6/13/16—Peering Into the Mystic

Suddenly, my dog Mystic loves the back yard. She was always the first one inside, but now she spends hours out back alone, hunting for things and policing the perimeter. And I think I know why everything changed. 

As many readers are aware, the first few years I knew Mystic, I was in the midst of (what I now know to be) a three-year long asthma attack, the severity of which varied from day to day. But because I never coughed or wheezed, I went undiagnosed until I landed in an ER in the midst of a crisis. It was so severe some days that I would have to stop to catch my breath after walking from the kitchen to the living room, a distance of about 40 feet. It was miserable. It was scary. There were times it was so bad I thought I was going to die. All I did was work and sleep. And I napped a lot in between.

So that was Mystic's mommy for the first three years she was here. Mystic is a dog that needs a good bit of exercise and so she got walks as best as I could. A few days a week. Most days if I stopped everywhere they wanted to sniff, I could make it around the block. She's got behaviors that do not respond to training, but do respond to exercise. So it was a win-win for us to get her walked.

So the change Mystic made had nothing to do with me being more active now, because that's not even necessarily the case. But it did coincide with that ER visit, followed by a few days in the hospital. My disappearance, coupled with a strange caretaker, was traumatic on all three of the dogs.  

So maybe that somehow triggered Mystic's change. But I think it goes even deeper than that. Because while things appeared normal on the surface—I was going for walks, conducting business, doing the grocery shopping, visiting with friends—I was scared, panicked and miserable on the inside. My lungs were the only thing physically broken, but living that way for so long broke my spirit. And once I got out of the hospital, I was able to start feeling whole again. 

I believe Mystic was so dialed in to the heavy, thick sludge of my psyche that it changed her. Having brought her out a farm on a few occasions, I know her natural way is to just wander off and explore and stalk things. She was a rural girl. That is her nature. But all of that was suppressed because I was suppressed.

Another interesting observation is around the Kizzie situation. A few weeks ago, he ended up with a disc issue that may (and likely is) an indication of a larger issue with him. He's an old boy. And while the immediate issue of a ruptured disc is healed up, he's been having occasional issues indicative of ongoing spinal cord issues. So, until I came to accept that Kizzie is in decline, I was distraught. And during that same period, Mystic stopped taking part in her nightly fisticuffs with Magick. She resumed once I let go of my grief over this development with Kizzie.

Whatever it is, the bigger picture is that our pets know far more about us than we realize. I believe Mystic's story reinforces that we all transmit data that can be picked up by others without verbal, auditory or visual cues. Humans can do it. Dogs can do it. And probably everything in the universe can do it. In general, I think other animals are far more capable of doing it than humans. Our societal mores and critical natures get in the way of many of our natural instincts. 

And whenever a parent claims their young child isn't aware of issues in the home, I cringe. I remember knowing things I didn't hear or see, but sensed, as far back as toddlerhood. Two of those things, in particular, were later confirmed and I still can't shake off the feeling there's something more to one of them. So there probably is. The issues weren't concepts I understood at four, I had no words for them, all I knew was that something was fishy...something was odd, not quite right. 

But, back to Mystic. When I was growing up, dogs were just dogs. They were fabulous friends, but in the bulk of global consciousness, dogs were dogs. Separate. Lesser than. In my lifetime, that  consciousness has rather rapidly changed. Dogs may as well be people to most of those who have them as pets. Part of it is their distinct personalities, yes. But part of it is in this energetic exchange and intuitive understanding that goes on between us. 

We don't get to know and trust other humans as quickly and deeply as we do with a dog. And when it does occur between two humans, whether in friendship or love, we call them a soul mate. We hold the relationship sacred. We meet a handful of humans like that in our lives, but pretty much any old dog is capable of creating that experience, at least for me. 

I write this blog, in part, to explore the unknowable and spiritual in life. Myst became a completely different dog when I became different in energetic ways she could only sense, not see. She's not just a dog, and I have seen this capability in all my dogs. Children are not just children. And humans are not just humans. We are all connected to something we don't have the words for or even understand. And everything we do or hold inside us makes an impression on that collective consciousness (or whatever you might call it.) So what will you contribute to that vibe this week?

6/6/16—Journaling Again

I have kept a journal for most of my adult years. When you consider the amount of space I fill here with nearly 1200 blogs and the fact that I used to journal multiple times a week, if not every day, you can imagine the volumes upon volumes of journals I've filled. :D

In fact, I used to have a whole ritual around it. I had a guy in Colorado who would custom make leather journals with handmade papers for me. And I would light candles. And it would be like a bubble bath for my soul...haha. 

One thing led to another and my journaling tapered off. Then when I started this blog and wrote six days a week, I told myself that this blog was my journal. And in a way it is. I talk about my feelings and whatnot. But there's a lot that goes in my life that I can't share here, whether for professional or personal reasons. And it's stuff I need to get out of me. So I started up a new journal this week. 

Journaling has always been a sacred process for me. It's where I think through feelings I'm having. Work through issues in my life. Acknowledge things about myself that are hard to acknowledge. And, for a couple of years, it was where I worked on my descriptive writing skills, as well as my "getting inspiration from nature" skills while meditating at sunrise by the river. I had forgotten just how sacred a process all of that was, in fact. 

And it's clear I'm not the only who feels that way about journaling. A few years ago a friend of mine announced that she had burned all her old journals and felt a great release from doing it. Of course, pretty much everyone rushed in and said "no, don't do it!" I thought a lot about this and made a post that I was thinking about it. Nearly everyone said "no, don't do it!" to me, too.

But I get what my friend was talking about. With journaling, the process is where the value lies for me. So anything older than, say, a month is pretty irrelevant to my life today. I keep all these journals right in sight, yet I never open them. It's just past issues lingering around in a life where they no longer matter. So I still toy with idea of maybe one day sifting through them, tearing out pages here and there that are important and burning the rest (though I couldn't burn the leather part of my journals...my god, that man made beautiful journals.)

Anyway, all of this is part of a growing restlessness within me. I recently joined a book club and I don't read, for example. I have no idea what I'm thinking...haha. I just know I need something more than work, blogs, dogs, TV and tarot to think about. I like all those things, but there are other parts of me that are languishing, so I'm beginning to feel those things are walls closing around me, holding me hostage. Actually, the truth is, I've felt that for a while, but never quite realized it in so many words. In a way, I was doing "OK enough" in that prison. That's sad to say, but it's honest. 

It's just one of the many areas I've come across in my lifetime where I have settled for something "not miserable" instead of insisting on something truly worthy of my attention. And, consequently, this settling has led over and over again to the painful bleeding of both my joy and my potential. Not that journaling can fix that. But it will help. If for no other reason than to keep me from avoiding the fears that keep me in my self-imposed prison. 

The shift from blessing to curse in our routines, beliefs and actions is so incredibly subtle that we don't see it happening, usually until we've been disenchanted for some time. Sometimes needed change is forced upon us and sometimes we have to impose it upon ourselves. Either way the best way to handle it is to move forward with as much grace as possible, knowing we'll eventually land someplace better.

5/30/16—Starting the Long Goodbye

I've never had a child. I have no doubt raising children is a hell of a lot harder than raising dogs—with one exception.

Every (good) dog parent knows from the time of adoption that we will have to make a decision that leads to the dog's death. We'll have to hold them as they die. And, unlike parents of human children, we pray that our fur children will die as teenagers, and long before we do. It is our final act in the promise of "forever" that we made to them as pups.

It is the HARDEST thing about having a pet. While I understand it's counterproductive, I start worrying about that day years before it comes.

Many years back, a neighbor dog had gotten old. She had good days and bad, but the bad days were getting more numerous. Everything was an effort for her. Everything was pain, managed by injections and pills. The parents had set many dates for euthanasia, but when the day came, the dog would have a good day. So they just rode that roller coaster, not knowing what to do....afraid of what they knew must be done. 

One day the parents came over to get me because the dog was really bad and they didn't know what to do. I know it sounds weird, but dogs do communicate. And this dog was loud and clear. She was writhing in pain and begging to die. I told them to call the vet immediately and put her out of her pain. She died naturally while waiting for the vet to arrive.

After that experience, I did a lot of soul searching. And I decided I would never keep an elderly or terminally ill dog alive because I couldn't bear to put her down. I decided that I would I never give an elderly dog cancer or liver treatments to buy them six months of life, because what is the quality of that life when they're on chemo or dialysis? I know dogs have different pain tolerances than humans, but I know when I'm in pain, it's hard to think of anything else, even if I'm on medication. That isn't quality of life. Not being able to enjoy the things you love is not quality of life. "Hanging in there" is not quality of life.

I have only had to put one dog down so far. I was blessed with an easy decision. Passion was a large dog and 10 years old. I swear she had been asking to die for a year. But since she seemed perfectly normal, I told her she was silly. And she WAS perfectly fine....she ate, did her walkies, played with Kizzie. And then one day she collapsed and I took her to the vet. They told me she likely had cancer and might not live through the night. So it was a simple decision. We went home, held each other all night long. Talked and laughed and shared memories. I apologized for not listening to her sooner. And the next morning I brought her to the vet.

Now, the same thing that happened with the neighbor dog happened to Passion. After suffering all night long, she was her old self that next morning. This is a phenomenon called "brightening" or a "last hurrah"...the dog (or human) perks up right before they die. The neighbor dog had brightened and dipped repeatedly over months. Each time they got to keep her a little longer. But who was she staying alive for?

I contend that dogs have a completely different relationship with death than we do. They don't fear death. They do know they're diminishing. And they're ready to go long before we're ready to let go. Of course, we really don't know for sure how a dog's mind works, but based on the speed and capacity at which they're able to forgive, forget and live in the moment, it's clear their minds work differently than humans, much as we tend to humanize everything they do.

So I decided I would gauge my dogs' behavior and physical comfort. And I would not let them suffer either mentally or physically just because I wanted another day, month or however long with them. In fact, I feel the same way about humans. When the inevitable is clear, what is the point of suffering to make everyone else happy? If you've ever watched someone die slowly from cancer, you know that staying alive just prolongs everyone's suffering. We have no other option for humans. But we do for dogs.

The reason I'm writing all of this is because last Tuesday I woke up to a Kizzie in severe pain. Kizzie is 12. And he's a big boy. His beautiful mane is graying. Readers of this blog know him as my sunset-watching companion, the boy who became a leader at mommy's request, the boy who gets toys brought to him from the other side and, one of my most popular posts of all time, the boy from the post about vibrations in the universe. 

Kizzie is the kindest, most gentle boy I know. I call him "mommy's clown faced boy" because he is always smiling. He's maybe the only man I've ever loved fully, walls down and heart wide open. And there he was head-down-tail-down-unable-to-settle-panting-staring-into-space in pain. The vet had a few ideas about what was wrong. All of them pointed to realizing Kizzie's forever is coming. 

Kizzie is fine today. His issue was a best-case scenario...he had a ruptured disc. Not the bloat I thought he might have when I brought him in. And not the spinal tumor that the vet said could be the issue, though he has lost a decent amount of weight, so who knows what's lurking? So, for today, we have tomorrow. But since I won't let an elderly dog suffer, I do have to start thinking about this. I mean, actually I started thinking about this a few years ago, which is what prompted our nightly sunsets on the front stoop. We may still have tomorrow, but I can't fool myself that we have years.

I'm a total wussie when it comes to this stuff. That's why I have multiple dogs in the first place. At the age of five, I started worrying about the day I would have to say goodbye to Passion. So I got Kizzie. And when Passion died I got Magick. I'm not proud of admitting it, but one of the reasons I have three dogs is because I need someone to hold if one of them dies. As a card-carrying loner and hermit, I wouldn't be able to live any other way.

All that said, Passion's death was actually kind of a beautiful thing. We got to say goodbye and chat all night. And I held her in my arms and sang her her theme song as she was drifting away. And just when I was ready to get up and leave, a final puff of air left her, as if her soul were waiting for me to finish saying goodbye. I felt honored to have been there every step of the way in her life. Which doesn't mean it wasn't gut-wrenching to say goodbye to my girl. But it is the price we agreed to when I first met her. She more than held up her end of the bargain. I had to hold up mine.

It's easy to forget the dues we have to pay as dog parents. We may even think our dues are going for walks, picking up poo and working with our dog to sit, stay and heel. But the real work—the work nobody wants to do—comes at the end of the job.  It is both a privilege and the most heartbreaking job we'll ever do.

5/23/16—Loving Unconditionally

Most of the really good stuff I know, I learned from a dog. 

Although there have been countless lessons and observations over the years, the first really big lesson came when my first dog, Passion, was a puppy. She had done something "bad"—I can't remember what—and I yelled at her. I was really mad. And at some point during my rant, I saw her looking up at me with her puppy eyes and she was shaking, trembling with fear. 

That one moment changed me in so many ways. Seventeen years later and I still remember exactly how she looked and how ashamed I felt. To begin with, it held a mirror to my anger and the way I express it. Is this really who I wanted to be? Is this the mother I wanted to be? Second, I had enough empathy in the moment to see her situation—a helpless little girl with everything on the line, trying to be good. Did I have a right to make her feel unsafe? Aren't I supposed to protect her from people like me?

Third, and most importantly, it left me with a critical decision to make. See, up until that point, my love was conditional. I treated her with love when she was good and when she was bad, I wasn't terribly loving. This caused a roller coaster of emotions for both of us. I wasn't sure I could handle a strong-willed, very alpha dog and so she couldn't feel safe I was her forever mommy. 

One look from that little girl and I was brought face-to-face with my inadequacy, my anger, my effect on others and my screwed up way of loving. It was excruciating. To this day, I don't think there's ever been a single more devastating moment in my life. Nor has there been one with more of an opportunity for healing. 

In that moment, I had a revelation—either I was going to learn to love her unconditionally, or I was going to continue on the same path I was on and end up hating myself more than I already did. I chose to start learning to love her unconditionally. And that's when a miracle occurred. 

Once I realized I was going to love her no matter what, I stopped getting so angry at her "imperfect puppy self" all the time! I mean, what was the point of sweating the small stuff if the result is always going to be loving her? What was the point if I was always going to hold her afterward and hope for her forgiveness? I may as well just skip all the drama and stress on both our parts and go straight to loving her and respecting her sensitivities and emotions, even when I'm mad at her.

Of course, my dogs still piss me off from time to time. The people you love unconditionally are going to trigger you, too. But I handle situations differently now. And time after time when adjusting to a new dog, I come to a place where I stop trying to mold them into some perfectly behaved automaton and just accept them as they are. And every. single. time. things get so much easier from that point forward. The more I resist just loving them, the more stress and frustration I have. The more I surrender to them, the more love and joy I receive. 

This has translated perfectly to human-to-human relationships I've had over the years. If you have a family member that drives you crazy, for example, you can change a lot in regard to that without changing them. Just surrender to the fact that, regardless of their bad behavior, the end result is always going to be the same. You're going to end up loving them, even when you're hating them, because you have no choice. Or you can cut them out of your life, too. Both are paths of least resistance and both are legitimate choices, depending on the situation. But sitting on the fence just causes repeated pain.

Before my experience with Passion, I applied that model to my father without even thinking about it too deeply. And the minute I decided to love him, even if he was never going to be the father I wanted him to be, I started enjoying our relationship more. And thank god, because he died soon after, so I didn't have to deal with him leaving while there was resentment in my heart. 

A lot of the pain we have in relationships happens upon the fulcrum of "should I stay or should I go?" Maybe it's not in quite the same words, but that's what it boils down to. Once you commit to a certain direction, that pain largely disappears. However if you find yourself asking "should I stay or go?" over and over again in the course of a relationship, it's because you either made the wrong choice, or you never fully committed to the choice you did make. 

Not long after that decision with Passion, I was faced with another choice regarding her. She had hip dysplasia and, due to the condition of her hips, her young age, the size she would grow to (100lbs) and the cost of care, I was advised to put her to sleep. So my "unconditional" decision was tested and I chose to get the operation. That pretty much sealed the deal for us as mother, puppy girl and the bestest of friends. After that, I never looked back. 

So your "conditions" might be tested in your unconditional relationships. But if you're in a never-ending cycle of "I can't take this anymore" after making your decision, you need to really search whether or not you made the right choice or if you are fully committed. Because resistance is what causes the struggle and pain in pretty much every big life decision. You're either resisting giving yourself over fully, come hell or high water. Or you're resisting change. Both are scary things, which is why we resist.

I've struggled with whether or not to surrender unconditionally to each of my dogs, all of my siblings and both of my parents at one time or another. In the moment of anger and frustration, we truly believe we can cut them off. And, for some, that might be the right decision. But most of us can't and shouldn't. The death of my brother, especially, taught me that, when someone you "claim" you don't like dies or is faced with death, everything changes. Years of anger, pain and frustration melted away the second I heard "I've got lung cancer." In that moment, I finally saw that all the posturing and "he said, she said" meant little when the guy I knew and shared a life with from infancy is dying in a horrible, premature and heartbreaking way.

Unconditional love is a lot like forgiveness in that it's not something you do for the other person as much as something you do for yourself. The other person doesn't even have to know you're doing it, though they'll know from the way your energy changes around them. Both also involve letting go, albeit in different ways. And also, like forgiveness, unconditional love doesn't mean you have to be their buddy or look for ways to spend time with them. Some of the people you agree to love unconditionally (or forgive) are toxic. Loving them regardless doesn't mean they stop being toxic, it just means that you're going to love them anyway, preferably from a distance. :D

Being human is hard. We're expected to open our hearts and to love people—and even pets—who will inevitably cause us pain, disappointment, sorrow and even heartbreak. Even the best of them will do that to us at some point. Unconditional love is a brave thing. And once you can do it for family and pets, you can open wider and start learning to extend it out to others, like friends, strangers and the all of humanity. And each time you manage to do it, the less pain you'll experience, the more love you'll net and the closer you'll come to aligning with that big unconditional lover in the sky.

5/16/16—Surviving Ourselves

ANNOUNCEMENT: For blog readers who may be interested in getting a free, self-serve intuitive reading, I am now posting Weekend Readings each Friday night on my Facebook Author Page: Tierney Sadler, Deck of 1000 Spreads.

 It seems like there's a disdain for television in society. A snobbery, of sorts. "Read something instead of watching TV. You're rotting your brain." 

Well, I watch TV. And, as it turns out, it hasn't rotted my brain. In fact, it conjures all sorts of deep and intelligent thoughts for me. I was raised on TV. I have a degree in broadcasting. And I have written for TV and video throughout my career. In contrast, I don't really read. Maybe a book a year. And yet I'm a pretty accomplished writer with a darned good vocabulary and a brain that doesn't smell like dead fish. So TV has served me well. 

What conjures even more disdain, however, is the kind of TV I like. Sure I like the comedies and dramas, but I have been a fan of unscripted shows—reality shows—since Big Brother and Survivor pioneered the category in 2000. And while some may turn their noses up at that, it's what sparks some of my deepest thoughts. At some point, people forget the camera is there and you see the ways they operate and what they're like under pressure. And you take that in and think of it in terms of yourself.

Over the weekend I binge watched the first season of Alone. This is a show where they abandon 10 different people on 10 different, densely forested parts of Vancouver Island in the Pacific NW. And the last one standing wins. The weather is wet, freezing and unforgiving. There is zero human interaction. They are alone for as long as they can survive. They do all the filming themselves. They only get to bring 10 survival items with them. And when they've had enough, they have a satellite phone that brings in the rescue crews.

The first ones "tap out" (quit) in the first day or two out of fear of the bears, wolves and cougars that dominate the terrain. By the end of the first week, half have tapped out. And that's when it starts to get interesting. Because once you have shelter and a way of getting food, the days get longer and thoughts begin to turn to yourself. As the winner said, "your biggest challenge isn't the bears and cougars, it's dealing with the predator inside you." And, ultimately, that aspect alone took a couple of men out. But the ones who were able to live through their fears and thoughts were fascinating.

One guy's insights were particularly thought-provoking. Lucas was, arguably, the person best equipped to be there. I say arguably only because he didn't win. But by Day 14 this MacGyver of the bush had built a beautiful canoe from tree limbs and tarp. The canoe provided him access to an unending supply of clams, as well as better places to fish and a better camp. By Day 33, he had built a proper yurt. No kidding. Two days later, he made himself a little guitar, was composing songs and thinking of building a sauna...haha. This man lived like a king relative to all the others. Nothing stood in the way of him surviving the brutal winter there. But within a few days of making that guitar, he was gone.

He left because he got clear about himself. After the first month (only 4 lasted more than two weeks) all the remaining men began to thoroughly examine who they were, the stuff they take for granted in their lives and why they were even doing this in the first place. All (except the winner) ultimately left because they came to the realization that they were there for their egos...to win for their egos. And they no longer needed that. They had endured so much. Accomplished so much. Proven so much to themselves. They had been stripped raw enough to see there were things far bigger than winning. They no longer needed to win. Lucas ultimately decided to leave because he finally felt at peace with himself and no longer had a reason to stay.

Another interesting guy was Sam, the last one to quit...the guy who got second place. I was sure this 22-year old expectant father wouldn't last long. He was too flip, baby-faced and devil-may-care to take this seriously. He was awful at getting food. His shelter was pretty pathetic compared to the rest of the guys. Moreover, it had a flapping tarp, which was a mortal sin in my family growing up. :D But the thing that got him to Day 55 was the very attitude I thought would take him down. 

Mental fortitude, stubbornness, a sense of humor and the ability to face his own demons is what got Sam—and Alan, the winner—to the end. In fact, when they came in a day later to extract Alan (a very skilled and deserving 40-year-old survivalist) and tell him he'd won, he was genuinely shocked and said, "So soon?" He looked over at his shelter like he wasn't ready to leave. He was mentally and emotionally prepared to stay a full year.

So, what all of this is getting to is that the path of discovery that you and I are on isn't for pussies. Once you have food, shelter, water and fire, survival is a mental game you've been preparing for throughout your own spiritual journey. Cougars and black bears aren't what frightens people most. Being alone with oneself and an inability to transcend one's own fears is what makes bad asses crumble. These guys weren't ordinary dudes who got drunk one night and thought it would be fun to go to the woods. They were all experienced at this sort of thing. But only the final few had the ability to search within and come out alive. 

When Alan was leaving camp after he won, he said the experience was "probably the most free a person can get in their life. It's just you, the creator and creation." And that's what this journey does for us. It's what meditating in nature does for me. I know the more I let go of my own fears and work on coming to peace with myself, the more free I feel. We don't realize the weight of the burdens we carry (and impose upon ourselves) until we put them down and walk a few steps without them.

I know for myself that, as introspective and searching as I am, I'm also a big avoider. I'll find any distraction to keep me from looking too deeply within sometimes. Things like writing this blog help me get in my quota, but I do avoid. Lucas talked a lot about that. "I can't stuff it away anymore. Not with food, a relationship, work, social interaction, computers..." When we're alone with our thoughts and no distractions, our truth bubbles to the surface. It's terrifying, freeing, painful and triumphant.

The insights gleaned while watching this show, from cool survival tips and wisdom about working with nature to personal revelations that hold a mirror to our own motivations and fears, are priceless and provide countless cues for introspection. Rumor has it there are books that do all of that just as well as reality TV does. ;) And both can also be used as an escape from searching within, too.

As someone who frequently felt lonely and alone growing up, I've often thought the challenge of the self would be one I would ace. But I think we overestimate the value of our loved ones. I need my dogs. I need my friends and family. I need to interact with others. Granted, I need it less than most people, but I still need it. And that was a big part of what swirled in the minds of these men. "Why am I here when everything that matters is at home?" We can have food, shelter, water, fire and all the coping skills known to man, but humans have a kryptonite that we often take for granted. We need each other.

Alone Season 2 is currently airing on the History Channel and this year the contestants included three women, one of which is still competing. You can watch it online. 

5/9/16—Seeking Passion

In my mid-20s, I was searching for something meaningful. A solitary pursuit. Something I could  turn to when all the rest of my life was going to crap. Something that would give my life purpose. 

Turns out I found what I was looking for in a gift shop. 

It was a key chain, a narrow pewter rectangle with the word "passion" stamped into it in italic letters. And it hit me—I needed more passion in my life! So I bought the key chain, thinking that if I saw the word every day, it would remind me to have things to be passionate about in my life.

I've always been a person of shifting passions. At one point, it bothered me that I would be  passionate about acting, for example. Then I would just drop it like a hot potato, with nary a wistful thought. Sewing was one of those things. Singing. Stained glass. Jewelry making. One by one, these hobbies and passions would march through my life in a never-ending conga line. I was concerned about my ability to just "fall out of love" so quickly. But then I realized that, while one part of me loves predictability and routine, another part of me needs to keep things fresh, even within routine. So I finally gave myself permission to pursue whatever the heck I felt like for as long as it humored me, without guilt.

But my mid-20s were marked by many things that demanded my attention. My father's murder and all the drama associated with that was big. But there were also job changes, living alone for the first time, navigating the life of a young professional, trying to build a career, keeping to a budget, socializing with friends—lots of challenges and distractions. So I wasn't doing much of anything to feed my passions. That's why the key chain was so important. In fact, passion quickly became my favorite word. In some ways, it might have even saved my life.

It seems a lot of people think we have only one passion to find and pursue in our lifetimes. They think that about soul mates, too. The truth is you have a lot of each. And one may be your one and only for a protracted amount of time or you may just opt for a variety pack. Over the years I've had countless passions, but only two have lasted my entire life thus far—writing and dogs. 

The exceptional Passion the Dog.

When I was finally in a position to own a dog of my own, I named her Passion. People thought it was a weird name, but she liked it and grew into it. Whether it was guarding her mommy or napping, whatever she did, she committed to it 100%. She, too, was a constant reminder for me.

What it all comes down to is that the key chain came along at a time when the challenges of life made me forget what makes me feel alive. I'm pretty much a homebody and I like it that way. And as a homebody that also works at home...haha...you'll go crazy without something exciting to look forward to. 

While I'm a writer for a living and while writing is one of my passions, as a professional I have to work on a sort of "catch and release" basis. I give birth to my writing and then I have to let it go, knowing others will put their paws all over it and who knows what will become of it. You can't have your career be your only passion, because something will inevitably compromise it. I can't just write what I want for work. I have to match a certain tone and set of criteria. No matter what you do, if it's monetized, there is a client you're working to please. So I need something else—a creative outlet that is just for me, one nobody else has input into.

Over the years, the stamping on the letters on the key chain faded as it wore slowly with age. But each time I would see it, it would make me think about what I was doing to keep passion going. I can't remember when I saw it last. Life got away from me again and my focus shifted to my health and just getting through the days for a few years. 

Somewhere along the line, I lost both my key chain fob and my passion. Because I carry around something more akin to a 40-lb key community than a key chain, it could have been missing a couple of months or a couple of years. :D Losing the key chain after 25+ years, however, did the same thing as finding it did half a lifetime ago—it reminded me that I had stopped paying attention to that part of my life and I needed something for myself again...something nobody else gets an opinion on or a say in. 

If it hasn't happened already, somebody somewhere is going to find my passion key fob. It's pewter, so it's not decomposing anytime soon, though one day the letters will be impossible to read. But for now, it's out there somewhere, looking to shine its magic on someone else. Only the truly passionless could find something like that and not have the word turn over and over in their mind. I just hope it serves them as well as it has served me.

 

5/2/16—Failing Brilliantly

I was recently talking to one of my many gifted friends and she has been hesitating on really dialing up the heat beneath a career transition she's been kinda making for years. She's done the hard part. She quit her job years ago. But the pursuit of her new career and her passion has been slow. 

Sounds a lot like me, actually. :D

So she says to me, "what if I screw up? What if I fail?" My reply was that screw ups and even failures are guaranteed. In fact, you WANT failure to happen to because failure is what gives shape to your successes. 

I've had the privilege to do something I love for 30 years. All but 10 of those years, I've been self employed. I think there's a fallacy out there that if you do what you love, the course will be smooth. You'll intuitively know what to do. You won't meet up against resistance. All the pieces will fall into place. You just have to get over your initial fears and leap. 

I don't know who feeds people that BS, but that's exactly what it is. 

Building a business is building a business and building a practice is building a practice, whether you love what you do, are just doing it because you believe it will be lucrative or are doing it because it's the only thing you feel you good enough at to do. Failure, embarrassments, screw ups and clients that run amok are how you feel your way to what is right for you and your business. Bad decisions and nightmare projects help you define your target clientele. Doing a bunch of stuff that just. doesn't. work. is how you stumble upon the things that do. 

You could read all the books in the world about how to build, grow and run a business properly and you'll still make mistakes. You could be a successful entrepreneur and still eff up. In fact, experienced entrepreneurs don't even use the word failure. Instead, they call it experience. Or lessons. And if you want to do anything bad enough, you're going to have rack up some experience and education. 

What I know from my own experience is that I have undersold myself and oversold myself. I have failed to say the right thing and failed to say anything at all. I have ignored my inner voice and silenced my best judgment. I have disappointed others and disappointed myself. I have stood up for work that ultimately failed and failed to see the merit of work that ultimately succeeded. And because of that, I learned how to sell myself better (though this continues to be a weak spot for me,) share more professionally, follow my inner voice, have fewer disappointments and choose my battles more wisely. All of that came from failure. 

And you know what? After 20 years I STILL make mistakes, still make "the same mistakes" and still can't claim to do it right. But I'm mostly successful. There are some things I did right the first time...some lessons I never had to learn. And, even after all these years, there are some things I'm still learning. 

So that's what I mean about failure playing an integral role in shaping your successes and steering you toward the work that is right for you—and this is true whether we're talking about your career, your spiritual journey, relationships or anything else. Successful people don't get that way through success-only journeys. Their success comes more from how they see failure—as experience or education—and how they respond to it—by taking the information in without losing momentum. 

In a way, you're going to WANT to screw up and fail because, with each little kick in the groin, you get closer and closer to that vision you have in your head of being that highly qualified professional who effortlessly handles any contingency. Plus, you may need to fail in order to hear the calling of something slightly different that is even MORE perfect for you. Personally, I'd rather be wrong and find my bliss than white knuckle my way to something I'm convinced will make me happy, only to find out it doesn't. 

And here's another bit of good news about failure. It comes in many flavors and degrees. But there's only one way to completely and bitterly fail at the pursuit of anything you want badly—never do anything about it in the first place. Everything else qualifies as education or dues. So if you've already started in, whether you've just begun researching your new endeavor or have fully hung your shingle, there's really no way you can fail. All you can do is learn.  

Today's post was revised and updated from one I wrote two years ago.