EVEN NOW: Loving Yourself at Your Worst

I threw my notebook across the room and announced loudly, “Well, I guess that’s just MORE proof of what I f#$k-up I am.” And I stormed out to another part of the house.⁣

⁣The proximate cause? A very simple (and completely appropriate) observation from my partner, related to a near-term goal that was important to me. He said something along the lines of “You probably better reach out to some folks soon if you want help with this project.” The delivery was quite innocent, completely snark-free, and 100% on point. (I mean, How dare he?!?)⁣

⁣But, of course, my response wasn’t about the message or the messenger. This was all about the receiver--me.⁣

Lately, I have been working hard on a REALLY radical proposition. I’ve been trying to anchor--at a visceral, practical, actionable level--the outrageous idea that my worth / value / lovableness have nothing to do with my performance, my mood, my clothing choices, the skillful delivery of a particular joke, the nodding approval of others, or even (gasp) the number of likes on a FB post.⁣

⁣That it’s non-negotiable. It’s not Even. On. The. Table. ⁣

⁣I’ve had ample reassurance over the years that this is the case, from sources on both sides of the veil. But I’ve never *really* owned it. Instead, I’ve treated it like an inspirational plaque that I keep on my desk and dust off every once in a while, but don’t even notice anymore.⁣

⁣I have been making this a priority of late. Frankly, I’ve been amazed at how it has lifted my spirit and made things a lot easier. Life just kinda flows. I’ve been oozing the milk of human kindness and self-compassion.⁣

⁣Until now. This was the first real bump, the first real hard thing, and the most petulant and reactive response I’d had. It wasn’t pretty.⁣

⁣Back to my stormy exit. I stomped into the den and settled into the overstuffed chair in the corner. Soft nowhere music drifted from the Sonos speaker next to me. And as I sank into the chair, I heard the words distinctly: “EVEN NOW.” ⁣

⁣I relaxed and smiled. For this to work, I had to apply it when it’s hard, not just when it’s easy. When I’m at my l.e.a.s.t. lovable.⁣

⁣EVEN NOW. I knew right away that it had the makings of a new mantra. Wait, what was that? Ah, one tweak. ⁣

⁣*ESPECIALLY* NOW.⁣

Night and Day: Making Room for All of Us

𝗟𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆, 𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗮 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻. I poured myself a lil glass of sumpin-sumpin, turned off the porch light, and sat on the front stoop, basking in the lunar beauty. I brought a candle, my journal, and a tarot deck, so that I could do a full-moon reading for myself. ⁣

⁣𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗽, 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗮𝗻𝘁, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁-𝗼𝗻, beckoning me to bring all of myself to this new season. I felt grounded and peaceful as I bid the world good night.⁣

⁣𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗜 𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘀𝗲, 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲, 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘆, 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗸. I yelled into my journal and beat up my punching bag. Everywhere I turned, I saw an annoying nail begging for the wrath of my hammer.⁣

⁣𝗪𝗲𝗹𝗹, 𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁, 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. I guess this is the Real Me. Not sure why anyone would or should look to me (much less pay me) for support. [Cue melodramatic music and begin descent down grandiose spiral staircase of shame.]⁣

⁣𝗙𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘂𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆, 𝗜 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴. That same afternoon, I had a session booked with a group of wonderfully skilled fellow coaches that I’m in a mentoring circle with. Miraculously, I found the courage to vent my peevishness to them in all its glory. And because I owned it, they were able to meet the real me—not some sanitized/idealized version of me—with true compassion and helpfulness. ⁣

⁣𝗕𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗲. They were important parts that needed expression. Thanks to the grace of my colleagues, the voices inside me got heard. My friends welcomed the unruly parts of me with tenderness and respect and gently helped me to gather them back in.⁣

⁣𝗜 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝗼𝘃𝘆 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹-𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝘃𝗶𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝘂𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗯𝘆𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘀 around the more ornery parts of my psyche (or worse, used my “higher self” to beat those whiners into submission). However, it would have been at best a temporary pause in the internal conflict. The fragile peace would have been dwarfed by the later explosion. ⁣

⁣𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳—as in “re-membering,” putting back together the elements of my psyche that I had dismembered and isolated. In that reintegration, I was reminded of the pain that comes from falling into the trance of over-identifying with any one part of our experience. ⁣

⁣𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲; I am not a gallon of homogenized Chris-ness (though I am in fact both Grade A and full fat). There’s a lot going on in here. I contain multitudes.⁣

⁣𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗪𝗵𝗼 𝗛𝗮𝘀 𝗜𝘁 𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗧𝗼𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿, 𝗶𝘁’𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵. On the other hand, maybe you can relate to (and even trust) someone who periodically falls apart and finds himself befuddled by his own contradictions—and who is okay with that, and thinks the resulting inquiry can be super-important.⁣

⁣If that's the case, perhaps my people* and your people should talk. ⁣⁣

⁣*See what I did there? ;-)

When Did It Start?

I saw her this morning as I drove through my neighborhood--a woman, perhaps a little older than me, with very kind eyes, walking down the street. I've noticed her many times before, but today I was conscious of a particular way she hugged the edge of the road. ⁣

Actually, that's not quite it. It wasn't that she was just to one side, trying to avoid cars. It's more like there were guard rails on both sides of her, invisible lines she was trying to stay between. Her body movement seemed deliberately held in check, like it would be wrong or unseemly to be more open and expansive in her gait. Like it wouldn't feel "right" or "normal" to take up more space.⁣

When did it start? Is it just a more recent physical tic? Or is it in response to a disapproving voice (or worse, a disapproving hand) from waaaaay back? Is this part of her conditioning, growing up as a certain kind of female-bodied person in the South? Is it the result of early reflexes and patterns that have been armored over and muscle-memoried to the point that it truly would feel weird to walk any other way?⁣

I thought of other friends of mine who fully own the space they're in, who swagger down the road like they're leading a whole entourage of embodied, confident selves. Where did they start? Was it a fortuitous combination of nature/nurture? Was it the victory of an intentional and hard-fought battle? How did this become their normal?⁣

And how do I--and you--move through the world? When and where did that start? What lines are we trying to stay inside of? Who drew them? And, perhaps most importantly, do they still serve us? ⁣

Empty and Overflowing Cups

"Oh, this is a real temptation for you."⁣

⁣He pointed to the card he had just turned over. I strained to see it in the dark alcove of the magic shop in the French Quarter.⁣

⁣The Five of Cups. Regret, despair. Recently, it had been a visitor to my own tarot drawings, but I had never seen this rendering of it. (I have a very non-traditional deck, one that I am absolutely in love with.)⁣

⁣"Look here," he said. "The woman is so focused on the three cups of spilled wine that she is completely ignoring the two full cups sitting behind her that remain."⁣

⁣I flashed back to a moment the previous week. I had been doing a mini-life review in the room of my house where I do my coaching, which I often think of as my "chapel." At my age, barring any major health challenges, I figured that I had about two decades of decent productivity left, give or take. ⁣

⁣With my transition in the past few years from corporate life to coaching, I have generally felt like I am (finally) On My Path. But still, it can be hard for me to let go of regret for all the time it took to get me there--wondering about what might have been possible had I started earlier. Those feelings had been especially keen that week.⁣

⁣But there they were now. Two cups, two decades. Full to the brim, and waiting for me.⁣

⁣As if to emphasize the point, he said, "Do you see the clock in the tree behind her? These cups exist in time." That is, there is time left. For me.⁣

⁣On the ride home to Baton Rouge that night, my BFF who had gone with me on this adventure got a text from our like-hearted friend. She had been following our journey to New Orleans with wistful interest, and had gotten a strong intuitive hit that evening. "So, did the Five of Cups come up in Chris's reading?"⁣

⁣Oh boy. Did it ever.⁣

Image from Llewellyn Wizards Tarot (the one used by the reader)⁣

Little Altars: Inspiration to Go

𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗮𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗯𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝘆 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗮𝗿𝗱. While I do have a thing or two (buried in some drawer) that an actual pope waved his actual hand over, by "sacred" I mostly mean sacred to me--blessed and made holy by experience, story, intention, or association. ⁣

⁣𝗠𝘆 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗼𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘂𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗿𝘆, populated with items from all different places and tradition. The common thread is my journey and their relevance and resonance for it.⁣

⁣𝗜𝘁'𝘀 𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗜 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀. The altar or collection can serve as a poignant reminder of a quality you want to embody, a transformation you want to create, a goal you want to achieve, or a spirit you want to encourage. It can be a great setting for daily meditation.

⁣𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗜 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗮𝗱. When traveling, I'll select a few items to bring along that have special meaning for me or a connection to the trip's purpose. It doesn't take much to create a little oasis of centering and groundedness, even right there in the Homewood Suites.