I’d seen him telling my mother what to do in case something happened, he’d left to go meet with other city and local civil rights leaders to attempt to calm any violence that might flare up and to help plan a march in the city. After not seeing my father for a few days, I thought maybe something had happened to him, though Mom didn’t seem worried about anything. While I’d thought he’d been gone for days, my grownup self now understands that he probably came home very late each night and left the house again very early in the morning. Still, I didn’t see my father again until the march a couple of days later.

I smiled a little as I wrote down these memories: I can almost guarantee that at least one of my older siblings will read this and say, “That isn’t what happened at all, it was nothing like that!” And they’d perhaps be right, at least about the timing between the time we learned of the assassination and when we actually all marched through the streets. I remember odd parts of the march, pictures of me and a few of my family members ended up in the South Bend paper on that day, but all in all it was a bit of a blur.

It is interesting to think about the events of 45 years ago and wonder how they shaped my life. The impact of my parent’s civil rights work still resonates with me: while I didn’t become a community activist in the same ways they did, I have nonetheless worked for the past 30 years in higher education trying to create safe and equitable learning environments for all people–primarily students of color at colleges and universities. I haven’t marched much in the streets, but in quiet, behind-the-scenes ways have worked for racial and social justice in a variety of places. “Not all of us are called to be Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,” I often used to tell folks in talking about my work, “And I certainly am not. But for all I know one of the students I’m helping make it through this university just might be. That is one reason I am glad to be doing this work.”

I am grateful tonight for the legacy of my parents, who while much less famous than Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., certainly had significant impact in the communities they served. I can only hope to follow the spirit of their work in my current work, as well as in the way I live my life.

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Lessons in Gratitude Day 629

Posted on April 3, 2013 by mtchamblee

Oh lord, I am tired! I have been making “microchanges” in my life–tiny changes in habit, routine, practice that over time will lead to bigger outcomes. One of those has been to adjust what happens when I get home in the evening, to adjust my routine with the ultimate outcome of getting to bed/sleep earlier. I started this a on Monday, making small changes here and there in when I eat dinner, how long I watch television (I generally only watch the national news during week nights, then veg out on my favorite shows over the weekend), what time I start writing this blog, and what time I put the computer away for the evening. In spite of having gotten to sleep earlier the last few nights, I still feel tired. I suppose I need to keep at it for a while to allow the cumulative effects to build up so that over time I’ll gradually move toward getting more rest and improved overall wellbeing.

Tonight I am grateful for having a body of work to fall back on when the muse is hiding out. So I decided to “spin the wheel” and let the random number generator pick the subject of tonight’s blog by pointing me toward an earlier post. Interestingly, today’s number is 2. It was interesting re-reading my second gratitude blog, written on July 1, 2011. After only one day, my resolve to write about something I am grateful for was already tested:

One of the things that often happens when you put something out there is that what you put out (a concept, an idea, etc.) immediately gets challenged. Take my decision to write daily about at least one thing that I’m grateful for. It wasn’t the words I wrote yesterday that got challenged, but the thing itself. Yesterday was a good day, alright at the beginning, strong in the middle and pretty good at the end. So in that spirit I came home and wrote my first lesson in gratitude. Today has in fact been a very different day.

Today was one of those days that, unlike yesterday, started off shaky, got harder in the middle and this evening I find that I am digging deep to close it out on a positive note. And so along with my list of ten things I am grateful for (like the incredible privilege of having a computer that allows me to communicate with so many people instantaneously) I want to focus this evening on how very grateful I am for the strength of will I have to get up in the morning and get myself through the day.

Over the past few months I’ve had what Lemony Snicket calls “a series of unfortunate events” happen in my life. They were the kinds of things that find their way onto those, “10 most stressful life events” lists. I remember as all these things were piling on feeling pretty terrible about my lot in life and expressing serious uncertainty as to how I was going to make it. In the midst of all of this, the tornadoes hit Tuscaloosa Alabama and as I watched people literally picking up the pieces of their lives off of the ground, I realized that while things in my life were hard, they could have been much, much harder.

Being grateful for something is not that hard. I couldn’t throw a rock in any direction from where I’m sitting right now and not hit something that I appreciate and am grateful for in my life. This is not to diminish the severity of the challenges I and so many others in the world right now are facing; they are quite real. But somewhere inside of each of us there is a wellspring of gratitude or faith or happiness or hope or something that is available to us to tap into if we can just figure out how. It really is a matter of perspective.

I am grateful to have kept this record over all these months: it serves as a reminder of so many important lessons I learned from living through a difficult period and an accounting of so many blessings that are evident throughout my life. Over 150 people read this entry when I first posted it all those months ago–quite a bit fewer than that will re-read the excerpt of it tonight. I continue to write for me as well as you, though I am grateful for your “company” on the path and the appreciation I receive from readers who periodically comment when I post the link on Facebook. You help me keep going.

I am trusting that the microshifts I’m making now will begin to bear fruit.  I am looking forward to approaching my life from a place of strength and wellbeing that will be reflected in what I choose to write about in this blog each night. In the meantime I will be here with a grateful heart and a random number generator to help me get going.  Thank goodness!

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Lessons in Gratitude Day 628

Posted on April 2, 2013 by mtchamblee

This morning as I walked the dog, I looked up into the tops of a budding tree towering high above me. The rising sun touched the topmost branches, bathing it in orange, and there, cavorting in the canopy were four male cardinals–the sun highlighting their bright red plumage. I have no idea what they were doing up there–it’s spring and maybe that means cardinal mating season and the four males were showing off and posturing to one another in front of some female. I’ve seen male and female cardinals at the feeder but haven’t paid close enough attention to see if they are different birds or the same visitors returning day after day to the feeder. I continue to take pleasure in simple things.

I am grateful this evening for breaking through. The dictionary defines breakthrough as “a sudden, dramatic, and important discovery or development: a major breakthrough in DNA research.” That is not the breaking through that I’m talking about. I am talking about being in the midst of a challenging circumstance and pushing through your discomfort with the circumstance, staying there long enough to break through the challenge to get to the good stuff. It’s breaking through like germinating seeds literally cracking the surface of the soil to push the first green shoots into the sunlight above ground. Periodically, if you watch a given situation closely enough you can see the breakthrough happening; but you have to be a keen observer or it’s quite easy to miss.

I’m not intending to be cryptic, I’m merely thinking that I’ve observed some very subtle shifts in various people and environments that encourage me to remain optimistic even when on the surface things still look pretty much the same. Ah, but that is when one must be a keen observer of the process and outcomes of any given interaction on any given day. In the work I’ve done over many years of my life, I have learned not to look for seismic shifts in people; most of the people I’ve interacted with, taught, led, assisted, reported to, etc. don’t suddenly have major “ah ha” moments and are suddenly enlightened. More often than not, they make glacial changes that are so small and incremental that if you are not using time-lapse photography or watching very, very closely, you’ll miss the shift. This then requires a measure of faith: yes, I saw it happen with my own eyes, the light indeed came on for a moment. It’s important that when you see it come on you gently nurture it until it stays on and the light of understanding burns consistently if not brilliantly.

There have definitely been (and there still are) people in my life who, in spite of various pieces of evidence laid out before them failed to “get it,” missed the cues that would help them comprehend what was happening around them and respond accordingly–accordingly meaning in the manner in which I wanted and needed them to respond. What to do in those moments when we don’t see the shift happen, or indeed it doesn’t occur at all? Be patient and kind in spite of my disappointment. It’s hard work this whole compassion thing.

Today I heard a colleague use the expression, “a culture of generosity,” meaning, I believe, creating spaces–a workplace environment, for example–in which I extend myself out seeking to understand and connect with people not like me and with whom I might not agree. Every morning when I write in my journal, I offer good wishes and intentions to all beings, including my “enemies.” When I write in my journal, “may it be so for my loved ones, acquaintances, “enemies, and all beings” I always put the word in quotation marks, not because I love or even like these people, but because I do not consider them enemies, people who wish ill or act in hurtful or violent ways toward me. I pray for them, offering intentions of peace and happiness, of health and wellbeing, of safety and security. A culture of generosity, a heart of compassion and lovingkindness compels me to find ways to engage even my “enemies,” watching out for those microshifts and quietly celebrating when they happen.

I have not generally been an optimist, generally I am more of a realist. So I’m not entirely sure why I am optimistic now. I’m not blindly so. I have times when I see clearly the way I want things to go, when I see possibilities everywhere; and then I have others when I seem to run headlong into a brick wall, landing on my backside bruised and bleeding and wondering what happened. I am learning to deal with those setbacks and pick myself up and figure out a way around the wall. I am grateful for learning to let things unfold, watch for the microshifts (and make microshifts of my own), and let things evolve. I am watching the “soil” for the signs of life breaking through what has been dormant ground and taking pleasure in watching what emerges.

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Lessons in Gratitude Day 627

Posted on April 1, 2013 by mtchamblee

One of the perks to living alone is that no one else has to eat your cooking. In fact, you really don’t have to cook at all if you don’t feel like it. You can eat cereal for dinner if you want to; I do that sometimes, or periodically make myself scrambled eggs and toast. Tonight I have been cooking a 16-bean soup using a hambone that my sister gave me last week (after we’d enjoyed a lovely dinner of ham, sweet potatoes and vegetables.) The soup is okay, definitely missing something that I can’t quite put my finger on. Bean soup, by it’s nature can be a little bland unless you make intentional efforts to spice it up. I want it to be flavorful, not hot-spicy, so I have been dumping various spices into it (odd ones like cardamom, coriander, and tumeric) trying to bring it a little more to life. Still, even if it were to turn out awful, it’s likely that no one is going to be eating it but me.

I am grateful this evening to be standing pretty steadily now that I’ve lived alone for the first time in my life. Honor might protest my statement that I live alone, so I will amend that to say it’s the first time in my life I am living without another human companion. I must confess that as I was preparing to move here from California, knowing I would be living alone, I was nervous. Not nervous, afraid. I was afraid that I would sit in my house feeling sorry for myself and become a depressed, miserable, hermit. While my current life is still somewhat low-key and I have yet to develop much in the way of a social life, I do manage to function relatively well. I spend time each weekend with one of my three sisters, usually my younger sister, Ruth, and manage to occupy myself with a variety of pursuits that, albeit solitary, are satisfying in their own right. And as the weather warms from the chill of winter to the bright, warm days of spring and the daylight lengthens, I’ve no doubt I will get out and about more, exploring various parks and natural areas nearby.

One thing I have missed is proximity to the “big water” of the San Francisco Bay. A number of people have suggested to me that I go to the Chesapeake Bay, which indeed qualifies as relatively big water. I imagine I’ll head down to see sometime this summer, but the Chesapeake Bay is at least 40 minutes away, unlike the San Francisco Bay, which was 15 minutes away from where I lived, and the San Pablo Bay, which is part of the larger Bay area was even closer. Still, I plan to do some exploring in the area–Great Falls, about a half hour drive from my house is at the top of my list of places to visit in the next few weeks once spring has truly settled in. When I asked my sister about Great Falls she confirmed that it is a place I would likely enjoy (while I’m not quite sure why the falls are considered “great,” it looks like it will fill the bill for a good water spot.) In the shorter term, I might drive myself and Honnie down to Rock Creek park and find a nice place where I can sit by the creek and listen to the voices of the water. Before I discovered the Pacific Ocean, I was a big fan of creeks and rivers. Whether I explore the waters alongside my family or solo, I’m looking forward to reconnecting to them.

Mount Tamalpais from Chavez Park, San Francisco Bay

Mount Tamalpais from Cesar Chavez Park, San Francisco Bay

I am learning that living alone is not as I had feared it would be, and not too different than the last few months I lived in California with my son. His work schedule and mine meant that, though we technically lived under the same roof, we rarely spent much meaningful time together. Still there was something even in the possibility of seeing him that made me aware that I was not living alone, and the periodic disappearance of food reminded me that I was still, at a small level, providing sustenance for two humans (and one canine.) Now my food stays where I leave it and no one gobbles up the cereal or eats or drinks the last of anything. I’ve had a lone bottle beer in my refrigerator from a six-pack I brought with me when I moved here in October. I don’t drink beer; my daughter enjoyed a couple of them when she visited me in December. The last one will sit there in the fridge until she or my son come back to visit or I offer it to some random person.

I’ve always lived with somebody. I lived in my parent’s house with various siblings until I went away to college in 1975. When I went to graduate school I had a roommate and then a succession of suite mates, apartment mates and condo mates over the next several years. At one point I lived with six other women in a three-bedroom apartment. (Don’t ask.) I got married in 1986 and started a family, and even though I was divorced in 1998, I still didn’t live alone. I was single, but lived with my two kids and a dog. I had one other significant relationship until that ended two years ago, but even then I still lived with my son. So I don’t have any prior experience at living alone. All things considered, I think I’m doing pretty well. Time will tell, of course, but for now I’m grateful to be getting accustomed to being on my own and enjoying my own company.

A little while ago I puttered back into the kitchen to turn the fire off under the soup. Over the 90 or so minutes it had been cooking, the liquid had transformed from a thin, watery gray to a rich, savory-looking golden brown and the taste was amazing. My last desperate spicing, during which I added more tumeric, cardamom, and a little cumin turned the trick. When I took an tentative spoonful and tasted it, I was pleasantly surprised; it’s amazing how that dash of cumin and the additional dashes of the other spices suddenly popped to life. Even though I don’t have anyone else to please, I’m glad it turned out well. I can’t wait to enjoy a bowl tomorrow.

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Lessons in Gratitude Day 626

Posted on March 31, 2013 by mtchamblee

Time for a few brief words about gratitude. I am grateful for family–my siblings, their partners and children, and for family of choice: dear friends who are enough like family that I’m claiming them as such. This evening after I’d gotten home from dinner at my sister Ruth’s house, I was reflecting on how my siblings have supported me through some really rough times. When I think about the various drama and trauma I went through a few years ago, I realize that the only way I was able to experience those life challenges and come through on the other side was because they cared for me. I simply would not have made it.

I realize that without their assistance and moral support I could easily have been homeless and struggling to take care of myself. “You were never in danger of being homeless,” I can almost hear my brother’s voice telling me this. More than once he mentioned that he would come get me if I needed him to, that we would figure out what to do with all my stuff and all the other things we’d have to deal with. But between him and my other four siblings, I wasn’t going to end up out on the street. I felt like I came to the edge of it a few times, but I prayed that my sisters and brothers would not let me fall, and they didn’t.

Even as I began to get myself settled into my new life in the East, when I’ve struggled, my sisters have taken care of me–each of the three in their own unique ways. And I am grateful beyond measure for each of them. Would that I had something I could offer each of my siblings to give back in small measure what they’ve done for me. Everyone should be so fortunate as to have people in their lives–family by blood and DNA or family of choice–who love and care for them and whom they love in return. It seems to me to be one of the essential human needs: to feel connection with other beings, human and otherwise.

Lately I’ve found myself missing my parents–even after nearly 18 years, sometimes I miss my mother as acutely as if it were just a year or two ago. And I can still hear my father’s voice in my head, the kind of raspy rumble I’d grown accustomed to as he got older. I see his face and hear his voice in the faces and voices of my two brothers and I continue to see traces of both my parents in the faces and mannerisms of my three sisters. I am so grateful to have each of them as part of my life. I don’t see them as often as I’d like, but always glad to see them when I can.

Finally, I am grateful for each of my children. They each are facing their own challenges and struggles, as well as their triumphs and victories. As much as I wish ease for each of them on their respective life journeys, I am nonetheless proud at how they are growing and maturing and finding their way. I speak to them on the phone pretty regularly, but I miss seeing each of them, holding their hands, touching their faces. I look forward to figuring out how to go see them sometime soon. In the meantime, I’ll keep sending them love and support as best I can.

I am grateful for the love and warmth of family. It is something I do not take for granted as I know many people who are estranged from their siblings and/ or children. I wish all good things for my siblings and their families and look forward to the day when I can connect with and support them as they’ve always supported me. May it be so!

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Lessons in Gratitude Day 625

Posted on March 30, 2013 by mtchamblee

I am getting a late start tonight: it is nearly 11 p.m. here. I spent the better part of the evening catching up on all the TV shows I’ve recorded over the past two weeks–probably five hours of television viewing. Now I am in my room and it is quiet: the main sound is the clacking of the keys as I type and the usual low hum from outside somewhere. I don’t know where exactly the sound comes from but it’s constant.

I am grateful this evening for the functioning of my senses. I can hear sounds all around me (even when it’s “quiet”), and not simply hear them but process the sounds and interpret what it is I’m hearing.Without actually seeing it, I know what it is. Lately I’ve been quite taken by the birdsongs in the morning. As spring gets closer to springing and the days start earlier and last longer, they are much more active, noisier earlier. Last spring and summer I discovered the dark-eyed junco by following the shrill, trilling shriek that woke me up many mornings in my condo in California. I am comfortably familiar with the various calls and whistles of the northern cardinal, now that I live back in its territory, as well as the sounds of the robins and a number of other birds in the area. My ears hear their calls first and then I go in search of them with my eyes so that I can match the call to the bird. I still haven’t spotted the little bird with the big voice, I’ve mostly heard it near my workplace, but I’m hopeful I’ll find it sometime soon.

My eyesight isn’t perfect–I’ve worn glasses for most of my life–but my eyes function well with correction. When I hear the call of a bird and my brain interprets where it’s coming from, I turn my head and scan the various trees, rooftops and wires searching for where the sound is coming from. Sometimes I am gratified by what I discover, “Ohhh, so that’s what you look like!” I say to the bird once I’ve connected the picture with the sound. I also know when birds are “fussing” at perceived predators, and recognize when the squirrels are taking umbrage with someone who has gotten too close to their abode inside the tree. I have watched them clicking and noisemaking while flicking their tails in a particular way. My sister, who studied squirrel behavior for a paper she wrote back in her undergraduate career, taught me a few things to look for when squirrels are tail flicking. I don’t remember too much about it, but it’s not rocket science to figure out that the clicking and racket in conjunction with agitated tail flicking means the squirrel is not happy.

I have been agitating the squirrels myself lately as one of them continues to go at the bird feeder. Anyone looking at my house at just the right time is liable to see me burst out the front door, running over to window where the squirrel has climbed to get to the feeder. I am shouting and “barking” at the fool creature running around the side of the house shrieking like a banshee and chasing the marauder away. (I really hope no one happened to be looking out their window at just that moment, however if they were I hope they found it as immensely entertaining as I no doubt would if I saw someone else doing it.)

I am grateful for the relatively smooth functioning of my body. My sight and hearing, my sense of smell, of taste, and touch, all sending signals to my brain which, for the most part, interprets them “correctly,” helping me to make sense of the world. I continue to be amazed by the remarkable complexity of the human body, all the millions of moving parts and processes that make up a single day in a single, individual life. It truly is miraculous. As complex as this dance of life is for a single human individual, the interconnections of the complex systems and interactions of all of life, all creatures across the entire planet is wondrously unfathomable. I will once again quote the educator and horticulturist Liberty Hyde Bailey,“It is a marvelous planet on which we ride. It is a great privilege to live thereon, to partake in the journey, and to experience its goodness.” And so it is.

Female Northern Cardinal--The Shy One of the Pair

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Lessons in Gratitude Day 624

Posted on March 29, 2013 by mtchamblee

Ahhhhhh: the sigh of one who is sitting in their jammies at 8:30 on a Friday night, wrapped in the electric throw, sitting in bed getting ready to write. Tonight is one for simple gratitude, for offering thanks for the everyday, uncomplicated, blessings that come to us quietly, without fanfare or magnanimity. I am tired, almost too tired for a word like magnanimity, but not quite.

I am grateful this evening for the fact that it is Friday and the end of another long-feeling week. As I was leaving the office I received a text from my best friend Pat asking if I’d give her a call as we hadn’t checked in for a few weeks. So I spent my 55 minute commute home talking to her, listening as she shared what had been going on in her life, her frustrations with various things at home–family stuff–and various other matters. It was a great way to spend the hour in the car. Talking with Pat is like talking to one of my sisters: you spend a whole lot of time talking about basic life stuff–relationships, finances, workplace dramas and just about anything you can imagine. I am fortunate indeed to have a friend who has been part of my life for over 30 years and with whom I still talk regularly–we talked for two and a half hours and still had subjects we could have covered. Such is the nature of good old friendships. I am so grateful for her.

I am grateful for the many things that so many of us take for granted: my the clothes on my back (and in my closet), the shoes on my feet, food in my refrigerator, and a warm, safe, comfortable place to sleep. I am grateful for my health and strength–although my body isn’t quite as nimble or strong as it used to be, everything still works relatively well. I am grateful to be working; I’ve experienced what it’s like to be unemployed and am so glad to be working with good people, doing important work. I’m so grateful for my family: my children are doing well for the most part. I miss them terribly and am not a huge fan of the “empty nest,” particularly since my nest is completely empty of humans other than me. I am grateful for my housemate, Honor, but she isn’t much of a conversationalist.

It has been an exhausting week and I have drifted off to sleep more than once since I started writing this evening. So, I’m going to sign off early with the promise to try to be more fully present in writing tomorrow’s blog than I’ve been this evening. Tonight may we rest well, safe and protected from harm and wake refreshed and ready for what’s next. So be it!

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Lessons in Gratitude Day 623

Posted on March 28, 2013 by mtchamblee

Tonight for I am reaching once again into the LIG (Lessons in Gratitude) archives for wisdom from earlier this year. I had started working on a different piece but decided tonight to spin the wheel of the random number generator. I will be building on the LIG from October 9, 2011 (Day 102):

Today I am grateful for improvisation–if you can’t do something one way, figure out how to do it differently.

Persisting and following through with something when the first avenue is closed off doesn’t have to be difficult or unpleasant. I could have driven home when I couldn’t park in my usual spot and walk in my usual place. Instead I figured out something different,and it turned out fine. I’ve had some practice lately adjusting to changing circumstances. Sometimes I am more graceful and undaunted,and others I am more grudging and uncomfortable. Changes in plans,changes in life circumstances,changes in the weather….changes happen. Sometimes life can turn on a dime. Given that reality, it behooves me to remain as flexible and adaptable as I can–to improvise. Now I recognize that sometimes things happen for which we are so totally unprepared that we are caught completely off-guard,sometimes devastated. But by and large,even in those situations,if we’re fortunate we can recalibrate and still make shifts in how we approach things. There’s a spark on the inside of each of us that gives us the strength,the courage,whatever it is we need to make those shifts and adaptations.

I imagine that over time I have become more nimble in adapting to changes. I am grateful that even when the rug was pulled out from under me several months ago,I was able to adapt myself to survive the changes and am now doing pretty well. Developing and maintaining a sense of gratitude for the many blessings in my life has been foundational in my movement forward.

In the year and a half since I wrote this entry I’ve had many, many additional opportunities to practice the skill of improvisation, of figuring out how to work with what I’m given. While there is still room for improvement I’m not necessarily seeking opportunities to practice. What I am grateful for is the continuing ability to roll with what is presented. Some days this is easier than others, particularly when I am in one of those spaces in which a variety of conditions all seem to be shifting at the same time. In those situations it takes an incredible amount of energy to maintain a sense of equanimity and balance in the midst of the swirl. I am grateful for the strength of determination that keeps me doing the dance of improvisation, and while I’d like life to settle down a bit and develop a more predictable pattern, it could be that this is simply life the way it is for so many of us these days.

This reminds me of a quote often attributed to Jon Kabat Zinn that says, “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.” Who knows what wacky, unexpected event might occur next. The best I can do is be prepared to ride whatever wave happens to roll my way, and in the midst of the curl, be grateful. So be it!

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Lessons in Gratitude Day 622

Posted on March 27, 2013 by mtchamblee

I am in a quiet, reflective mood this evening as I ponder the matter of gratitude.  I have a lot of thoughts and emotions swirling around as they have been for the better part of the evening. It has been a long three days at work with two more long days to come. There are many varied issues arising there that require a great deal of time and energy, many of which don’t involve the work itself but the infrastructure surrounding it. At times I am reminded why I studied agriculture and animal sciences as an undergraduate and masters students: at one time I most definitely preferred animals to people. Now having worked for 30 years in a career in which the only animals I’ve worked with are human ones, I find myself longing for the relative simplicity of working with cattle or perhaps sheep…

Periodically I am so tired that putting coherent sentences together requires monumental effort. While I feel gratitude for the beautiful blessings in my life, on a given night–such as tonight–I lack the ability to write about it or express it in any articulate fashion. At times I’ve thought to myself, “This is it: tonight’s the night I don’t write my blog because my ability to reach in the hat and pull out a rabbit has finally failed me.” To not write my blog at this point while not completely unthinkable would nonetheless be disheartening and disappointing; and while I don’t have thousands or even hundreds of readers, I do have a few loyal daily readers whom I am loath to disappoint. In thinking about what I would do on those days when the well had temporarily run dry, I landed on an interesting solution: I would repost part or all of a previously written entry. So I found a random number generator, asking it to choose a number between 1 and 300. Based on that turn of the wheel, tonight I am sharing a portion of a blog I wrote a about 13 months ago (day 281.)

I am astonished to be at the end of another week and to be headed toward the end of April. Time continues to fly by, yet I find that I am grateful for the week just past. Tonight I am simply grateful to have come through another week with relative calm in my heart and a smile on my face. It is proof that progress is possible if one approaches one’s challenges with as open a heart as can be managed. I go back to Khalil Gibran’s quote,“Awake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.”While I can tell you that I definitely did not wake with a winged heart this morning (though I did wake around dawn), I did give thanks for another day of loving.

I am grateful to be looking back at my life through the stories and thoughts and ideas I speak about in this blog. I continue to approach the many issues and challenges that arise with as open and compassionate a heart as possible. I’ve generally had a “soft” heart throughout much of my life, and it feels as though the difficulties I’ve struggled through over the past few years have softened it even further, that suffering some of the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” that I have have over this time has not hardened me and turned me bitter, but softened me even more.

This is important in the work that I do. In working toward a more just, peaceful and loving world, I encounter people who oppose many of the things for which I stand and speak. Still, I must approach them with compassion–hardening my own heart against them will not produce the results that I want. A soft answer turns away wrath, the proverb says. And that is an approach that I take. It might not work for everyone, but it works for me. I am grateful for the grace that has allowed me to remain open and tenderhearted over the years. May it continue to be so. May I continue to walk in compassion, love, and peace even as I work for justice. May it indeed be so.

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