Caroline Flohr's Blog: Caroline Flohr, author's personal blog

I always love this time of year. Graduation is here and commencement speeches begin. I love listening to great visionaries share their words of wisdom. Below are excerpts from three I will never forget.

First is the speech from Steve Jobs to the class of 2005 at Stanford University. Mr. Jobs never graduated from college and this was the closest he ever got to a college graduation. His speech relates to three stories from his life.

• The first story is about connecting the dots…You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something – your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

• My second story is about love and loss… Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don’t lose faith. I’m convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You’ve got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.

• My third story is about death. When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today? And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something…Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

Mr. Jobs ends with “Stay hungry. Stay foolish.” His motto came from the back cover of the final issue of The Whole Earth Catalog in the mid-70s.

Second is the speech by environmentalist, entrepreneur, journalist, and author Paul Hawken to the class of 2009 at University of Portland. It’s a speech about today, our earth, and the people who live here. It’s about a deep sense of connectedness to the living world. These are my favorite excerpts from that speech.

What I see everywhere in the world are ordinary people willing to confront despair, power, and incalculable odds in order to restore some semblance of grace, justice, and beauty to this world… You join a multitude of caring people. No one knows how many groups and organizations are working on the most salient issues of our day: climate change, poverty, deforestation, peace, water, hunger, conservation, human rights, and more. This is the largest movement the world has ever seen. Rather than control, it seeks connection. Rather than dominance, it strives to disperse concentrations of power. Like Mercy Corps, it works behind the scenes and gets the job done. Large as it is, no one knows the true size of this movement. It provides hope, support, and meaning to billions of people in the world. Its clout resides in idea, not in force… Inspiration is not garnered from the litanies of what may befall us; it resides in humanity’s willingness to restore, redress, reform, rebuild, recover, reimagine, and reconsider… The living world is not “out there” somewhere, but in your heart. What do we know about life?…The first living cell came into being nearly 40 million centuries ago, and its direct descendants are in all of our bloodstreams… We are vastly interconnected. Our fates are inseparable. We are here because the dream of every cell is to become two cells. And dreams come true…This extraordinary time when we are globally aware of each other and the multiple dangers that threaten civilization has never happened, not in a thousand years, not in ten thousand years. Each of us is as complex and beautiful as all the stars in the universe. We have done great things and we have gone way off course in terms of honoring creation. You are graduating to the most amazing, stupefying challenge ever bequested to any generation. The generations before you failed. They didn’t stay up all night. They got distracted and lost sight of the fact that life is a miracle every moment of your existence. Nature beckons you to be on her side. You couldn’t ask for a better boss…The most unrealistic person in the world is the cynic, not the dreamer. Hope only makes sense when it doesn’t make sense to be hopeful. This is your century. Take it and run as if your life depends on it.

But my most favorite is the recent commencement speech given by Adm. William H. McRaven, ninth commander of U.S. Special Operations Command, at the University of Texas at Austin on May 17. He’ been a Navy SEAL for 36 years. In his speech he shares life lessons from Navy SEAL training. I found his words gentle and honest and applicable to every stage of my life. The speech is my favorite because I didn’t expect a speech like this from a Navy SEAL. Click the link above to read and watch the full speech. Below are the 10 simple points he emphasizes.

1. If you make your bed every morning you will have accomplished the first task of the day. Making your bed will reinforce the fact that the little things in life matter. If you can’t do the little things right, you will never do the big things right. If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed.

2. You can’t change the world alone- you will need some help- and to truly get from your starting point to your destination takes friends, colleagues, the goodwill of strangers and a strong coxswain to guide us. If you want to change the world, find someone to help you paddle.

3. SEAL training is a great equalizer. Nothing matters but your will to succeed. Not your color, not your ethnic background, not your education and not your social status. If you want to change the world, measure people by the size of their heart, not the size of their flippers.

4. Sometimes, no matter how well you prepare or how well you perform, you still end up as a sugar cookie. It’s just the way life is sometimes. If you want to change the world, get over being a sugar cookie and keep moving forward.

5. Life is filled with circuses. You will fail. You will likely fail often. It will be painful. It will be discouraging. At times it will test you to your very core. But if you want to change the world, don’t be afraid of the circuses.

6. At least twice a week, the trainees were required to run the obstacle course. The obstacle course contained 25 obstacles including a 10-foot-high wall, a 30-foot cargo net and a barbed-wire crawl, to name a few. But the most challenging obstacle was the slide for life. The record for the obstacle course had stood for years…until one day a student decided to go down the slide for life head-first. If you want to change the world sometimes you have to slide down the obstacle head-first.

7. There are a lot of sharks in the world. If you hope to complete the swim, you will have to deal with them. So, if you want to change the world, don’t back down from the sharks.

8. Every SEAL knows that under the keel, at the darkest moment of the mission, is the time when you must be calm, composed – when all your tactical skills, your physical power and your inner strength must be brought to bear. If you want to change the world, you must be at your very best in the darkest moment.

9. The ninth week of SEAL training is referred to as Hell Week. It is on Wednesday of Hell Week that you paddle down to the mud flats and spend the next 15 hours trying to survive the freezing cold mud, the howling wind and the incessant pressure from the instructors to quit. Looking around the mudflats it is apparent that some students were ready to give up. And then, one voice began to echo through the night – one voice raised in song. The song was terribly out of tune, but sung with great enthusiasm. One voice became two, and two became three, and before long everyone in the class was singing. If I have learned anything in my time of traveling the world, it is the power of hope. So, if you want to change the world, start singing when you’re up to your neck in mud.

10. In SEAL training there is a bell. A brass bell hangs in the center of the compound for all the students to see. All you have to do to quit is ring the bell. So, if you want to change the world don’t ever, ever ring the bell.

His final paragraph sums up his advice in simple terms that made clear sense to my youngest children.

Start each day with a task completed. Find someone to help you through life. Respect everyone. Know that life is not fair and that you will fail often, but if you don’t take some risks, step up when the times are toughest, face down the bullies, lift up the downtrodden and never, ever give up – if you do these things, then the next generation and the generations that follow will live in a world far better than the one we have today.

Please add your favorite commencement speeches. The longer the list, the greater the inspiration, the greater the challenge to seek excellence in all we do.

Early in the week I received notice of a 5-Star review from IndieReader. I am thrilled and wanted to share it with you because I believe this review speaks to the essence of Heaven’s Child, A true story of family, friends, and strangers. 

IndieReader Review, 5 Star
HEAVEN’S CHILD: A true story of family, friends and strangers
By Caroline Flohr (Book Publishers Network, 2014) 5 Star

Caroline Flohr’s searing memoir of loss of her first-born twin teenage daughter Sarah in a car accident in August 2004 is a difficult book to review. Nothing can even describe the emotional trauma of a parent who has to bear – and live through – the agony of a child’s death, a vibrant sixteen-year old, to a freak accident. Yet, Flohr has written a sensitive memoir that makes catharsis possible in the quest to understand her loss without turning death into a tear jerker.

The memoir traverses a devastating terrain, beginning with an early morning knock on her front door and a firefighter’s chilling words, “There’s been an accident, and Sarah has been killed,” to the epilogue (2011) where she recognizes Sarah is “all around me, sometimes in the kindness of a friend, or even strangers. I’ve come to know her presence, the touch of her fingertips, her smell and her warmth.”

Days after the tragedy, Flohr is pierced by guilt when she comes across Sarah’s school essay, “The Power of One Personal Narrative,” where her daughter recounts her anger on her parent’s divorce, lashes out at her “evil” stepmother, and her unwillingness to accept her stepfather. The narrative then picks up the shards of memory, at once poignant and happy, as she re-lives her pregnancy, the joy at the birth of the “mirror-image twins,” the slow dissolution of her marriage, and life with her supportive extended family.

Yet, Sarah’s short life and memories do not exist in a vacuum. Flohr contextualizes her pain, once she gets past the immediate trauma of loss, within the larger framework of the passing days, weeks and the first anniversary of Sarah’s death. Framed within these large arcs of time, she recounts, during the trial, the remorse of the teenager who was driving, as well as shock when the second teenage girl–she had taken her parents’ SUV without permission–speaks callously in court, “I think I’ve been punished enough. It can’t get any worse than this.”

From that point on until the fifth anniversary of her daughter’s death, Flohr movingly charts the course to recovery and control over her family’s life with her husband and her surviving four children. The sad memories still intrude, but she gradually turns to the joys of life. On the fifth anniversary, following a visit to Sarah’s grave, Flohr instinctively knows the family has to let “Sarah free” and have her continue with her “journey.” She writes, “We accept her death…We have found her gifts.” Back home, she re-reads Sarah’s autobiographical essay’s final words to bring about the much-needed closure: “And now it is time for my story to end, because we have finally reached the beginning.”

HEAVEN’S CHILD is a memoir of hope and serenity, of acceptance that “death is a part of life,” that “learning to live and love is a lifelong process and that our greatest gift is today.” The message is inspirational: all we really have in life to hold on to is the bond of love with our family. Death may interrupt the journey, but it can never stop us from completing it.

Reviewed by Dave Dasgupta for IndieReader

Last weekend Bainbridge Island’s environmental learning center, Islandwood, hosted New York Times best selling author Cheryl Strayed. If you don’t know Cheryl, she hiked the Pacific Coast Trail in 1995 from the junction in the Mojave Desert to the Bridge of the Gods spanning the Columbia River at the Oregon-Washington border. She hiked alone in boots that didn’t fit properly. She documented the experience in her best seller Wild, the book that Oprah introduced to reignite Oprah’s Book Club 2.0. The movie with Reese Witherspoon will be released fall 2014. More than one hundred women from across the United States and Canada attended the weekend conference. Please know that Islandwood is nature’s most magical campus, adding immense dimension to the captivating weekend escape. I was privileged to be part of the party.

Back to Cheryl…She’s an amazing speaker, drawing you in as if you were a good friend and sharing an intimate conversation for the first time. Nothing was held back. She speaks from the heart with truth and vulnerability. She speaks of forgiveness and healing and the need to surrender to our losses. When asked, “How do you open your heart so wide?” She said, “I am not afraid to talk about my life.” She spoke of self-examination: What’s true? What’s truer? What’s the truest thing? When questioned- “How do you know your life’s purpose?” Her answer was simple. “Get rid of all the outside voices. Listen to your voice. You have to try to offer up the best thing you can. You must give the best of yourself.” Her words resonated with me as if they were my own.

I wanted to share this experience because it validated something deep inside me; that is, how I write. I write with vulnerability, sometimes too true, sometimes too raw, certainly to the point and without the extras. Some people in the business say my style is too honest. But Cheryl’s words validated my writing: “Write the truest thing you can write.” Living every moment with honest gumption is how I want to live, just like Cheryl Strayed.

I’ll leave you with two quotes that summed up the weekend:

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? - Mary Oliver

People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel. -Maya Angelou

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve always believed it was best to give. Over and over again…and it’s been many years of over and over again, I was told that it’s better to give than to receive. And I’ve never thought twice about that teaching…until recently.

A few weeks back a dear friend invited me to a gathering at our church. Now, I normally don’t go to evening events because my weekday afternoons and evenings are filled with carpools and kid’s activities. But the topic was eastern religions, and that topic intrigues me like a good mystery. The speaker was a professor from the Mid-West, a good friend of my friend, and I knew my friend well enough to know that this was an opportunity not to miss. With my youngest child in tow, I dropped my carpool at the gym and headed to the church.

The professor greeted us at the library door in the church’s faith center. His skin was darker than mine and judgment about his background and religious beliefs passed without due diligence. I introduced my youngest child. While explaining that she could entertain herself, she produced an iPad. I asked how long the event would be.

“It’ll end at 8:30. But I could talk until midnight.” He said. I wondered how long I could talk about something.

“We do need to leave at 8:30. I have a carpool of kids to pick up at the gym. Please excuse us if we leave mid-sentence.” He didn’t seem offended.

We took our seats in the rear corner. The room filled quickly. My youngest child was the youngest in attendance. Most in attendance were older than me.

After introductions and explanations about his background in India, he got right to the point. “There are 330 million gods in my country. But only one God that is supreme. It’s reported that Christians have 41,000 different sects. But only one God.” I didn’t know much about Hinduism except that its core opposed that of Christianity. Christians have one God who is personal and knowable and one set of scriptures. Christians believe that God created the earth and all who live upon it, that man is created in God’s image and lives only once, and that salvation is through Jesus Christ alone. Hindus don’t believe in Jesus and our concepts of God differ quite a bit. Major differences…but the sheer quantity of people on both sides leveled the playing field. As he continued about his traditions and the similarities between eastern religions a

When the conversation turned to giving versus receiving, his words sank in at a different level than anticipated. ”How can you give if you don’t know how to receive?” In his next breath he twisted the words around.  “If you don’t know how to receive, if you don’t fill yourself up, how can you give? To receive comes first. Only then can you give.” The words sank in even deeper.

I had never given thought to the importance of receiving. The emphasis in my religion had always been giving. The Bible reiterates this theme relentlessly.

I listened as he continued. “When your child says, ‘I love you.’ Respond with a thank you. Absorb that statement. Don’t ruin it by responding, ‘I love you, too.’  When your spouse says that you look nice, soak it up. There isn’t a need to respond with ‘You look good, too.” He went through more examples. But it only took these two to make me understand the importance of the moment of receiving.

The following day I began taking notice of how I receive from others. I paid attention when my 10 year old greeted me in the morning and said, “I love you, mom.” I paid attention when my 11 year old said, “I like your outfit today, Mom. You’re putting it together well.” I paid attention to the grocery store clerk and the schoolteacher and the postal lady, people I see daily. They offered hellos with smiles and asked how my day was going. I took it all in. And it felt good. Each time I let myself receive I felt my insides filling up.

The professor taught me a lesson I will never forget.  Only when I know how to receive and allow myself to receive can I give myself to others. Turns out that our religious beliefs were the same. The Indian professor was Catholic. Turns out I could have listened to the professor talk well past midnight. My judgment about skin color had been correct. Everything else had been incorrect.

Each day is a work in progress but today I feel full.

 

 

I’m Catholic and it’s Lent. For the past few days our parish has been celebrating a Lenten series with Fr. Joe Rodrigues, a Salvatorian priest visiting from Wisconsin. Fr. Joe has entertained us with song and story bringing the Passion into today’s world. His Lenten series has been a time of reflection and connection.

At last evening’s event five biblical characters spoke ( monologues crafted by Fr. Joe.) followed by five parishioners sharing their personal stories. It was like a play showing – not telling – that we are no different today than those who crucified Christ more than 2000 years ago. I was invited to follow our Mother Mary’s monologue with my personal story. Opportunity to ask questions and share reflections followed the sharing of stories. In each personal reflection and question I was surprised by the voice of pain and suffering. Each referenced tragedy as the reason why they fell to their knees in prayer, why they opened their hearts to God. I am no different. It is tragedy that reshaped my relationship with God. But what I don’t understand is why it takes tragedy to open our hearts to God? Can’t we get there via another route?

Below is the personal monologue I shared. I invite you to read, share your personal story, and offer your insight. Is it possible to reach God without pain, suffering, and prayer? If so, how?

I have been blessed with 5 children. Today they range in age from 10 -26. But when my youngest was 6 months old, and my oldest was 16, one of my twins, Sarah, was killed. It was a car accident. 8 teenagers. A midnight joyride. August 2004.

 

Never once did I give thought to losing a child. Certainly I’d never given thought about what Mary experienced as her son carried the cross to save the world. When I was asked to contribute to Mary’s part, I found myself returning to those first few years when the grief overwhelmed. That love between mother and child… in each of us, deep down, we know a mother’s love. It’s a bond that is always there; the good and the bad, it never goes away. Beginning with the knock at my front door that August morning my faith was challenged and reshaped like I’ve never known before.

 

I was raised Catholic, and, it’s fair to say that until Sarah’s death I took my faith for granted. Do know that I love all religions. I believe that all religions offer value and guidance. But when the fireman knocked at my door and told me in less than a handful of words that my child was dead, a strange sense overcame me as if I wasn’t alone. Moments earlier I had been dreaming about Sarah. She was hopping into the back of a blue pickup, promising that she’d never leave me.  Somehow, in that moment when the fireman delivered the news, I knew that everything would be okay. It was as if God’s grace swooped in. And that strange sense has never left me.

 

When Mary watched her son trudge the dirt path burdened with a wooden cross, she had to ask to be let through. That was her son. Imagine the tensions, the judgments…didn’t these soldiers, these onlookers have hearts? How could these people be so cruel?

 

I will never forget those early weeks after Sarah’s accident… the judgments from parents, kids, and people we didn’t even know. Everyone had something to say, an opinion to offer. For months, the newspaper printed editorials that held no truth. Where were their hearts? I dug deeper into my faith. My Catholic roots offered support. I needed God on my side. I needed Mary’s gentle heart to envelop me. The rosary became my best friend.

 

When Mary cried out to her son one last time, he tried to shield her from view, tried to protect her. Jesus didn’t intend for his mother to suffer. I know Sarah didn’t intend for her family to know such pain. Daily I turned, and continue to turn, to Mary. How did she manage her grief? How did Mary weave the pain into her life? We all know loss and grief. It’s raw and real and returns when least expected. I find peace when praying. I find courage, perseverance, hope, and faith when focusing on Mary.

 

I remember well the last time I saw my daughter. Mothers never forget those moments. It was a Sunday afternoon. She grabbed a box of frozen mac and cheese and said “I love you, mama,” as she raced out the door to spend the night at a friend’s house. I am sure Mary never forgot that last encounter with her son.

 

Now, as I said earlier, things happened, and continue to happen today, that I can’t explain. Some may say that I am forced to believe if I want to see my child again. But, given all the coincidences, those things that can’t be explained…I know for certain that life continues after death, that God’s love is real, that His way is the Way. I am certain that it is God’s grace intervening when I least expect it, reminding me that I never walk alone.

I’m Catholic and it’s Lent. For the past few days our parish has been celebrating a Lenten series with Fr. Joe Rodrigues, a Salvatorian priest visiting from Wisconsin. Fr. Joe has entertained us with song and story bringing the Passion into today’s world. His Lenten series has been a time of reflection and connection.

At last evening’s event five biblical characters spoke ( monologues crafted by Fr. Joe.) followed by five parishioners sharing their personal stories. It was like a play showing – not telling – that we are no different today than those who crucified Christ more than 2000 years ago. I was invited to follow our Mother Mary’s monologue with my personal story. Opportunity to ask questions and share reflections followed the sharing of stories. In each personal reflection and question I was surprised by the voice of pain and suffering. Each referenced tragedy as the reason why they fell to their knees in prayer, why they opened their hearts to God. I am no different. It is tragedy that reshaped my relationship with God. But what I don’t understand is why it takes tragedy to open our hearts to God? Can’t we get there via another route?

Below is the personal monologue I shared. I invite you to read, share your personal story, and offer your insight. Is it possible to reach God without pain, suffering, and prayer? If so, how?

I have been blessed with 5 children. Today they range in age from 10 -26. But when my youngest was 6 months old, and my oldest was 16, one of my twins, Sarah, was killed. It was a car accident. 8 teenagers. A midnight joyride. August 2004.

 

Never once did I give thought to losing a child. Certainly I’d never given thought about what Mary experienced as her son carried the cross to save the world. When I was asked to contribute to Mary’s part, I found myself returning to those first few years when the grief overwhelmed. That love between mother and child… in each of us, deep down, we know a mother’s love. It’s a bond that is always there; the good and the bad, it never goes away. Beginning with the knock at my front door that August morning my faith was challenged and reshaped like I’ve never known before.

 

I was raised Catholic, and, it’s fair to say that until Sarah’s death I took my faith for granted. Do know that I love all religions. I believe that all religions offer value and guidance. But when the fireman knocked at my door and told me in less than a handful of words that my child was dead, a strange sense overcame me as if I wasn’t alone. Moments earlier I had been dreaming about Sarah. She was hopping into the back of a blue pickup, promising that she’d never leave me.  Somehow, in that moment when the fireman delivered the news, I knew that everything would be okay. It was as if God’s grace swooped in. And that strange sense has never left me.

 

When Mary watched her son trudge the dirt path burdened with a wooden cross, she had to ask to be let through. That was her son. Imagine the tensions, the judgments…didn’t these soldiers, these onlookers have hearts? How could these people be so cruel?

 

I will never forget those early weeks after Sarah’s accident… the judgments from parents, kids, and people we didn’t even know. Everyone had something to say, an opinion to offer. For months, the newspaper printed editorials that held no truth. Where were their hearts? I dug deeper into my faith. My Catholic roots offered support. I needed God on my side. I needed Mary’s gentle heart to envelop me. The rosary became my best friend.

 

When Mary cried out to her son one last time, he tried to shield her from view, tried to protect her. Jesus didn’t intend for his mother to suffer. I know Sarah didn’t intend for her family to know such pain. Daily I turned, and continue to turn, to Mary. How did she manage her grief? How did Mary weave the pain into her life? We all know loss and grief. It’s raw and real and returns when least expected. I find peace when praying. I find courage, perseverance, hope, and faith when focusing on Mary.

 

I remember well the last time I saw my daughter. Mothers never forget those moments. It was a Sunday afternoon. She grabbed a box of frozen mac and cheese and said “I love you, mama,” as she raced out the door to spend the night at a friend’s house. I am sure Mary never forgot that last encounter with her son.

 

Now, as I said earlier, things happened, and continue to happen today, that I can’t explain. Some may say that I am forced to believe if I want to see my child again. But, given all the coincidences, those things that can’t be explained…I know for certain that life continues after death, that God’s love is real, that His way is the Way. I am certain that it is God’s grace intervening when I least expect it, reminding me that I never walk alone.

I need some silence, please. My world is plugged and ready to go. Lacking is silence.

And I’m beginning to understand that there’s an art to silence. I can’t change my noisy world but I can disconnect.

After children are delivered to school, the drive home is silent. Silence surrounds me on a morning run, two dogs beside me, heals crunching a leaf. Gadgets are silenced while I focus on work. Email is closed. I don’t check caller ID. Voicemail takes the messages.

Several hours pass. School releases and tending turns toward children. They flip on the radio as chatter erupts, errands are run and the children race to their afternoon activities. Everyone is busy and engaged. They ask for help with homework. SpongeBob and the latest YouTube video fill the voids. I ask them to turn off the background noise. They claim it’s necessary for their focus. Can’t they think in silence? Do they fear silence? Dinner needs tending. The sight of the TV annoys me. I close the cabinet.

When the children are tucked in for the night and all is quiet, I go to bed with headphones listening to a meditation track. The vibration of the music seems to settle the constant flurry of activity that flutters through my head, remnants of the day. Plugged in, I feel content. Stillness returns. But where is silence?

It’s silence I crave. Being alone energizes me. Am I an introvert? But maybe I’d feel differently if my world wasn’t constantly plugged in and engaged, full of family and friends, moving from one activity to the next. But in the next thought..I can’t imagine my life without all the family, friends, and activity.

I’ve learned that it’s only by stepping outside my world that I can see what is most important to me. I’ve come to learn that I do my best work by just sitting still. The stillness energizes me. How do I teach my children the value of silence, stillness, and solitude? My vocabulary needs to include those three words more.

Do you fear silence? Does it energize you? And please, where do you find silence?

Heaven's Child, A true story of family, friends, and strangers

 

I need some silence, please. My world is plugged and ready to go. Lacking is silence.

And I’m beginning to understand that there’s an art to silence. I can’t change my noisy world but I can disconnect.

After children are delivered to school, the drive home is silent. Silence surrounds me on a morning run, two dogs beside me, heals crunching a leaf. Gadgets are silenced while I focus on work. Email is closed.  I don’t check caller ID. Voicemail takes the messages.

Several hours pass. School releases and tending turns toward children. They flip on the radio as chatter erupts, errands are run and the children race to their afternoon activities. Everyone is busy and engaged. They ask for help with homework. SpongeBob and the latest YouTube video fill the voids. I ask them to turn off the background noise. They claim it’s necessary for their focus. Can’t they think in silence? Do they fear silence? Dinner needs tending. The sight of the TV annoys me. I close the cabinet.

When the children are tucked in for the night and all is quiet, I go to bed with headphones listening to a meditation track. The vibration of the music seems to settle the constant flurry of activity that flutters through my head, remnants of the day.  Plugged in, I feel content. Stillness returns.  But where is silence?

It’s silence I crave.  Being alone energizes me.  Am I an introvert? But maybe I’d feel differently if my world wasn’t constantly plugged in and engaged, full of family and friends, moving from one activity to the next. But in the next thought..I can’t imagine my life without all the family, friends, and activity.

I’ve learned that it’s only by stepping outside my world that I can see what is most important to me. I’ve come to learn that I do my best work by just sitting still. The stillness energizes me. How do I teach my children the value of silence, stillness, and solitude? My vocabulary needs to include those three words more.

Do you fear silence? Does it energize you? And please, where do you find silence?

Today I am fifty years old. Passing into a new decade excites me. The last decade seemed to be one of recovery, dragging on and on. But today I feel refreshed, renewed, excited about the present, super excited about the future, and content with issues and regrets of the past. Everything about the past is what it is. And I’m okay with that. Now it’s onwards and upwards!

Last night my seventy-something year old aunt called to wish me an early ‘happy birthday.’ In the morning she’d be at the same grind working the same front desk at the same doctor’s office that she’s worked for years. How many years?  Too many to count. But she always says the benefits are good and she does have great stories to tell. In the next breath after the early birthday wish, she said, “How I wish I could be 50 again.” I jumped over the remark and changed the subject but the statement made me feel like I was 20 again when the world was mine; just waiting to choose what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be.

After we hung up I started a list of things I’d like to change and things I’d like to do. If you could be 50 again, what would you do differently? Please add to my list. I want no excuses when I reach 70-something. There are lots of us who need some good input and lots of us who will listen. Age and experience do foster sage advice.

There seem to be invisible forces that surround me as I start a new project. There’s that ebb of excitement that propels me forward. And then there’s that struggle that counters the ebb. But when I let things flow, when I don’t try so hard, when I struggle less, I am amazed how everything falls into place.

In one of Deepak Chopra’s many books he outlines a simple game plan to accomplishing anything. I understand that the key is letting things flow. Struggling is not the normal or right way. With the new year almost here, I promise to reflect on this list each morning before work begins.

Focus on what I want to accomplish, let it sprout and grow in my mind.
Ask my soul for help and encouragement.
Let go and allow the results to take shape.
Act when I feel clear.
Don’t take any action when I’m in doubt.
Don’t spread confusion; have faith in my purpose.
Don’t act on anger, anxiety, or other negative impulses.
Expect the best.
Accept every result as the best I can do at that moment.
Don’t blame myself for setbacks and obstacles.
Don’t shrivel up and go tight inside when something goes wrong. Be open to the lesson that every setback contains.
Don’t blame others.
Know any outcome is possible.
Put the past behind me. Trust in a better future.
Don’t accept bad outcomes passively-change whatever has to be changed within myself.
Don’t force or control the situation.
Don’t go off in fantasy. Try to be as present as possible without distraction.
Feel safe and centered inside.
Check all around me for signs that I am on the right path.
Be responsible for my own destiny.

Being responsible for my own destiny returns me to the last two lines of one of my favorite poems, Invictus, by William Ernest Henley.

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

The new year is almost here, and I hope to live my best life this next year.

I invite you to add to this simple game plan. What is your best advice to living your best life?