by tashmcgill | Mar 2, 2016 | Culture & Ideas
I am a storyteller, of sorts. I see stories in everything – as simple as a precise emotion or sense inspired by a broken fence swaying in the wind, or the exasperated look on a mother’s face leaving her child at the train station. I like to believe there is a story there and often I imagine for myself what the story might be.
I have too many storytelling tools at my disposal. I unpack the inner workings of my mind into words here on this website. I write in columns for other publishers, sometimes I write for radio and tell stories there. And then that Goliath of the modern age; the social internet. I tell stories with pictures and poetry on Instagram, on Facebook, on Twitter. In a word, I am prolific.
And I say that it is storytelling but in fact it is partially storytelling and partially just reflecting what I see and think and feel in a moment. I have never been in love but I can tell you a story about love in a few words. It’s tainted, of course, but it’s still a story about love. And maybe it’s silly but I want to be inspiring and thought-provoking. I want to be funny, oh how I love to make people laugh.
I want to be unexpected and yet reassuringly the same; at the end of the day you can find me telling stories in a whisky bar. It’s a nice piece of mythology for people to grasp hold of. I want to show what is possible in a life, in wringing the marrow out of it, not just in adventure and experience but in feeling and living and breathing these moments. All the neurons buzzing, flying through the mind and currents fizzing, firing through the body. Heady, giddy, dazzlingly alive.
From www.brainpickings.org
I publish these stories prolifically. I am writing for an audience, I am always doing this for ‘you’ and sometimes you are one thousand readers, sometimes you are just the one person I am telling a story too, although I am letting the world watch. I am doing it for myself too. I crave the expression and the art of it. Not a dozen reactions to a self-portrait, but the creating or sharing of a moment. I am a collection of light reflections from a dozen facets in a stone. I am interested in almost everything and passionate about ten things, when two would satisfy most. I have an insatiable curiosity and a need to find wonder in it all. I want magic in the world, as much as I want a pragmatic guidebook to it all.
Sometimes I Make The Magic.
I am a writer and all writers write in code. You see it there, a certain pattern to the words they choose around a subject matter; inspired by or in tribute to the conversation that started the thread of the thought. A phrase that means something more to just one reader, whether the faithful editor or family member. I use it in hashtags and captions always, a story within a story. A story for one within the crowd.
Two words that mean ‘I am thinking of you in this moment, but you are not with me and I would like it to be otherwise.’
A phrase that really means ‘I have been here before.’
And when I am sad or the darkness threatens, either brought upon me or because I have it… the words ‘on the land of birth and burial’ appear again and again. One day, when some poor editor has to work through my collection of poetry they will no doubt cross out those words more than once.
I put magic into the stories I tell, hoping someone will see. In every part of my life, I want people to speak straight and true, but when you read me, how I want for you to read between the lines. But it’s all reflection and external representation, right? What is there to read beneath the text I give you?
All along, I say to myself, that is not the best of me. The best of me is hidden away, the best of me is still a story told face to face, the whisper of my voice, the response of your eyes and hands as I unfold these stories, these observations, these questions into your hands. That is what I tell myself, that there is within me still, a deeper Magic.
I don’t mean the novel; the story of miscast lovers that is really an allegory for everything I’ve seen and learned about taking responsibility for your own life. It’s not the other novel; about what it takes to forgive beyond reason. It’s not a work, that’s hidden within me – those works are in plain sight just biding their time.
I mean, the Magic I hope is there. Some substance to me that is more than the ability to mirror the world in snapshots and morsels. Some Magic that causes people to be as curious about me as I am about them. Some Magic that is the mystery of a tree with roots deep down into the earth that reaches to the sky and somehow lives whether the river runs wide or dry.
It has occurred to me, perhaps there is no intangible root or sweet, ripened fruit. Perhaps, between the lines there is simply nothing more. I tried to put it into words, who I am, the magic I hope is within me and fell flat. I stumbled for a phrase when I should have sparkled, at last given chance to reveal myself and say here, look and see – this is my something more, this is my magic. So I have been searching for it. I have been trying to find the words I should have used and to describe to myself…what more there is beyond this story I have created. All night I have searched and I have not found it.
So, perhaps there is no magic. Maybe I have told all the stories there are to tell. Perhaps I am just a mirror, driven by curiosity and exploration. Perhaps I should stop, before I run out of interesting things to say.
But I want to believe. Don’t you want to believe, that there is always something more?
I want to show what is possible in a life, in wringing the marrow out of it, not just in adventure and experience but in feeling and living and breathing these moments. All the neurons buzzing, flying through the mind and currents fizzing, firing through the body. Heady, giddy, dazzlingly alive.
Like a Second-Hand Book
I love second-hand books, the kind that are hard to find – collections of poetry by mid-century New York writers (Frank O’Hara comes to mind) and of course, Neruda and Cummings. You can’t leave them behind. I like to pick up them up tenderly, gently coaxing the spine open and seeing where the pages fall. Where have readers before left a trail for me to follow? Those pages falling open by habit to the favourite poem, or where soft pencil scratchings have left a marker in the margins.
‘Go here, follow this path, find what I found.’
You see where the writer and the audience met and laid out their secrets to one another. In some volumes, you see the reader was obsessed with sonnets, in others you see the reader was battling sadness. You see the magic of the author and the reader.
So I wonder now, is it the same with me and with you? Can we not see our own magic unless someone shows it to us? Perhaps the magic is there, but I’m in it and surrounded by it and therefore hidden in plain sight, the ‘something more’ escapes me because the Magic isn’t crafted like a piece of poetry, it isn’t thought out to be funny or wise or kind; perhaps the Magic is just what tumbles out when I am no longer thinking about the audience at all. When I step back from the microphone instead of into it, when I stop reflecting like a mirror and have the chance to see what is reflected back to me.
Yes, that I can believe. That I can take silence in, rest and believe the Magic in me.
What is secret, what is hidden, what is yet to be revealed? Yes.. there is something there. I felt creep up on me in the quiet just then, so I am content. It is not for here. It is simply enough to tell you there is more than this.
by tashmcgill | Feb 28, 2016 | Culture & Ideas
I like rituals and ceremonies. We are a people who tell stories and the structure of our story, the meta-narrative of who and what humanity is, is written around and defined by the many rituals and ceremonies that comprise our existence.
Sometimes the rituals are small. I have small daily practices that matter. There is an element of ritual and ceremony when I host a Monday Night Dinner. We have more interpersonal rituals too – the marriage ceremony in all varying forms and the dedication, christening or baptism of children. In fact, most of these rituals are birthed in religious practices, this ancient calling of deep to deep that acknowledges in some small way there is still something magical and otherworldly about the most primal of our calls to mate and procreate. We celebrate Lent, Easter, Yom Kippur, Ramadan.
We observe, we remember. We make milestones.
But how do you create meaningful rituals for yourself or your family if you are not religious? Ceremonies and rituals bring us together. They are a chance to state what sometimes goes unsaid – that of course, parents commit to raising their children well. That friends and family commit to support the promises of marriage and family. So you have to write one of your own, which Mark and Paula asked me to do this week.
On their wedding day 3 years ago, they asked me to write and read a poem. On that day, we celebrated their marriage but also the dedication of their first-born daughter, Gracie. This week, we gathered on that same anniversary to celebrate and dedicate their second child, Olivia.
What does it mean to dedicate?
The idea of dedication was derived by the Evangelical Protestants who believed that traditional Catholic and high Anglican child baptism did not ensure salvation. Ultimately, the choice to follow God must be the child’s own, made of their own volition at an age where they had comprehension.
So parents dedicate their child to God, a promise to raise the child in the ways of the parents’ faith, as part of the Church until such a time as they can make their own decision. In more recent years, it’s become increasingly common for that series of promises to include the church community, friends and extended family also promising to support the parents and the child.
So, in case you have need ever, of a non-religious dedication … here’s one I wrote this week.
The rough outline is as follows
Welcome
Addressing Olivia as a gift
Acknowledging her as a sister
Siblings commitment
Acknowledging her as part of a broader family
Acknowledging her as a daughter
Parents commitment
Godparents commitment
Readings by the godparents
Friends and extended family commitment
A blessing
– fin.
Welcome everyone. We’re here as family and friends of Mark, Paula, Gracie and now Olivia, to celebrate a special milestone and significant day in the life of the Southon family. It was on the 24th of February 3 years ago that we gathered here to celebrate Mark and Paula’s marriage, and dedicated their first born. Today, we celebrate their ongoing commitment to one another and welcome Olivia to the family.
Olivia is a gift.
First – she is beloved. She was hoped for and greeted with joy from the moment we knew she was on the way. Olivia, since before you came to be, you were loved and desired as part of this family.
Second, she is a precious sister for Gracie. Sisters are a chance to grow up with a best friend, true confidante and someone always willing to help you grow and shape your character through thoughtful input. Or sometimes, to pull your hair and borrow your clothes.
Gracie – do you welcome Olivia as your sister? Will you be a good friend to her, share what you have and teach her what you know?
Sister responds:
Olivia – you are a daughter to Mark and Paula. You carry part of each of your parents – their kindness, generosity, hospitality, talent, love and that of each of your families. You have grandmothers, aunts, uncles and cousins who would love to be here to today and we remember and acknowledge that you are part of a much bigger family; some of whom are no longer with us. But we remember them and all the lessons they have left us with.
Mark, Paula – do you dedicate yourselves to loving, nurturing, caring for and helping to shape Olivia’s character as her parents? Will you share with her the lessons you’ve learned from your own parents, siblings and life experience? Will you open doors for her but set her free to become her own person when the time is right and always offer her the comfort, love and support that is “home”? And lastly, will you dedicate yourselves again to one another; along with the task and privilege you share in of parenting both Gracie and Olivia?
Parents respond.
And finally, Olivia is a gift to us – who are lucky to count ourselves friends of the Southons. She will continue to give us joy as she grows, learns to walk, giggle, talk and becomes her own person. It is our privilege to walk alongside Mark and Paula as they parent Olivia and Gracie. It is our privilege to walk alongside Gracie and help her become a great big sister and offer our support in raising Olivia.
Mark and Paula have asked Emma and Seb to represent their friends and family in the special role of godmother and godfather. To offer wisdom, care and support to Olivia, and the family as she grows.
Emma and Seb, will you commit to caring for, supporting, encouraging and nurturing Olivia as she grows?
Godparents respond.
Reading #1 (read by the godparents)
When you were born, little one, we sang over you
Sweet songs of hope and light
We sang you to the stars and the moon
We sang to you of the ocean and the mountains
We sang you to sleep and we sang you to life.
When you are grown, little one, sing back to us
Songs of a life fully alive
Sing to us of the skies you fly through, the dreams you see
Sing to us of the world you know, of the love you have
When you are older, sing sweet songs back to us.
Reading #2
From small seeds grow mighty trees.
A tree reaches up to the sky with all its strength
Bows to the wind but does not breakLittle birds fly across golden skies
Small feathers grow into strong wings
Wise birds return home to the tall, tough trees
When the tall strong tree touches the blue-gold sky
And the bird returns home on the wind that blew
There we will always make a space for you.
And for the rest of us. As a family we must also be willing to hold one another accountable to the promises we make. To support and encourage when times are tough and to laugh and celebrate when times are good, like today. Friends, will you commit to stand beside the Southons, supporting and encouraging their family?
Friends respond.
Blessing for Olivia.
Olivia, today you may not understand the love and commitment that has been expressed around you and for you.
But you will come to know it, in the same way you’ll know the warmth of the sun on your skin, the wind in your face and the rain that comes to water the earth in each perfect season.
You are loved and may you know that love all the days of your life.
When days are dark, may you find the arms that will hold you fast through any storm.
When days are bright, may you find yourself always in the company of the good and the wise.
As you grow, may you learn from all those who have dedicated themselves to you. And when you are old, may you remember how you were loved and what you learned, to pass on to those who will come after you.
May you be good and may you be kind. May you be strong, self-assured and compassionate. May you be full of laughter and integrity. May you know joy and peace in the blossom of your life.
We pray that any hardships serve to teach you, that your blessings serve as generosity towards others and we pray that you will always know the way home, no matter where life takes you. You are home in our arms, in our love and in our hearts for all the days of your life.
Welcome. Nau mai haere mai, moko.
Of course, as with the Garden poem which has now been read at some twenty or so weddings that I know of, you are welcome to use this material also. Change the names and the details, but you are welcome to the outline. The poems are my own. Email me and let me know too, I’d love to hear your stories.
by tashmcgill | Dec 28, 2015 | Culture & Ideas, Health
Today, I’m not writing because the words are burning on my chest. In fact, I would rather ignore the subject all together, but I have to write about cancer. More specifically, I have to write about what cancer does. Not what we think it does, but what it really does.
What we think cancer does is kill people. And we’re right, people die from cancer all the time as well as some who survive. Over 100 different types of cancer rampaging through the world touching almost every family and every person by the time you reach your thirties. Cancer causes harm to the human body when abnormal cells begin to divide uncontrollably. Usually defined by the cells first affected, most cancers cause tumours to grow which can eventually interfere with the function of vital organs or in the instance of leukemia, it alters the cells in the bloodstream. Sometimes cancer spreads to other parts of the body through the bloodstream or lymphatic system, in a process called metastasis.
What many people don’t realise is that approximately only 10% of people die from their primary tumours. Once a tumour metastasizes, the secondary conditions are extraordinarily hard to treat and that is what most people eventually die from.
That’s a problem because on the whole, humanity is becoming more afraid of death than ever. We’re fighting to prolong the lives of our elders, let alone the young. I’ve written about this in the past; while my friend Jared was dying of bowel cancer. We end up fighting not to die, because that’s what we think cancer does.
But here’s what cancer really does. Cancer gets in the way of living and it gets in the way of families. You might think I’m playing semantics here, but I’m really not. What Jared taught me and what we pondered together was how to live out of your purpose and not be distracted by trying to stop cells multiplying where they shouldn’t.
On Boxing Day, we lost our friend Ruth. 
She was about my age and had been married for three years after what seemed like a lifelong wait at the time. Turns out, she spent a good deal of her actual lifetime waiting for Harley. No one would argue that it wasn’t worth every moment. Not long after, she fell pregnant and then discovered a brain tumour. Her darling wee girl was delivered prematurely. Ruth got to be a mother, she got to live that beautiful dream for 18 months; full of hope, faith, sadness and joy. Motherhood interrupted. The lasting, indelible marks of her life will always be joy, laughter, delight and beauty. She was beautiful from the inside out. Cancer has interrupted her family and changed forever the path of her husband, daughter and dearest friends.
On Boxing Day night, I learned my darling workmate Rebecca ‘Bangs’ Hyndman, had been diagnosed with an aggressive cancer on Christmas Eve. She’s been given a few months at best but remains in critical condition. Her son, Ben, is just over four weeks old. Her husband, Jeff, now faces the interruption. Cancer, once again – getting in the way of families and people living out their purpose. Motherhood interrupted. Becs is straightforward as she always has been – she’s not going to be distracted in these last weeks from her purpose – to love her boys and do her best for them.
What would a mother do for her husband and son about to face an immense loss?Everything she could to provide comfort, nurture and sustenance. There are no shortage of family and friends who will rally with time and effort – but you don’t have to be a genius to realize paternity leave isn’t going to stretch far enough for this one. So there’s a donation page been set up here – Give A Little. Why would you consider giving? Probably because nobody needs 1000 lasagna or beef casseroles. Because 18 years of child raising on a single income is daunting, let alone in the face of grief. Because most 30 year olds don’t have life insurance. Because it’s symbolic of saying, “I’ll help you care for your family and accomplish this task“.
In all this; I’m mindful of my friend Kelly, also facing a terminal diagnosis. I remember Jared and how he did not let cancer interrupt his purpose and in doing so, left a legacy for his daughter Elise. His purpose wasn’t what he thought it was, but he embraced it as soon as he recognized it.
Back to what cancer really does. Cancer gets in the way of families, gets in the way of living. We can easily get confused and think we must give all our attention to fighting the cancer, to stopping the cells from growing. We ought to fight, sensibly. Cure what we can – but we must not stop living in order not to die. Strangely, cancer cells don’t like to die.The whole problem is that they grow and live and keep on living; unlike every other cell in the body. We can’t control those cells. Normal cells, regular cells all follow a cycle of creation, growth, life and then death. Without death, we have a problem.
We fight cancer because we don’t want it to kill us. Because even though we all must die, we don’t want to die from cancer. We ought to fight to live. Every moment, every day. Leaving an impression behind us – whether in a child or a friendship or a piece of music, art, a business deal or a well-manicured garden.
Today, I’m writing because it’s part of who I am, my purpose on this green and blue orb hanging in space. To observe the world and tell others what I see. I hope that it changes you or moves you or challenges you as I am challenged also by what I see and learn as I study others.
Today, I’m writing to acknowledge death will come to us all but until that day – tomorrow, next Wednesday or in June some years from now, I will live. I will try.
In living, consider where else metaphorical cancer is getting in the way of your family and your life’s purpose. Are toxic relationships or bad habits, insecurities or deep internal misbeliefs that are doing what cancer does? Stopping you from living and getting in the way of your family or relationships? Are old grudges or judgmental thoughts stopping you from being truly yourself or allowing others to be truly themselves? Get yourself a health check or give yourself one before you enter the New Year.
I’m working on my own; the fear of judgement from others, a sense of inferiority, a longing to belong somewhere I can call home. Stay tuned and work on it with me.
by tashmcgill | Dec 7, 2015 | Culture & Ideas, Family
The trouble with Christmas is not the commercial underpinnings or the trappings of food and wine that see us creeping back to the scales in shame. The trouble with Christmas, is how it perpetuates the myth of perfect. This is an old post but one that still rings true. So here’s an updated version for 2015.
1. Christmas gives perfect stereotypes an unfair spotlight.
I love Christmas movies but I hate the stereotypes they portray. Career girls being visited by ghosts of Christmas past to learn that family is the most important thing. Childhood sweethearts being reunited. Even the most loved and abhorred ‘Christmas’ movie ‘Love Actually’ has very little to do with Christmas and everything to do with tragic romance gone wrong. Christmas is not about romance, nor are those stereotypes realistic.
2. Christmas creates an expectation that we should have ‘perfect’ moments, from family dinners to carol services.
Those perfect moments come with their own set of expectations too – perfect food, perfect decorations, perfect happiness. This shallow view of happiness is ill-informed and unrealistic. The nuance of emotion that is layered into a truly happy moment will touch the spectrum of joy, sorrow and everything in between. Therefore the kind of happiness we see depicted or try to create is largely an inaccurate and unachievable kind of emotional experience.
Of course – the expectation or desire for creating something ‘perfect’ is largely only something that hinders those who have not found peace with defining their own sense of perfect.
The biggest challenge around Christmas and its myth of perfection, is the annual challenge it poses to those who are still wrestling with their own imperfection, or still seeking the ability to find perfection in the imperfect.
What’s the perfect Christmas?
It starts with acceptance that we have the opportunity to participate and create new traditions and meaningful moments by acknowledging and communicating our needs and hopes thoughtfully with one another. Not inspiring enough? A perfect Christmas is one where everybody comes openly to a shared experience and are actively involved in creating a celebration that expresses shared meaning.
Even if you have found a sense of acceptance and self-awareness within yourself, Christmas thrusts many people and their hopes (expectations) together. Therefore, while you may find contentment, others who are seeking to ‘get it right’ in hopes of meeting their own Christmas expectations may still look to you to play a part.
Is this selfish? Is this wrong? No. It’s a natural part of human interaction but in the same way that weddings can, a shared celebration and experiences creates a set of dependencies on others to try to achieve satisfaction.
Whatever ideals you hold regarding your family and close relationships, it is nearly impossible to remove those from the way we celebrate and come together.
So where does stress, anger, frustration, emotional outburst and tension come from at Christmas? It comes from trying to meet these expectations, often relying heavily on others to do, say, make and be what we hope for. This tension of hope and expectation can squeeze our emotional and mental capacity beyond breaking point. Our hope that ‘this year will be different’ pushes against our expectation that ‘it will be the same as it was before’.
It may be you have not experienced this before, but for increasing numbers of people who come from divorced and mixed-families, those who are adjusting to the loss of partners or children, those who have suffered abuse or trauma in family relationships – this is an unspoken norm at Christmastime. Even for those away from home for the first time, Christmas takes on a significantly different shape. It can simply be overwhelming for those who are lonely at other times of the year, to experience the pronounced focus on close relationships and family during this season.
At the most basic healthy level, balancing the needs and desires of multiple family units is challenging. Making decisions about which grandparents get to see the grandkids on Christmas Day and when can be tough. But if a single person in that family has a deep emotional need to feel validated during that time – instant complication. Most tension and emotional escalation comes from a core human need – trying to get what we want, to get our needs or expectations met.
The habits of family arguments, old behaviours and our oldest vulnerabilities and insecurities flying unchecked can escalate before we have a chance to grasp hold our control of the situation. And again, this is normal. Human beings are creatures of habit, therefore choosing alternative ways of being – particularly in family units where the oldest ingrained behaviours usually begin, requires discipline and self-control.
When we fear that others will not meet our expectations or the ghosts of Christmas past raise their voices in our heads – we have a choice.
1. We choose numbness. We intentionally pull back our emotional investment so as to navigate complex situations with the least amount of stress and emotional impact.
2. We relent to the power of old behaviours. There is a strange comfort and security in patterns we are at least familiar. We play our parts in arguments that we have every Christmas. We wrestle with the same feelings of disappointment over unmet expectations. The most dangerous phrase is “I was secretly hoping for.” An unvoiced hope is like an illness, affecting us day by day.
3. We reset our expectations and apply tactics to resist old behaviours. This is the hardest choice, because it requires a certain commitment to your personal emotional stores. It requires doing some internal work to rationalize what the unmet expectations and unbearable feelings around those relationships are. This requires a bunch of work, but for good reward.
So, it’s December 8th. You have 23 days, give or take a few hours. Seeing you can only work on yourself, not others – here’s a list to get you started for a less stressful Christmas. As with most things, good communication is the start. Communicating what we need, what we want, what we hope for and then listening just as hard to all other people involved.
- Identify the insecurities and vulnerabilities that feel particularly present this time of year.
- Pinpoint any obligations you feel or where you are striving to meet the expectations of others. Are they really reasonable?
- Rebalance expectations or obligations – what can you actually do, what do you want to do?
- Deconstruct your insecurities – what can you do to build your esteem? You’ll feel the benefits as soon as you start.
- Identify your own expectations and hopes for the Christmas season – are you hoping for particular feelings or certain shared experiences? It needs to be a little more specific than ‘I just want everyone to be happy’. Ask yourself the question ‘what will happiness look like, or sound like?’. The answer to that question is probably a great description of what you really want.
- Be realistic about how much of your circumstance you can control or influence. You can make choices to control more or less, but each choice has a consequence. Start with being realistic about what is inside and outside your control.
- Acknowledge that no one person is likely to have all of their hopes and expectations met. Accept that you might compromise some of your own hopes in order that others might also experience fulfilment. It’s highly likely many hopes will be shared.
- Peacefully communicate your true hopes, desires and expectations to other people in your family. Invite them to do the same.
- If possible, find other family members who are willing to talk about new strategies and tactics for meeting some of these hopes.
Good luck. The bonus is that using this strategy of good, simple communication will bring benefits into many other parts of your life.
by tashmcgill | Dec 6, 2015 | Culture & Ideas, Strategy
As I wrote last week, there’s a post-it note on my desk with the quote,
“Everything I’ve ever let go of has clawmarks in it.” David Foster Wallace.
Letting go of anything means change. Change is constant and uncomfortable. Very few human beings are wired to thrive on the thrill of the unknown. Most of us believe forewarned is forearmed and that minimising change is the utopian dream. We crave stability, without realising that stasis is the first stage before death.
While I echo Wallace’s sentiment, I can’t support his implied proposition – that to fight and cling is somehow noble. But Wallace committed suicide in 2008, having lived much of his adult life with depression and under medication in order to be able to work. I think Wallace’s fight to hold on and to resist change ultimately contributed to the ongoing breakdown of his life. You see, what we invest our energy into grows.
Change that we resist is usually an external pressure or energy; something that comes upon us. When you resist external force with internal force, the energy evaporates in the combustion of that reaction, but the energy is also lost. No one party gains from the other.
Over time, a resistance or refusal to respond to change depletes your energy and resource.
I experienced this a number of times in my early working life. The loss of a project, the change in a plan, the loss of a job. I clung and fought but each battle became harder to fight and each victory less sweet, such was the price of the battle.
So now, instead of fighting to resist change – I’m learning to surrender to it.
It may feel uncomfortable because in the Western world, our idea of surrender is most often associated with loss. We only surrender when we are in a losing position. But in Sanskrit, the word ‘surrender’ is translated to ‘give yourself wholeheartedly to something, to embrace the flow of your life.’
This idea of surrender is about where you put your energy and what you resist instead of embracing, what you embrace instead of resisting. A negative attitude towards change is a toxic learning environment. Learning should always be a by-product of change. A negative attitude towards change alienates and disengages you from those who would help you navigate it.
Surrender is powerful because it reframes our thinking away from bad conflict habits.
Surrender is powerful because you cannot embrace again without first letting go.
Surrender is powerful because it truly is the path of least resistance. Resistance is the enemy of hope in the face of change. We get to keep our energy for other battles.
Surrender is powerful because it focuses us on the posture we taking in learning, the resilience required to live with inevitable disappointment and the power of humility.
It is in surrender that you are embracing humility. Knowing yourself truly; good, bad and ugly. Confronting the secret and alone parts of yourself that are still laced with fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of being unsuccessful, fear of being unloved, fear of being wrong.
When I was confronted with the biggest change I’ve known as an adult; I fought it with all my might. I rallied in every conversation, I maintained an excruciating level of intensity because losing this project was not an option for me. I fought myself, my mentors, I fought with my friends and then I lost it anyway. I entered the dark shadow cave; confronted with loss and with blame. I felt ashamed that I hadn’t held onto what I had clung so tightly too in the past. Letting go felt like failure, but later I realised not letting go fast enough meant I had no time or capacity to embrace the lessons right in front of me. Change came and continued out without me, because I wouldn’t allow myself to get on board the train.
No matter what kind of change you’re undergoing, major or minor – we yearn for peace. We find it in surrender. Surrender to knowing that while we may not see the end result of change; change is assured. Change in of itself is not scary. Change can open new doors of discovery. Change can also be very, very wrong. But like a tsunami wave, it will not be stopped once started. Accepting change is a doorway to peace. Surrendering to the flow of your life is peace entering in.
Surrendering to change pushes us into the unknown, which is where we must be if we are to learn something new and to learn something new, we must ask the right questions.
- what will I learn
- how can I learn best from this
- how will I respond
- how will I help others
Surrender is the art form of leaning in, a gateway to vulnerability. As the world responds to us, change is quickened. As change is quickened, we are more truly ourselves. The more change we embrace, the more we have the opportunity to embrace the lessons that come with it.
by tashmcgill | Dec 2, 2015 | Culture & Ideas, Spirituality
The Advent season starts for each of us, alone. No matter that by Christmas Day, most of us will find our way to be connected with some others – family, friends or communities. But it starts with people alone.
Elizabeth, the cousin of Mary, is carrying a child in her old age while her husband is struck silent. Elizabeth is very much alone.
Mary, the teenage girl engaged to Joseph is visited by the angel Gabriel while she sleeps. She is alone, left to wonder if she is going mad and what will become of her.
Joseph is also alone when visited by the angel, who assures him he should still take Mary as his wife. Joseph had been secretly planning to break off their betrothal; in secret and alone.
Eventually Mary gives birth alone in a stable, no mention of midwives, mothers or sisters to accompany her on this journey. Mary, the mother of God spends much of the Christmas story alone, if not lonely.
Although the traditional Christmas story ends with Mary, Joseph, Jesus and a motley crew of shepherds, wise men and innkeepers gathered together in a stable; for each person the journey starts alone. Nativity scenes paint a picture of otherworldly peace and calm, but the story itself is actually full of human anguish, anxiety, fear, rejection, anger and loneliness.
It is the same for us. Whatever our thoughts or beliefs around the Christmas season or story are; we begin the season alone.
This aloneness is an extraordinary opportunity.
When we are alone, we are left with no choice but to be confronted with ourselves. Our fears, hopes. Our sense of hopelessness. Whether it’s the pressure of unreasonable expectations created by us or other; perhaps it is the secret list of disappointments, perhaps it is our aloneness that confronts us when we are alone. But the story starts in Alone.
That’s where Hope emerges from too.
Why remember Advent?
It’s healthy and good to give pause at this time of year. No matter where you are, the season is changing from hot to cold or cold to warm. Business calendars roll over and many of us find ourselves pondering family, lovers, friends and community. We ponder our sense of togetherness and our sense of aloneness. We wonder what the New Year will bring. We try and navigate a season that is increasingly complex – multiple families, multiple faiths.
The Advent season follows four themes – Hope, Peace, Joy and Love. These eternal ideas are human ideas, not restricted to religion alone. Yet, Advent seems a useful time to refocus on them. Hope emerges from our sense of frailty and our imagination. Peace is a life-long human pursuit and we are living in times of highly publicised civil wars. There is much to be said for meditating on these themes and bringing deeper meaning to our day-to-day existence.
So this week, take a moment and be alone.
What do you see in the mirror?
What are you pregnant with? What rumbles inside you and will not let you go?
What are you reaching into – what newness?
What are you afraid of? What is lonely? What is crowded? What is finished?
Advent is about expectation. The expectation of Hope, Peace, Joy and Love arriving. Interrupting, expanding and challenging the day-to-day human experience.
Yes, that I can believe. That I can take silence in, rest and believe the Magic in me.
