Suzanne Falter's Blog, page 8

The Magic and the Challenge of Letting Go

When confronted with a massive life transition, I will hang on like a terrier, sinking my sharp little teeth in deeper and deeper, until simple exhaustion finally forces me to let go.

I’m happy to say the terrier lets go far more easily these days. But only because I’ve learned what lies on the other side of that monumental letting go.

What do I mean by ‘letting go’?

Letting go is recognizing that:

Something doesn’t work
That something will not change on its own accord
A fundamental truth needs to be told … followed by action

In other words, I must step out of denial and back into reality.

A relationship I had comes to mind. It was a classic case of the rabid terrier refusing to own the truth that there was no way the two of us were going to ‘make it’. All we were making was a mess, which we’d been making since Day One.

I was in denial about the following things:

My would-be partner was not actually in love with me, although there was a great deal of ‘like very much’ going on
Her massive resistance to the relationship, including everything from frank and frequent criticism of me to withholding sex was not okay
It was also not okay to walk around all the time on pins and needles, trying like hell to get her to love me
I could not think, manage or force this relationship to be anything other than it was

Oh, I thought I had it all figured out. But now I was endlessly clinging. Endlessly strategizing and trying to change to be someone other than I was. I tried being quiet, then I tried being talkative. I tried cooking my way to redemption. Hell, I even let her pick out all of my clothing.

‘If only I could be better … then she would finally love me’ went my own diseased thinking.

What I didn’t know then is that letting go always, inevitably leads to something better. It simply has to, for this is the way of the Universe. To paraphrase the movie, The Best, Exotic Marigold Hotel, if your problem has not yet worked out, then it is not yet the end.

Life is nothing but a continuous process of letting go.

We are constantly being called to let go of love, money, fame, glory, acceptance, children, health, youth, and so many treasured but often unobtainable goals. It’s one release after another, until finally at the end, we let go of life itself.

And always, always, on the other side of that release is the unknown. Which is exactly what we fear the most. And yet here is exactly where you find the magic.

How desperately I clung to my faux-love. I even gave up my apartment in San Francisco, bought a car, and moved in to the new apartment she’d gotten in Marin County. I did this even though she came to me shortly before we moved, saying she had doubts about the relationship.

I did this even though my name was not on the lease, nor did I have a parking space. And even though, I had doubts about the relationship as well.

At the time, I was in denial, and denial is the most powerful of drugs. When she ended the relationship a few months later and I walked away, I was surprised to discover that I was relieved.

Finally, someone had the courage to tell the truth, and so the tension was lifted. The unknown had arrived. I had been thrust into the void once again.

And, actually, the void wasn’t so bad after all. I’ve found it has a certain brilliance to it. For it is here that we become formless, and so we can finally, slowly embrace the truth – our truth. And in doing so, we transform.

This is the work of the Hindu goddess Kali, fierce lover of destruction and chaos, Goddess of Time, Change and Creation. Not long after our break up, I put a small statue of the dancing Kali on the dashboard of my car, as I wandered, trying to find my right place.

And there she still stands, encouraging me to let go into the void, carry my sword and feel my true power.

Recently I told a friend facing the void of retirement that it’s like dismantling a house. Down must go all of our dreams, our hopes and even our identity. It must all be taken apart completely, the detritus moved out and the rooms emptied. For only then can we remove the dust, sweep up the dirt and get rid of the outdated junk. Only then can true reinvention begin.

This process of letting go has its share of pain and suffering, but our inner Kali can help us to embrace it. For once the way is laid truly bare, then the sweetest transformation can take place. Then we can finally tell the truth, and begin to put the warm arm of compassion around our own shoulders.

For me, what followed the end of this relationship, and the death of my daughter three months later, was nothing less than a radical transformation of everything I was. And everything I believed.

I discovered life anew, and walked around day after day being mindblown by what I was discovering. For one thing, I found my values had been completely lost. I also realized I hadn’t had much fun in forever – and that I’d set my life up to revel in addictive behaviors that did nothing for my soul.

We can walk away from such moments shaking our head, saying, “What was I thinking?” Then, slowly and with a great deal of self-care, we can begin again to rebuild, one tender step at a time. And one single day at a time.

So we become patient with ourselves, and we learn to listen to our heart as we create anew, this time informed by the wisdom of destruction.

For destruction always leads to something better. But only if we let it. There is no hurrying this process of reinvention, dear friend. Nor should there be.

There can only be surrender to the beautiful path of life, which will always deliver us just to where we need to be.

***

This essay is an excerpt from my book, The Joy of Letting Go. Learn more.

 

 

The post The Magic and the Challenge of Letting Go appeared first on Suzanne Falter.

How Kind Are You to Yourself? A Healing Questionnaire

How easy it is to be hard on yourself, right? For many of us, it’s an ingrained habit, like brushing our teeth or washing the dishes. It’s something we learned in the dark days of our childhood traumas.

Back then, it appeared we had no choice. We had to just put and up shut up. And plan for the future. Meanwhile we internalized bucket loads of shame. So…here we are today.

Putting ourselves through the emotional ringer is just what we do. Especially those of us who are high achievers. Can you remember the last time you consciously gave yourself a break?

Because it’s also like breathing, we don’t usually see all that harshness. Our inner bully is a voice that just fades into the background … until we wake up one day. Then we notice that we are exhausted, miserable and life has a sad tinge of grey.

And this, friend, is where our self-care lives. Or doesn’t.

The answer is in self-kindness. How much do you have? Answer these questions as honestly as possible to get an idea. May the answers inspire your own path back to loving contentment … and beautiful self-care.

When you look in the mirror at yourself how do you feel?

 Happy
Accepting
Ashamed … I can barely look at myself
I try to avoid it at all costs




Do you sleep well?

Yes, like a baby
I am awake more than I’d like
I toss and turn regularly
I am a confirmed insomniac


Do you have a good network of support?

Yes! I do!
It’s not bad/pretty good
I’ve had some supporters but they’ve moved on
I do not have any kind of real support


Do you consistently agree to things you don’t want to do?

No… I can easily say no
Occasionally
More often than not
I seriously cannot say ‘no’ … it’s a problem


Do you create adequate time for yourself?

I do and I love it
Pretty often… and I could use more
Only occasionally
My life won’t allow it


When you make a mistake, how do you respond?

I decide we all make mistakes, and I forgive myself immediately
I try to move on but regret lingers
I usually decide it was someone else’s fault
I climb into a black hole of despair


How easy is it to ask for help?

Easy! I do it all the time
So-so … I have to get myself to do it. But I do!
Doesn’t happen often, if ever
I wouldn’t


Do you make time for fun? Hobbies? Your friends and family? The joy in life?

Yes, every day!
Pretty often … almost enough
Definitely could use more
Not really


When’s the last time you had a vacation or staycation or brief getaway where you were able to relax and get what you need?

Recently
Within the last year (and I could use another)
It’s been several years
I don’t really do that


Is there an inner-bully, bringing you down?

Not really
Well, yeah … but it doesn’t get much air time
My inner bully kicks in at least once a week
Consistently … yes


When you accomplish something, do you instantly begin to pick it apart critically? Or have trouble finishing it?

Never
Sometimes
Most of the time
All the time


Is it hard to really put yourself out there because of what people might say?

Not so much
Somewhat
Often (so I avoid it)
Always … I just don’t do it

To assess your self-compassion and kindness to yourself, take a look at how you answered the questions above. If you answered mostly 1’s and 2’s, chances are you’re not suffering too much from self-bullying. However, if you answered mostly 3’s and 4’s, the opposite could be true.

This is your opportunity to start anew, and begin crafting ways to celebrate who you are and how you move in the world.

Because, in fact, you are special. You are unique. And we all benefit from having you in this world.

If it seems hard to accept this idea, consider finding help from a therapist, life coach or spiritual teacher who can offer support. Your gifts are always best shared against a backdrop of your own loving inner voice. And, of course, this is the surest path back to your own serenity.

You’ve got this, friend. You do, indeed.

The post How Kind Are You to Yourself? A Healing Questionnaire appeared first on Suzanne Falter.

The Lesson in the Sunset

This is the week when I always remember my late daughter Teal in my writing. It was eight years ago that she collapsed from a medically unexplainable cardiac arrest, and died six days later, August 20. 

In the eight years since her death, she has been my muse, my inspiration. My teacher. Mainly because unlike so many of us, her values and her integrity were crystal clear. Teal knew just what really mattered in life. And it began with slowing down and becoming present. 

Here I’m sharing a piece I wrote back in 2013, and it remains one of my favorites. Such a powerful lesson for me to learn. May you enjoy it. And glean as much as I did.

(This photo was taken by Teal the year before her death. It shows the Pacific just beyond her neighborhood at the time, Outer Sunset.)

***

One night several months before her death, my daughter took me aside. At that moment, I was packing up my apartment to move and had little interest in any of her good suggestions. Still Teal prevailed, just as she usually did.

“Take a minute and watch the sunset tonight, Mom,” she suggested. “It’s so incredible from these windows.”

My apartment had a sweeping view of the western half of San Francisco, over which the great Pacific sunset rose like a majestic queen.  But I was full of hubris then and thought my time was much too valuable to spend on a sunset.

“Honey, I’m just so busy –” I protested.

Teal gave me a disapproving look. “Mom. Have you ever watched a sunset in the year and a half that you’ve lived here?”

I was silent.

“Just as I thought,” said Teal, shaking her head. “Come on, Mom. Just do it. And watch the whole thing, right up until dark. No sneaking away.”

She started to go out the door. Then she stopped and turned around.

“Call me when you’ve done it,” she added. “I’ll be waiting.”

The door closed with a click.

I sighed. Unpacked boxes were scattered on the floor around me. Watching the sunset was about the last thing I wanted to do. Still, something that night made me stop and listen to my daughter.

I quieted my usual frenetic self, sat down and waited. After a few moments, the sunset began.

A subtle shell pink spread out from the horizon as the molten lump of the sun slipped away.

I relaxed. I felt myself soften and let go. So much had weighed on my mind lately, impossible things like whether I should be moving in with the woman I called my partner. I knew it would be a fiasco, but still I kept on plodding steadily forward, ignoring the many red flags waving wildly all around me.

The sunset spread throughout the entire sky, deepening pink, radiating peach, then blue, purple, even streaks of green. Every color of the rainbow passed before my eyes in this massive lightshow at the edge of the city. But I couldn’t truly feel the beauty of the sunset.

Not yet.

At that moment, my life was a mess. The successful spiritual marketing business I’d come to San Francisco to build two years earlier was suddenly ending. What stood in its place was something far less reliable and even downright sketchy.

I called this new work ‘The Spiritual Diet’ and I honestly had no idea what it was.  I just knew, from all my time as a marketer that this brand would sell. And I knew I was charismatic enough – and ‘spiritual’ enough — to sell it.

Yet outside these windows was the true expansion, the purest wonder of God. Outside these windows was the spirituality before which we are dwarfed, as Teal so rightly knew.

Outside these windows was my salvation, but it would take three years and the worst crisis of my life for me to understand this.

I sat on the couch and watched as the sunset spread just beyond my reach. The buildings of the Castro and the Haight grew peach, then pink, then rose, their windows iridescent glimmers in the sunglow.

A small part of me was still awake enough to see what Teal was showing me—that I had become lost in a cloud of delusion. I sighed and closed my eyes and tried not to feel the pounding of my own heart.

What in God’s name had I done to my life?

The sunset continued, consuming the sky in its own sweet time. I eyed the boxes all around me, empty and waiting. Dully I regarded the sky one more time.

I really couldn’t watch a sunset. Not now.

I got up and mechanically began to fill boxes. I had to stay busy. Keeping my head down, I glanced over once more at the sky. The deepening red now filled the corners of the windows in a triumphant climax. A blanket of lavender-grey fog had begun to roll in around Twin Peaks.

Tears sprang into my eyes as I kept on packing. I couldn’t let my heart catch up with me; I just couldn’t. There was far too much to lose to tell the truth in this particular moment.  A year and a half earlier I had wiped the slate clean. I’d left my marriage of 25 years, come out as a lesbian and crossed the country to begin anew.

Teal busking at the Champs des Mars in Paris in 2011

If these last, pathetic vestiges of love and respect—the empty framework I called my new life—slipped away, then I really would be lost and utterly alone.

Alone, that is, except for Teal.

Pack, I thought. Just pack. Head down I continued, as tears poured down my face.

The phone rang a moment later. It was Teal. “So?” she asked. “Did you watch it?”

“Magnificent,” I said, trying to sound as normal as possible. No one could know that I was falling apart. Not even my daughter. “Thank you, honey,” I heard myself say. “Thanks for making me do that.”

“You’re welcome, Mom,” she said lightly. “Love you.”

But of course, Teal knew I was falling apart and that I needed to. She knew far more for her 22 years than most people learned in entire lifetimes. This light-filled being, whose deepest love was her love for others, would soon be returned to dust. And I would become humble again in ways I couldn’t currently imagine.

Teal was my healer and my teacher, though at the time I was too blind to see it. First she would have to die. Then part of me would, as well.

So we would both be reborn in completely different ways.

The path to the true magnificence had already begun.

To learn more about  the life of Teal Barns, visit her About Teal page.

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Notes From a Reformed Time Binger

I don’t know about you, but my mind has often been a tizzy about my To-Do’s. It’s that feeling that MORE should be getting done all the time, not less. Yet thankfully, in recent years I’ve reformed.

What happened was that I woke up. Then I began to pay attention to the flow of tasks through my day. After my daughter Teal’s sudden death in 2012, and my slow return through a solid routine of self-care, my values shifted. I became resolved to stay grounded and calm in my work.

Things went quite well for several years. But then, inevitably, that old overwork started creeping in once again.

So I found myself emptying out every pocket of time I had to try to make something happen. Not surprisingly, this tired old practice became unsustainable.

I knew I was in trouble one night at 3AM when I turned on my light and actually reached for my computer to get some work done. That would be work binging. Somehow I stopped myself just in the nick of time. Perhaps you relate?

In the U.S. we live in a culture that rewards overwork. But when you live inside that little pressure cooker for too long, you tend to swing to the opposite extreme. i.e. Wandering around the nearest Target for hours without nothing particular needed, or losing yourself in four consecutive episodes of Netflix’s latest.

This would be time debting. And it feels really, really good after over-pressuring yourself for days, or years, on end. Yet, this is not the solution to the basic lack of balance.

For a long time I swung between the two extremes … hence, I labeled myself a ‘time binger.’ That’s the same part of my psyche that could  devour endless scrolls of disaster news for hours. It’s not a good look. And finally, I became done with it.

So how did I actually move ahead?

I discovered a work flow that is grounded in a more spiritual reality — what author Leslie Keenan calls ‘spiritual time’ in her book It’s About Time. This is as opposed to linear time, which is where all of us over workers, time debtors and time bingers hang out.

Her excellent book seriously helped me in my long, meandering path back to myself. I needed to balance out my use of time so I neither lost myself in it, nor felt I had to master and control it like some steely dominatrix. Instead, I learned to strike a fluidity.

When you’re fluid with time, you are able to let go of a bunch of To Do’s every day without guilt. You’re aware that life is full of choices, and you really can choose not to do it all.

To get there, you have to ask yourself what kind of life you want. Then you set about creating it.

Is it one that allows for a visit with a friend who drops in, even in the middle of work, so you decide to step away? It is one that gives you the leeway to take an entire day off and just go to the beach when you need to?

Because these are the moments that ultimately count in our lives. And they are actually more important than the rigidly performed work To-Do’s, though many of those do need to get done.

When we deprive ourselves of the space to be flexible, we play with self-deprivation.

For me, I do this by making too many commitments to myself (i.e. I will plan a new program, promote my book, write a chapter in my new book … all this afternoon.) That’s just nuts and nobody can accomplish a list like that. Not even me!

Or … I get overwhelmed and flee to the comfort of Facebook, or I surf the Web and bury myself in interesting (and justifiable) news stories.

You get the idea. Bottom line is an invitation to give yourself the time, the space and the choice to create a day to day life that is truly balanced and healthy. A little work, a little family or friends, a little love, a little exercise. And then good doses of fun, and perspective.

“Don’t submit to mind chatter. Make choices by being present to what you want,

to your body, your soul, your heart.”

— from Teal’s journal, September 28, 2011

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A Moment of Perfect Joy (COVID edition)

One of the things you do when you’ve been in lockdown for four months is to clean out your drawers. (Yes, the Bay Area is a little bit open … but not much.) So I found this essay, stuffed away in the ‘drawers’ of my laptop, collecting dust. And I’m so glad I did!

Though my life has dramatically improved since that year of intense grief, the following essay still applies so very well. I wrote it when I was just a year out from my daughter Teal’s death, and I was living in a rented room in Petaluma, California. Yet, the slowing down I wrote about applies to this moment, here and now, very much.

May this help you find your own perspective, especially if you are in a place where COVID-19 is still raising hell. This is written for you, with love.

Yesterday I had a moment of perfect joy.

I have a lot of them lately. It seems much of this loss has had its arc of completion, taking me deeper and deeper into the bewilderment of truly letting go. And then delivering me to some new, exalted state of grace with even the simplest thing. Like sitting in bed doing nothing but contemplating fog in the air and listening to birdsong, for instance.

There is a critical ‘undoing’ in my life right now; the end of a lifelong habit of tasking my way to oblivion. Somehow I always believed if I did enough stuff, then I’d finally be happy.

Just like some of us think we can eat, drink, shop, or romance our way to happiness. Yet, none of these compulsions move the ball one inch further. Rather, they run it the other way down the field.

When we drink, drug, shop, eat, smoke, romance, sex, debt, shop or do anything too much we disappear. We put our entire life on hold while we check out. And so we miss the really rich stuff: the texture of a moment, the course of our feelings, the flow of life.

Within even the simplest thing there is so much to be observed. And there is an inherent joy in that observation. A ‘being with’ that begs to happen, if only we will show up for it.

I had such a moment yesterday. I was driving home and Bob Dylan’s “Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat” came on my ipod shuffle. In that moment, I tuned into the perfection of all of it: the sun streaming in the car window, the Sunday morning feeling of more than enough time to do nothing. And Bob, rounding each bend of his classic blues with his nasal twang.

In that instant, I was filled with not only my own happiness but Teal’s as well. I swore I could feel her light, lemony effervescence gathering around me.

I knew it was her because suddenly I laughed for no reason. A high-pitched, cascading peal of laughter sounded that had no particular purpose other than the registration of joy as it spiraled down through my body. I could feel it in every cell of my being.

So Bob sang, Teal and I laughed, and I surrendered. If there was anyone who ever knew more about simply being in the moment, it was my daughter. ‘Mom … just be,” she’d say to me with a laugh. At the time I simply couldn’t get it. But now I totally did.

Pulling over, I stopped and sat there for a while. Sun poured into my little car as birds flew above, and Bob sang on.

What I love most about this new phase of my life is that I can actually pull over now and allow myself to stop. More and more I am recognizing how I punished myself for years by packing every minute of my overcrowded schedule. I allowed no time, whatsoever, for just breathing. Or for just being.

For years I avoided space and time because then I would be forced to feel my strange, bewildering sadness. And the slow drift I’d made away from myself. Course correction seemed impossible. Where would I even begin?

Now I realize a secret of life: there is no ‘there’ to get to.

There is no end goal and hearty handshake for a job well done. Indeed, we only have a string of endless moments, like luminescent pearls, waiting for us to dive deep and find them.

It is uncomfortable now, leaving room in my schedule for ‘nothing’. But I also know it is exactly what I need and deserve. Life must proceed at its own pace, not mine, no matter how much my mind resists.

And no matter how much I actually get done at the end of a day, none of it will match the perfection of these God-sent moments of joy.

These are the pleasures I live for now, each in its own perfect timing. And when I find one, I thank God.

But I also thank myself for slowing down long enough to find that perfection. And with it, an inestimable joy.

The post A Moment of Perfect Joy (COVID edition) appeared first on Suzanne Falter.

What if I Don’t Know What I Want?

It is said that the greatest guide to living a prosperous, happy life of love is to listen to your heart.

Just follow its guidance and you’ll be all set. At least that is the conventional wisdom that drives us to eschew the ordinary life and set off on the road less traveled.

And yet … there seems to be a design flaw.

I don’t know about you, but historically, I’ve had one hell of a time hearing my heart. I know its wisdom is back there somewhere. But it’s lodged behind the ranting of my incessant, worried mind, a million to-do’s, and a cacophony of mid-life emotions.

It’s also buried behind the subtle over-layer of apps, texts, emails, phone calls, appointments, traffic jams, calories, doctor appointments, instant messages, chats, whether to eat chocolate or not, and the frenetic microcosm of social media.

Bottom line: I can’t frigging hear my heart!

And yet … I know if I just stop and listen, like really stop and listen, I can hear it.

The fact is I don’t want to listen.

My heart will tell me that my constant ‘doing’ must end. That I must be willing to let go and hang out with the mystery of life for a while. If I really want to feel my feelings, I must stop being so busy-busy-busy.

My heart will say that far more urgent than anything on my ‘must do’ list is my own – our own – continued healing.

Or perhaps it will just plain old be in pain. There are things in life that are painful, that we simply cannot avoid, try as we may. When I really slow down and listen at such times, I am moved to tears.

Many of us are all in a state of subtle emergency most of the time. And we proceed as if this is the human condition.

Yet … it’s not.

Underneath all the furor of modern life, we are calmly rational. Furthermore, we know exactly what to do at any given moment. In fact, our nervous system is always ready to chime in with its intuitive hit to set us straight. But really … we just can’t bear to hear it.

Then change might be required. Change for which we feel ill prepared. Change that might lead us to failure.

At least that’s what the ego thinks in its protective, if misguided way.

So it is that we hang out there in vagueness … longing for something but unable to say exactly what.

So I have been quietly learning that I have no choice. If I want to be happy, I have to follow the directions of my heart whether I like it or not. Really, my heart’s the only sane driver on board.

I simply must slow down. Perhaps I pull out a journal, or maybe I don’t. Either way, I must listen. So I write. I cry. I think. I feel.

Because when I slow down long enough to listen, life calms down. Then my faith returns and I remember I’m not alone. Instantly, I feel stronger, wiser. And somehow, I know what to do.

And that crystal bit of insight is worth any pain I may have felt, for a nanoseeond, as I listen to my heart.

Bear in mind this: your heart will not ever try to set you off course. Nor will your heart ever try to hurt another. Instead, it only wants to lovingly steer you onward to become your best, every day.

That’s all that happens when you make enough time, and create enough peace, to finally listen.

What is your heart trying to tell you today that you may be avoiding?

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How to Stop Having the Same Old Problems

This is for everyone who keeps getting stuck in the same old places.

No matter how you try to change the love dramas, the money dilemmas, the life panics … there it all is. Again. Repeating itself in an endless Mobius strip of hell.

Man, this gets old by the time you reach midlife.

For me, the theme is severity. Historically, I had a loud, angry woodpecker in my head, drumming in one ever-present message: You are not enough, Suzanne. No matter how hard you try.

Until recent years, the woodpecker was my master. It helped me manifest harsh relationships, harsh money habits, and the harshest work schedule on the planet.

And why wouldn’t it? The template for my suffering was firmly in place. On some deep subconscious level, I needed that good, old familiar harshness I’d known since childhood.

Yet … what I consciously craved was far different. I longed for someone to reach out and say, ‘Yes, Suzanne, I see you. And you are good and whole and perfect just the way you are.”

Somehow this was not something I could tell myself at the time.

So, what was the deal, God? How many thousands would I have to spend on therapy and workshops before I could finally, finally be healed?

Then a remarkable thing happened. My daughter died, and in an instant all the pretensions in my life were shot to hell. Suddenly I had to sit up and tell the truth.

I had to admit that with all that harshness came addictive behavior around money and love. And I had to do the unthinkable and get help with this. Yes, even me, Suzanne the Invincible.

So I learned that the healing comes not from some wonder drug or the latest process or technique. The greatest healing happens simply by telling the truth about your life.

By finally owning my weaknesses, and being willing to examine my worst fears, my secret resentments, and the things I’d done over many decades that I was truly ashamed of, I was reborn.

And ironically, finally, I learned to give myself a break.

This is the kind of thing you do when you suffer a great loss, for now you see the great joke about life. All those things that held such meaning and importance turn to dust in an instant.

You find yourself telling the truth in a new, clean way that is unencumbered by the past.

Now it takes far less to make me happy than it used to. I can walk down a street in Oakland and find something to smile about. Usually it is just something simple, like a little dog who gurgles instead of barks or the perfect shaft of sunlight hitting a storefront.

My incessant need to be a workaholic also lifted— simply because it grated on me more and more. It was as if my soul was finally having its say, and I was finally listening.

My life is not always pretty, of course. Now I have feelings I no longer numb with glasses of wine or spending splurges. And I find I feel my fear more deeply as well. But this fear is no longer my own.

I talk about it. I pray. I ask for support. And then it lifts, as quietly as it appeared, and I’m left feeling not only better … but truly, deeply free. And so I find myself on the road to receiving.

I talk to my sister, Lisa, on the phone – the one I’ve made the least time for all these years – and we hang out and just get to know each other again. I can hear her big heart pouring through the phone and it fills me with love.

I sit in an Indian restaurant with my friend Jon, feeling lit from within by the perfect conversation about Grace.

I hug my wife and feel the floodgates of joy open up once again. This is the old joy of early childhood, bubbling back up. Before I had something to prove, before I had somewhere to get.

Once again, I feel the simple joy of being alive. And so each day becomes nothing more than a parade of tasks that pass through my life, none being more important than any other, as I remember that no matter what is present in my life, I am not alone.

I love myself in a new and tender way … and so others finally can, as well. And I remember: that no one has to love you any more than you love yourself

No one has to validate you.

Not one has to make you whole.

No one has to finally really and truly see you … so you can finally see yourself.

Because it’s not their job. It’s yours.

Instead, simply look in the mirror. And what you will see staring back at you is just your old self. The one who’s been through so much, who has taken so many disappointments … and the one who has let go of dream after dream.

It’s all okay. Really.

You’ve got this.

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It’s a Pandemic … What Will You Create?

So we find ourselves in a new phase of the world’s largest crisis since World War II. Instead of staying put in our homes, and endlessly washing our hands, we are being invited to emerge. Carefully.

And yet, nothing is or will be the same for a long time to come. And it will be this way until a vaccine for COVID-19 is administered the world over.

So … what’s going to change for you? And what will be the same?

For most of us, SIP restrictions have been a massive exercise in thinking creatively. My gospel choir is now solidly launched as a virtual musical experience. Just three months ago we rehearsed in an Oakland church, rocking, clapping and singing our hearts out to the electric praise band. Then some big choirs reported COVID deaths and infections, and live choral singing ground to a halt.

We found our workaround. Our spring performance was built by editing zoom videos of us singing to a click track of our previous performances. Rehearsals now happen on Zoom. We still sing our hearts out, but we’re all muted and singing in the privacy of our own homes. Yet, we all love it. At least 100 of us keep showing up.

This has taught us all one big thing: this choir is about serious community. And the ideas and innovations just keep on coming, as we are seen by more and more people. Instead of just performing for 300 people in a packed concert hall, our latest video has been seen by 1300 people around the world so far. And more come along every day.

During the pandemic, I’ve also discovered I love to knead bread dough and grow food in my garden. My wife and I found all sorts of old seed packets tucked in the back of drawers around the house, so we planted them all. And damn if there aren’t a LOT of yellow squash plants coming in. (Who knew ten-year-old seeds would still grow?)

Making sourdough pizza was a similar experience. The sourdough starter a neighbor gave me perked along for a few weeks in my refrigerator, while I balked about how to use it. Bread seemed like such a commitment, I was sure I would fail. And pancakes were … well … not that exciting. Then the pizza idea was born, and suddenly I was in business.

I discovered that kneading dough for ten minutes is an incredible mix of meditation, baking and massage. The feel of the dough in my hands was surprisingly reassuring. I suddenly felt connected to the earth, in sync with the slow rotation of the planet. If I could make a beautiful sourdough pizza from scratch … well, then, everything was going to be alright.

It occurred to me that we don’t really know what each day will bring now—especially if we’ve lost our jobs, or are suddenly homeschooling children while we work from home. So this has become a time for great creativity.

Really, that’s all we’ve got. Yet, I’m finding we are remarkably resourceful.

For instance, if you don’t feel comfortable going out for, say, a Starbucks run … why not learn to make your own inexpensive stovetop espresso? If you’re casting about for homemade learning experiences for your kids, why not teach them about growing food from seeds? Or share with them those old photo albums you haven’t opened, or even thought about in years.

Most of us already have everything we need to be fulfilled and complete in this life.

This has been one of my big takeaways from this time. Even if it seems like we have relatively little.

Once you slow down and pull in your sails, as we’ve all been forced to, you look around and take stock. And you see what’s working, what isn’t, and so you implement changes. You also discover pleasures you’d forgotten all about. Like not commuting.

Twitter announced it would be asking all of its employees to permanently work from home. Perhaps, like Twitter, you’re finding it really works for you to telecommute. Think how much more self-care you could add to a life that didn’t include a standard commute. Perhaps it would be easy to create an effective home office, and even nicer to be home when your kids arrived after school.

Perhaps, when you get right down to it, you don’t even need to be a two-car family. Maybe one of your vehicles could be an electric bicycle, or a Vespa, or …. The possibilities are endless, friend.

Perhaps the quarantine helped you to discover new ways to relate to your kids, or learn together as you adjust to homeschooling them. What might the next homeschool learning adventure be after they go back to school?

Maybe you’ve lost a job that wasn’t a great job to begin with. So here’s your chance to pivot. What would you replace it with? An event planner I know has been learning to set up virtual meetings. And in the process, her natural desire to rein in our carbon footprints has been stimulated. Now she’s thinking that’s where a second business may lie.

Whatever your situation is, friend, you can create a new, better solution. One that serves you, and others as well.

For me, this time has given me a wonderful window to do two things. I’ve finished the latest draft of my memoir … AND I’m about to launch a podcast, Back to Happy, with Debi Granger. Her daughter got Teal’s heart and kidney.

As Debi likes to say, Loss makes us stronger … if we let it.

May this new emergence be your launch pad to an entirely new, happier, better way to live.

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Eleven Key Things No One Ever Tells You About Grief (and a Tribute)

This week I learned of a death from COVID-19, the now elderly mother of one of my closest friends when I was a teenager. Their family lived near our home in the Philadelphia suburb of Chestnut Hill, a bucolic place filled with big houses and towering, leafy trees. It was the sort of place where bad things didn’t seem to ever happen, and there was always the smell of blooming roses and the hum of lawn mowers in the summer air.

Seeing her death as a result of this virus sent a chill of finality through my body. Suddenly it all became very real for me.

Babbie Nalle was always ‘Mrs. Nalle’ to us, though she later remarried after Mr. Nalle died and she became Mrs. Wetherill. Her daughter was one of my close friends in high school, so Babbie
 was around for many key moments, including introducing me to three different boys by her pool who I then dated. She was funny, beautiful, and very real in an utterly classy way. And she advocated for me with those boys in ways my own disengaged, alcoholic mother was incapable of.

It wasn’t until her death that I learned that Babbie was far more than ‘just a mom’. She was a Philadelphia golf champion, a reporter, and a model for Emilio Pucci. She studied dance with Martha Graham, sold high end properties and rode horses right into her sixties. To me, she was just a beautiful, kind gracious woman who made sure I had what I needed. And she always had time to talk when I came by. She even hosted a party for me when my first novel was published, in which I’d described a party based on one of their own. It was an act of kindness I never forgot.

So, like many of us right now, I have cause to grieve. Though I hadn’t spoken with Babbie in many years, I still feel the sting of her death. To this end, I’m republishing some ideas about grief I learned after losing my mother, my father and my daughter, Teal.

These are the parts of grief the death pundits never seem to mention. May they provide a little comfort in the days ahead.

1. Grief has its own timetable. It will move at its own leisurely pace – and not a moment sooner. You may find yourself getting fed up that it’s taking as long as it is. Yet, the healing of your fragile nervous system takes time – much like a broken leg … or heart.

2. Your grief will be erratic and unpredictable. Some weeks will be better than others. You may have two terrible days followed by a perfectly wonderful week. Or vice versa. It isn’t just all-grief-all-the-time … even in the beginning.

3. You will be convinced you are ‘back to normal’ sooner than you are. And you may want to force yourself to get back to your old life. Yet, in some way that old life is over and you are now being offered new alternatives. Only with time will the new life emerge.

4. Not knowing is part of the deal. No matter what you’re grieving, there will be uncertainty ahead. And that great unknown can be the hardest part of your experience. Here is where choice comes in – you can choose to worry and stew. Or you can choose to trust that all will be well. Can you accept that you just won’t know for a while?

5. You’re supposed to be unmotivated … so it’s okay to lie around. For a long, long time if necessary. Grieving takes immense energy, which ordinarily would go towards making things happen in your life.

6. Non-grievers seldom understand grief. Let’s admit it – this is really an altered state you are in. People around you may think you should ‘snap out of it’ sooner than you need to. Just thank them and let them know you’ve got it handled. Then give yourself permission to be exactly where you are.

7. Grieving alone is harder. Getting yourself to your first grief group meeting can be like pulling teeth. But once you get there, you will most likely be very happy you went. It is truly consoling to be in the company of others in the same situation. You can usually find free grief groups in hospices, hospitals, and churches. Some hospices offer free grief therapy as well.

8. Not all grief groups are a good fit. You may have to try a few before you find the right one. It’s perfectly fine to do this. You deserve real support.

9. Great things often come out of grief. Surprising, right? But so true. Crises are humbling – and they shake us out of our everyday stupors. They also provide fertile grounds for creating change.

10. You’ll know when you’re grief has subsided because life will flow again. This is the magical part. Opportunities will suddenly show up at your door and you’ll feel like doing them. You’ll have new motivation to dig into life again. You’ll start having fewer and fewer bad days as life gets fun again.

11. There is a lesson (or several) buried in your crisis. Grieving hearts know that that everything happens for a reason – even when it seems completely unreasonable. And the lessons are often not revealed until the grief has healed.

©2015 Suzanne Falter LLC. For reprint permission contact Suzanne@suzannefalter.com

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A Surprising Way to Heal your Anxiety

I’m a nester. Always have been, always will be. It’s just in my nature to love cooking beautiful pots of soup, roasting chickens and baking muffins for those I love. Same goes for fixing little things, arranging flowers, making beds. Growing up the daughter of a vowed nester, this is not surprising.

Mom was, in fact, ‘The Happy Housekeeper’, the title of a column she wrote for House & Garden Magazine for 18 years. So maybe I’ve been channeling my mother when I dig in to cleaning and cooking with more zest than usual during this pandemic.

Cooking and nesting are my safe zones—a way to feel nurtured and cared for, even while I’m nurturing others. Researchers have verified this. A 2019 article in Good Housekeeping reports that a full 70% of Americans report that cleaning house offers them ‘a feeling of accomplishment’. 54% even call it “relaxing”.

A small study in Mindfulness reports that some added benefit can be found in how we actually wash those dishes. If we do it mindfully, i.e. smelling the detergent, really getting into the action of the sponge on the dish, we can experience a 27% reduction in ‘mental nervousness’. And a serious boost to our overall motivation and inspiration.

All I know is that when I’m cleaning, I’m in control of my environment for a few moments. And I do experience that satisfying, tidy sense of accomplishment mentioned above. I feel good about myself, my home, my environment. Even my life for a little while.

As for cooking, the same applies. When I make a lovely tray of cookies, I have total control of my domain for a while. And I’m not alone. The urge to ‘stress bake’ has been well documented by everyone from Stephen Colbert (who even profiled an apple tart on one of his early pandemic broadcasts) to university researchers. They found that baking supplies surged in sales in the week following the 911 attacks in 2001.

Baking allows us to worry less, to park our anxiety elsewhere. And then to follow up with an immersion in some lovely comfort eating.

Just for fun, here are some recipes I’ve been making that I absolutely love.

Curried Chicken Soup for Broken Hearts

Soul-Warming Coconut Oatmeal

A final thought. Once we’ve baked our way into a place of peace and serenity, we may have way more comfort food on hand than we can, or possibly should, eat. What to do with it.

Terrance Kelly, Artistic Director of the Oakland Interfaith Gospel Choir, cited a drive-by pound cake drop off on his Facebook page recently. A relative came by and handed him a gorgeous dessert through the window. That’s social distancing with a little extra heart. So consider a drive-by drop off!

As for keeping the manna going, we found most Oakland supermarkets were sold out of flour, so we bought a 25-pound sack of all-purpose flour at Business Costco. (You can still use your regular card there.) Then we distributed flour in gallon zip lock bags by leaving it on neighbor’s front stoops. Concerned folks can disinfect the bag before handling.

Whatever gets you into creating in your kitchen or your home, why not give it a go? You may be surprised at how much better it makes you feel. Ahhhhh….

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