Money CAN buy happiness!

There were a lot of wonderful things about my birthday this past weekend. Perhaps one of my favorites was the opportunity to spend the $100 I received from a wonderful relative.

I'd suspected it was coming, and had two things in mind that I wanted: a pop-up tent for bringing my cards and signs to the Farmer's Market, and an expensive yummy-smelling shampoo to replace the cheap (and nearly-empty) bottle in my shower.

I ended up buying neither.

As much as those would have made great gifts, when it came time to spend my money on them, I was uninspired. So I decided to hold off.

Instead I saw this Facebook post from my childhood friend Valerie about a cool food/ nutrition/ education/ community-building program in Bali that her brother is involved with. They were asking for donations, and $35 would cover a month of meals for an elderly person in Ubud. So I donated. And it felt great.

Then I saw that my next door neighbor and her daughter were selling masks to raise money for some family expenses. They looked beautiful, and might even be better than the disposable ones I've been wearing, so I decided to get one. Another $10 committed, and again, it felt great.

Next I read an email from Braver Angels, a nonprofit whose mission to help depolarize politics in America is deeply important to me. They have a free event coming up that looked interesting, so I registered. And also made a $50 donation.

Finally, I saw an email from Molly Howes, a member of my church whose new book, A Good Apology: Four Steps to Make Things Right is being released this week. I am a huge fan of hers, and her take on this topic in particular, but hadn't yet pre-ordered the book. So I did.

And just like that, my $100 was gone.

Research shows people feel happier when spending money on others than on themselves, and that's exactly what I experienced. It's the same principle that's behind the Gift of Happiness in general: that our greatest joy comes not from having things, but from being able to contribute to others.

My birthday was a perfect reminder.

Being celebrated as an adult

As a kid, I picked up that the responsible, grown-up approach to life is to not need or want anything from other people.

Children may need gifts and celebrations and special attention on birthdays and holidays, I gathered, but adults are supposed to be content with whatever they have and not ask for more.

I always wanted to be a "good" adult.

The trouble is, this forced "I'm fine; I don't want anything special" attitude doesn't work very well. It robs me of the joy of even thinking about what would delight me. It makes it harder for me to gracefully receive the gifts that are given to me. It's also unkind to people who care about me and would love to do something to brighten my day -- if only they knew what it was. 

This past Mother's Day, I noticed that I felt sad about not getting more attention from my family. In hindsight, I realized I would have loved for them to do things like make me breakfast, and share stories of what I've said or done as a parent that they appreciated. But how were they to know it would make a difference? I'd trained them to believe I didn't care.

This month I have a chance to do better. My birthday is coming up soon, and I've been having fun thinking about things that would delight me to receive. Generating ideas and being honest about it takes more time and effort than just saying "whatever you do is fine," but it also feels so much kinder to the people who ask.

It's also freeing to realize that, unlike what I used to assume about being a "good" adult, it's possible to be perfectly content with what I have and want more. It makes life more vibrant and interesting than just settling for what is. And it primes me to feel grateful for things even before I receive them.

One of the things I want most right now is to keep spreading my Signs of Kindness across the country, so a lot of what I’m asking for relates to that in some way: a pop-up tent for Farmer’s Markets, design help for some new posters, brainstorming sessions about different ways to re-organize my website.

What are some things you'd be delighted to receive from the people in your life? How do (or could) you help your loved ones give to you in ways that you enjoy? Do you also carry particular beliefs about being celebrated or appreciated as an adult? How well do they serve you?

I’d love to hear your ideas. And if you’d like to help with the Signs of Kindness mission, that would be great too. Use discount code BIRTHDAY on this site between now and July 27th, and you’ll save 25% on single signs, connection cards, and bumper stickers. :)

"Fragility" is not a character flaw

I recently finished reading White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo.

In it, she calls out what white people often do in conversations about race when they are confronted with an uncomfortable truth. In response to feeling attacked, shamed, insulted, judged, angry, scared, or other strong emotions, they break down, withdraw, attack, defend, deny, simplify, change the subject, etc. This "white fragility" is frustrating to her as a racial and social justice educator because it serves to shut down the conversation, and prevent any new learning from happening. 

It was striking to recognize how I can display that same kind of emotional fragility in relationships whenever I feel especially sensitive, uncertain, or insecure about something, race-related or otherwise. As a general rule, I don't want to shut down dialogue, but on certain topics it's easy for me to get emotionally flooded, and it requires deliberate attention if I'm not to do so.

I expect most of us have sensitive spots like that. Areas of life where we lack hope or confidence, have damaging or conflicting beliefs, or simply care deeply about things being a certain way. Places in our lives where we could use extra love, patience, and understanding.

Unfortunately, the dominant Western culture is not kind to fragility. Either we coddle people who are fragile, treating them with kid gloves; or we ridicule their ignorance; or get impatient with their defensiveness; or punish their aggression with our own.

The problem is, none of these responses actually help people become less fragile. Nor do they give us any good guidance for how to treat ourselves when we're tempted to fight, flee, or freeze.

In light of that, here is the guidance that I'm offering myself, that I also offer to you:

Fragility -- "white" or otherwise -- is not a character flaw. It is a human experience.

Feeling fragile is an indicator that you've identified something important to pay attention to, where you have something worthwhile to learn.

It is not a time to stuff down your emotions, or pretend they don’t matter, or berate yourself for having them. It is a time to seek out extra love and attention, from sources you trust, to help you find the courage to seek new answers.

It is a time to listen deeply, not to “experts,” but to yourself: to your own inner wisdom that will guide you from fragility back into wholeness.

May you treat yourself with kindness, and others too, so we can all find the wisdom and clarity we need around our growing edges.

A new perspective on procrastination

This weekend I had the joy of listening to this Sounds True interview with one of my heroes, Karla McLaren. She was the inspiration behind the Befriending Emotions workshops I used to teach, and recently published a new book called Embracing Anxiety: How to Access the Genius Inside this Vital Emotion.

Karla said a lot of things that were helpful to me, but my favorite part was around 36 minutes in, where she gave me a whole new way of thinking about my tendency to procrastinate. She was talking about this book, in which researcher Mary Lamia presents two different orientations toward getting things done: task-driven and deadline-driven.

The task-driven folks are the action-oriented ones who get going on projects right away, work on them step-by-step, and make steady progress until they are done.

The deadline-driven people (aka the procrastinators) are the ones who are slower to get started and often use a burst of intense, focused energy at the end to get it done.

I've always heard and assumed that the "start early" approach is the better, preferred one, but according to Dr. Lamia, both work perfectly well for the people who use them.

As someone who frequently completes things at the last minute, this was very validating. See? I'm not just lazy, avoidant and irresponsible! There is a good reason for doing it the way I do it! There are even advantages to this approach! 

I didn't even realize how much baggage I was carrying about this until I let it go.

It's funny, now that I'm not feeling so ashamed of my save-it-to-the-last-minute ways, I'm also feeling more open to changing them. For instance, I wonder if there are ways to keep what I love about this approach, but also reduce the stress that I know it can cause for other people.

It's the classic irony of not being able to change something until you stop resisting it.

And how the best way to help someone change is to accept them just as they are.

I'm curious: Do you have a story about a characteristic that you once were embarrassed by, but came to embrace? What, or who, helped you with that perspective shift? How were things different for you afterwards?

If you're inspired to share, please do!

Do you want them to feel powerful?

Years ago, I remember being near some elementary school teachers as they were picking out a set of connection cards to give to their students. You are Awesome, You are Amazing, You are Important, and others all went into the stack.

Then they got to You are Powerful.

"Nope. No way am I encouraging that in my classroom," one of them said. And the card stayed in the box.

I was disappointed.

I suspected they were thinking of the students who already exercised "power" in loud and disruptive ways. Why encourage classroom behavior that would make teaching even harder?

But to me, that's not what You are Powerful is about.

For me, feeling powerful is about having a sense of freedom and agency. Not to make things difficult for other people, but simply to have a say in my own life. 

A sense of power motivates me to act toward the things that matter to me, because I believe it will make a difference. 

The more truly powerful I feel, the less I want to harm or control other people. The more powerful I feel, the more I want other people to feel powerful, too. 

And the more powerful we all feel, the more likely we will be to bring forth the best of ourselves to meet the challenges of the world.

This is absolutely something I want to encourage, in kids and adults alike. And here's one small way:

This is my newest addition to the Signs of Kindness collection. If you would like your own (or any of the other 20 messages), you can place an order here. Or if you're in the Metrowest Boston area, borrow one free for two weeks.

This week may you also look for other opportunities to remind people of their power, strength, resilience, and worth.

And may you be reminded of yours.

On spiders and seeing

When my daughter went away to camp a few summers ago, she was afraid of bugs.

When she came home, she began being kind to them.

What made the difference, I learned, was an afternoon she spent watching a spider with one of her counselors.

Instead of giving in to her fear and staying away, she came closer and looked at it. Got curious about it. Appreciated it. Was present with it. Up close, she experienced the spider not as fearful and icky, but as fascinating and amazing.

This story came to mind yesterday as I was reflecting on all the different kinds of people I have subtly judged and avoided in my life. The list includes people of color, people who don't speak English well, people with physical and mental disabilities, people I deem fat or unattractive or unintelligent, and others.

For someone who cares so much about kindness, it is humbling to see such a gap between my actions and how I aspire to be with my fellow human beings.

More than the embarrassment of hypocrisy, the experience of keeping myself guarded and distant from people feels awful. Not only does it not help anyone, but it perpetuates a world of meanness and separation that *I* don't want to live in. It hurts my heart. It damages my soul.

I think the spider story offers good instruction.

One of the common themes in our public dialogue on racial justice recently is the importance of us white people listening and learning. For us to see and be with the experiences of people of color. To watch, read, and listen to their stories. 

When I first saw that advice, it struck me as too simplistic. Not enough. But the more I think about it, the more important it seems.

When my daughter took the time to attend to that spider, it went from being scary and unfamiliar to a creature she had a relationship with. Something inside her fundamentally changed that I don't think any amount of moralizing or rule-making could have brought about. And it extended way beyond that single interaction.

Today, not only does she not have bugs or spiders killed any more, but she is also in a position to teach other kids to observe nature with curiosity, and perhaps overcome their fears as well.

While people are not spiders, I think the same principles apply: The powerful change that can happen when we truly see someone we'd previously ignored. The gift that it is for another person to share the truth of their life with us. The comfort of having a guide to accompany us through unknown territory. The joy of being free from old fears and misconceptions.

I am looking forward to following in my daughter's footsteps.

Love is not the goal; it's the starting point

One of the first things I learned in my LifeResults training was the powerful difference between two statements, each signifying a vastly different way of relating to other people who aren't just like us. Here's Statement One: 

I don't understand you, therefore I don't accept you, and I don't love you.

Let that sentence sit with you a little while. Imagine yourself hearing it from another person.

Imagine yourself saying it to someone else.

Imagine saying it to yourself.

Whether or not you've said or heard those exact words before, I wonder if their essence is as painfully familiar to you as it is to me.

Can you feel the loneliness (and the hurt, and the fear, and the anger) in that statement? How it makes you want to shrink and harden, defend and attack, justify and condemn?

Whether I'm saying it or hearing it, the impact is that I become uninterested in extending goodwill, giving you the benefit of the doubt, or trusting you with my truth. Instead, it feels safest to keep my distance -- with the result that we both remain ignorant of, and misunderstood by, the other.

By contrast, try on Statement Two:

I love you and I accept you, even though I don't understand you.

Imagine yourself hearing that from another person.

Imagine yourself saying it to someone else.

Imagine saying it to yourself.

Can you feel the kindness in those words (and the patience, calm, faith, and empowerment)? How the message creates trust and invites openness and curiosity?

Statement Two makes love the starting point of an interaction, rather than something to be earned based on certain conditions. Having that as a basis makes it safer for me to share, listen and explore differences without fear that either one of us will be rejected or shunned for what we reveal. It opens up the possibility of conversation, connection, and learning, even when we disagree or can't relate to each other.

I love you and I accept you, even though I don't understand you.

Is there anything you care about that wouldn't improve if the people involved chose that as a foundation for their conversations?

What would happen if Statement Two became a mantra for you?

What if you committed to it before turning on the news, or interacting with your family members, or entering into a potentially difficult conversation, or just going out to the grocery store?

What if you remembered it when you started to feel that "I don't accept you and I don't love you" feeling toward someone, and challenged yourself to identify things you don't understand about their life, actions, or point of view?

The point is not to pretend that everyone you don't understand is good or right (or even likable!), but rather to find a way out of the pain and loneliness that we create when we turn people into enemies.

I believe life is too precious to get sidetracked by that. But if you don’t agree, let’s talk! I bet there is a lot we can learn from each other.

What is YOUR response?

It took several days before I could bring myself to watch the video of George Floyd's death.

I knew how it ended, but it still left me feeling shaky. This is not the kind of country I want to live in. But what the heck is there to do?

Enter this wonderful piece on Medium, 75 Things White People Can Do for Racial Justice. It is full of ideas for what to do: things to read & research, legislation to support, groups to join, conversations to have, and so much more.

I'm embarrassed to admit that, not even too long ago, I avoided lists like that. When I saw them I felt guilty and defensive, afraid of being judged for not doing more things on the list, or not doing the "right" kinds of things. So I steered clear of them -- and the topic of race altogether.

Here is what the younger me needed to hear and understand:

Responding to the fear and cruelty that exist in the world is not about proving that you're a "good" person who deserves approval.

It's about recognizing what you actually care about, and having the integrity to live accordingly.

Not only is this inherently rewarding, but when we are "in the arena" and taking our own action for our own reasons, it also makes us a lot less inclined to waste time judging and comparing and arguing with people who approach the situation differently. 

At least that's how it works for me.

Engaging in the Reach Out in Kindness Challenge this past week has been really valuable for me, as it's been calling me to identify and act on my good intentions, even as it's sometimes made me nervous.

I've initiated some scary conversations, reached out to people I wouldn't have otherwise reached out to, and participated in activities that I probably would have skipped. All of which leaves me feeling less overwhelmed, not just by my own circumstances, but all that's been happening in the rest of the country.

We can't solve the nation's problems single-handedly, but each one of us can do something in the right direction.

The question is, What is that something going to be?

What is that thing that's calling you?

Are there things you need to create? People you need to talk to? Places where you need to show up? Things you need to learn?

You know best what it will be. I just encourage you to do it.

Get a load of this nonsense!

In high school, Tim, Janet and I wrote nonsense to each other.

We used (mostly) real words, and (mostly) standard grammar, but the content was entirely stream of consciousness. We kept it all in a notebook and took turns, one of us writing a page or two before passing it on to the next person.

We didn't even attempt consistency, didn't care that none of it made sense. The joy was simply in the creation, and in witnessing and appreciating the bizarre stuff that poured from each person's brain.

That memory popped into my head the other day while I was journaling in a similar stream-of-consciousness way: not wanting to fix or control or understand anything, but simply to notice what was happening for me in the moment.

That kind of "noticing" practice has been liberating for me lately. It’s a good reminder that things are always alive and changing, and that there’s no need to grasp for control and certainty, as much as my brain wants to do that right now.

It's nice to be able to give that poor brain a break once in a while.

In that spirit, I leave you with these recent words, inspired by my 16-year-old self and her friends:

It's hard, you know, managing a fizzle pop. Lightning and onion rods and pretzel hinges and great glass warriors. Where do they all go? You're allowed to stop and breathe, you know. No prizes for the cloudy ones, or the super shiny ones, or for maggots falling from the ceiling, either. That was a joke, son, you giant rooster. Baskets float and distract, but where are the buttons? Ooh, I found them! Under the yogurt lid, along with the mounds of dog fur. I agree, not a good image. I'm sorry, and know you will forgive me eventually, sweet chickadee. Put on your ballet shoes and let your heart soften into smithereens. Don't worry, they will reform. And won't even need to go to school, the dears. Existential mud pies. Amen and amen.

I hope you enjoy not making any sense of that. But if you're inspired to write some stream-of-consciousness nonsense of your own, I’d love for you to share it with me!

What would someone who loved themselves do?

The spiritual teacher Teal Swan offers this exercise as a shortcut to enlightenment: Every day for a year, multiple times a day, commit to asking yourself, "What would someone who loved themselves do?" Then notice what your intuition says, and act accordingly.

I was so grateful when I remembered that practice this morning.

For weeks now I have been struggling with wanting to do things, and having plenty of time available, but not quite knowing what to do. I've been spending way more time than I'd like being distracted and unsettled, in need of something reliable to anchor and guide me. Something that feels more meaningful and motivating than a "to do" list.

Teal's enlightenment exercise was perfect. 

I learned today, when I asked myself at different times, that someone who loved herself would:

• Do a more challenging exercise routine than she might have otherwise done

• Be kind to herself when she felt defensive in a conversation, and not respond how she was tempted to respond

• Actively participate during virtual "coffee hour" after online church

• Give herself a hug before moving on to the next thing

• Apologize to her son after she made a boneheaded parenting choice

• Not waste time beating herself up about that boneheaded parenting choice

• Quit judging and nitpicking at people

• Eat when she was hungry

• Get outside and appreciate the sunshine

Nothing earth-shattering there, perhaps. But that wasn't really the point. The point was to be mindful. Each time I stopped and asked the question, What would someone who loved herself do? it reinforced my intention and ability to act that way. And it really made a difference.

Rather than being in my head much of the day wondering what I should do, or trying to come up with the perfect plan, or being frustrated about feeling stuck and frustrated, I had a way to get unstuck and just do the next right thing. 

I ended the day feeling so much better: more in control of things that I can control, less controlling of things (and people) that I can't, and more gentle and kindhearted toward all of us trying to figure out what the heck to do right now.

My plan is to keep this up for the rest of the week, at least, and would love for you to join me in the experiment. Any interest in giving it a try? If so, please tell me what it’s like for you!