The ’60’s Revisited…A Cosmic Test

23 Jun 2012 1 Comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Tomorrow, June 24, Uranus and Pluto will square. Did you know that the last time Pluto and Uranus were in a configuration of this nature was the the decade of the 60’s? Do you care? For the record, I think reading a daily horoscope for my sun sign is a total and complete waste of time. But when an astrologer prepares a natal birth chart and maps the positions of heavenly bodies as they appeared overhead at the exact time and place of my birth, I want to know what she has to say. Astrology is so much more than a sign in the zodiac.

There are things that happen in the universe that deeply impact life on earth. That’s a scientific fact. For example, our moon’s gravitational pull creates the tides. A solar explosion will, within hours, alter our weather. According to the NASA website, giant solar flares in 1859, 1972, and 1989 knocked out electrical power in large areas. Doesn’t it stand to reason that the other celestial bodies spinning, orbiting, and exuding energies would influence our planet? And wouldn’t it be just a little bit short sighted to imagine that, as occupants of this great green earth, we are completely unaffected by it all?

“On June 24, 2012 those two game changers, Uranus and Pluto, will make their first exact square since the mid-sixties; there will be seven between 2012 and 2015. Our lives will be defined by this mega aspect. Uranus and Pluto are both “outer planets” which means they are so far away they weren’t even discovered until we had telescopes.

Uranus was the first; it was sighted in 1781, shortly after the American Revolution and before the French Revolution. When a planet is discovered tells us a lot about its character. Called The Great Awakener, Uranus is the planet of freedom, individuation, rebellion, genius, and rules anything outside the mainstream.

Pluto was discovered in 1930 around the time of organized crime, the rise of Hitler, but also the development of psychoanalysis. Named after the mythic god of the underworld, Pluto is associated with life, death, and transformation. It represents the taboo, the shadow, and whatever is hidden and repressed, both in the culture and within us.” Virginia Bell

I turned 10 years old in January of 1960. The following decade witnessed massive change in all areas of life. I was there. I remember. What will the next decade look like? We are poised globally for another astronomical shift in life as we know it, economically, environmentally, socially, politically, and personally. Since there is only one area over which I have any control at all, I choose to focus on how I can personally utilize this auspicious time. The themes of Uranus and Pluto are awakening and transformation. During my last astrology reading I talked to Anita about the fact that my gravity-defying plunge out of the mainstream and into self-awareness seemed to have started a little early according to my chart. I wanted to know what that was about. She explained that these tendencies begin to manifest prior to the actual time of planetary alignment. We have been watching that happen internationally. The dominoes have begun to topple creating tensions that, when put in the pot and stirred, become paradigm shifts.

Let’s face it. Life as we know it needs an extreme makeover. And what is that over-used but always appropriate quote by Ghandi…”You must be the change you want to see in the world.” What we have in the heavens, beginning tomorrow, is tremendous support for the changes we wish to make in our lives. I’ll leave you with this quote by Stephanie Austin:  

“Relationships, institutions, and anything not aligned with the highest good of all concerned are being challenged to evolve or dissolve. This is a cosmic test and a summons to stand in our truth and in our power.”

Diagnostic Mammogram – Wake-up Call

19 Jun 2012 2 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , ,

At my annual check-up yesterday my doctor felt a nodule at nine-o’clock in my left breast. I had already scheduled my yearly mammogram for that afternoon at the clinic across town. Doc said that was good. Then she mentioned she was changing it from a ‘screening’ mammogram to a ‘diagnostic’ one. “They’ll just take a few more images,” she said, “and after that they may want an ultrasound.” When I arrived at the clinic the intake clerk took one look at my paperwork and said, “Oh, we don’t do diagnostic imaging here anymore. You’ll have to go to the Piper Center for that.” She called and I was scheduled for the following afternoon.

Today at 3:00 I arrived at the lovely, serene surroundings of the Piper Breast Center at Abbott Northwestern Hospital. I was offered an array of beverages. I asked for coffee with cream and sugar. It was served to me in a beautiful china cup and saucer (the kind with little pink roses all over it and a gold handle like grandma used to have) and everyone was over-the-top sweet and accommodating. The decor was impeccable aqua blue with a pussywillow theme adding touches of nature in soft browns. I can’t really explain the feelings as I waited in a white pique cotton robe with forest green edging. I was trying very hard not to think morbid thoughts, but the front page of the magazine facing me said How to Die, and the article I flipped to in the Ladies Home Journal was something about caring for the terminally ill. I quickly paged past that one. Several times during the wait I felt emotionally close to tears.

The technician was very thorough with the images (I thought). My breast was squished and manipulated and stretched for photo after photo. Finished, I was sent to the waiting room with more coffee, cream and sugar and another magazine that I carefully chose for its lack of content. After a short wait the technician retrieved me. “We just need a couple more peeks at that left breast…” Back to the machine for more of the same then back to the waiting room. Another short wait and the tech reappeared. “The doctor wants an ultrasound, just a little extra precautionary measure…”

Now I was concerned. Scared might be a more accurate word. The tech positioned me on the table and proceeded with the ultrasound while telling me that the doctor would do it again when she (the tech) was finished. Why wasn’t the doctor doing it now? I closed my eyes and attempted to sink into a mindful meditation with deep regular breathing to help me relax. The tech finished and left the room. A few minutes later she reappeared with the doctor. A woman. I was grateful for small favors. She adjusted me slightly and then repeated the moves on my left breast that the tech had just executed. I held my breath as she finished. Turning to me she said, “Well, I don’t see anything to worry about,” and after a few pleasantries, she told me I could go. Relief rushed through me and I felt lightheaded. I left quickly, with a huge appreciation for life and good health, and drove straight to the nearest DQ for a 16 oz Cappuccino Heath Blizzard…the ultimate in self-nurture!

But I think about what if. What if the story had a different outcome for me today as it has for thousands of women, some of whom are my dear friends. Even though I tried very hard NOT to think about those other scenarios I couldn’t avoid them completely. I have a clearer understanding of what it must have been like for my friends when they first suspected there might be something wrong. But I have no idea how they cope, day in and day out, with chemo, radiation, fatigue, nausea, loss of hair, and all the other life altering changes that accompany a cancer diagnosis.

I know that breast cancer is treatable with a high success rate when detected early. It had been 21 months since my last exam. That is too long for someone in my age group. From now on I will schedule religiously every twelve months. I have been blessed with incredibly good health all my life. I’ve taken it for granted. I cannot afford to do that anymore. I love my freedom, my independence, and that is only possible with a healthy body and mind. Today was a wake-up call. I’m paying attention.

Weathering Mood Swings

17 Jun 2012 1 Comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Poetry Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

It is still cold. We had a day or two of high 80’s but that seems like eons ago. I’d like to say I’m not complaining, just stating facts. The truth is, I am feeling grumpy and growly and crosswise and I AM complaining! But I don’t like myself much when that happens so I decided to funnel some energy into more positive channels. I turned my blue funky mood into this poem.

Mood Swings

Heavy clouds leaking rain
cast cold shadows
across the slice of warmth
streaming through my window.
Steady drum of thunder
accompanies
staccato raindrop notes
pelting the glass.
My mood plummets
to the soles
of my feet.
I contemplate
spoiled plans.
There will be no
walk to the lake
for the outdoor concert.
Not today.
I pull a sweater
tight around my shoulders,
grumbling,
just as the slice of warmth
reappears
streaming through my window.
 

Of course the minute I sat down with my notebook and pen I was mentally in a different place. As I thought about the thunder and the rain and how to describe the way I heard it and saw it and felt it, I forgot to be grumpy. Then, by the time I had finished my poem, the sun was out. So…

I walked to the lake.

Rainbow over Lake Harriet in Minneapolis

Photo by Debbie Donovan

Gifts of the North Node

15 Jun 2012 2 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I am a brilliant creation of the universe formed from the cosmic protoplasm sailing into eternity. I have two hands, two feet, a couple of great ears, and I’m clipping through life at a moderate pace; minding my p’s and q’s, crossing my t’s, dotting every i.   By jm Raging Universe

Illustration by Michael Forman

That quote caught my attention today because it describes the south node in the sixth house. Everyone has a north node and a south node specific to their date and place of birth, and each node is in one of the twelve houses of the zodiac. If I’ve lost you I’m not surprised. Astrologers know exactly what I just said! And no, I’m not one of them, but I have had readings done once a year for the past three years by an incredibly gifted astrologer, Anita Doyle, whom I’ve never met. My south node is in the sixth house, and the south node in the sixth house is about minding the p’s and q’s, crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s. My existence has been defined by should’s and should not’s, Norwegian Lutheran guilt, and perfection. Responsibility was my middle name. Until now…

So what changed? I don’t worry much anymore about p’s and q’s. The t’s and i’s have gone missing. Responsibility? I’ve removed as much of it from my sphere as is humanly possible. And guilt? I’m working on it. The glorious thing about my south node is that there is a north node sitting directly opposite in the twelfth house of Pisces. The south node represents natural tendencies, the ones we automatically fall into without thinking. The north node holds those qualities we need to develop to bring us into balance.

Yesterday I was fretting about something I’d been asked to do that would put me in front of the public for several days at a time. I was voicing my distaste for the kind of energy I would be required to expend. It all felt wrong. My daughter was listening patiently. When I finished my rant she matter-of-factly said, “Mom, your north node.” I looked at her blankly, then in a flash I remembered. According to Anita’s assessment a year ago, my opportunity had come to embrace the north node, learn to let go of logic, perfection and performance, and get on with my evolutionary development. It was about honoring my intuition and leaving behind the habitual patterns of striving to meet everyone’s needs while neglecting my own. It was time, Anita said, to move away from my past modus into a meditative place removed from the dictates of duty and responsibility. She called it a more monastic life. Monastic!?! The word terrified me and I summarily dismissed everything she said thinking she had really missed the mark with this one.

Looking back at the choices I’ve made since then I marvel that they have systematically brought me to this place, this life that looks exactly like the north node in the twelfth house. There was no conscious plan, but something within me was so compelling that ignoring it was not an option. When gently nudged by, “Mom…your north node,” I knew I had to listen to my feelings, not my logical mind. If something feels wrong, if pushing feels distasteful, the lesson is NOT TO DO IT! So I won’t. Instead I will trust the unfolding, a state that was utterly impossible for the old south node me. With that decision I feel my gut unclench, my shoulders relax, my breath go deep and soft.

I Googled north node in the twelfth house earlier today and found this passage by Elizabeth Spring. Tears streamed. How liberating. How affirming. How grateful I am to be traveling this path.

“We are called to “the monastery” here in the sense that it is a non-verbal, solitary, spiritual call towards Self awareness. The 12th house has sometimes been called the house of troubles, because it can’t be dealt with logically and pragmatically, and to do so doesn’t benefit the person with a North Node in this house. However, the key to this house placement is that there is no longer any need for troubles, duties, obligations, humility and service! All those are embodied in the opposite 6th house. As a 12th house North Node person you have earned the right to take the deep pleasures of the unconscious: gifts of magic, insight and deep peace.”

Painting Outside the Lines

14 Jun 2012 4 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

3800 people from 37 different countries have read my blog. Amazing. And the fact that somewhere behind the scenes that information can be gathered and available to me is even more incredible. But better than all of that is the technology that makes it possible for me to find Rita Golden Gelman, send her an e-mail, and have a response within twenty-four hours from her laptop in Turkey.

So who is Rita Gelman? Backing up just a bit, I met a woman from Iceland who had read Tales of a Female Nomad. She highly recommended the book so I ordered it and began reading immediately. Rita Golden Gelman, the author, lived in Bali for eight years. As I read about her experiences there I began to understand and appreciate more fully my own journey. So I emailed to let her know how profoundly her book had touched me. She answered immediately and included in her response the name and e-mail address of a person who lives in the seaside village of Kerambitan, Bali. She encouraged me to contact her friend if I wanted to see that area, and of course I will.

Rita is now 75 and has been traveling the globe and living with indigenous people all over the world since 1986. She’s had no permanent address.

The thing that becomes clearer day by day is that there are many ways to do this life. The roadblocks to pursuing dreams, finding peace, experiencing joy, are often our own limiting assumptions. The stories we tell ourselves determine how we live. Often they are just stories with no basis in truth, they are perceptions of how we think we should be.

Last night I got together with a group of friends. One of them said that she had been reading my blog and her favorite post was the one called My Wife is Fat. The Balinese man who said that also told me that he likes it. Fat, to him, means something far different than it does to us in the U.S. He tells himself a story about his wife that allows him to appreciate her ample girth.

When I utilized discovery writing techniques, I found new ways of perceiving my reality. The tagline on my website says, “Creating a life that fits like skin.” It’s trial and error. I’ve let go of the need to get it right the first time. I’ve given myself permission to paint outside the lines. Have you ever seen the view from there? From outside the lines? It takes my breath away. That’s where I’m finding my skin. That’s where I seem to fit. But I still have to fight the ‘stories’ that play in my head. They are full of shoulds and shouldn’ts. They want to keep me small and sad and caged. I see them for what they are, old fears, old old stuff. So I give my head a shake to clear the cobwebs and click the BUY button. A confirmation number for my return flight to Bali appears on the screen and my soul sprouts wings.

Returning

09 Jun 2012 3 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Poetry Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Longing
 
It haunts me,
calls gently.
Return, it says.
I don’t have to ask
the knowing is written
in my bones…
the longing
speaks more loudly
than love
or anger
or pain.
Return, it says,
to my green arms
to my heat
to my fragrance
to joy.
Return.
And I will…
soon.
 
This poem needed to be written. It was tight around my heart. I couldn’t put words to it because I didn’t know when. I didn’t know if soon meant weeks, months, or unbearably longer. Today I know. Weeks. I will return to Bali in July, in four weeks. That is just long enough to get a new visa. Just long enough to see friends one more time…just long enough.
 
I have never loved a place before. I’m trying to understand the improbability of it. Why this place? Why half-way around the world from everything I know?
 
 
Of course I explored the question in my discovery writing and the answer rang like truth when the words of it appeared on the page. With truth comes freedom. Freedom allows. And it is all about allowing ‘havingness.’ Havingness is about worthiness. Worthiness is about self-love.
 
There! Did you follow that process? Discovery writing unlocks truth. I love it! I created it and I believe in it. It has informed and transformed my life. And for those of you who have faithfully followed my blog, I am returning. Please come along!
 
 


True Love and Fishing

07 Jun 2012 4 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

I’ve been MIA from blogging for a few days. A lot happens in a very short time in my life. I like that. My youngest daughter is now engaged. Take a look at this lovely custom designed ring! Is that not exquisite?!

She found a great guy (or let’s say they found each other) about three years ago. They are incredibly compatible and well-suited. It sounds like a wedding next summer and I couldn’t be more excited.

The rest of my update is anti-climactic after that, but still good stuff! For instance, I haven’t been fishing since I was a teen. We lived on the Mississippi River and I could never catch fish. Fishing was a family outing and my little sister would pull them in one after another as I sat, my bobber dead in the water, and watched.

So when my brother (who has a home on the Mississippi) said he wanted to take me fishing I may have appeared less than enthusiastic. After reminding him of my unsuccessful childhood experiences he assured me that he knew where the fish were and if we went early in the morning I would absolutely catch some. How early is early I wanted to know? Well, lets just say we compromised  and were on the river by 6 a.m. It was a beautiful morning and cold. Once the boat started moving cold became VERY cold. I pulled my fleece and long windbreaker coat up to my neck and added a life jacket. We cruised upstream while he told me about the great lures we were using and how these poles were the heavy-duty ones he had when he lived in Alaska.

I didn’t attempt to cast the line with the wicked looking lure and the strange reel apparatus on a super long rod. That was a recipe for disaster. He expertly sent the hook flying and handed the gear to me telling me if it lost its back-and-forth action that meant I had snagged a weed and I should reel in immediately. Let me explain here that when you’re trolling behind a boat and the line catches a weed, it feels oh so much like a huge fish has just hit that hook with a vengeance! There is an instant adrenalin rush. But weeds don’t tend to fight back much so it’s soon evident that all that excitement is for naught.

We’d been trolling about 30 minutes and he hooked a small one that he threw back. All of a sudden there was a jerk on my line that felt important. I started reeling and wham! There was a fighter on the end of the line! What a thrill! I reeled him up to the boat as my brother issued continuous instructions and readied the landing net. “Keep reeling, don’t give him any slack, keep it steady, you’re doing great, okay there he is! Nice one! Good job!”

That happened twice more and I’d filled out…caught my limit. We brought home 4 fish. I out-fished my brother…bless him! What a great day!

I have a new appreciation for northerns, especially after they are cleaned, fried by my sister-in-law who is an expert, and turned into a fabulous dining experience. My previous relationships with fish happened when they arrived on a plate in a nice restaurant. The current, more intimate involvement took the meal to a whole new level. There is no comparison to the freshly delicate flavors and flaky textures of a fish caught mere minutes before it becomes food. I would do it again even if he insisted on 5 a.m!

The trip northward also included a delightful visit with my parents.

Dad’s 90th birthday is coming up and Mom is 84. They are the truest love story ever told, married for 64 years and still cuddling and murmuring “I love you’s.”  Their secret? Never go to bed mad. As mom tells it, sometimes they stayed up all night, but they have never once gone to bed angry with each other. Is that possible in 64 years? Probably not for most. But these are special people. Very special.

Now I’m spending my last few days in northern Minnesota on the beautiful banks of Lake Imagination. There isn’t much water in the lake, but if you squint your eyes and believe what you don’t see (it helps to have a glass of wine) the acres of green prairie grass look more and more like a lake! And at Lake Imagination it’s always 5:00 somewhere so a glass of wine is never a problem.

Balinese Feast and the Invisible Bee

31 May 2012 1 Comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

I’ve been recuperating for two days. How do they do it? Chefs, cooks, women with large families? I spent one day cooking a Balinese meal for 13 and I am fortunate to be alive to tell about it.

Look at all those steaming pots! And the countertops are littered with other dishes all awaiting the finishing touches, a sauce here, a garnish there. I had a sneaking suspicion that there would be some strategic planning involved in an undertaking of this magnitude. So I spent several hours making a schedule of exactly when to do what. It saved my life. The plan was to prepare my very favorite Balinese dishes so that I could enjoy the flavors and share them with others. There was one small problem: I had too many favorites.

There are many things I am not, but stubborn isn’t on that list. I am doggedly persistent when I have a plan, and even though at about 2 p.m. when I realized I had not stopped for lunch and would not be able to if my time-line was going to work out, I refused to adjust my agenda. I was going to pull this thing off if it killed me! Diners were scheduled to arrive at 5:30. At 5:00 I left the messy array of food groups for 15 minutes to pull on a clean dress, jewelry, run a comb through my hair and dash back to my stove. I knew when people began to arrive there would be offers of help. There would be no delegating. My regimented schedule would not flex to that extent. If I paused to figure out how to tell someone else what to do it would throw me off my game. Guests had to stay out of the kitchen.

The sweet aroma of sauteed vegetables for curried tempeh wafted through the window to greet the arriving participants. I could hear muffled compliments as their voices floated into the kitchen from the open windows to the deck. I checked the clock…on time…good. I could hear happy chatter and the clink of wine glasses.

Then, suddenly, everything was done. How do you serve a plated meal to 13 people simultaneously? Hmmm. You don’t, at least not without help. At that precise moment Dan, Jessa, and Nancy walked in. They took one look at my panic stricken face and said, “Tell us what to do!” For the next five minutes my support team packed rice into cup size molds and turned it out onto plates, scooped green beans with gado-gado sauce and sprinkled peanut garnish adding a plop of carmelized onion to the rice mound. After strategically placing two perfectly browned tofu satays next to the rice, a scoop of curried tempeh was added and the finished product was rushed out to the drooling guests while the assembly line prepared the next two plates.

There was a moment when I paused to look at the results, to actually see what was leaving the kitchen. You know what? It looked like what it was, Nasi Campur, red rice surrounded by Balinese delights.

It was an adventure and now I can say, “Been there, done that.” I won’t be applying for a job cooking. I may not want to chop, dice, mince, or slice anything for a very, very long time. And when I return to Bali I will have a profound reverence for the wonderful people who feed me.

Now I have to double up on my yoga routine. I see how quickly and habitually I fall into old patterns of performance, striving, perfection. The beautiful tranquility that permeated my being when I first arrived home from Bali disappears in a flash.

So I’m off this morning to the Invisible Bee yoga studio to return to my centered self and recapture peace of mind.

“Look how desire has changed in you, how light and colorless it is, with the world growing new marvels because of your changing. Your soul has become an invisible bee”…Rumi

Troublesome Taste Buds

26 May 2012 1 Comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

If you have never shopped in an Asian market you are missing out on one of life’s great pleasures. I no longer crave meat loaf and mashed potatoes, staples of the Midwestern diet! My taste buds have undergone a serious transformation. That was proving somewhat troublesome as the typical grocery stores do not carry fresh pandan or banana leaves, black rice, trasi, ketjap manis…you get my drift.

There are substitutes for some things, but I didn’t want to compromise the flavors that are still so poignant in my memory. When my mouth is watering for Bubur Injin with the subtle influences of pandan leaf and palm sugar, there is no way I want white rice, or brown rice, or wild rice with some other leaf or sweetener! No way! I brought a number of ingredients home with me, but U.S. Customs are picky about agricultural items, green leaves are terribly suspicious. So I needed a local source for quite a number of culinary essentials.

With that goal in mind, I prepared two lists. One had the names of the food items I was searching for, the other had the addresses of all the Asian and Indian markets in the Twin Cities. I decided to begin at the one nearest me. Across the street from the fabulous Quang Vietnamese Restaurant at 27th and Nicollet, is Shuang Hur Asian Grocery. As soon as I passed through the door I knew I had achieved Nirvana. There were aisles upon aisles of wonders the likes of which I had never seen before. My leaves were there, and the black rice and the red rice, and so much more!

After 45 minutes of awestruck wandering, my cart was 3/4 full. About that time a wiry Asian man approached me. “You find everything?” he asked. I pointed to my list and said, “Almost.” He reached out and plucked the paper out of my hand. “What you NOT find?” I had checked things off as I located them so I told him I still needed the items without the check marks. After studying my scribbles for a minute he looked up and said, “I direct you!” With that he grasped the front of my cart pulling it behind him and off we went!

In no time at all he had completed my shopping. I thanked him profusely and told him I just wanted to browse a few more minutes. He agreed that I should do that and disappeared down another aisle. Adding some red bean Mochi and rice noodles to my now heaping basket I headed for checkout. There was a line and I patiently awaited my turn. Suddenly my gallant knight reappeared. Once again he commandeered my cart and whipped it over to a dormant check-out counter. Nevermind the folks in front of me, I had somehow achieved VIP status without knowing it! We chatted away as he personally rang up my groceries. Who was going to cook for me he wanted to know. I would be cooking for myself I explained! Good, good, very good, he seemed pleased. We finished our business and he sent me off with big smiles and an invitation to come back soon.

My daughters will tell you that I have always hated shopping. And cooking has bored me for years. But I can hardly wait to go back to the Shuang Hur market. Grocery shopping has become a treasure hunt and cooking a creative adventure. Not only that, but I have a friendly personal shopper at my disposal there. Community. It happens is the most unexpected ways. A sense of belonging, of shared experience. So vital to happiness.

A Storm, a Flood, or an Optimist?

23 May 2012 1 Comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

I’m waiting for the storm. We may get 3 inches of rain tonight. For my friends in Indonesia who read this blog I know that sounds like a non-event. Trust me, in the midwest it means flooding. Unlike Bali, our ground isn’t equipped to absorb all that moisture so quickly. On the other hand, we may not get a drop. The sky can brood and bluster all it wants, but in Minnesota that doesn’t guarantee anything.

So I’m watching the lead-colored bottoms of the clouds with anticipation. It’s a cozy feeling. Intimate. And it can turn to abject terror in moments if the wind begins to rage and trees topple over. I felt inspired to write a quick Haiku:

Clouds form gray mountains

The air waits breathless and still

Nothing else happens.

The storm that never comes is a lot like expecting the worst. I’m a shameless optimist. I always (yes always) anticipate the best to the point of neglecting to prepare for less agreeable alternatives. I have a friend who is the opposite. He always imagines every conceivable disaster and prepares for it, just in case! I tell him he frets enough for both of us. I have another friend who worries but does nothing. I neither worry, nor prepare, just go blissfully on my merry way oblivious to dire circumstances lurking at every turn. As a result I never get sick, never have accidents, never seriously hurt myself, and have an average happiness factor of 9.9 on a scale of 10.

Personality differences are of great interest to me. I didn’t one day decide that I would be an optimist. I just am. I’m sure my friends didn’t set out to behave as they do. They just do. My three daughters are unique and wonderful and very happy, but unlike each other as they could possibly be. Why is that?

Thousands of words have been written about this subject and there are many self-help “how to be happy” books. But if you’re like my worrying friends, its a difficult task. Happiness doesn’t come naturally to them. It’s probably possible only in flashes, like lightening, then quickly followed by an ominous roll of thunder, which I haven’t heard yet tonight but the wind is picking up. I’m going to find a spot on the porch and settle in to watch what may, or may not, happen.

Summer storm approaches

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