BON VOYAGE!
Dear Ones -
Hey, what's
everyone up to today?
Me? Not much.
Just getting on a flight with my wonderful mother, taking her on an
adventure to GREECE.
THIS IS SOME BUCKET-LIST BUSINESS RIGHT HERE.
The two of us are going to hike through Northern Greece for a while — just
two sturdy women with sensible shoes and good sunhats and a thirst for
unexplored horizons.
My mom is a fantastic traveling companion: uncomplaining, ever-curious,
physically strong, open-minded, friendly to the whole world. I love her and I
want to fly her away to somewhere beautiful where I can enjoy every minute with
her...so that's what I'm doing.
smile emoticon
I've been dreaming of visiting Greece since I used to read D'Aulaire's
Book of Greek Myths as a child. (If you haven't bought this book for your
children yet, buy it. But be warned: That book turned both me and my sister
into writers.)
So here we go!
I just wanted to give you all a heads up that I may not be so regular with
the Facebook posts over the next few weeks. I will try! And I will make sure
you get your #BigMagic Monday posts, for sure! But I may not
always have the ability to do a lot more...
But whenever I can, I will certainly send you all postcards from the
edge...from the edge of the sea, from the edge of the mountains, from the edge
of a sailboat, from the edge of a little cafe on the edge of a cliff...
So happy right now.
ONWARD,
LG
LG
A POSTCARD FROM GREECE...
Today, my
mom and I walked on Mount Olympus.
Here is case
where prepositions matter, because we most certainly did not walk UP Mount
Olympus....but we definitely walked ON Mount Olympus.
And it was awesome.
(I say this in the original definition of the word "awesome". In
fact, if you can't safely use the word "awesome" to describe Mount
Olympus, then there is basically nowhere you can safely use it...)
ONWARD and AWESOMEWARD!
LG
LG
POSTCARD FROM GREECE
Two nymphs
on the run: Me and my mom, hanging out in the Temple of Dionysus together...
Next on our
agenda? We're going to conquer Mount Olympus!
(Some of it, anyhow. If doesn't rain, that is. These nymphs don't hike in
the rain!)
I am so grateful for these days alone with my mother in these beautiful
far-flung worlds, I cannot even tell you.
ONWARD!
LG
LG
A POSTCARD FROM GREECE...and the joys of walking.
Dear Ones -
My mom and I
are traveling together on an adventure in Greece, and I promised I'd send out
postcards when I could — so here's another for you!
This morning
we decided to have a rest day. It was pouring rain and we were tired, so hiking
seemed like a bad idea. Our hotel (in the middle of nowhere, in the foothills
of Mount Olympus) was lovely and inviting, so we decided to just cool it and
relax.
But then,
after breakfast, I got the urge to go for a walk, so I slipped away.
I can never
resist taking a long walk in a new country, even when it's pouring rain. (This
is why you must always pack an umbrella and a raincoat and good sturdy shoes,
no matter where you're going!)
My plan was
to just take a little walk — just a wander up the road, to see what was there,
no matter how wet I got — but then I couldn't stop myself, so I kept wandering
(and climbing!) for the next three hours...through farms, along streams, up and
up and up the curves of the mountainside.
Here is what
I saw:
I saw
shepherds with their sheep, goatherds with their goats, and one very impressive
Greek cowboy (on his horse!) herding his cows over a distant ridgeline.
I saw three
hawks, and each time it made me catch my breath (and one time, it made me
shout, "Oh my GOD!" because when you see a hawk flying into a cloud
bank under Mount Olympus, well...that is moment of mind-splintering awe.)
I startled a
large and handsome hare, who ran away from me in a zig-zagging panic — and with
all those hawks around, so he should. I had an atavistic urge to chase him, but
quickly came to my senses and realized I had no chance.
I met a big
dog, and he was somewhat intimidating, but as soon as he realized I wasn't
going to eat his sheep, we made friends with each other. We walked together
awhile, then he went on his way. (He was busy; he had sheep to protect.)
I saw the
sky change from thundering rain to racing clouds to that daring bright blue
ceiling of the world that they only manufacture in Greece.
I felt the
wind change, and I felt the temperature change as cold clouds blew and
retreated around me. (I was up REALLY high.)
I heard
little birds whose warning alerts sounded like the click of a camera shutter. I
saw little lizards speeding for cover from under my shadow — too fast for me to
even identify their markings.
I saw cherry
trees with heavily-laden boughs, and I thought about how I've never before had
the opportunity to use the term "heavily-laden boughs", but, MAN,
those boughs were heavily-laden! (So I unladened them, right into my mouth.) As
I ate those cherries, I smelled the air of these farms and mountains — an
exotic (to my nose, anyhow) mixture of manure, thyme, and rich mineral mud.
Then, I
received the biggest gift of all:
As I was
wandering up a switchback, i heard something around the next corner that
sounded exactly like an Indonesian gamelan orchestra (all brassy chimes and
metallic percussion) and I wondered, "Who in this rural setting of
Northern Greece has assembled an Indonesian gamelan orchestra?" I kept following
the sound, which was bringing me right back to lazy mornings in Bali ten years
ago....but of course it was not an Indonesian gamelan orchestra, after all: It
was a herd of cows in a deep valley below me — each with a differently tuned
bell — and while they were placidly grazing, their bells were creating the most
beautiful music you ever heard. The acoustics of the valley made for a perfect
amplification system, and — far above the cows — I was bathed in their
symphony.
I would have
missed all of this, had I not gone for a long walk.
I tell you
this because it is fresh in my mind and also because this was such a happy day
for me. But mostly I tell you this to remind you that it's REALLY important to
go for a long and aimless walk sometimes — not only in a new country, but also
in your own familiar universe. I don't do it nearly enough. None of us do. I
exercise plenty, but most days I just go to the gym — which is more like
visiting an office than embracing a landscape. I spend a lot of time indoors,
reading and writing, and if I am outside, I am usually puttering around in my
garden or wandering through my town — which is sort of like being in nature,
except on a leash.
Sometimes
you have to take off the leash.
And
DEFINITELY sometimes you need to get out of the car. Although I have nothing
against cars (I use them often, and I am grateful for their convenience and I
am often delighted by their beauty) this world was not meant to be seen only
through the window of a car.
This world
was meant to be walked. And if you are a human being, then your body was
designed for walking this world, as long as you are able. If you are lucky
enough to be able to walk (and not everyone is so lucky) then you should not
forget to do it sometimes, if only as an expression of gratitude.
Saint
Augustine said, "SOLVITUR AMBULANDO" — "It is solved by
walking". If you have a problem that you cannot solve, take a walk.
Somehow, it always makes things better.
Trying to
learn your world without walking it is like trying to eat the pictures out of a
cookbook.
Today, I
feasted.
Thank you,
Greece!
ONWARD,
LG
LG
A POSTCARD FROM GREECE
Sweet
friends -
I'm on
vacation in Greece right now, traveling on an adventure with my mother. I
promised I would send you "postcards" whenever I had the chance, sp
here's one for you...
Yesterday, while expolring the marvelous city of Thessaloniki, we took
shelter from the glaring sunlight by wandering into an ancient church. The
place was dark, vast, glittering with golden mosiacs, thick with incense and
rich with the sound of evening prayers. Everything about the church cast us
into silence and awe.
I saw some candles for sale, so I suggested to my mother that we light one
in honor of my grandmother (my mom's mother) who recently passed away at the
age of 102. My mom said, "Let's light two candles — one for each of your
grandmothers."
So we bought two candles — one small and one tall (like my grandmothers
themselves) — and lit them both, and we said our prayers of gratitude to Maude
and to Madeleine.
It was a beautiful moment. As we turned around to leave, we saw these two
figures walking right past us — a Greek woman (about my age and hieght) and her
tiny little grandmother. They were arm-in-arm, leaving church services
together, and leaning into each other with such love. My mom and I both gasped
at the same time. My mom whispered, "It's a visitation!"
Indeed, it felt like one.
I caught this photo of them as they left the church.
It's been my favorite moment of this journey so far: The intimate little
grandmother moment.
You never know who you will meet on your travels.
smile emoticon
Big love, and onward,
LG
LG
………………..
THE GRATITUDE SANDWICH
Dear Ones -
Yesterday in
a crowded room in New York City, I heard two people behind me talking — a man
and a woman, discussing their lunch.
The man said, "Shit! I specifically asked the guy at the deli not to
put peppers on my sandwich, but look at this — it looks like he actually put
EXTRA peppers on it."
The woman replied, "Wow — you're right! That sandwich is full of
peppers. That sucks, dude. He ruined your lunch."
The man said, "Yeah. It sucks. I really, really hate peppers."
Long silence. Then the man added, in a different tone (a far more
thoughtful tone): "On the other hand, I just feel lucky that I was able to
buy myself lunch at all today — you know what I mean?"
Woman: "Huh. That's a good outlook, I guess..."
Man, even more thoughtfully: "No, I'm serious. I was homeless for a
while in my life. Did you know that?"
Woman: "Seriously? Homeless? YOU?"
Man. "Homeless for two years. People gave me food sometimes, but I
never had any money buy my own food. So for me today, to be able to buy myself
lunch at all? To have a job? A place to live? That's a pretty lucky thing,
right? I mean, I should just be grateful that I have food at all, right? What
do I care about a few peppers, amiright?"
Woman: "Wow. I never knew that. That's amazing. That's a beautiful
way to see things."
(Meanwhile, Liz stands there with her back to both of them, clutching her
heart, with her eyes swimming in tears.)
Gratitude, you guys. Gratitude. Freaking GRATITUDE.
It gets me every single time.
ONWARD,
LG
LG
A weekend project: HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE YOU?
Dear Ones -
So I took myself on a little retreat this week,
in order to be alone with my thoughts and to check in with myself for a few
days. It had been a long time since I'd done such a thing for myself, and it was
delicious and restorative.
One of the things I did on my retreat was to
read some new (to me) books about personal growth and healing. A friend
suggested that I check out a book called YOU ARE THE ONE YOU'VE BEEN WAITING
FOR, by Richard C. Schwartz. In this book, Schwartz posits a theory that makes
a lot of sense to me. He suggests that we are each composed of many different
people — what he simply calls "parts". None of are are really an
"individual", per se, but rather we are each a teeming multitude of
contradictory selves. There are parts of ourselves who are strong, parts of us
who are vulnerable, parts of us who are angry, parts of us who are entitled,
etc., etc....
We all instinctively know this to be true,
right? This is what we mean when we say, "Part of me is really angry at
you right now, even though another part of me completely understands the
situation..." or "Part of me wants to quit this job, but another part
of me wants the security of the paycheck..."
We all use that "parts" language
about ourselves in everyday life. What Richard C. Schwartz has done is to
formalize it, by inviting us to go even deeper into this kind of thinking. He
suggest that we look closer — that we soberly ask ourselves, "OK, so who
exactly ARE all these different parts of me? What are their characteristics?
What are the circumstances in my life that created all these different parts?
What does each part want from life, and what does each part fear? How does each
different part behave when it is threatened or provoked? What happens when the
most vulnerable parts of me collide with the most vulnerable parts of the
people I'm in relationship with?"
Schwartz suggests that we all have parts within
ourselves that he calls "exiles" — inner selves that we simply cannot
cope with. Usually, these exiled parts of ourselves grew up out of trauma, and
they are terribly wounded little beings. These wounded parts of ourselves bring
us shame and distress, so we try to bury them away...but they don't stay
buried. These exiles (those shameful hidden children) have a tendency to act
out, and to cause us trouble. They often lash out (or fall apart) out of fear
or anger or neediness. Often, it is the darkest banished part of ourselves who
is controlling us from exile, and making (bad) decisions.
Instead of banishing those troublesome exiles,
Schwartz suggests, you should try to INTEGRATE them. You should try to
understand them, and to address their fears and concerns, and somehow try to
fold them lovingly into your whole united being. In other words, with time and
effort and compassion, you can learn how to take all of your disparate and
desperate scattered parts of yourself, and form a loving family out of them.
(This is what's called IFS, or "Internal Family Systems Therapy".)
The first step is to at least begin identifying
all your different parts. That way, when one of your "exile" parts is
acting out, you can determine who, exactly, is speaking here, and you can deal
with the problem more specifically. (For instance: Instead of saying to yourself,
"I need to stop being so weak and pathetic," you can say, "Oh,
this is the little girl within me, who always fears abandonment, and she's
acting out in terror right now." Then you can try to mobilize an older,
stronger, wiser part of yourself to talk to the frightened exile, and comfort
her, and reassure her that everything will be fine.)
Schwartz explains it all much better, of
course, but that's the general idea!
Inspired by this notion, I took some time this
week to try to identify all the people who I am — all the major parts of me. It
was an interesting exercise. It turns out, I have a lot of selves swirling
around within me (WE ALL DO) but I was able to narrow myself down to four basic
players, four basic "parts".
Then — just to make a project out of it
(because you know how much I love projects!) — I decided to find a photograph
of myself that represents each one of these four major parts of myself, so that
I could put a face on each one. And then I gave them all names.
In other words, I took all my different selves
out of the shadows (even the exiled parts of me) and I brought them into the
light, and tried to give them form. By making them more real, my hope is to be
able to communicate with them better, and integrate them more lovingly, and to
understand myself with more compassion.
Does that all make sense?
And now, with the hopes that perhaps this will
help and empower you to discover and name your own parts, I share with you the
results!
Here are my four major parts:
First, meet Lizzy. Lizzy is a just little kid —
a terrified little kid. She's exceptionally scared of life. She's especially
absolutely petrified of conflict. She lives in fear that people will get upset,
or that they won't like her, and then she'll be abandoned She's afraid that she
can't take care of herself. She wants to be babied. Her default emotions are:
panic, doubt, anxiety, and shame. When threatened, she reacts with tears, and
can barely breathe. Historically, we have seen that Lizzy — when frightened —
will run into the arms of anyone who can offer comfort (even if they have a bad
character.) Lizzy is also capable of telling childish and transparent lies in
order to protect herself — lies that often get the rest of the family in
trouble. Lizzy sounds like a problem child, right? (Believe me, I have always
thought of her as a problem child!) But I realized this week, when I really
contemplated her, that Lizzy has strengths, as well as weaknesses. Lizzy is not
just a scared kid; she is also a loving and sweet and genuinely affectionate
little person. (Look at that adorable face!) She is truly friendly and curious
and outgoing, and she will try to connect with everyone. She is kind to all
people, because she knows how scary life can be. Lizzy is the part of me who is
the most afraid, but she is also the most tenderhearted and generous part of
me. I don't want to get rid of her. Without Lizzy, I would have no heart. Lizzy
deserves to be integrated, not banished. She deserves my love and care and
reassurance, not my embarrassed condemnation. If the other, stronger, older
parts of me can show Lizzy that we can keep her safe, and if we can protect her
from dangerous people, then she will be free to be sweet and friendly and
trusting, and she will fill the world with love, rather than acting out and
causing trouble.
Secondly, meet Elizabeth. Elizabeth is my inner
utopian/dreamer. She's the creator within. She's the magician behind BIG MAGIC.
She's the novelist. She's the traveler. She's the spiritual explorer. She's
expansive, grandiose, excitable, passionate and expressive. She's the
risk-taker. I owe Elizabeth a lot. Without her, I would never have become a
writer. Whereas Lizzy want to hide under the covers, Elizabeth has huge
appetites for living. She's awesome in that way. But Elizabeth is also — I have
just realized this week — a potentially dangerous pain-in-the-ass, especially
when she gets afraid. (What is Elizabeth afraid of, you ask? She is afraid of
being NORMAL. She is afraid that she is not SPECIAL.) Unchecked, Elizabeth can
get me into huge trouble. Sure, she's the one who says, "Let's learn
Italian!" and that's great...but she's also the one who spent years
saying, "Let's make out with EVERYONE, because there are no consequences!"
(Guess what? Turns out there were consequences.) Elizabeth thinks that
boundaries are for squares. She hates facts, confinements, convention.
Elizabeth doesn't think the rules of life apply to her. (She's terrified that
the rules apply to her, I should say, because that would make her NORMAL.) But
here is the most dangerous thing about Elizabeth: When her utopian ideals are
not met, she becomes furious. Her expectations about life are impossibly
romantic, and so she is easily disappointed. Talk about "cherished outcomes"
— every single one of her dreams has a cherished outcome. She can be
unforgiving and cruel and judgmental when the real world interferes with her
airy-fairy dreamworld. She wants everyone to live in The Age of Aquarius with
her, but when people let her down, she can be a bit of a tyrant. (Ah, how
quickly utopias can disintegrate into dystopias!) Look closely at Elizabeth's
eye in this photo. Can you see the crazy in that eye? Can you see that manic
glint that says, "I'm little unhinged, a little ungrounded"? I love
you, Elizabeth, and I am grateful for your boundless creativity, but sometimes
you are frankly a little nuts, and therefore I cannot allow you to be the
manager of this family of selves. I promise that I will keep you safe, and I
will not banish you. I will provide a healthy environment in which your
abundant creativity can thrive, but I won't let you hijack my everyday life,
because you are not good at everyday life. I must always examine your motives
and test them for reality (and also for safety and humanity). It's best if you
stay out of my personal relationships, Elizabeth, because your elevated
expectations for people are unrealistic, and so you can stir up trouble. But if
I constantly direct your attention and your extraordinary energies toward
helping me write books, then you're a treasure. You are often fun and
marvelous, but you must be handled with care.
Thirdly, meet Ms. Gilbert. She is my
independent, professional, responsible, disciplined, and most ambitious self.
She has her shit together, big time. (Or at least she THINKS she does.) I call
her "Ms. Gilbert", because that's what other people call her — as in,
"Ms. Gilbert, you're due onstage in five minutes." Ms. Gilbert is the
part of me who can get on that stage at the Oprah tour and speak to a stadium
full of 15,000 people, without her knees shaking in fear. (However, it
important to point out, Ms. Gilbert did not WRITE that speech; that speech,
which was all about courage and vulnerability, was written by Elizabeth and
Lizzy. Ms. Gilbert is a badass, but she not herself creative.) Ms. Gilbert is
somebody I am very grateful to, because she GETS THE JOB DONE, whatever the job
is. She's the emotional opposite of weak, scared Lizzy, and she's far more
grounded than Utopian Elizabeth. But Ms. Gilbert cannot be in charge of my
family of selves, either, because — frankly — she has no compassion. She's a
machine. She's a tough negotiator, and a ruthless workhorse. She's the
unblinking powerhouse who can stand up to entitled men, to haters, to bullies,
and to critics. She cuts through any obstacles as though with a hot knife —
which means that sometimes she lacks in humanity (because sometimes our
"obstacles" are other humans, and maybe we shouldn't be cutting
through other humans with hot knives.) Her solution to every problem is
"Work harder, produce more, be more successful, outrun your
feelings." I would not say that she is a good listener. When I am sick or
run-down or sobbing on the bathroom floor, for instance, Ms. Gilbert doesn't
give a shit. (She says, "Quit your sniveling and work harder, produce
more, be more successful!") Her vulnerability is that she's terrified of
being vulnerable. She also dislikes vulnerable people. (She really hates and
fears poor little Lizzy, and is always trying to kill her off.) I need to teach
Ms. Gilbert that it's safe and OK to be fragile sometimes. Her ambitions — left
unchecked — have the potential to deplete me and to destroy my relationships.
Ms. Gilbert is a weapons-grade robot, whose powers are only to be used
sparingly, and whose fear (of being weak) must be handled with delicacy and
grace. I am grateful for Ms Gilbert because she's a reliable provider. As long
as I have Ms. Gilbert within me, I will never go hungry and I will always be
able to support myself. But she needs to understand that life is not a war or a
competition that needs to be WON. I thank her for her strength. I will keep her
integrated, and I will work with her on her fear-of-vulnerability issues, but I
don't want to let her make all the decisions, because she's not emotionally
equipped for it.
Lastly, meet Liz. This is the person who has to
cope with these three other people who inhabit me. She's the one who has to
integrate the others. Liz is a human. She's just a regular person. She lives in
a human body, in human time, with human limitations. She's the one who gets her
period, who has to go to the dentist, who reads the newspaper, who picks out
clothes to wear every day. She belongs to a community of other humans, and
she's the one who has to decide how to behave on a day-to-day basis. She's the
one who pays the bills, who writes thank-you notes, who lives in a house with a
real human husband (who is himself composed of many different parts). Unlike
Lizzy, Liz is not a helpess child. Unlike Elizabeth, Liz is not an ardent
utopian. Unlike Ms. Gilbert, Liz is not a powerhouse robot. Liz is just a
person doing her best. Sometimes Liz gets sad and overwhelmed because these
other parts within her are pursuing their own agendas, acting out, and being
difficult. Sometimes the rival parts of herself go to war against each other,
and Liz feels like she's going to lose her mind. But here's the thing I've
realized this week, which is pretty amazing: If Liz can keep herself healthy
and rested and well-fed and well-loved, then she's actually pretty capable of
managing all these other parts of herself. When Liz gets exhausted, one of her
other three selves will try to take over control, which is bad news. But when
Liz is taking good care of herself, she can take care of the others. When Liz
is thinking clearly, she has the ability to comfort Lizzy, to set boundaries
with Elizabeth, and to monitor Ms. Gilbert's adrenalized ambitions. Therefore,
at this stage in her life, I believe that Liz is qualified to take firm but
gentle leadership over all her other parts — even the shameful bits. (Also, if
Liz doesn't take leadership over them, who will?) Liz is not perfect — not by
any means. Like I said, she a human, full of mistakes and doubts. She understands
that failure is part of life and that fear is perfectly normal. She does not
demand a perfect world filled with perfect people. She knows how to ask for
help when she needs it. She can look back and see hundreds of instances where
she wishes she had made different decisions — and she can certainly see all the
trouble she's gotten into by letting Lizzy, Elizabeth, or Ms. Gilbert run the
show. (Though now that she has identified them by name, she thinks she'll have
an easier time managing them; when you come to know your exile parts by name,
they have less command over you, and they cause less trouble for yourself and
other people.) But basically, Liz is a good egg. Liz's one great gift is that
she's capable of learning. She has the humility that is necessary for learning.
She can listen, and she can transform. She can grow. She can forgive.
And truly, without fear, Liz is capable of
LOVE.
Liz can even love the most unlovable aspects of
herself.
That's why I'm putting her in charge.
In fact — as this exercise has taught me — I
MUST put Liz in charge. Because all those other parts of me will be with me
forever, competing for dominance. They aren't going anywhere. So I might as
well learn to love them and to work with them, rather than going to war against
them or surrendering to their dark powers. But in order to manage all the rival
parts of me, Liz has to remain healthy, sane, rested, and stable. So Liz's
mental and physical health must be a priority, or else all hell breaks lose.
So that's what I did on my retreat, dear ones:
I named all my selves. I figured out who they are, what they fear, what they
have to offer, and how to love them and help them. It was interesting — and
also strangely fun!
I also think this exercise will help me be more
understanding and compassionate toward other people, and all their disparate
and desperate parts.
I feel really free at the moment, and calm, and
full of possibilities.
All of us are at peace today.
smile emoticon
I invite you to take some time to think about
all your different parts as well — and to name them, and give them faces. I
invite you to think about what all your different parts want, what they offer,
what they fear, and what happens when they take charge from a place of
darkness. Go ahead and collect some photos of your different rival selves, so
you can visualize them more clearly. Give names to your darkest and most
frightened (and most hopeful) exiles. Take the orphans out of the basement and
give them sunlight. Speak to them all individually, and lovingly. Find out
their strengths and their vulnerabilities.
What would it look like to take loving
leadership over all your parts? What would loving integration look like in your
life? Which parts of you need to be pulled out of the shadows? Who needs to be
loved, understood, and forgiven? And who is the one (most sane) version of
yourself that you want to put in charge of the others? What is her name?
What does she need from you, to begin?
With love and respect
from all of us —
Lizzy, Elizabeth, Ms. Gilbert, and Liz.
Lizzy, Elizabeth, Ms. Gilbert, and Liz.
Dear Ones -
I've just spent four days in the most beautiful place I've ever seen on earth — Zagorohoria, Greece. If ever you have the opportunity to visit Zagorohoria, do try to come to this place. You will never regret it. This is not a version of Greece that you have ever seen, or ever dreamed of. This is a place of deep and ancient magic.
There are over 90 (!) stone bridges here...
46 villages.
"the snake road"
The riverbed is lined with Plane Trees (Liz)
BON VOYAGE!
Dear Ones -
Hey, what's
everyone up to today?
Me? Not much.
Just getting on a flight with my wonderful mother, taking her on an
adventure to GREECE.
THIS IS SOME BUCKET-LIST BUSINESS RIGHT HERE.
The two of us are going to hike through Northern Greece for a while — just
two sturdy women with sensible shoes and good sunhats and a thirst for
unexplored horizons.
My mom is a fantastic traveling companion: uncomplaining, ever-curious,
physically strong, open-minded, friendly to the whole world. I love her and I
want to fly her away to somewhere beautiful where I can enjoy every minute with
her...so that's what I'm doing.
smile emoticon
I've been dreaming of visiting Greece since I used to read D'Aulaire's
Book of Greek Myths as a child. (If you haven't bought this book for your
children yet, buy it. But be warned: That book turned both me and my sister
into writers.)
So here we go!
I just wanted to give you all a heads up that I may not be so regular with
the Facebook posts over the next few weeks. I will try! And I will make sure
you get your #BigMagic Monday posts, for sure! But I may not
always have the ability to do a lot more...
But whenever I can, I will certainly send you all postcards from the
edge...from the edge of the sea, from the edge of the mountains, from the edge
of a sailboat, from the edge of a little cafe on the edge of a cliff...
So happy right now.
ONWARD,
LG
LG
A POSTCARD FROM GREECE...
Today, my
mom and I walked on Mount Olympus.
Here is case
where prepositions matter, because we most certainly did not walk UP Mount
Olympus....but we definitely walked ON Mount Olympus.
And it was awesome.
(I say this in the original definition of the word "awesome". In
fact, if you can't safely use the word "awesome" to describe Mount
Olympus, then there is basically nowhere you can safely use it...)
ONWARD and AWESOMEWARD!
LG
LG
POSTCARD FROM GREECE
Two nymphs
on the run: Me and my mom, hanging out in the Temple of Dionysus together...
Next on our
agenda? We're going to conquer Mount Olympus!
(Some of it, anyhow. If doesn't rain, that is. These nymphs don't hike in
the rain!)
I am so grateful for these days alone with my mother in these beautiful
far-flung worlds, I cannot even tell you.
ONWARD!
LG
LG
A POSTCARD FROM GREECE...and the joys of walking.
Dear Ones -
My mom and I
are traveling together on an adventure in Greece, and I promised I'd send out
postcards when I could — so here's another for you!
This morning
we decided to have a rest day. It was pouring rain and we were tired, so hiking
seemed like a bad idea. Our hotel (in the middle of nowhere, in the foothills
of Mount Olympus) was lovely and inviting, so we decided to just cool it and
relax.
But then,
after breakfast, I got the urge to go for a walk, so I slipped away.
I can never
resist taking a long walk in a new country, even when it's pouring rain. (This
is why you must always pack an umbrella and a raincoat and good sturdy shoes,
no matter where you're going!)
My plan was
to just take a little walk — just a wander up the road, to see what was there,
no matter how wet I got — but then I couldn't stop myself, so I kept wandering
(and climbing!) for the next three hours...through farms, along streams, up and
up and up the curves of the mountainside.
Here is what
I saw:
I saw
shepherds with their sheep, goatherds with their goats, and one very impressive
Greek cowboy (on his horse!) herding his cows over a distant ridgeline.
I saw three
hawks, and each time it made me catch my breath (and one time, it made me
shout, "Oh my GOD!" because when you see a hawk flying into a cloud
bank under Mount Olympus, well...that is moment of mind-splintering awe.)
I startled a
large and handsome hare, who ran away from me in a zig-zagging panic — and with
all those hawks around, so he should. I had an atavistic urge to chase him, but
quickly came to my senses and realized I had no chance.
I met a big
dog, and he was somewhat intimidating, but as soon as he realized I wasn't
going to eat his sheep, we made friends with each other. We walked together
awhile, then he went on his way. (He was busy; he had sheep to protect.)
I saw the
sky change from thundering rain to racing clouds to that daring bright blue
ceiling of the world that they only manufacture in Greece.
I felt the
wind change, and I felt the temperature change as cold clouds blew and
retreated around me. (I was up REALLY high.)
I heard
little birds whose warning alerts sounded like the click of a camera shutter. I
saw little lizards speeding for cover from under my shadow — too fast for me to
even identify their markings.
I saw cherry
trees with heavily-laden boughs, and I thought about how I've never before had
the opportunity to use the term "heavily-laden boughs", but, MAN,
those boughs were heavily-laden! (So I unladened them, right into my mouth.) As
I ate those cherries, I smelled the air of these farms and mountains — an
exotic (to my nose, anyhow) mixture of manure, thyme, and rich mineral mud.
Then, I
received the biggest gift of all:
As I was
wandering up a switchback, i heard something around the next corner that
sounded exactly like an Indonesian gamelan orchestra (all brassy chimes and
metallic percussion) and I wondered, "Who in this rural setting of
Northern Greece has assembled an Indonesian gamelan orchestra?" I kept following
the sound, which was bringing me right back to lazy mornings in Bali ten years
ago....but of course it was not an Indonesian gamelan orchestra, after all: It
was a herd of cows in a deep valley below me — each with a differently tuned
bell — and while they were placidly grazing, their bells were creating the most
beautiful music you ever heard. The acoustics of the valley made for a perfect
amplification system, and — far above the cows — I was bathed in their
symphony.
I would have
missed all of this, had I not gone for a long walk.
I tell you
this because it is fresh in my mind and also because this was such a happy day
for me. But mostly I tell you this to remind you that it's REALLY important to
go for a long and aimless walk sometimes — not only in a new country, but also
in your own familiar universe. I don't do it nearly enough. None of us do. I
exercise plenty, but most days I just go to the gym — which is more like
visiting an office than embracing a landscape. I spend a lot of time indoors,
reading and writing, and if I am outside, I am usually puttering around in my
garden or wandering through my town — which is sort of like being in nature,
except on a leash.
Sometimes
you have to take off the leash.
And
DEFINITELY sometimes you need to get out of the car. Although I have nothing
against cars (I use them often, and I am grateful for their convenience and I
am often delighted by their beauty) this world was not meant to be seen only
through the window of a car.
This world
was meant to be walked. And if you are a human being, then your body was
designed for walking this world, as long as you are able. If you are lucky
enough to be able to walk (and not everyone is so lucky) then you should not
forget to do it sometimes, if only as an expression of gratitude.
Saint
Augustine said, "SOLVITUR AMBULANDO" — "It is solved by
walking". If you have a problem that you cannot solve, take a walk.
Somehow, it always makes things better.
Trying to
learn your world without walking it is like trying to eat the pictures out of a
cookbook.
Today, I
feasted.
Thank you,
Greece!
ONWARD,
LG
LG
A POSTCARD FROM GREECE
Sweet
friends -
I'm on
vacation in Greece right now, traveling on an adventure with my mother. I
promised I would send you "postcards" whenever I had the chance, sp
here's one for you...
Yesterday, while expolring the marvelous city of Thessaloniki, we took
shelter from the glaring sunlight by wandering into an ancient church. The
place was dark, vast, glittering with golden mosiacs, thick with incense and
rich with the sound of evening prayers. Everything about the church cast us
into silence and awe.
I saw some candles for sale, so I suggested to my mother that we light one
in honor of my grandmother (my mom's mother) who recently passed away at the
age of 102. My mom said, "Let's light two candles — one for each of your
grandmothers."
So we bought two candles — one small and one tall (like my grandmothers
themselves) — and lit them both, and we said our prayers of gratitude to Maude
and to Madeleine.
It was a beautiful moment. As we turned around to leave, we saw these two
figures walking right past us — a Greek woman (about my age and hieght) and her
tiny little grandmother. They were arm-in-arm, leaving church services
together, and leaning into each other with such love. My mom and I both gasped
at the same time. My mom whispered, "It's a visitation!"
Indeed, it felt like one.
I caught this photo of them as they left the church.
It's been my favorite moment of this journey so far: The intimate little
grandmother moment.
You never know who you will meet on your travels.
smile emoticon
Big love, and onward,
LG
LG
………………..
THE GRATITUDE SANDWICH
Dear Ones -
Yesterday in
a crowded room in New York City, I heard two people behind me talking — a man
and a woman, discussing their lunch.
The man said, "Shit! I specifically asked the guy at the deli not to
put peppers on my sandwich, but look at this — it looks like he actually put
EXTRA peppers on it."
The woman replied, "Wow — you're right! That sandwich is full of
peppers. That sucks, dude. He ruined your lunch."
The man said, "Yeah. It sucks. I really, really hate peppers."
Long silence. Then the man added, in a different tone (a far more
thoughtful tone): "On the other hand, I just feel lucky that I was able to
buy myself lunch at all today — you know what I mean?"
Woman: "Huh. That's a good outlook, I guess..."
Man, even more thoughtfully: "No, I'm serious. I was homeless for a
while in my life. Did you know that?"
Woman: "Seriously? Homeless? YOU?"
Man. "Homeless for two years. People gave me food sometimes, but I
never had any money buy my own food. So for me today, to be able to buy myself
lunch at all? To have a job? A place to live? That's a pretty lucky thing,
right? I mean, I should just be grateful that I have food at all, right? What
do I care about a few peppers, amiright?"
Woman: "Wow. I never knew that. That's amazing. That's a beautiful
way to see things."
(Meanwhile, Liz stands there with her back to both of them, clutching her
heart, with her eyes swimming in tears.)
Gratitude, you guys. Gratitude. Freaking GRATITUDE.
It gets me every single time.
ONWARD,
LG
LG
A weekend project: HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE YOU?
Dear Ones -
So I took myself on a little retreat this week,
in order to be alone with my thoughts and to check in with myself for a few
days. It had been a long time since I'd done such a thing for myself, and it was
delicious and restorative.
One of the things I did on my retreat was to
read some new (to me) books about personal growth and healing. A friend
suggested that I check out a book called YOU ARE THE ONE YOU'VE BEEN WAITING
FOR, by Richard C. Schwartz. In this book, Schwartz posits a theory that makes
a lot of sense to me. He suggests that we are each composed of many different
people — what he simply calls "parts". None of are are really an
"individual", per se, but rather we are each a teeming multitude of
contradictory selves. There are parts of ourselves who are strong, parts of us
who are vulnerable, parts of us who are angry, parts of us who are entitled,
etc., etc....
We all instinctively know this to be true,
right? This is what we mean when we say, "Part of me is really angry at
you right now, even though another part of me completely understands the
situation..." or "Part of me wants to quit this job, but another part
of me wants the security of the paycheck..."
We all use that "parts" language
about ourselves in everyday life. What Richard C. Schwartz has done is to
formalize it, by inviting us to go even deeper into this kind of thinking. He
suggest that we look closer — that we soberly ask ourselves, "OK, so who
exactly ARE all these different parts of me? What are their characteristics?
What are the circumstances in my life that created all these different parts?
What does each part want from life, and what does each part fear? How does each
different part behave when it is threatened or provoked? What happens when the
most vulnerable parts of me collide with the most vulnerable parts of the
people I'm in relationship with?"
Schwartz suggests that we all have parts within
ourselves that he calls "exiles" — inner selves that we simply cannot
cope with. Usually, these exiled parts of ourselves grew up out of trauma, and
they are terribly wounded little beings. These wounded parts of ourselves bring
us shame and distress, so we try to bury them away...but they don't stay
buried. These exiles (those shameful hidden children) have a tendency to act
out, and to cause us trouble. They often lash out (or fall apart) out of fear
or anger or neediness. Often, it is the darkest banished part of ourselves who
is controlling us from exile, and making (bad) decisions.
Instead of banishing those troublesome exiles,
Schwartz suggests, you should try to INTEGRATE them. You should try to
understand them, and to address their fears and concerns, and somehow try to
fold them lovingly into your whole united being. In other words, with time and
effort and compassion, you can learn how to take all of your disparate and
desperate scattered parts of yourself, and form a loving family out of them.
(This is what's called IFS, or "Internal Family Systems Therapy".)
The first step is to at least begin identifying
all your different parts. That way, when one of your "exile" parts is
acting out, you can determine who, exactly, is speaking here, and you can deal
with the problem more specifically. (For instance: Instead of saying to yourself,
"I need to stop being so weak and pathetic," you can say, "Oh,
this is the little girl within me, who always fears abandonment, and she's
acting out in terror right now." Then you can try to mobilize an older,
stronger, wiser part of yourself to talk to the frightened exile, and comfort
her, and reassure her that everything will be fine.)
Schwartz explains it all much better, of
course, but that's the general idea!
Inspired by this notion, I took some time this
week to try to identify all the people who I am — all the major parts of me. It
was an interesting exercise. It turns out, I have a lot of selves swirling
around within me (WE ALL DO) but I was able to narrow myself down to four basic
players, four basic "parts".
Then — just to make a project out of it
(because you know how much I love projects!) — I decided to find a photograph
of myself that represents each one of these four major parts of myself, so that
I could put a face on each one. And then I gave them all names.
In other words, I took all my different selves
out of the shadows (even the exiled parts of me) and I brought them into the
light, and tried to give them form. By making them more real, my hope is to be
able to communicate with them better, and integrate them more lovingly, and to
understand myself with more compassion.
Does that all make sense?
And now, with the hopes that perhaps this will
help and empower you to discover and name your own parts, I share with you the
results!
Here are my four major parts:
First, meet Lizzy. Lizzy is a just little kid —
a terrified little kid. She's exceptionally scared of life. She's especially
absolutely petrified of conflict. She lives in fear that people will get upset,
or that they won't like her, and then she'll be abandoned She's afraid that she
can't take care of herself. She wants to be babied. Her default emotions are:
panic, doubt, anxiety, and shame. When threatened, she reacts with tears, and
can barely breathe. Historically, we have seen that Lizzy — when frightened —
will run into the arms of anyone who can offer comfort (even if they have a bad
character.) Lizzy is also capable of telling childish and transparent lies in
order to protect herself — lies that often get the rest of the family in
trouble. Lizzy sounds like a problem child, right? (Believe me, I have always
thought of her as a problem child!) But I realized this week, when I really
contemplated her, that Lizzy has strengths, as well as weaknesses. Lizzy is not
just a scared kid; she is also a loving and sweet and genuinely affectionate
little person. (Look at that adorable face!) She is truly friendly and curious
and outgoing, and she will try to connect with everyone. She is kind to all
people, because she knows how scary life can be. Lizzy is the part of me who is
the most afraid, but she is also the most tenderhearted and generous part of
me. I don't want to get rid of her. Without Lizzy, I would have no heart. Lizzy
deserves to be integrated, not banished. She deserves my love and care and
reassurance, not my embarrassed condemnation. If the other, stronger, older
parts of me can show Lizzy that we can keep her safe, and if we can protect her
from dangerous people, then she will be free to be sweet and friendly and
trusting, and she will fill the world with love, rather than acting out and
causing trouble.
Secondly, meet Elizabeth. Elizabeth is my inner
utopian/dreamer. She's the creator within. She's the magician behind BIG MAGIC.
She's the novelist. She's the traveler. She's the spiritual explorer. She's
expansive, grandiose, excitable, passionate and expressive. She's the
risk-taker. I owe Elizabeth a lot. Without her, I would never have become a
writer. Whereas Lizzy want to hide under the covers, Elizabeth has huge
appetites for living. She's awesome in that way. But Elizabeth is also — I have
just realized this week — a potentially dangerous pain-in-the-ass, especially
when she gets afraid. (What is Elizabeth afraid of, you ask? She is afraid of
being NORMAL. She is afraid that she is not SPECIAL.) Unchecked, Elizabeth can
get me into huge trouble. Sure, she's the one who says, "Let's learn
Italian!" and that's great...but she's also the one who spent years
saying, "Let's make out with EVERYONE, because there are no consequences!"
(Guess what? Turns out there were consequences.) Elizabeth thinks that
boundaries are for squares. She hates facts, confinements, convention.
Elizabeth doesn't think the rules of life apply to her. (She's terrified that
the rules apply to her, I should say, because that would make her NORMAL.) But
here is the most dangerous thing about Elizabeth: When her utopian ideals are
not met, she becomes furious. Her expectations about life are impossibly
romantic, and so she is easily disappointed. Talk about "cherished outcomes"
— every single one of her dreams has a cherished outcome. She can be
unforgiving and cruel and judgmental when the real world interferes with her
airy-fairy dreamworld. She wants everyone to live in The Age of Aquarius with
her, but when people let her down, she can be a bit of a tyrant. (Ah, how
quickly utopias can disintegrate into dystopias!) Look closely at Elizabeth's
eye in this photo. Can you see the crazy in that eye? Can you see that manic
glint that says, "I'm little unhinged, a little ungrounded"? I love
you, Elizabeth, and I am grateful for your boundless creativity, but sometimes
you are frankly a little nuts, and therefore I cannot allow you to be the
manager of this family of selves. I promise that I will keep you safe, and I
will not banish you. I will provide a healthy environment in which your
abundant creativity can thrive, but I won't let you hijack my everyday life,
because you are not good at everyday life. I must always examine your motives
and test them for reality (and also for safety and humanity). It's best if you
stay out of my personal relationships, Elizabeth, because your elevated
expectations for people are unrealistic, and so you can stir up trouble. But if
I constantly direct your attention and your extraordinary energies toward
helping me write books, then you're a treasure. You are often fun and
marvelous, but you must be handled with care.
Thirdly, meet Ms. Gilbert. She is my
independent, professional, responsible, disciplined, and most ambitious self.
She has her shit together, big time. (Or at least she THINKS she does.) I call
her "Ms. Gilbert", because that's what other people call her — as in,
"Ms. Gilbert, you're due onstage in five minutes." Ms. Gilbert is the
part of me who can get on that stage at the Oprah tour and speak to a stadium
full of 15,000 people, without her knees shaking in fear. (However, it
important to point out, Ms. Gilbert did not WRITE that speech; that speech,
which was all about courage and vulnerability, was written by Elizabeth and
Lizzy. Ms. Gilbert is a badass, but she not herself creative.) Ms. Gilbert is
somebody I am very grateful to, because she GETS THE JOB DONE, whatever the job
is. She's the emotional opposite of weak, scared Lizzy, and she's far more
grounded than Utopian Elizabeth. But Ms. Gilbert cannot be in charge of my
family of selves, either, because — frankly — she has no compassion. She's a
machine. She's a tough negotiator, and a ruthless workhorse. She's the
unblinking powerhouse who can stand up to entitled men, to haters, to bullies,
and to critics. She cuts through any obstacles as though with a hot knife —
which means that sometimes she lacks in humanity (because sometimes our
"obstacles" are other humans, and maybe we shouldn't be cutting
through other humans with hot knives.) Her solution to every problem is
"Work harder, produce more, be more successful, outrun your
feelings." I would not say that she is a good listener. When I am sick or
run-down or sobbing on the bathroom floor, for instance, Ms. Gilbert doesn't
give a shit. (She says, "Quit your sniveling and work harder, produce
more, be more successful!") Her vulnerability is that she's terrified of
being vulnerable. She also dislikes vulnerable people. (She really hates and
fears poor little Lizzy, and is always trying to kill her off.) I need to teach
Ms. Gilbert that it's safe and OK to be fragile sometimes. Her ambitions — left
unchecked — have the potential to deplete me and to destroy my relationships.
Ms. Gilbert is a weapons-grade robot, whose powers are only to be used
sparingly, and whose fear (of being weak) must be handled with delicacy and
grace. I am grateful for Ms Gilbert because she's a reliable provider. As long
as I have Ms. Gilbert within me, I will never go hungry and I will always be
able to support myself. But she needs to understand that life is not a war or a
competition that needs to be WON. I thank her for her strength. I will keep her
integrated, and I will work with her on her fear-of-vulnerability issues, but I
don't want to let her make all the decisions, because she's not emotionally
equipped for it.
Lastly, meet Liz. This is the person who has to
cope with these three other people who inhabit me. She's the one who has to
integrate the others. Liz is a human. She's just a regular person. She lives in
a human body, in human time, with human limitations. She's the one who gets her
period, who has to go to the dentist, who reads the newspaper, who picks out
clothes to wear every day. She belongs to a community of other humans, and
she's the one who has to decide how to behave on a day-to-day basis. She's the
one who pays the bills, who writes thank-you notes, who lives in a house with a
real human husband (who is himself composed of many different parts). Unlike
Lizzy, Liz is not a helpess child. Unlike Elizabeth, Liz is not an ardent
utopian. Unlike Ms. Gilbert, Liz is not a powerhouse robot. Liz is just a
person doing her best. Sometimes Liz gets sad and overwhelmed because these
other parts within her are pursuing their own agendas, acting out, and being
difficult. Sometimes the rival parts of herself go to war against each other,
and Liz feels like she's going to lose her mind. But here's the thing I've
realized this week, which is pretty amazing: If Liz can keep herself healthy
and rested and well-fed and well-loved, then she's actually pretty capable of
managing all these other parts of herself. When Liz gets exhausted, one of her
other three selves will try to take over control, which is bad news. But when
Liz is taking good care of herself, she can take care of the others. When Liz
is thinking clearly, she has the ability to comfort Lizzy, to set boundaries
with Elizabeth, and to monitor Ms. Gilbert's adrenalized ambitions. Therefore,
at this stage in her life, I believe that Liz is qualified to take firm but
gentle leadership over all her other parts — even the shameful bits. (Also, if
Liz doesn't take leadership over them, who will?) Liz is not perfect — not by
any means. Like I said, she a human, full of mistakes and doubts. She understands
that failure is part of life and that fear is perfectly normal. She does not
demand a perfect world filled with perfect people. She knows how to ask for
help when she needs it. She can look back and see hundreds of instances where
she wishes she had made different decisions — and she can certainly see all the
trouble she's gotten into by letting Lizzy, Elizabeth, or Ms. Gilbert run the
show. (Though now that she has identified them by name, she thinks she'll have
an easier time managing them; when you come to know your exile parts by name,
they have less command over you, and they cause less trouble for yourself and
other people.) But basically, Liz is a good egg. Liz's one great gift is that
she's capable of learning. She has the humility that is necessary for learning.
She can listen, and she can transform. She can grow. She can forgive.
And truly, without fear, Liz is capable of
LOVE.
Liz can even love the most unlovable aspects of
herself.
That's why I'm putting her in charge.
In fact — as this exercise has taught me — I
MUST put Liz in charge. Because all those other parts of me will be with me
forever, competing for dominance. They aren't going anywhere. So I might as
well learn to love them and to work with them, rather than going to war against
them or surrendering to their dark powers. But in order to manage all the rival
parts of me, Liz has to remain healthy, sane, rested, and stable. So Liz's
mental and physical health must be a priority, or else all hell breaks lose.
So that's what I did on my retreat, dear ones:
I named all my selves. I figured out who they are, what they fear, what they
have to offer, and how to love them and help them. It was interesting — and
also strangely fun!
I also think this exercise will help me be more
understanding and compassionate toward other people, and all their disparate
and desperate parts.
I feel really free at the moment, and calm, and
full of possibilities.
All of us are at peace today.
smile emoticon
I invite you to take some time to think about
all your different parts as well — and to name them, and give them faces. I
invite you to think about what all your different parts want, what they offer,
what they fear, and what happens when they take charge from a place of
darkness. Go ahead and collect some photos of your different rival selves, so
you can visualize them more clearly. Give names to your darkest and most
frightened (and most hopeful) exiles. Take the orphans out of the basement and
give them sunlight. Speak to them all individually, and lovingly. Find out
their strengths and their vulnerabilities.
What would it look like to take loving
leadership over all your parts? What would loving integration look like in your
life? Which parts of you need to be pulled out of the shadows? Who needs to be
loved, understood, and forgiven? And who is the one (most sane) version of
yourself that you want to put in charge of the others? What is her name?
What does she need from you, to begin?
With love and respect
from all of us —
Lizzy, Elizabeth, Ms. Gilbert, and Liz.
Lizzy, Elizabeth, Ms. Gilbert, and Liz.
BON VOYAGE!
Dear Ones -
Hey, what's
everyone up to today?
Me? Not much.
Just getting on a flight with my wonderful mother, taking her on an
adventure to GREECE.
THIS IS SOME BUCKET-LIST BUSINESS RIGHT HERE.
The two of us are going to hike through Northern Greece for a while — just
two sturdy women with sensible shoes and good sunhats and a thirst for
unexplored horizons.
My mom is a fantastic traveling companion: uncomplaining, ever-curious,
physically strong, open-minded, friendly to the whole world. I love her and I
want to fly her away to somewhere beautiful where I can enjoy every minute with
her...so that's what I'm doing.
smile emoticon
I've been dreaming of visiting Greece since I used to read D'Aulaire's
Book of Greek Myths as a child. (If you haven't bought this book for your
children yet, buy it. But be warned: That book turned both me and my sister
into writers.)
So here we go!
I just wanted to give you all a heads up that I may not be so regular with
the Facebook posts over the next few weeks. I will try! And I will make sure
you get your #BigMagic Monday posts, for sure! But I may not
always have the ability to do a lot more...
But whenever I can, I will certainly send you all postcards from the
edge...from the edge of the sea, from the edge of the mountains, from the edge
of a sailboat, from the edge of a little cafe on the edge of a cliff...
So happy right now.
ONWARD,
LG
LG
A POSTCARD FROM GREECE...
Today, my
mom and I walked on Mount Olympus.
Here is case
where prepositions matter, because we most certainly did not walk UP Mount
Olympus....but we definitely walked ON Mount Olympus.
And it was awesome.
(I say this in the original definition of the word "awesome". In
fact, if you can't safely use the word "awesome" to describe Mount
Olympus, then there is basically nowhere you can safely use it...)
ONWARD and AWESOMEWARD!
LG
LG
POSTCARD FROM GREECE
Two nymphs
on the run: Me and my mom, hanging out in the Temple of Dionysus together...
Next on our
agenda? We're going to conquer Mount Olympus!
(Some of it, anyhow. If doesn't rain, that is. These nymphs don't hike in
the rain!)
I am so grateful for these days alone with my mother in these beautiful
far-flung worlds, I cannot even tell you.
ONWARD!
LG
LG
A POSTCARD FROM GREECE...and the joys of walking.
Dear Ones -
My mom and I
are traveling together on an adventure in Greece, and I promised I'd send out
postcards when I could — so here's another for you!
This morning
we decided to have a rest day. It was pouring rain and we were tired, so hiking
seemed like a bad idea. Our hotel (in the middle of nowhere, in the foothills
of Mount Olympus) was lovely and inviting, so we decided to just cool it and
relax.
But then,
after breakfast, I got the urge to go for a walk, so I slipped away.
I can never
resist taking a long walk in a new country, even when it's pouring rain. (This
is why you must always pack an umbrella and a raincoat and good sturdy shoes,
no matter where you're going!)
My plan was
to just take a little walk — just a wander up the road, to see what was there,
no matter how wet I got — but then I couldn't stop myself, so I kept wandering
(and climbing!) for the next three hours...through farms, along streams, up and
up and up the curves of the mountainside.
Here is what
I saw:
I saw
shepherds with their sheep, goatherds with their goats, and one very impressive
Greek cowboy (on his horse!) herding his cows over a distant ridgeline.
I saw three
hawks, and each time it made me catch my breath (and one time, it made me
shout, "Oh my GOD!" because when you see a hawk flying into a cloud
bank under Mount Olympus, well...that is moment of mind-splintering awe.)
I startled a
large and handsome hare, who ran away from me in a zig-zagging panic — and with
all those hawks around, so he should. I had an atavistic urge to chase him, but
quickly came to my senses and realized I had no chance.
I met a big
dog, and he was somewhat intimidating, but as soon as he realized I wasn't
going to eat his sheep, we made friends with each other. We walked together
awhile, then he went on his way. (He was busy; he had sheep to protect.)
I saw the
sky change from thundering rain to racing clouds to that daring bright blue
ceiling of the world that they only manufacture in Greece.
I felt the
wind change, and I felt the temperature change as cold clouds blew and
retreated around me. (I was up REALLY high.)
I heard
little birds whose warning alerts sounded like the click of a camera shutter. I
saw little lizards speeding for cover from under my shadow — too fast for me to
even identify their markings.
I saw cherry
trees with heavily-laden boughs, and I thought about how I've never before had
the opportunity to use the term "heavily-laden boughs", but, MAN,
those boughs were heavily-laden! (So I unladened them, right into my mouth.) As
I ate those cherries, I smelled the air of these farms and mountains — an
exotic (to my nose, anyhow) mixture of manure, thyme, and rich mineral mud.
Then, I
received the biggest gift of all:
As I was
wandering up a switchback, i heard something around the next corner that
sounded exactly like an Indonesian gamelan orchestra (all brassy chimes and
metallic percussion) and I wondered, "Who in this rural setting of
Northern Greece has assembled an Indonesian gamelan orchestra?" I kept following
the sound, which was bringing me right back to lazy mornings in Bali ten years
ago....but of course it was not an Indonesian gamelan orchestra, after all: It
was a herd of cows in a deep valley below me — each with a differently tuned
bell — and while they were placidly grazing, their bells were creating the most
beautiful music you ever heard. The acoustics of the valley made for a perfect
amplification system, and — far above the cows — I was bathed in their
symphony.
I would have
missed all of this, had I not gone for a long walk.
I tell you
this because it is fresh in my mind and also because this was such a happy day
for me. But mostly I tell you this to remind you that it's REALLY important to
go for a long and aimless walk sometimes — not only in a new country, but also
in your own familiar universe. I don't do it nearly enough. None of us do. I
exercise plenty, but most days I just go to the gym — which is more like
visiting an office than embracing a landscape. I spend a lot of time indoors,
reading and writing, and if I am outside, I am usually puttering around in my
garden or wandering through my town — which is sort of like being in nature,
except on a leash.
Sometimes
you have to take off the leash.
And
DEFINITELY sometimes you need to get out of the car. Although I have nothing
against cars (I use them often, and I am grateful for their convenience and I
am often delighted by their beauty) this world was not meant to be seen only
through the window of a car.
This world
was meant to be walked. And if you are a human being, then your body was
designed for walking this world, as long as you are able. If you are lucky
enough to be able to walk (and not everyone is so lucky) then you should not
forget to do it sometimes, if only as an expression of gratitude.
Saint
Augustine said, "SOLVITUR AMBULANDO" — "It is solved by
walking". If you have a problem that you cannot solve, take a walk.
Somehow, it always makes things better.
Trying to
learn your world without walking it is like trying to eat the pictures out of a
cookbook.
Today, I
feasted.
Thank you,
Greece!
ONWARD,
LG
LG
A POSTCARD FROM GREECE
Sweet
friends -
I'm on
vacation in Greece right now, traveling on an adventure with my mother. I
promised I would send you "postcards" whenever I had the chance, sp
here's one for you...
Yesterday, while expolring the marvelous city of Thessaloniki, we took
shelter from the glaring sunlight by wandering into an ancient church. The
place was dark, vast, glittering with golden mosiacs, thick with incense and
rich with the sound of evening prayers. Everything about the church cast us
into silence and awe.
I saw some candles for sale, so I suggested to my mother that we light one
in honor of my grandmother (my mom's mother) who recently passed away at the
age of 102. My mom said, "Let's light two candles — one for each of your
grandmothers."
So we bought two candles — one small and one tall (like my grandmothers
themselves) — and lit them both, and we said our prayers of gratitude to Maude
and to Madeleine.
It was a beautiful moment. As we turned around to leave, we saw these two
figures walking right past us — a Greek woman (about my age and hieght) and her
tiny little grandmother. They were arm-in-arm, leaving church services
together, and leaning into each other with such love. My mom and I both gasped
at the same time. My mom whispered, "It's a visitation!"
Indeed, it felt like one.
I caught this photo of them as they left the church.
It's been my favorite moment of this journey so far: The intimate little
grandmother moment.
You never know who you will meet on your travels.
smile emoticon
Big love, and onward,
LG
LG
………………..
THE GRATITUDE SANDWICH
Dear Ones -
Yesterday in
a crowded room in New York City, I heard two people behind me talking — a man
and a woman, discussing their lunch.
The man said, "Shit! I specifically asked the guy at the deli not to
put peppers on my sandwich, but look at this — it looks like he actually put
EXTRA peppers on it."
The woman replied, "Wow — you're right! That sandwich is full of
peppers. That sucks, dude. He ruined your lunch."
The man said, "Yeah. It sucks. I really, really hate peppers."
Long silence. Then the man added, in a different tone (a far more
thoughtful tone): "On the other hand, I just feel lucky that I was able to
buy myself lunch at all today — you know what I mean?"
Woman: "Huh. That's a good outlook, I guess..."
Man, even more thoughtfully: "No, I'm serious. I was homeless for a
while in my life. Did you know that?"
Woman: "Seriously? Homeless? YOU?"
Man. "Homeless for two years. People gave me food sometimes, but I
never had any money buy my own food. So for me today, to be able to buy myself
lunch at all? To have a job? A place to live? That's a pretty lucky thing,
right? I mean, I should just be grateful that I have food at all, right? What
do I care about a few peppers, amiright?"
Woman: "Wow. I never knew that. That's amazing. That's a beautiful
way to see things."
(Meanwhile, Liz stands there with her back to both of them, clutching her
heart, with her eyes swimming in tears.)
Gratitude, you guys. Gratitude. Freaking GRATITUDE.
It gets me every single time.
ONWARD,
LG
LG
A weekend project: HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE YOU?
Dear Ones -
So I took myself on a little retreat this week,
in order to be alone with my thoughts and to check in with myself for a few
days. It had been a long time since I'd done such a thing for myself, and it was
delicious and restorative.
One of the things I did on my retreat was to
read some new (to me) books about personal growth and healing. A friend
suggested that I check out a book called YOU ARE THE ONE YOU'VE BEEN WAITING
FOR, by Richard C. Schwartz. In this book, Schwartz posits a theory that makes
a lot of sense to me. He suggests that we are each composed of many different
people — what he simply calls "parts". None of are are really an
"individual", per se, but rather we are each a teeming multitude of
contradictory selves. There are parts of ourselves who are strong, parts of us
who are vulnerable, parts of us who are angry, parts of us who are entitled,
etc., etc....
We all instinctively know this to be true,
right? This is what we mean when we say, "Part of me is really angry at
you right now, even though another part of me completely understands the
situation..." or "Part of me wants to quit this job, but another part
of me wants the security of the paycheck..."
We all use that "parts" language
about ourselves in everyday life. What Richard C. Schwartz has done is to
formalize it, by inviting us to go even deeper into this kind of thinking. He
suggest that we look closer — that we soberly ask ourselves, "OK, so who
exactly ARE all these different parts of me? What are their characteristics?
What are the circumstances in my life that created all these different parts?
What does each part want from life, and what does each part fear? How does each
different part behave when it is threatened or provoked? What happens when the
most vulnerable parts of me collide with the most vulnerable parts of the
people I'm in relationship with?"
Schwartz suggests that we all have parts within
ourselves that he calls "exiles" — inner selves that we simply cannot
cope with. Usually, these exiled parts of ourselves grew up out of trauma, and
they are terribly wounded little beings. These wounded parts of ourselves bring
us shame and distress, so we try to bury them away...but they don't stay
buried. These exiles (those shameful hidden children) have a tendency to act
out, and to cause us trouble. They often lash out (or fall apart) out of fear
or anger or neediness. Often, it is the darkest banished part of ourselves who
is controlling us from exile, and making (bad) decisions.
Instead of banishing those troublesome exiles,
Schwartz suggests, you should try to INTEGRATE them. You should try to
understand them, and to address their fears and concerns, and somehow try to
fold them lovingly into your whole united being. In other words, with time and
effort and compassion, you can learn how to take all of your disparate and
desperate scattered parts of yourself, and form a loving family out of them.
(This is what's called IFS, or "Internal Family Systems Therapy".)
The first step is to at least begin identifying
all your different parts. That way, when one of your "exile" parts is
acting out, you can determine who, exactly, is speaking here, and you can deal
with the problem more specifically. (For instance: Instead of saying to yourself,
"I need to stop being so weak and pathetic," you can say, "Oh,
this is the little girl within me, who always fears abandonment, and she's
acting out in terror right now." Then you can try to mobilize an older,
stronger, wiser part of yourself to talk to the frightened exile, and comfort
her, and reassure her that everything will be fine.)
Schwartz explains it all much better, of
course, but that's the general idea!
Inspired by this notion, I took some time this
week to try to identify all the people who I am — all the major parts of me. It
was an interesting exercise. It turns out, I have a lot of selves swirling
around within me (WE ALL DO) but I was able to narrow myself down to four basic
players, four basic "parts".
Then — just to make a project out of it
(because you know how much I love projects!) — I decided to find a photograph
of myself that represents each one of these four major parts of myself, so that
I could put a face on each one. And then I gave them all names.
In other words, I took all my different selves
out of the shadows (even the exiled parts of me) and I brought them into the
light, and tried to give them form. By making them more real, my hope is to be
able to communicate with them better, and integrate them more lovingly, and to
understand myself with more compassion.
Does that all make sense?
And now, with the hopes that perhaps this will
help and empower you to discover and name your own parts, I share with you the
results!
Here are my four major parts:
First, meet Lizzy. Lizzy is a just little kid —
a terrified little kid. She's exceptionally scared of life. She's especially
absolutely petrified of conflict. She lives in fear that people will get upset,
or that they won't like her, and then she'll be abandoned She's afraid that she
can't take care of herself. She wants to be babied. Her default emotions are:
panic, doubt, anxiety, and shame. When threatened, she reacts with tears, and
can barely breathe. Historically, we have seen that Lizzy — when frightened —
will run into the arms of anyone who can offer comfort (even if they have a bad
character.) Lizzy is also capable of telling childish and transparent lies in
order to protect herself — lies that often get the rest of the family in
trouble. Lizzy sounds like a problem child, right? (Believe me, I have always
thought of her as a problem child!) But I realized this week, when I really
contemplated her, that Lizzy has strengths, as well as weaknesses. Lizzy is not
just a scared kid; she is also a loving and sweet and genuinely affectionate
little person. (Look at that adorable face!) She is truly friendly and curious
and outgoing, and she will try to connect with everyone. She is kind to all
people, because she knows how scary life can be. Lizzy is the part of me who is
the most afraid, but she is also the most tenderhearted and generous part of
me. I don't want to get rid of her. Without Lizzy, I would have no heart. Lizzy
deserves to be integrated, not banished. She deserves my love and care and
reassurance, not my embarrassed condemnation. If the other, stronger, older
parts of me can show Lizzy that we can keep her safe, and if we can protect her
from dangerous people, then she will be free to be sweet and friendly and
trusting, and she will fill the world with love, rather than acting out and
causing trouble.
Secondly, meet Elizabeth. Elizabeth is my inner
utopian/dreamer. She's the creator within. She's the magician behind BIG MAGIC.
She's the novelist. She's the traveler. She's the spiritual explorer. She's
expansive, grandiose, excitable, passionate and expressive. She's the
risk-taker. I owe Elizabeth a lot. Without her, I would never have become a
writer. Whereas Lizzy want to hide under the covers, Elizabeth has huge
appetites for living. She's awesome in that way. But Elizabeth is also — I have
just realized this week — a potentially dangerous pain-in-the-ass, especially
when she gets afraid. (What is Elizabeth afraid of, you ask? She is afraid of
being NORMAL. She is afraid that she is not SPECIAL.) Unchecked, Elizabeth can
get me into huge trouble. Sure, she's the one who says, "Let's learn
Italian!" and that's great...but she's also the one who spent years
saying, "Let's make out with EVERYONE, because there are no consequences!"
(Guess what? Turns out there were consequences.) Elizabeth thinks that
boundaries are for squares. She hates facts, confinements, convention.
Elizabeth doesn't think the rules of life apply to her. (She's terrified that
the rules apply to her, I should say, because that would make her NORMAL.) But
here is the most dangerous thing about Elizabeth: When her utopian ideals are
not met, she becomes furious. Her expectations about life are impossibly
romantic, and so she is easily disappointed. Talk about "cherished outcomes"
— every single one of her dreams has a cherished outcome. She can be
unforgiving and cruel and judgmental when the real world interferes with her
airy-fairy dreamworld. She wants everyone to live in The Age of Aquarius with
her, but when people let her down, she can be a bit of a tyrant. (Ah, how
quickly utopias can disintegrate into dystopias!) Look closely at Elizabeth's
eye in this photo. Can you see the crazy in that eye? Can you see that manic
glint that says, "I'm little unhinged, a little ungrounded"? I love
you, Elizabeth, and I am grateful for your boundless creativity, but sometimes
you are frankly a little nuts, and therefore I cannot allow you to be the
manager of this family of selves. I promise that I will keep you safe, and I
will not banish you. I will provide a healthy environment in which your
abundant creativity can thrive, but I won't let you hijack my everyday life,
because you are not good at everyday life. I must always examine your motives
and test them for reality (and also for safety and humanity). It's best if you
stay out of my personal relationships, Elizabeth, because your elevated
expectations for people are unrealistic, and so you can stir up trouble. But if
I constantly direct your attention and your extraordinary energies toward
helping me write books, then you're a treasure. You are often fun and
marvelous, but you must be handled with care.
Thirdly, meet Ms. Gilbert. She is my
independent, professional, responsible, disciplined, and most ambitious self.
She has her shit together, big time. (Or at least she THINKS she does.) I call
her "Ms. Gilbert", because that's what other people call her — as in,
"Ms. Gilbert, you're due onstage in five minutes." Ms. Gilbert is the
part of me who can get on that stage at the Oprah tour and speak to a stadium
full of 15,000 people, without her knees shaking in fear. (However, it
important to point out, Ms. Gilbert did not WRITE that speech; that speech,
which was all about courage and vulnerability, was written by Elizabeth and
Lizzy. Ms. Gilbert is a badass, but she not herself creative.) Ms. Gilbert is
somebody I am very grateful to, because she GETS THE JOB DONE, whatever the job
is. She's the emotional opposite of weak, scared Lizzy, and she's far more
grounded than Utopian Elizabeth. But Ms. Gilbert cannot be in charge of my
family of selves, either, because — frankly — she has no compassion. She's a
machine. She's a tough negotiator, and a ruthless workhorse. She's the
unblinking powerhouse who can stand up to entitled men, to haters, to bullies,
and to critics. She cuts through any obstacles as though with a hot knife —
which means that sometimes she lacks in humanity (because sometimes our
"obstacles" are other humans, and maybe we shouldn't be cutting
through other humans with hot knives.) Her solution to every problem is
"Work harder, produce more, be more successful, outrun your
feelings." I would not say that she is a good listener. When I am sick or
run-down or sobbing on the bathroom floor, for instance, Ms. Gilbert doesn't
give a shit. (She says, "Quit your sniveling and work harder, produce
more, be more successful!") Her vulnerability is that she's terrified of
being vulnerable. She also dislikes vulnerable people. (She really hates and
fears poor little Lizzy, and is always trying to kill her off.) I need to teach
Ms. Gilbert that it's safe and OK to be fragile sometimes. Her ambitions — left
unchecked — have the potential to deplete me and to destroy my relationships.
Ms. Gilbert is a weapons-grade robot, whose powers are only to be used
sparingly, and whose fear (of being weak) must be handled with delicacy and
grace. I am grateful for Ms Gilbert because she's a reliable provider. As long
as I have Ms. Gilbert within me, I will never go hungry and I will always be
able to support myself. But she needs to understand that life is not a war or a
competition that needs to be WON. I thank her for her strength. I will keep her
integrated, and I will work with her on her fear-of-vulnerability issues, but I
don't want to let her make all the decisions, because she's not emotionally
equipped for it.
Lastly, meet Liz. This is the person who has to
cope with these three other people who inhabit me. She's the one who has to
integrate the others. Liz is a human. She's just a regular person. She lives in
a human body, in human time, with human limitations. She's the one who gets her
period, who has to go to the dentist, who reads the newspaper, who picks out
clothes to wear every day. She belongs to a community of other humans, and
she's the one who has to decide how to behave on a day-to-day basis. She's the
one who pays the bills, who writes thank-you notes, who lives in a house with a
real human husband (who is himself composed of many different parts). Unlike
Lizzy, Liz is not a helpess child. Unlike Elizabeth, Liz is not an ardent
utopian. Unlike Ms. Gilbert, Liz is not a powerhouse robot. Liz is just a
person doing her best. Sometimes Liz gets sad and overwhelmed because these
other parts within her are pursuing their own agendas, acting out, and being
difficult. Sometimes the rival parts of herself go to war against each other,
and Liz feels like she's going to lose her mind. But here's the thing I've
realized this week, which is pretty amazing: If Liz can keep herself healthy
and rested and well-fed and well-loved, then she's actually pretty capable of
managing all these other parts of herself. When Liz gets exhausted, one of her
other three selves will try to take over control, which is bad news. But when
Liz is taking good care of herself, she can take care of the others. When Liz
is thinking clearly, she has the ability to comfort Lizzy, to set boundaries
with Elizabeth, and to monitor Ms. Gilbert's adrenalized ambitions. Therefore,
at this stage in her life, I believe that Liz is qualified to take firm but
gentle leadership over all her other parts — even the shameful bits. (Also, if
Liz doesn't take leadership over them, who will?) Liz is not perfect — not by
any means. Like I said, she a human, full of mistakes and doubts. She understands
that failure is part of life and that fear is perfectly normal. She does not
demand a perfect world filled with perfect people. She knows how to ask for
help when she needs it. She can look back and see hundreds of instances where
she wishes she had made different decisions — and she can certainly see all the
trouble she's gotten into by letting Lizzy, Elizabeth, or Ms. Gilbert run the
show. (Though now that she has identified them by name, she thinks she'll have
an easier time managing them; when you come to know your exile parts by name,
they have less command over you, and they cause less trouble for yourself and
other people.) But basically, Liz is a good egg. Liz's one great gift is that
she's capable of learning. She has the humility that is necessary for learning.
She can listen, and she can transform. She can grow. She can forgive.
And truly, without fear, Liz is capable of
LOVE.
Liz can even love the most unlovable aspects of
herself.
That's why I'm putting her in charge.
In fact — as this exercise has taught me — I
MUST put Liz in charge. Because all those other parts of me will be with me
forever, competing for dominance. They aren't going anywhere. So I might as
well learn to love them and to work with them, rather than going to war against
them or surrendering to their dark powers. But in order to manage all the rival
parts of me, Liz has to remain healthy, sane, rested, and stable. So Liz's
mental and physical health must be a priority, or else all hell breaks lose.
So that's what I did on my retreat, dear ones:
I named all my selves. I figured out who they are, what they fear, what they
have to offer, and how to love them and help them. It was interesting — and
also strangely fun!
I also think this exercise will help me be more
understanding and compassionate toward other people, and all their disparate
and desperate parts.
I feel really free at the moment, and calm, and
full of possibilities.
All of us are at peace today.
smile emoticon
I invite you to take some time to think about
all your different parts as well — and to name them, and give them faces. I
invite you to think about what all your different parts want, what they offer,
what they fear, and what happens when they take charge from a place of
darkness. Go ahead and collect some photos of your different rival selves, so
you can visualize them more clearly. Give names to your darkest and most
frightened (and most hopeful) exiles. Take the orphans out of the basement and
give them sunlight. Speak to them all individually, and lovingly. Find out
their strengths and their vulnerabilities.
What would it look like to take loving
leadership over all your parts? What would loving integration look like in your
life? Which parts of you need to be pulled out of the shadows? Who needs to be
loved, understood, and forgiven? And who is the one (most sane) version of
yourself that you want to put in charge of the others? What is her name?
What does she need from you, to begin?
With love and respect
from all of us —
Lizzy, Elizabeth, Ms. Gilbert, and Liz.
Lizzy, Elizabeth, Ms. Gilbert, and Liz.
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