The Compassionate Camera

by Emma Laurence

When Minnesota went into lockdown, my husband joked that self-quarantine and living in our small town was redundant.  For those of us who work at home, this wasn’t too much of a change.  We have an established routine.  We’re used to less outer stimulation.  We’re more familiar with quiet than most.

But for many, the disconnect from work and social environments can be particularly disconcerting.  Especially those living alone.  After all, isolation is used as a means of punishment in such practices as solitary confinement.  Or, if you truly want to hurt someone, ignore him.

What is it that makes isolation so distressing?  And how can we come to terms with—even gain from—a situationally imposed silence? 

I would offer, keep compassionate company with ourselves.

How does this work?

Silence requires that we face ourselves.  There’s nowhere to hide, no distractions to prevent our attention from going down the self-judgment swirly bowl.  We may have a habit of shaming ourselves for every perceived mistake, inventing ridiculous expectations, believing our lives are unimpactful to the world at large, and tipping the scales towards the ugly.

Keeping compassionate company with ourselves means that we’re willing to embrace all parts, those we label “good” and “bad.”   Acceptance is a key ingredient in unconditional love—a skill we can master given the opportunity. In granting ourselves an abundance of kindness, forgiveness and understanding during tough times, we practice this skill.

In stillness and silence we can also discover our higher nature, which could never be labeled as “good” or a “bad.”  After all, how can we judge a being of pure light?

From even as far back as Jesus’s time, the message love your neighbor as yourself implies that humans need to learn to love—first ourselves, then others.  For years I wondered, who was loving whom?  Am I split in two?

Sort of.  I found that my higher nature, Soul, functions more like a compassionate camera, watching dispassionately the choices my human self makes in life.  This viewpoint is the source from which I can give higher love to myself and others. 

Stillness provides keen training in Soul skills such as honing intuition, exploring and decoding dreams, and experiencing the eternal connection with loved ones at a distance.  From this place, I’m an eagle flying free over a rich mountain landscape, fulfilled in simply being alive. 

The pain that comes in waves, threatening to pull my human mind and emotions under, can be calmed by the sound of my own voice, like a lullaby.  In essence, I “sing” to the part of me that needs healing or company.

During world crises, I feel the weight of struggling masses and an almost desperate desire to serve.  Silence has shown me that, when I can’t be on the front lines physically, I can hold others in the most loving space, in a heart that’s as empty as it is full.

Photo by Ani Kolleshi on Unsplash

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Wake Up Your Wisdom

by Emma Laurence

During challenging times, we often learn most about ourselves and our world.  If we anchor that learning, the wisdom gained lasts forever.

I started a journal last year called “perceptions on the edge of consciousness.”  I did so because I noticed some of the most important learning in my life was just barely registering in my conscious awareness.  If I could catch these subtle messages, these wisps of wisdom, and anchor them, I’d be integrating more of Life’s great teachings.

Concurrent with awakening and reeling in this inner wisdom came another realization. The most uplifting moments in my outer daily life could also pass by, barely noticed. 

As an example, my husband and I took a walk in our neighborhood this week.  We met a mom with her two young children on bikes with training wheels. We were drawn to them by their beautiful, rust-colored Cavapoo.  The dog was a magnet.  The family agreed that “Leo” was well loved.  Mom was shining with happiness, clearly relishing her parental role.

That evening, as I acknowledged the day’s gift moments, this meeting in the park landed at the top of the list.  Petting the beautiful dog and conversing with a loving family fed my heart.

My mind could easily have forgotten the brief encounter, or judged it as insignificant in the overall scheme of things.  Especially so if I had a list of tasks to accomplish that appeared to be the most important focus of the day.  It would be so easy to pass by. 

I track gift moments because they feed my spirit.  They show me how Life is coaching, guiding and supporting me.  They teach me that my path crosses with others not in a random and chaotic manner, but in a pattern that supports my service.  Maybe this occurs because I put service and love as my first priority (and I’ve learned to include caring for myself as service).  Or maybe, it’s happening to us all, if we awaken to the possibility.

We’ve all unearthed profound life lessons from difficult times. Wisdom is born of experience.  If we anchor that wisdom by consciously recognizing the moments that would otherwise be tossed aside, by bringing what’s just at the brink of our awareness into the human world, could we enter a state in which goodness becomes perpetually visible?  I’m beginning to see this possibility.

This is not a Pollyanna approach or rose-colored glasses denial.  This is waking up to inner wisdom and outer gifts amidst the full array of life experiences.  It’s a way to keep the heart open and the spirit in flight—two keys to serving all Life with greater ease.

[I’m offering a free Wake Up Your Wisdom group coaching class on Saturday, March 28th for those who’d like to share what they’re learning from this challenging time. Contact me at [email protected] for an invitation.]

Photo by Tim Foster on Unsplash

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How Social Distancing Can Bring Us Closer

by Emma Laurence

This week, as I ventured out for essential errands, I noticed a phenomenon caused by social distancing.  People may be staying six feet away, but they’re looking me in the eyes. 

Have you noticed this, too?

I often hear within this mutual recognition of a smile or nod, I’m OK.  You OK? Good.  We’re both good. Sometimes the look says, This is wild, right?

The recognition of one another as alive and well is a welcome shift.  There’s a feeling that we’re all in this together, and we’ll get through this, even though it may get more challenging before it gets easier.

My husband and I chatted with a woman from North Dakota as she helped us custom order a gluten-free pizza at the deli.  She reminisced of the days when kids were simply thrown out the back door to go play in the dirt.  Now when her grandkids visit, they say to her, We know, Nana.  Where’s the basket… where they leave all electronic devices at the door.  They run out back to play beanbag toss, or do art projects and baking indoors.  By the time the visit is over, they don’t want to go home. 

Let the kids eat some dirt and worms, she added.  Then they’ll be healthy.

We haven’t had a crisis like this in nearly twenty years—the kind that touches the whole world and changes daily life.  Long lasting changes will come from this, too.  Perhaps more of our freedoms will be taken away in name of safety, security and health.  Maybe more of us will get involved with democracy rather than assuming the government will take care of us.  Or we may awaken to the reality that we’re all connected and begin to take more responsibility for ourselves, more stewardship of other life forms on the planet.  We’ll see.

But we do have an unprecedented opportunity to trade in entitlement for gratitude.  What a shift that would be in our country if gratitude took hold. 

A pandemic can help us be grateful for the time we do have in the company of family and friends, grateful for the hugs in greeting that we used to take for granted, grateful for any occasion to gather in one place at one time.  Meanwhile, there’s an opportunity to see one another in the virtual landscape.  It’s not the same, vibrationally speaking—anyone who has Skyped with a spouse overseas or a grandchild across the country knows that—but it is being together in time. 

We will each experience this period of history in our own way.  We have choice in how we respond.  We can be an uplifting presence no matter the circumstances, draw our loved ones closer in our hearts, and give more charity to all.

(Illustration: Ari Saperstein for LAist)

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This Gift Moment

by Emma Laurence

I stood casually in the lobby of my Temple chatting with friends before an evening event.

All of us had moved to Minneapolis within the last couple of years from various places on the American map.  One couple had relocated only last week.

How did we get to this moment? I wondered with awe, knowing each of us had a powerful story that brought us to the precise place of standing in that lobby. 

In fact, the chances that we’d all be in the same place at the same time were incalculable given the miracles that had to occur for the moment to exist.  These were major miracles like financial windfall, marital reinvention, a rare real estate opportunity. 

Some dreamed of this moment.  Some never saw it coming.

Earlier that day, my sister shared moments of grace and protection—being able to say goodbye to someone who’s in Hospice, being helped by cheerful doctors and nurses who tended an injury she’d sustained in the kitchen.

A friend texted to thank me for referring her to a health care practitioner and another friend saying she had a special experience to share when I had time. 

My husband and I considered an overseas adventure trip while, outside the front window, our next door neighbor walked her dog quickly in subzero temperatures.

This movement of people and places, beginnings and endings, all in motion as if part of one large dance fascinates me.

If we could see from above, what would the pattern look like? 

I believe it would be mind-blowing.

We make choices based on the intention we set for our lives.  And Life responds by bringing us people, pets, experiences and opportunities in alignment with that intention.

Our ability to perceive the gift of this moment is all we can truly lay claim to in this life.  The future doesn’t exist; the past is a whisper.  But the present breath is alive.  Are we?

The next time you’re casually standing with friends in a parking lot or strangers in a grocery store line, gathered with co-workers at a meeting or with family at a dinner table, you may want to take a moment to breathe in the gift.  This is Life. 

P.S.  As an aside, I was challenged to find a photo of people taken from above to accompany this blog.  Aerial shots of landscapes are plentiful, but not of people. 

What does that say about the viewpoint from which we see ourselves?  And what could we learn by getting above to look upon our lives below?

Photo by Fritz Olenberger

For the Love of Millennials

by Emma Laurence

I often find myself in the minority when singing the praises of the millennial generation.  At a holiday family gathering in December, I mentioned that I’d begun coaching millennials.  Our nephew moaned and our niece immediately piped in, On behalf of my generation, I apologize.

No, I said, I love millennials!  When they were in high school, I was teaching theater.  I found them to be creative, imaginative, hardworking and generous.  They had high expectations of themselves and of me, and they wanted to do things their way—a sentiment I can appreciate.

A year ago, an article appeared in BuzzFeed that exposed the struggles of a burnout generation.  It prompted a large scale awakening to naming and describing a quality of life issue for millennials.  Overwhelm and anxiety from specific-to-millennial causes revealed that, though many felt alone, they were not:

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/annehelenpetersen/millennials-burnout-generation-debt-work

What’s a 20 or 30-something to do? Small changes like getting regular bodywork or exercise, establishing a spiritual routine, or prioritizing tasks helped some.  But what about an underlying cause?  Change at a foundational level is only possible with clarity.

I began listening to podcast interviews, and inviting millennial co-workers, family and friends to share their stories of exhaustion, overwhelm, anxiety, disillusionment, authenticity or lack thereof.  I was looking for a root cause. 

I felt compassion for their place in the scheme of history while recognizing how “history doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes” (Mark Twain).  Varying states of distress sounded familiar though the particular flavor was new. 

Indeed, behind all the stories, I found a recurring truth.  Millennials have forgotten how powerful they are, powerful enough to create their world from the inside out.

So, I’m writing to ask, if you know a millennial who is struggling, please consider sharing this page: www.lifeiscoachingyou.com/millennials.

I know their strength, creativity, grit and brilliance, and I can help. Thank you.

Photo by Zachary Nelson on Unsplash

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The Real Power of Unsolicited Advice

by Emma Laurence

Have you ever doubted yourself based on someone else’s unsolicited advice? 

When I moved to Minneapolis, I considered getting a small dog for the first time in my life.  I’d always lived with cats.  But my heart—and even my husband—was open to the possibility. 

Since I’m a walker, I began interacting right away with neighborhood dogs out with their owners.  I got excited for the prospect of a new companion.

Then I happened to mention to a longtime acquaintance that I might get a small dog.  “Oh no!” he exclaimed, inches from my face. “You don’t want a dog in Minnesota!  You have to take them out in the freezing cold.  Minnesota is not a place to have a dog.  Believe me—get cats!” 

Wow.  The thing is, I thought I did want a dog.  Yet somehow his words stuck to me like Velcro.  I expect he was trying to be helpful, to spare me a negative experience. I responded differently. 

It actually took six months for me to see the ludicrousness of such a remark.  How could anyone know whether or not I want a dog? 

Now I had to address the anger and blame I felt, and forgive myself for allowing this strongly expressed opinion to influence me for so long.  But as I struggled to release this “helpful” advice, I rediscovered the truth.  

Yes, it’s a big step.  Yes, I’ll need to find a dog sitter on occasion.  Yes, it’s more responsibility—and yes, I’ll have to go out in the cold. 

But what about the love I’m missing?

Today I’m watching the blizzard outside, playing with the image of a small dog next to me on the couch.  I look out the window and think, I would go out there with my little friend.  I don’t mind the cold so much; I grew up in a similar climate.  I’m the rare one who prefers below zero temperatures to those in the 20’s—that clean, clear deep-cold air, the silence of frigid nights filled with stars.   

As long as I have a fireplace to return to, I’m good.

Many gifts appeared to outfit me for cold, including boots on sale proven effective to -25 degrees, handmade mittens from my surrogate mom, a second-hand Italian designer down coat (midi-length), and a fur hat brought back to me all the way from Russia.  I have silks and scarves, and I even got Christmas gifts of alpaca socks and a headscarf that covers my face. 

The comment tested my heart’s resolve.  As I re-explore canine companionship, I’m more aware of my commitment and more grateful for all gifts I’ve been given to prepare me for a new, exciting opportunity.

I may also be wiser the next time someone offers an opinion so emphatically.  I may keep silent about personal matters.  Or maybe I’ll catch myself giving unrequested advice—telling someone else what their reality is—and stop myself in time. 

In 2020, “Row the Boat”

by Emma Laurence

It’s the fourth quarter of the Outback Bowl and, at a game-defining moment, thousands of Minnesota fans are chanting, “row the boat” while pulling imaginary oars.  I reach for my phone as my baffled husband asks, what does ‘row the boat’ mean in football?

We did not expect the answer we found. 

Minnesota Coach P.J. Fleck lost his infant son to a heart condition in 2011.  In interviews, Fleck shares how holding his second son while he died changed everything—what he believed in, what he’d done to that point, and how he chooses to live going forward.   Row the boat represents his son’s life continuing through his own; it became a mantra meaning never give up. 

For Fleck, this metaphor has three parts—the oar, the boat, and the compass.

The oar is the energy we bring to life in every endeavor.

The boat represents sacrifice.  Coach Fleck asks, “What are you willing to give up for something you haven’t had?”

The compass is the direction in which we’re travelling and our all-important travelling companions.

What a cool way to look at a new year and new decade:  energy, sacrifice, direction.

Energy.  It’s interesting to note how many of us began to shift towards plant-based food sources recently.  Food as fuel, one friend said.  To balance mental and emotional energies, many people have gone on media fasts or become careful about the images they ingest, especially before bedtime.  Still others are recommitting to spiritual exercises as a source of sustainable energy—the kind that supports long-term health, clarity and happiness. 

What kind of energy sustains us?

Sacrifice.  A millennial friend once shared that when he makes a request of Life, he first considers what he’s willing to give in order to receive the gift. I’ve thought in terms of the work I’m willing to invest to earn my way, but this notion of sacrifice stretches and inspires me further. 

What are we willing to give up for something we haven’t had before?

Direction.  Envisioning the highest goals engages our creativity and heart. Then, we can listen to Life as it coaches us beyond our imaginings.  Trusting this life force opens an opportunity to actually reach the goals we’ve set.

How coachable are we?  And have we invited loving traveling companions to accompany us? 

Pivotal to my own success has been connecting with my inner coach, the wise voice within, the inspiration for all things great and small, the voice of unconditional acceptance and perpetual learning.

Coach Fleck helped set the direction for his team, then credited the players themselves as the number one reason for the season’s success.  The Minnesota Gophers haven’t had an 11-win run since 1904. 

Monitoring our energy sources, contemplating true sacrifice, and setting our own direction through inner guidance can give us the best opportunity to “row the boat” all the way to our end zone.

Our winning season is within reach in 2020, too.

Photo by Joakim Honkasalo on Unsplash

Have Yourself a Mister Rogers’ Christmas

by Emma Laurence

As my friend Larry drove back from a gig as Santa Claus, he called to ask if I’d seen A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood.  He found the film life changing, and it even prompted a refinement in his approach to small children when playing Santa.

Kindness, humility, grace—Mister Rogers set out not to be famous, but to be helpful.   He inspired us to activate our highest and best.  He once said that we have the opportunity to demean this life or to cherish it in creative, imaginative ways.   

Mister Rogers himself was bullied as a child.  Overweight and shy, he once shared at an interview that he used to cry to himself when he was alone.  And I would cry through my fingers and make up songs on the piano.  He learned to look deeper into everyone he met, to perceive what he called the “essential invisible.”   

Fred Rogers may have been colorblind, but he saw clearly into the hearts of children.  He found a way to be completely present to them through the camera lens.

So it probably won’t surprise you that Mister Rogers answered all his own fan mail. I can’t imagine how he found time to respond to the 50-100 letters he received daily.  An assistant on the show told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (2005) that no child ever received a form letter in response.  He never thought about throwing out a drawing or letter, she said.  They were sacred.

Even Koko the gorilla loved watching Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.  When she met him in person, she gave him a hug and took off his shoes. 

Fred Rogers’ lifetime achievement award speech at the 1997 Emmys includes an exercise he often asked people to join him in doing.  All of us have special ones who have loved us into being, he says.  He asks that we take ten seconds of silence to think of those people, those who wanted what was best for us in life.  [You may want to stop reading and try this.]  He then completes the circle of connection by sharing that, wherever that person may be now, how pleased they must be to know the difference you feel they’ve made.

Among those who loved Mister Rogers into being was his mother who knitted all his cardigans.  In an interview with American Archive Television, he told how his mom knitted sweaters for her loved ones every Christmas…until she died, those zippered sweaters I wear on the Neighborhood were all made by my mother.

Jeff Erlanger made a big difference in Mister Rogers’ life on the night he was inducted into the TV Hall of Fame.  Watch Fred bound onto the stage in delight at Jeff’s surprise appearance.  They hadn’t seen each other since Jeff came on the show as a 5-year-old:

If Mister Rogers has inspired you to be more grateful, patient or kind, to be a better Santa Claus or a better person, feel free to share below. 

Warm and Happy Holidays.

Image Owned By TV Week (Dec, 1977)

3 Tips for Holiday Healing

by Emma Laurence

The emotional challenges that we face at this time of year fill my heart with compassion.  May these healing tips inspire a new viewpoint, breakthrough, or hopeful spirit as you address your own.

TIP #1:  Clear away the FOG:  Fear, Obligation and Guilt.

Ever since I first heard of FOG, I’ve been more aware when that cloud enters my consciousness.  And I learn how to protect myself.

In Mary Carroll Moore’s book How to Master Change in Your Life, she cites an imaginative exercise called The Fear Room.  Here’s a brief version:

Picture looking into a dark room with fog so dense that you can’t see.  A truck arrives with workers who wheel a machine up to a hole in the outside wall, and they vacuum out the fog.  Now, as you enter the clean, clear space, air and light bound, as well as a pleasing sound and fragrance.  You can open five large window shades to flood the room with sunlight.

What remains when FOG is gone? 

For me, visualization often works miracles in shifting to playfulness, clarity and right action.  

TIP #2:  Missing someone is integrating their memory.

I first came across this intriguing idea in The Presence Process by Michael Brown. 

I observed what happened inside me when I missed someone, especially one who’d already passed on.  There was a physical tugging in my chest with an accompanying painful grief.  This could also be true with a person at a distance or a lost dream that never manifested.

I wondered, what would it be like to integrate a memory, person or dream into my heart fully?  Could I accept the gift—allowing its essence to become such a part of me that we would never be separate again? 

TIP #3:  Become entirely ready to let go of the past

Years ago, someone approached me at a spiritual seminar, shook me gently by the shoulders and said, “You have got to learn to let go!”

Ya think?  The comment felt supremely unhelpful because I already knew that about myself.  What I didn’t know was how to let go. 

Step 6 in any 12-step program addresses the concept of being entirely ready.  After admitting the nature of your wrongs and before humbly asking for your shortcomings to be removed, you prepare yourself for the detachment process.

This intermediate step of becoming entirely ready for anything enlightened me.  My question morphed into how do I prepare to let go?

When dealing with past trauma, I ask myself:  What would it feel like to be entirely ready to release the past for this present moment?

*     *     *

If you have other tips to share, please comment below.  We can all benefit by learning from one another’s experiences, and I welcome your wisdom in this holiday season.

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Unsplash

How to See in the Dark

by Emma Laurence

When you’re in a time of darkness and can’t clearly see the path ahead, how do you make your way? 

Many times in life, I’ve inched forward when I cannot see.  I followed the sound.  As an example, I saved myself during devastating teenage years by writing songs.  Later, I learned to chant sacred words that had the power to pierce the dark fabric of my thoughts, bringing peace and comfort.

What I try to do now is help others illuminate confusion, fear, doubt or lethargy, which means I have to keep learning how to do so myself.  Enter the owl.

Owls first appeared last summer when I moved to Minneapolis.  They perched on nearby treetops like dark sentinels, visible through the windows to our backyard.  Their cry pierced the darkness and, shrill as it was, I loved the sound.  Familiar.

But owls also see in the dark.  They have large eyes with far more rods than human eyes.  They have a tapetum lucidum, a layer of flattened cells covered with doubly refracting crystals.  This functions like a mirror behind the retina, reflecting light back through the photoreceptors. 

That’s like having a second chance to see.  

We humans typically call our second chance to see 20/20 hindsight.  Once time has passed, a challenging experience may be seen in a different light.

We may recognize spiritual tests for what they are—opportunities to know what we’re truly made of, to build strength and courage and compassion, to focus on appreciating the love that’s real here and now, moment by moment. 

But there’s another way to see that doesn’t require time, only practice.  That’s to gather all of our attention and focus it on the very best within and around us.  It may sound simplistic or mystical, but it actually brings light. 

And the quickest way I know to do that is to serve life. 

As we enter the holiday season, many join loved ones in laughter and thanksgiving.  Others experience deeper darkness and isolation.   

Do we want to be on the lookout for anyone—person or animal—who could use our help?  Or follow through on a nudge to reach out? What about quieting our own heart so that our presence is one of comfort and healing?

From an act of love, we may learn how to see in the dark.

A true heart blazes its own path.