The Gift of Accepting What Is

This is not the first time I have realized this about myself, but it seems that the experiences I most long to offer others are also the same ones that I need to offer to myself.  I really believe my ability to accept others as they are without judgment comes fairly easily for me.  Of course, I have times when I say things I regret or become impatient, but generally speaking, I am much more patient with others' growth than my own. I assume some of that is the occupational hazard of my mental health training that keeps you more objective when listening to someone else, but I am clearly being reminded on a daily basis to trust that everything unfolds as it is meant to or a,k.a. "It's all good."
     For several years now, I have been surrounded by so much material on the Laws of Attraction/Creating Your own reality/and manifesting this or manifesting that, I feel as though it put me on a path where I totally fogot how to love and appreciate the "now" I already had.  Recent statements in another blog about the importance of "change" prompted me to share a different perspective. While I agree that change is a part of life and that we need to be open to it when it comes, there are times when I believe we can lose sight of the fact that we just need to let things be. We are creators of our lives but still only co-creators. Divine guidance knows better than we do what we need to have manifest into our lives.
     It began with very inspirational thoughts of having all we desired and countless opinions about how to have more and make it happen. "Believe. Affirm. Let go. Hold on. If you're not happy you can change it" (and apparently should or you're just being 'resistent'). I suppose that is the paradox of this post.  Sometimes the only thing that needs to change is the inability to love what IS; learning to just 'be' with an experience until it naturally unfolds like a flower opening in the sunlight. I don't mean the "I love this, this is so much fun" kind of love but the gentle, forgiving "I'm doing the best I can, it'll all work out" kind of love.  In short, I have in essence spent the last three years trying to create what I thought I wanted and thinking that when , what manifested was just the opposite, I had somehow failed. Money remained 'tight" not "abundant." and a clincal practice "dwindled" versus grew in numbers in spite of all my efforts to intend otherwise. Along with that came a severe depression that I do not see as an obstacle but again, as one of the best teachers for learning to accept  ourselves and be gentle.  Surprisingly, my simple, quiet but financially challenged life is becoming the catalyst toward a more practical type of service toward others after all.  The details aren't clear, but once I stopped trying to 'change' everything, it is more peaceful. The struggles were not evidence of failed affirmations but the very thing that gave the next steps in my life authentic meaining.  Change is much more than a constant state of flux and movement. We are never really stagnant--even when swimming in a dark depression camped out on the couch. To me 'stagnant' is  a word of judgement we place on an outcome when we think something is not happening.  In my experience, we are never truly "stuck" but either in a labyrinth of turning inward and reaching outward or a maze of blocked frustrations, but not stuck.  Regardless, whatever needs to happen will unfold without us having to necessarily change anything at all. Just relax and accept what is. What a gift!

The wisdom of Stellaluna

I have always loved children's books. Not necessarily novels but the smaller bedtime stories that if we were lucky, our parents read to us when we were little. I often find myself going back and reading many of them when I long for reminders of a time when life felt simpler. During the last couple of weeks, as I continued to think about the vision for this blog, the one that comes repeatedly to mind is Stellaluna by Janell Cannon.  This is a story about a little fruitbat who unexpectedly falls into a birdnest and is separated from her mother following a near miss with an owl.
     Without hesitation, Stellaluna tries to be the best little "bird" she can by eating worms, flying in daylight and at the insistence of momma bird, agreeing to STOP showing her babies how to hang upside down by their feet! In return, the little birds attempt to fly at night only to crash and eventually lead Stellaluna back to some other bats who would remind her of who she really was. The other bats found it hard to believe that Stellauna would be so excited to be-friend a nest of birds!  The story ends with two layers to the same question. "How can we be so different and feel so much alike?" and "How can we feel so different and be so much alike?"   Stellaluna and I have a lot in common.  We are both adaptable and find that accepting others' differences is one of life's greatest myteries.
    Growing up with a disability, I often felt "different" but also knew I was just like everyone else in the ways that mattered most. I walked differently and often needed to play on the playground differently, but had so much more in common with people. I dreamed  about what jobs I would have, about falling in love, having a family, as well as often being afraid of the same things: failure, loss, rejection, to name a few.  Fears and misinformation about disabilities however, often prevented others from truly knowing who I was on a deeper level than first impressions can reveal.  Many did just as Stellaluna did--gave no thought to how I looked different on the outside and just became my friends.  Others  assumed things that weren't true, were taught it was rude to ask questions, or just stared and walked in the opposite direction.  The theme of Stellaluna is probably what drives me the most. Few things seem more important to me than remembering how much we have in common with each other and to respect our differences if we truly hope to experience feeling connected to each other in any authentic way.
      I know that "the real world" tends to feel much more complicated than a children's book, but in my experience, our fears and not the facts are the complication.   How might our little corner of the world be more peaceful or just plain fun if we slowed down long enough to really listen and consciously see our differentness as an invitation to appreciate what others have to offer us in terms of new experiences or teach us in terms of a new perspective? Think of someone you are "sure" you have little in common with and just begin to wonder otherwise. Try to strike up a conversation with someone you might otherwise choose not to and see what happens. Just like Stellaluna, life might just be helping you find new friends in unexpected places.