I was thinking it would be nice if they sold candles scented like motor oil.

It was just after Thanksgiving that we got the diagnosis that my dad was dying of a very rare and incurable cancer. He died on Christmas day.  And in every Christmas season since I have lit a white candle in his memory.  These candles, more often than not, are scented of vanilla or gardenia or white cotton. If I truly wanted to be reminded of my father, the candle would smell of motor oil.

My father owned an auto service and towing outfit and as such simply could not drive by when someone was stranded roadside. Though he wasn’t a saint, like a river that smooths a stone’s rough edges, time has smoothed the rough edges of my memories and I’m left with  joyful rememberances.  

Of precarious, crazy Jeep rides all over the sand dunes of southern California.

Of his preference to Christmas shop on Christmas Eve at a car wash for his children. “Yes, but it’s an electronic tire gauge!” he would say.

Of  a laugh that that you could hear coming like a freight train and was as contagious as a yawn.

In the seven years since he died, many a man about his age when he died - 67- has turned to look at me after undoubtedly feeling the heat of my stare.  They have caught me gazing  lovingly and longingly and sending them silent blessings because something about their lined faces or posture or mechanic shop smell reminded me of my dad.

I am reminded now of a recent interview I did with Jill Bolte Taylor. The neuroanatomist suffered a severe hemorrhage in 1996, effectively losing the use of her left brain at the age of 37. Besides being unable to walk, talk, or even sit up she found herself awakened to a state of bliss.  She spoke passionately about this at the Ted Conference. We talked about how she maintains her blissed out state-of-mind  even though she’s made a full, physical recovery.

It’s a two-step process.

First, accept what you’re feeling. “Fear or anger or despair or grief — all the really gripping emotions that most people define as negitive,” Taylor said.  Accept it, experience it and the feelings will pass through.

Second, Taylor said, find the gratitude in the feeling. Even in the inside-twisting experience of grief.

“Even the experience of deep grief,” Taylor said. “It’s an incredible, rich experience when you allow it to take you and you go there. Close your eyes. Let yourself be with it. Then have the gratitude to know that I’m capable of having that experience because I’m alive! I’m alive!”

So as this season’s white candle burns down, the flickering flame has reminded me of the joy I have experienced with my father and that I’m still here. Loving. Living. Grieving.

And accepting this year’s white candle scent of white orchid tea.

If my creativity were an animal it would be a seeing eye dog.

Patient.

Dutiful.

Capable.

And my creativity is like such a dog. It’s by my side when needed. On deadline, in particular. It handles changes of direction with ease. It is prepared to take new paths. It is ready to lead me down well-worn roads, even when nothing amazing or useful has ever been found there. It needs only some nuturing, some play and for me to grab hold and say, “Let’s go.”

But I have something to confess. Sometimes I put blinders on my creative guide dog.  It sounds terribly abusive. (Call the PETA folks!) And, I guess, it is.  My meek excuse is that I feel I know best about how to get from point A to point B. So I handicap my creativity. It makes me feel in control. It makes me feel like I’m going somewhere. Not just anywhere…like my creative dog might lead me to a blog idea, or a single perfect sentence, or an idea for a lede on a newspaper story…but someplace, by gosh, that’s important. That IS something. Like a book. Or a movie script that will start a bidding war. Or a new world manifesto.

And in the end, I usually end up at somewhat of a dead end, no where to turn, no clear direction, the map of where I was going now  littering the road of abandoned aspirations. So I return to my creative guide. I remove the blinders and ask once again for it to guide me with often only a little direction.

Directions like…

• I’m thinking of this little girl and a family of quail and it may be some sort of children’s story. Have you ever heard of that place? I ask. My dog/my creative guide knows how to get there.
•  I’d like to go somewhere in my writing that deals with the importance of questions. So many people say they want answers, but I think it’s the questions — our own unique questions —  that are important in leading us where we want to go in life.  Is this an essay? A memoir? A paragraph in a future blog?
• I had a dream about a seeing-eye dog with blinders sitting forlornly by a Dumpster last night. Feels like  it had something to do with my own personal creative quest. What could it mean? I want to explore this.

We really are more partners, my creative guide dog and me. My creative guide’s job is to take my spark of interest and use it to light the way of our creative journey.

And my job in this relationship is to:

Trust.

Trust.

Trust some more.

I am not helpless. But I am often blind at first to where that zap of excitement, that tap on the shoulder to look over there or that sharp pinch of curiousity is taking me.

I see that now.

Since you’re a conscious soul, you’re probably hyper mindful about when you’re feeling ”bad.”

You immediately notice feelings of fear, nervousness, hopelessness, despair.  And maybe you’re feeling a little bad about those bad feelings. It’s almost a religion that negativity and feeling bad should simply not be tolerated if you’re going to be a successful, creative, prosperous person.

What crap.

As I recently sat judging myself in the Target parking lot just for feeling — Blech! — the reporter in me asked the question, is it really so bad to feel bad? I’ve come to realize that feeling bad can lead to some really good changes and insights. 

Such as…

• Feeling bad can lead to greater self acceptance. So I feel bad. OK.  I am reminded that I don’t have to change a molecule of me, even my feelings, because I am whole and complete  just as I am. I make mistakes, I stumble, but it’ s all OK.
• Feeling bad can deepen self-trust. Just this week I was nervous. Nervous that something was amiss. That nervousness was actually intuition, telling me that if I didn’t leave now I would be late to pick up my daughter for school. This meant leaving 30 minutes earlier than normal. Guess what? A freeway car accident and an empty gas tank translated to a 30-minute delay. Burying uncomfortable feelings before considering whether they are bringing something important to the surface does a disservice to your inner knowing.
• Feeling bad can help you release painful feelings.  Feeling bad, really feeling into the feeling, can ultimately help you release it. (Think crying over a sad song or sad movie. Don’t you feel better after?) Repressing your feelings can dull your response to life in general, giving depression a chance to set in.  
• Feeling bad can more fully connect you with your life path.   Feeling bad tells you that something in your life is out of sync or needs your attention.  The truth is being in touch with your true feelings helps you accept where you are. Say yes to to the feelings that are here and now, be open to what may really be their source and understand that they may be a signal that change is on the horizon.
• Feeling bad can support this change. Sometimes feeling bad and GIVING IT A VOICE can support this change by spurring us to get the help we need. Those bad feelings could be the catalyst we need to ask for help, change our thoughts/behaviors, switch directions, get out, or finally get on board.   
• Feeling bad reminds us we have a choice. For the last few weeks I’d been muttering, ”OK, Mr. Happy Pants,” at my husband’s less than cheerful reaction to our life circumstances. Then I noticed an abrupt turnaround in his demeanor. What gives, I asked him.  “I’m tired of feeling bad,” he said. “So much of it I can’t control. But I can control how I feel about it.”

Feeling bad doesn’t have to define you. It shouldn’t define you. But those bad feelings need our attention.  It’s only when we ignore or try to bury them that like a whack-a-mole they keep popping up.

I’ve taken those bad feelings to a friend, a life coach, to meditation and my journal. I’ve aired ‘em out, examined them closely and then stepped back from them. Ultimately, I aim to accept them. In accepting those bad feelings, I may open myself up just enough to understand the good messages they are trying to deliver.

 Don’t judge others. Stay out of judgment. Or in the street vernacular, “Don’t be hatin.’”

OK, so the reasons we are told to stay out of judgment are very sound. Here a few wise souls tell us why:

• If you judge people, you have no time to love them. ~ Mother Theresa
•  To sit in judgment of those things which you perceive to be wrong or imperfect is to be one more person who is part of judgment, evil or imperfection. ~Wayne Dyer
• Being caught in anger, judgment, and blame is disempowering; it throws us out of our center; it puts us at the effect of the lovelessness of someone else. ~Marianne Williamson

Judgment is just HEAVY. Letting people, places and things be the way they are is LIGHT. I want to be light.

So probably for all the days of my life I’ll work on judgment. I dare say I’m getting better when it comes to judging other people. I’m no saint. Let’s just say when it comes to being in the same room as some of my ultraconservative relatives and friends, I have discarded the way I want them to be (goodbye: heavy) and can enjoy them as more than their voting record (hello: light.)

 But staying out of judgement when it comes to myself is hard, hard, hard. I bet you can say the same.

And one of the reasons it’s so hard — and it’s a noble reason –is that I am ready to take full  responsibility for my health, finances, creative endeavors and happiness so I can live this heart-centered vision I have for my life.

• So as part of this vision I’ve downsized my work load. This means –at least temporarily — I’ve downsized my income. And what should occur? My checking account becomes overdrawn. Me in judgment: Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! How are you ever going to save up for these vacations and other dreams-with-a-pricetag if you give the bank $35 in overdraft fees?
• So as part of this vision I’m stretching in my creative writing but not sure where it’s going. A friend just got a book deal. Me in judgment: Yeah, and where’s your writing going? Nowhere that I can see.

The problem as I see it  is that I’ve married self- judgment and responsibility. I want to be fully responsible for my life now so I can live that heart-centered vision. Yet I err in believing that judging myself is a particular form of taking responsibility.

It’s not.

Judgment is….

• Reflecting with disdain, dissatisfaction or disgust at your word or deed.
• Wanting, wishing, hoping that people, places or things would change to reflect your desires.
• Comparing. (Why does she have a book deal/baby/big house and I don’t?)
• Punishing.
• Feeling like a victim in some way (Why do I always have to be stuck next to the non-stop talker on a plane?)
• Restrictive. (He is clearly wrong. There is only one way right way to think about this issue.)

Taking responsibility is…

• Accepting things exactly as they are. (I overdrew funds. End of story.)
• Changing your actions. (I’m going to once again start logging my daily purchases so I know exactly how much money I have in my account.)
• Making a worthy commitment. (I will keep writing everyday even though I don’t know where it’s going.) 
• Empowering. (I CAN do something about this, even if it’s only to change the way I view the situation.)
• Setting you on a path to infinite possibilities. Even a baby-step will start you in a different direction than the place of self-judgment you are now. That direction can lead anywhere and everywhere.  

• First, light in the sense that releasing the right/wrong, good/bad can illuminate new paths and new strategies that I otherwise wouldn’t see because my focus was so narrow.
•  Second, light in the sense that releasing  what is heavy can speed me toward that vision I have.  

“More important than the quest for certainty is the quest for clarity.” -Francois Gautier, French Writer and Journalist

I’ve been praying in spare moments for clarity.

Who doesn’t want clarity? The very word ushers in feelings of peace and contentment.  If you read my last blog, you know how I feel about the power of words. And clarity is a very powerful word indeed if it enhances well being. 

So there I was praying for clarity and trying to imagine what that would look like in my life, when it occurred to me that the word and the vision I was holding were not in sync. I was praying for clarity, but coveting certainty.

Certainty that selling the house would bring more joy, levity and possibility into my life. 

Certainty about what to call or how to define myself –  a reporter? a spiritual writer? a blogger?

Certainty that the small steps I’m taking now in my writing, in my marriage, in the moments I step out of my comfort zone and make a fool of myself are actually going to lead somewhere.

This is not clarity.

Clarity is…

• found in the moment.  I received very clear, innate direction that calling the real estate agent was the right thing to do. I felt very clear on signing the papers to sell the house. Each step of the way toward selling my house, I was clear that that is what I needed to do.  At that moment. At that point in time. I’m not at all certain where this HUGE decision will find me in a year or two.
• a feeling.  Clarity is heart-centered and intuitive. When I finally decided to sell the house after thinking about it for two long years it was not because an intellectual insight had suddenly occurred. No, it was a “feeling” that told me the time was now. Likewise, when I packed my overnight bag three weeks before my baby’s due date, it was because a “feeling” told me that was the next step. (I gave birth the next day, two months early.)
• an experience. Clarity is fluid and may come and go. You can not lock it down because life is always in motion and thus your circumstances and direction are always changing. Perhaps some people have more moments of clarity then others, but it’s not a state of being as much as an experience.

Whereas Certainty is…

• found in the past.  It’s a certainty that I have become a parent. It’ is not at all certain where this will take me in my own growth or how my children will turn out. It’s not even certain that they will outlive me, but I wish it were so.
• mind/intellect centered.  It’s what our ego and our rational mind crave.  An A + B = C equation. It’s good to have knowledge about how things might turn out or have turned out in the past but even a scientist will tell you that probability does not equal certainty.  
• an attitude. While clarity is an experience, certainty is an attitude. I can say with certainty that I am a writer. Why? Because I have a conviction that this happens to be so.  Today. On other days I may feel like a worthless fraud. It’s all about attitude. 

I long for certainty because I want to reduce a certain amount of chaos in my life. But trying to predict what will happen with any certainty is a fruitless endeavor. Not only that but it closes off the possibility that something even more amazing than I could ever imagine could happen.

How do I reconcile the craving clarity/imagining certainty issue?

I continue to seek clarity. Meditate. Take long walks. Listen, trust and take guided action when I feel a moment of clarity. I trust in the experience.

Then I release an expectation of certainty by loosening up what my vision of my future like will look like and concentrate on what it will feel like. Peaceful. Expansive. Creative.

At the end of a long day, my beloved child care provider of many years was talking to me about my middle daughter.

Ava, then 3, was an empathetic child who seemed to need to be engaged at every waking moment. She wasn’t hyper exactly because she had great powers of concentration when it came to doing puzzles or watching “Clifford.”  But most often she would be jumping (perhaps on furniture), running (perhaps into the wall or others), or mirroring the energy of crying babies or other fussy toddlers (perhaps because she was not well rested.) 

She was acting, well, 3. And then some. Naturally, when you’re caring for other children at the same time this created some added stress.

“Ava,” she told me. “has a lot of energy and is very sensitive. We’re working to keep her busy, be a little more respectful of property and people and to work with her emotions.” (Yeah, the woman my girls call Mama Sheila really is that great.)

I sighed with relief. She did not say Ava was “exhausting,”  or even use the code word for a problematic child — “challenging.”  Both words I had uttered myself at times of exasperation.

Words are oh. so. powerful.

With her carefully chosen words, Mama Sheila managed to convey that any help I could provide – maybe guiding Ava from using the furniture as a trampoline at home or dropping her off after a full night’s sleep — would be appreciated.

So when I spotted a workshop called Wordology is Your Biology as a method to change your life, I didn’t scoff. The workshop promises to reveal how you give your power away with words and how they can affect your health and wealth.

I’m reminded of these words from Abraham Hicks I read this week:   ”We would like you to release the word ‘achieve’ or ‘earn’ from your vocabulary and from your understanding, altogether; and we would like you to replace those words with the word “allow”. You’re wanting to allow your well-being, not achieve it. It’s not something that you need to earn.”

I love the reframing of the words achieve or earn to allow. It’s much more in the flow and less swimming up stream.

Then while reading O, this month, columnist Martha Beck talks about the importance of Vocab Rehab.

She recommends changing a very stressful word in your self-description of your life  to “something more freeing,  relaxing, or exhilarating.”

See if instead of  “I’m nervous,” whether “I’m excited” may also fit. The word “unsure” could be replaced by “open,” she writes.

Changing your words, helps to change your story, which helps to change your life. 

I’ve been mindful of the words I’ve used this week and swapped them out when necessary.

Examples:

“I’m uncomfortable,” to “I’m growing.”

“I’m anxious,” to “I’m expectant.”

“I didn’t do everything I wanted today” to “I did the things that were most important to me today.”

Really, word choice and choosing the right words is about kindness. Showing kindess to others, as my childcare provider did with my daughter and I, and showing kindness to your present state and self.  It doesn’t matter whether the words are written, spoken out loud, or spoken only in your own head. In choosing the words that are most kind, you move away from a state of judgment and comparison to one of appreciation and well-being.

That’s how powerful words are.

At ages 7 and 8, I would get what people called, “growing pains.” Around bed time I would be overcome with horrible leg cramps. My calves felt as if they were tied in knots. My mom and I tried everything: walking up and down the hallway, heating pads, ice packs, rub downs, pints of water before or during the episodes. Nothing seemed to work except time.

Then one night I was lying in bed wishing it would just stop and I got a notion to be as still as I could. Being still when your leg feels like it’s popping with white hot pain is the exact opposite of what you want to do. I lie there as still as I could and I concentrated all my attention on the pain. Felt it. Really felt it. I didn’t think “healing.” I didn’t think “go away.” I didn’t think anything. I just felt it .

The pain disappeared. The knot in my leg unraveled. Completely gone. I tried that whenever the leg pains would hit and it seemed to work every time.

Decades later when I was pregnant and also experiencing nightly leg pains, it worked again.

I don’t know why it worked. I’m sure there is a medical reason as to why the pain hit and possibly a physical or spiritual reason as to why it disappeared when I concentrated all my energy upon it or as author Penney Peirce says, I began “feeling into” the pain.

I’m reminded of this because of late, I’ve had some neck and shoulder pain intensify and as always my first instincts are to:

• Medicate
• Caffeinate (like that really helps, but it’s a go-to addiction)
• Distract myself with busy work

When these prove ineffective I look to my second set of go-tos:

• Breathe.
• Sit down or lay down
• Breathe some more
• Ask my body what it needs

And somewhere during the second set of go-tos, I got the inclination to feel into the pain. To be with it. Often, it worked.

I so wanted to write a blog that would illuminate this phenomenon and share the powerful insights about exactly what was happening.  I can’t. Not yet. But I’ve asked the question, why? So I’m sure the answer is near.

What I can provide insight about is that I’ve also begun feeling into those painful emotions that have been cropping up. Fear. Anxiety. Anger. Again, the emotional pain is somehow released. Even the anger, and I’ve been conditioned that anger was “bad” and therefore tried all sorts of twisted remedies to rid myself of it. When I just took the time to feel it, sit with it, experience it ping-ponging around my heart and gut, it was transformed. It was transformed into news I could use. By feeling into it — instead of lashing out, burying it, or denying it –  I often gained insight on a cellular level about where it came from and why it was there. What I found out most recently is that anger was really self anger — anger about the physical/spiritual and emotional gifts I was denying, repressing and turning inward. Does that sound a little too esoteric? Yeah, it does. So let me break it down.

I tapped into some anger recently that was racing like an Arizona brush fire in my body and psyche. What I discovered when I tapped into was that I was mad about a trip that someone close in my life was taking. A leisure trip. I sat with it, felt it, and made another discovery. I was angry because I wasn’t allowing myself any fun time. I was sacrificing. Again. At what cost? Tight muscles. Hostility. No good.

Another recent episode: I was angry/resentful about some of my work load.  I sat with it, felt it, and realized it wasn’t about the work I was doing for others. It was because of the work I wasn’t doing for myself. I wasn’t blogging. I wasn’t doing any extracurricular fiction/exploratory writing. Again, the cost was enormous. The fix, once I knew was at work, was relatively easy. Get busy doing my own thing.

So  is taking the time to feel emotions and achy body parts  really so profound? No. I suppose I would have advised a friend to do such a thing had they asked. But like anything in this world, you don’t know it until you know it.

I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. ~Maya Angelou

Today I am thinking about my friend and co-worker, Diana.

She died last night.

I am thinking about how she transitioned from co-worker to friend in such a short time — as so few colleagues have in my life — because of how she led with her heart.

Diana made people feel good about themselves, about their situation in life, and even their shortcomings and less than graceful moments.

I have only known her a fraction of the decades that some of my coworkers have. But I know her impact on me will last a lifetime.

How you see people is a reflection of your own desires, prejudices, beliefs and opinions about yourself. I say this as a way of celebration of all the things she was, and all the things I aspire to become.

Diana:

• Made small talk. She just wanted to connect with people. It could be through weather observations, a new haircut, a work-related compliment. I’ve always looked down on small talk. But I learned through her that by engaging in small conversations day in and day out she made people feel that what they said or did mattered. How much of a bigger gift can you give?
• Remembered your birthday, your children’s birthdays or that it was a year ago at this time that your wife was diagnosed with cancer. She was the one who brought the cake at her own expense for the entire office, passed on that so-and-so was having a hard time and would love to hear a kind word from you, observed you were unusually quiet. Was everything OK? she asked. Though I admit to at times resenting the interruption from work flow to sing “Happy Birthday,” I never walked away from a marked milestone without being grateful for the pause button to remember that life is about lifting up people. And sometimes, if you’re lucky and you have an office Diana, with cake!
• Didn’t try to fix you and didn’t judge you. She just let you share what you thought and felt at that moment. In doing so, she allowed a lot of hot-headed, poor-me, or self-absorbed words to pass through me before they manifested into thoughtless actions.  
• She listened. How many times do we tune out what someone is saying because we so desperately want to share our next thought?   
• Loved butterflies and dropped pennies. She considered them messages from people who had passed on that they were still about, just in a different form, letting you know you mattered. This morning, I saw a butterfly. This morning, I saw how lucky I was to have known Diana.

I’m starting to really know something. Know it in my bones. Know it beyond if it were a choice in a multiple choice quiz.

I know from observing my thoughts in meditation that some of the thoughts speak ill of me. The thoughts are delivered from a voice that is either very tsk-tsk church lady or very Eeyore-esk (“I’m just looking for my tail…”) The voice comments on my appearance, my lack of concern over the cleanliness of my bathrooms, my over busy-ness and under achievement. That’s OK. I just observe. I don’t judge. The voice and the thoughts she brings are like clouds, albeit dark clouds, that pass through the sky of my mind. I am not the clouds, they’re just thoughts. I am the sky.

I know this. But that’s not what I know now.

From practicing meditation now for a while, I’ve become aware of observing my thoughts throughout the day too. Not just when I’m sitting in meditation. And some of these thoughts as delivered by the voice are judge-y and often downright aggressive, trying to induce feelings of guilt, inadequacy or unworthiness.

So this is what I know: I can quiet the voice.

These days, I’m trying to act in faith. I’m trying to be bold, I’m trying to let spirit speak through me more. Apparently this makes the voice angry. She’s whipping out her satchel of negative thoughts with:

• You can’t possibly do that!
• Ahem, didn’t you try something similar and you failed?
• What makes you so special?

Yes, she really said that. What makes you so special? Like some middle school mean girl.

Finally one early morning I was walking and the voice began in rapid fire to remind me of what it called tangents that I’d went on before that led nowhere. I’d had enough. I told her to shut up. The past has no bearing on now, I said.  So shut up. And she did. Wow, really! That’s all I had to do?

It was all I could do not to rush to my computer and send that out on the news wire.

Of course, over the next few days I told the voice to shut up and sometimes it worked. And sometimes it didn’t. But during the process of our sparring, I learned how the voice operates.

The voice:

• Likes to bring up the past. A lot. As in, “Remember that one time you thought/did this and failed?”
• Likes to bring up the future. A lot. As in, “If you do that, you’ll embarrass yourself, disappoint the people you love or live to regret it.”
• Likes to kick you when you’re down.  You may already be feeling low about something and the voice chimes in with an “I told you so. “  That’s not a friend people.
• The voice loves the status quo. Stay here, she says. Be safe. Be secure. Be…if not happy…at least no worse off.
• The voice likes to prevent alternative ideas, or second guess at just the moment something makes your heart soar. Yes! I’m going to organize a women’s retreat/write a book/take that European cruise! The voice, if not outright telling you it’s a bad idea, offers safer, smaller alternatives. Instead, the voice says, start a writing discussion group/keep a journal/go spend the night in a local hotel.

I’m guessing by now you know the voice I’m taking about. And you know that it’s preventing you from exploring your calling. Or maybe just taking a nap.

There are ways to silence this voice. But first, a little about what I’ve learned you don’t want to do with the voice.

You don’t want to:

• Stoop to its level by defending yourself. The voice bullies you by saying something rude or defeating like, “Wow, what a mess you’ve made of things.” And you respond by saying, “I have not!” or “What about the time I did X and everything turned out fine?” Then you’re engaging the voice in a school yard brawl, and more often than not it will win. It has lots of practice.
• Overlay the voice’s negative thoughts with happy thoughts, especially ones you don’t quite yet believe. Example: “You look fat in that outfit.” Happy thought: “I look pretty in this.” Ah, you don’t believe it and it just gives your voice an invitation to keep coming at you with “proof” that it’s right.

Here’s what you can do:

• Tell it to go away. Simply say, I choose to believe otherwise.  If the voice says, “The Earth is round,” you say, “I choose to believe otherwise.” What can it say to that? Nothing. Any “logical” arguments the voice supplies goes nowhere if you’re firm about choosing to believe something else.
• Use a positive affirmation to transform your thoughts. Negative thought, “I’ll never be able to afford that trip.” Affirmation: “What I desire is already on its way” or “I make money easily and frequently.” Repeating affirmations work when a lone happy thought doesn’t because it goes to work on our beliefs. Repeated often enough, affirmations transform our beliefs, essentially depriving the toxic thoughts with the fuel – or negative beliefs about ourselves and our circumstances – that they need to survive.
• Bring yourself back to the present moment. As mentioned, the voice likes to live in the past or the future, any time but the moment you’re experiencing right now. I had to use this method just a few days ago, which for me, meant chiming in and singing off key with my three girls to Abba’s “Dancing Queen” while we were rolling in our minivan. Not a bad moment to be in.
• Finally, if the voice won’t quiet by doing any of those things – because you really believe the voice is right – you can consult Byron Katie’s The work. In this work, she asks that you ask four questions of the voice including:  Is it true? Can you absolutely know that it’s true? How do you react, what happens when you believe that thought? Who would you be withut the thought?

So this is what I know: I can quiet the voice.

And it needs to be silenced. Fear, guilt and feelings of unworthiness douse inspiration. The voice is not my protector, as it claims to be, it’s my wet blanket of stuck and status quo. I want to hear the kinder, loving, inspiring voice of my intuition. Don’t you?

The other day, an odd thing happened. Something that hasn’t happened since before I had children – maybe even longer than that. I had almost forgotten what it was like it had been so long.

There I was, wondering from room to room, absent-mindedly running my fingers over counter tops and furniture, staring out in space. My sister called and hearing the same lazy, spaced out sound in my voice said, “What’s wrong?”

Nothing was wrong. I just realized in that instant that I was bored. Bored. Huh.

In the last few months, I’ve been reorganizing my life, trimming the fat mostly. Reducing hours at work, refusing to take on new projects, taking naps, clearing some visual and mental clutter. I wanted to give myself space. I wanted to feel refreshed instead of burned out.

And it brought me in a very short time to…boredom.

Yay! While it may have been quite some time since I was bored, I do remember that it can be a powerful, creative force. Actually, I didn’t remember this right away. I only remembered because in that moment of boredom, having nothing pressing to do, I sat down and some images popped in my head. Of me growing up in a remote area of Kalispell, Mont., wandering the forest for hours because there was nothing else to do and delighting in nature. Me finally grabbing a pen and paper to write a story to entertain myself because we only had one TV channel and even that didn’t’ work so well. Me daydreaming on my bed as a young girl and finding the whole experience delicious.  As adults I suppose we call it visualization. But either way when your current environment isn’t offering as much stimulation as you’d like, daydreaming/visualization is a wonderful way to pass the time and maybe learn about yourself.

Which brings me to the reasons that I shall be embracing this rediscovered boredom, rather than trying to eradicate it.

Boredom….

• Can invite more fun into your life. When there’s nothing you need to do and boredom appears you can think about what you want to do. Dust off that bike in the garage and go for a ride? Sure. Grab a stack of magazines and couch surf for an hour or two? Nothing stopping you.
• Can open the gates of your intuition. Boredom is as if a pause button has been pushed, slowing the mind chatter and the furious turns of physical activity. The silence and stillness created is just enough to hear that little voice inside you or recognize the signs of a path you should have been taking you otherwise might have zipped by.
• Can spur creativity. Now’s the time to try that recipe you’ve always wanted to try. Now’s the time to sit down and try your turn at an essay, children’s book, poem, whatever that’s been rattling around in your head. Scapbooking? Go the bedroom closet, get your material down and remember why you fell in love with it in the first place.
• Can bring forth buried emotions. As I found myself in the soup of boredom, some surprising emotions bubble up. I suddenly began feeling. Feeling sadness over the passing of friends that I had never fully mourned. Feeling anger at myself primarily for discounting my own needs and desires. Feeling an undiscovered fear that I wasn’t “enough.” Wow, that was kind of deep. I think this is why many people stay so busy and avoid boredom at all costs. They don’t want to meet up with themselves and face the emotions, the desires, the regrets they’ve been avoiding. But the thing about these emotions is that once they’re given attention, they move through us and are gone. When I acknowledged them, I felt lighter. More connected. More compassionate toward myself and fellow man.

Boredom is a rest stop on a journey that allows us to regroup, get our bearings and decide for ourselves which direction to point toward.  I can attest it feels uncomfortable but it’s only temporary. And I’ve learned it can lead to a treasure trove of insights and long-buried desires. Ellen DeGeneres has said in a stand-up routine, “Procrastination is the solution, not the problem.”

I think the same thing can be said about boredom.