And a Time to Every Purpose Under Heaven

This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

I have a new exercise routine--sort of. For the past week and a half, I get up, put on my walking shorts, kiss my honey good-bye and head out for a 40 minute jaunt. That part isn't new. What is new is that when I return from my morning constitutional, I've been digging a hole. I am sick of the hole, yet I can't seem to bring the task to completion.

I've been stalled of late. (If you are a faithful reader, you will know that as my presence from this blog has been conspicuously non-existent). It's not a crisis; it's just annoying as hell. In almost all areas of my life, I am simply spinning my wheels. My checkbook...stalled. My healthy eating plan....mired. My exercise plan (other than the one above, which I will get back to in this entry, I promise.)...floundering. The plethora of projects for my business...ground to a halt. It's not for lack of effort. Everyday I attempt each task, yet my progress is slow--virtually nonexistent to my impatient soul.

Even my vegetable and herb garden is sluggish this year. This is partly due to operator error. I am a city girl at heart so the mechanics of growing and harvesting sometimes elude me. The other part is that I've been too busy slogging my way through the quagmire that is my life, so most days, all the poor things get are a 5-minute squirt with the hose and a promise to fertilize, prune and tenderly care for "tomorrow". I don't think they believe me; my tomato plants stubbornly refuse to yield anything more than marble-sized fruit and my basil is being flat-out rebellious.

In a magnanimous gesture of horticultural goodwill, I deemed it necessary to transplant my cucumber plant from its too-small pot into a spot in the ground. I know, I know....you're not supposed to plant cucumbers in a pot--they need room to spread. Okay, so chalk that up to this summer's lesson. So, I started to dig--thinking this was at most a 10-minute task. Wrong! With the third thrust of my shovel, I hit rock. I tried again....and again. Hoping for a buried treasure chest, I began to excavate an unsightly clump of concrete, which Jeremy promptly identified as an old footing for a fence post. So much for treasure. Having been informed by a reliable (?) source that the offending obstruction would be no more than 12-18 inches deep, I began to excavate. It's become a 10-day project (and counting). It's also become a metaphor for my life of late. Every day, I go out and dig around a little more, using a shovel, a trowel, my hands and lately a crow bar. My back and knees can only handle about 30 minutes of it at a time, so I end up digging down only an inch or two every day. It's probably at 12-14 inches. Still, it does not budge. It leers up at me, reminding me of the resolute Moorish castles I saw in Spain. They may partially crumble and lean precariously, but those babies aren't going anywhere anytime soon!

It has become my nemesis and my obsession. Like the other areas of my life, it taunts me as I chip away, chip away, chip away with seemingly no result other than a sore back and bloddied knuckles. Yet I know logically that if I persevere, the darn thing has to have a bottom somewhere. (Although, my emotional side is convinced that I will see a citizen of China pop his head through this hole before I ever get to the base of the concrete!) I realize that with my hole, as well as everything in life, it's what you do today that gives tomorrow's results (or maybe next month's or next year's). It's hard. Sometimes your hands get bloodied, your patience gets tested, your heart gets broken, and things just take too darn long. But that's how it goes. As the song goes, there is a time to sow and a time to reap. A time to plug away and a time to rejoice in success. You can't have one without the other.

And so we dig....

I'll keep you posted!

Did you find everything YOU wanted today?

If I had no sense of humor, I would long ago have committed suicide.

Mohandas Gandhi

I just returned home from my first visit to the new Highlands Sunflower Market. They did not disappoint with their wide aisles, wholesome food, lower prices and courteous staff. I overheard one customer remark that it reminded him of "an old fashioned country store" and I agree--although I hadn't noticed that until he said it. It brings pleasure back to shopping and makes easier my resolve to shop locally (see my blog entry of 3/29/07). It's big enough to have an expansive variety, but small enough to feel inviting and to navigate in a reasonable amount of time.

Want to know the thing I liked most about this new natural food market? The pleasure, the absolute unadulterated delight of getting up to the register only to have the clerk smile and wish me a friendly hello. And that was it! No, "May I have your membership card?" (those foul things!), no calling the supervisor for an override and most important, he didn't ask me if I'd found "everything I was looking for today." Hallelujah! What is up with that remark anyway? Is there anyone in their right mind who would be so foolish at that point (and with 12 people waiting in line behind him or her) as to voice that they need yet another item or items? Whenever I am asked that question, I generally give a vague smile with a "Mmmmmm" and let it go at that. I refuse to answer such an inane question, although I have yet to have the guts to lambaste the asker (who has probably been so directed by the ever-present--except when you need that darned override--supervisor to pose such a ridiculous question).

But once...oh just once, when being asked, if I've found everything I wanted today, I'd love to pull out my incomplete shopping list, frown at it ever so slightly and then proclaim, "Actually, I still need two cans of Dinty Moore, some leeks, three-quarters of a pound of deli turkey (thin sliced--why don't you fetch me a sample while you're at it?) and do you stock organic cottage cheese (small curd only)?" And should the hapless clerk happen to be a male, I think it would be the nail in the coffin to add--preferably in a loud voice as he is walking away to gather the requested items--"Oh yes and some Panti-Liners--the ones with the wings!"


Ah.....but that would not be kind. Funny, perhaps, but not kind. And we must never tread on the feelings of others in the quest for a good chuckle. So I will do the bulk of my shopping at my new local market and for the times that I need to venture into that other world of "paper or plastic," I will just fantasize...and smile. I will, however, be so glad when that ubiquitous phrase goes into oblivion along with its predecessors, 'Would you like to Supersize?" "Wassup?" and "You go, Girl!"

You CAN get what you want...if you can figure out what it is!

Do you want to know who you are? Don't ask. Act! Action will delineate and define you.

Thomas Jefferson

More and more lately, I am becoming aware of so many things that I do just “because”. Because it’s expected, because it’s the way I’ve always done it, or because I’ve never stopped to think about it. It’s mind-boggling. I thought I hopped off the societal pressure bus around the time that I stopped going to confession, gave up trying to straighten my hair and realized that I would never be a Carol Brady mom. I never succumbed to college all-nighters, never acquired a taste for beer; and I don’t do the 9 to 5 thing. As Rudolph and his dentist-wannabe sidekick, Hermey, proclaimed, “I’m independent!”

Ha! With age comes self-awareness and the best I can say is that I’m working on it. Take dinnertime. When Jeremy and I first set up house together, I had cozy fantasies of sitting around the table eating gourmet dinners accompanied by good wine. I was sure that’s what I wanted. Working from home and with a love for cooking, as well as deriving immense pleasure from sharing the events of the day with the man I love—who wouldn’t relish that prospect? It lasted about a month before it was pointed out to me that more often than not the love of my life was coming home to a litany of complaints about how I can’t get it all done, how everyone wants a piece of me and there’s not enough hours in the day. And hey, by the way, I’m packing on the pounds and I’m getting sick of doing dishes at 8:00 p.m. so could you come home earlier please? Oh yeah—every man’s fantasy home life! In an “ah-ha” moment, I realized that I dislike stopping work every day at 4:00 to think about dinner, and actually prefer a large meal at midday with a snack in the evening. My supportive honey contained his exasperation and let me know that was just fine, so now we often share our day’s stories over bowls of corn flakes. It works for us, but what a gyration to get there!

Everyone loves the idea of a large cozy B&B, complete with meeting new friends, sipping wine around the fire with fellow travelers and joining them for a hearty, jovial breakfast before going off to the day’s activities. How romantic! I was a huge B&B proponent. Loved them! Stayed in them all the time! You know what? I was delusional. I am so not a B&B gal. I work with the public for a living. And yes, while I love chatting with my clients on a daily basis, when I go away, I want to get away; to spend time with Jeremy alone for the most part. I like fruit and cheese for breakfast, not eggs and something that once oinked and I’m more than a little uncomfortable sitting next to the couple that I overheard having an argument (or worse!) through the paper-thin walls the night before.

In the beginning of our relationship, I spent many a Sunday afternoon pedaling and panting up hills behind Jeremy struggling valiantly to keep up with him. Why? Because I’d told him in our original get-to-know you dates that I loved to bicycle. And I do…on my comfort bike around the neighborhoods of Denver. I forgot to specify that there is a quantum leap between that type of biking and donning form-fitting outfits that do not flatter and setting out for a 30 to 40 mile day-long trek. Oops! Silly me. No bother, thought I, I’ll get in shape and I will like it. I like spending time with him, I reasoned, so how hard can it be? I’m here to tell you, it can be very, very hard! I did come up with some very creative excuses along the way in order to avoid the dreaded bike-a-thon Sundays. I convinced myself I enjoyed them. And I did…when they were over. I finally admitted to myself and to him that this was not my cup of tea. I think Jeremy was relieved. Now we cruise the neighborhoods together and when he wants a more rigorous ride, he happily pedals off solo. When he comes home, I slap a bowl of cornflakes in front of him and it’s all good.

But the best one of all came this past weekend. We decided to celebrate Jeremy’s birthday with a long weekend of camping and boating on Lake Glendo in Wyoming. “But Mom,” Alyssa pointed out, “you hate camping!” I took issue with this—I do not hate camping. I simply had some negative camping experiences and some very poor camping partners in the past. I love camping! So, Jeremy began assembling the camping equipment three days before we left, while I was in charge of food. I planned the menus, shopped, dug out the coolers and arranged for all the spices, utensils and assorted gastronomic accouterments. A lot of work, thought I, but it’s okay, because I love camping!

We had to leave at 7:00 a.m. to beat the heat, but that’s okay, because I love camping, so it was worth it. We schlepped the bikes, the tent, the hiking gear, the propane stove and the charcoal grill so we’d have all the comforts of home. Arrived at Glendo in perfect time, found a delightful site with lots of shade and privacy and set up camp. Went down to the beach.. Ah! Idyllic. Then we returned from the beach and saw the sign that told us that we’d set up camp in a site marked “for day use only”. How we missed the sign I will never know (no wonder it was so private!), but it meant an additional two hours to tear down our temporary home, scout out another site and re-set up shop. Phew! Okay, no one to blame but ourselves. This new site was pretty buggy, but that was to be expected. We made a lovely dinner, brushing away the flies. We took a romantic walk on the beach and agreed this was paradise. We loved camping. Back at the site, we smeared mosquito repellent over the sunscreen and slid into our sleeping bag in the back of the van, propping the door open for some air. Did I mention it was pretty warm? Then the party began. A loud party. At the next campsite. By 11:15, I meandered over and asked the 30 or so fairly inebriated participants to keep it down and pleasantly reminded them of the 10:00 quiet time rule. They apologized sarcastically and I beat a hasty retreat. At 1:00, Jeremy bellowed a slightly less cordial request to lower the noise level, prompting a response not fit for a family newspaper. I think they stopped around 3:00 a.m.

We woke early, slapped on more layers of sunscreen and mosquito repellant. By now, we were just about slithering off the seats in the car, but we spent a lovely day on the lake—just the two of us. It was grand. We returned to the campsite in the late afternoon, praying the partiers would have left. No such luck. The bugs were relentless and the cottonwoods were shedding, adding a thick layer of fur to our lotion-covered skin. Note to readers: do not go camping unless you are very solid in your relationship because it’s not pretty!

I suspect both of us were putting forth a concerted effort not to complain. Finally, in a sheepish voice, Jeremy whispered, “You know, if we wanted, we could pack up tonight and go stay in the hotel up the road. It might be…..” I never heard the rest of his words, as I’d sprinted across the campsite and dismantled the tent by then. Taking this as acquiescence (he’s quick that way!), he pitched in and three hours later, we were showered and de-sunscreened, contently munching on Sara Lee pound cake and watching a Seinfeld rerun. If only we could camp, Jeremy reasoned and eliminate the dirt, heat, bugs, partiers and the schlepping, we’d have it made. I wholeheartedly agreed. Okay, we’re done with camping. We’re made for each other.

And so now I am liberated! I don’t even need a 12-step program. I admit to such untrendy things as taking baths instead of showers, liking to be asleep by 10 p.m., I’m not really a dog lover and I sometimes wear pants with an elastic waist. I’d rather have a plain cup of tea than a frappe-cappuccino-latte something or other. I think $10 a bottle wine can be quite good. And speaking of wine, most of the time, I’d rather have it at home on my cozy couch than in a crowded noisy bar—even if it is happy hour and the drinks are 2-for-1. I’d rather read a good book than watch reality T.V. And don’t even get me started on extended family gatherings. You really should try it—go ahead and redefine what you like to do--it’s like adolescence all over again, only without the acne.

in my Own Little Corner.....

Bush's war in Iraq has done untold damage to the United States. It has impaired our military power and undermined the morale of our armed forces. Our troops were trained to project overwhelming power. They were not trained for occupation duties.

George Soros

I am the farthest thing from a political activist. Now, my Jeremy—he gets into causes. He writes his Congressman, pens letters to the editor, even goes to the occasional rally. He gets involved. Sometimes when he gets going on something, I feel my eyes glaze over as I try valiantly to look interested. I can’t help it—I’m more of a “take care of my own self and what I’ve been given” kind of gal. Not that I am disconnected from the rest of the world, nor am I uncaring. I just feel that “out there” can be too overwhelming and there’s so little difference I can make. Some power (be it Mother Nature, the Universe, God or simply darn good fortune) has handed me my own little corner of the world to tend, so I do. I love my family and nurture my friendships; exercise my body and pay my bills, give my clients excellent service, ask for forgiveness when I make a mistake and plant flowers to beautify my yard in the summer. I wear sunscreen, floss, buy organic and shop locally. I avoid toxic people and situations so that I can keep an optimistic outlook, give to charity and encourage others—offering a hand and good thoughts if someone is struggling. I appreciate what I have, use my talents as best I can to benefit others and expand my mind to the best of my ability. I give discounts to servicemen and women and encourage everyone to follow their dreams and live with passion.. Everyone is always welcome at my table; I don’t litter this beautiful planet that I call home and on my best days, I even exfoliate and remember to call my mother.

I take care of my small piece of the world and figure if everyone else did the same, the world would be a lot better place. Come on—don’t you think we’d all be a whole lot better off if Osama bin Laden spent time planting a garden around the front entrance to his cave than in plotting to obliterate the Western World? And where would Ted Haggard be today if he had spent more time…say…..well doing almost anything other than telling people what they should and shouldn’t be doing behind closed doors and then being hypocritical about it? I mean, if you’re going to be homophobic, at least be genuine about it!

Funny thing about self-righteousness (mine, not Ted Haggard’s). Sometimes you’re applauding yourself for taking such darn good care of business and feeling like you’re truly contributing until someone or something hits you in between the eyes and you realize…well…maybe it isn’t so.

Have you seen the movie Ground Truth? If you want a good date movie or a chick flick, then pass. But if you want to open your eyes about the real situation in Iraq and you don’t mind feeling helpless and angry, then go for it. The film is a documentary about the men and women who have fought, lived and died while fighting “for our country” in Iraq. It details the human cost of this atrocity—not in the number of troops killed as we see on the nightly news, but the human toll it extracts. The 19 year olds enticed by a military recruiter who offer to pay full scholarship to college in return for a few weekends a year. Oh, the travel, the skills, opportunities galore! And don’t forget the maturation process! Deployed to a war zone?? Not likely! Sign the boy (or the girl) up!

Fast forward to the desert. Mama’s little boy is being brain-washed to kill. Last year’s high school graduate is reciting chants that extol the virtues of killing the “rag heads and the Hodgies.” You are hot, scared and exhausted. You want to go back home and see your girlfriend? Then you need to take this rifle and go out there and blast away. This is not an enemy you can easily spot. Sometimes it is disguised in the body of a grieving mother concealing a bomb or a brown-eyed child ready to hurl a grenade. As one soldier put it, “you don’t know where to focus your aggression.”

And the worst thing? You don’t know why you are here. Is this a war for oil or George’s personal vendetta? Is the freedom of Americans at stake? No one seems to think so. Is this all from 9/11? Ummm…dunno. Over and over in this film you see soldiers being interviewed--soldiers who will never be the same. Some have lost limbs, many are disfigured. Emotionally they are wrecked. Fathers of small children have seen Iraqi children slaughtered in the streets; small town regular guys are struggling to fit back into communities that try to be supportive but can’t fathom why giving a hero’s welcome only makes things worse. The bureaucratic red tape surrounding the process of getting help from the VA causes many of these soldiers to abandon hope—sometimes at the expense of their lives. And to a man, they couldn’t tell you why it was of benefit for them to have gone over there.

Think about the hardest thing you ever had to endure in your life. What was it--a divorce, the death of a loved one, a job termination, having to deliver devastating news? Perhaps you fought in Vietnam or you’ve struggled with addiction. Perhaps your greatest cross to bear has been being stuck in a dead-end job for a while, financial difficulties, or a crummy marriage. Whatever it was, think about what got you through it. Wasn’t it believing? Believing that things would get better, a belief that your suffering would serve some good in the long run; conviction that someone might be inspired by your strength, hope that at the very least, you’d learn and grow from this experience. In spite of the struggle, if you got quiet and thought about it, you could hopefully pull out some benefit or purpose for your difficulty. Everyone needs hope and a reason for being, especially when going through a difficult time. If not for the conviction that we serve a purpose, that we’re making a difference somewhere, somehow, then why bother?

That’s what is the most chilling about this film. Over and over they admit they don’t know what good they did; don’t understand why they as an individual or the United States as a country is over there. They did what they were told was their duty and they paid the ultimate price. But they don’t know why, or what good it did.

Today I heard that anti-war activist Cindy Sheehan has called it quits. She says,"Good-bye America ... you are not the country that I love and I finally realized no matter how much I sacrifice, I can't make you be that country unless you want it.” I think she just got tired. Tired of trying, tired of the obstacles; tired of feeling like she couldn’t effect change in spite of her monumental efforts. She says she wants to go back home and “be normal”. No one will fault her. She’s paid her dues.

As have our young men and women in Iraq, yet they can never go back to their version of “normal”. Maybe we need to think beyond our own little corner of the world. Maybe tending our own garden isn’t enough, after all. Perhaps our world is too complicated for such a naïve view. I still don’t know how to activate a change across the world. I’m terrified of the consequences if people like me don’t step up to the plate; yet I don’t know what to do. I went to the Ground Truth website (www.thegroundtruth.net ) so I could get and share some ideas with my readers. Do you know what they advise? Making a contribution to Operation Helmet. Apparently, this government of ours that pays $400 for a military toilet seat does not always provide our fighters (those would be the same kids who’ve given up their own lives to shoot and bomb people for no reason that is apparent to anyone) with padded helmets to protect them. Once again, I was appalled….and saddened…and very, very afraid…

…perhaps my corner of the world is bigger than I thought.

Itch This!

When the itch becomes annoying enough, you scratch it.

Robert Penn Warren

Okay--I admit it. I have a particular sensitivity to the "B" word. Well, let me clarify that; I actually like the "B" word as a verb or an adjective. For illustrative purposes, I will use it in some sentences; but being a PG-rated column even on my worst day (unless you count my occasional rants about the DMV), I will substitute another word that also serves well in both a noun, verb and adjective format. Oh...let's see...something suitable and not too far-fetched. Let's substitute the word "itchy". Yes, I'm sure it's close enough to drive the point home.

It is perfectly acceptable, you see, for you tell me I am "acting itchy" about something. As in, "being at the DMV makes Maureen itchy." Another great use? "That is an itchin' wedding ceremony, you just put together there, Maureen." (True--and a compliment to boot.) "Maureen gets itchy when people are chronically late, use bad grammar and are unkind to children." Yep--just roll me in the sumac and turn the mosquitoes loose--I own it!

You get my point. What I can't stand is the "B" word used as noun, as in "You are an itch!" At that point, the word is more than descriptive--it becomes a label--a categorization of who I am in the (deranged or at the very least highly uninformed!) mind of the speaker. An itch? I think not! Granted, that may be because my ex used that term as his favorite "pet name" for me at least once per week during the last two years we were together (but I'm not bitter.) More likely, it's because of its over-use--especially by men--to describe any chore, personality attribute or task that is unpleasant to them, or at which they have no aptitude. Hence, we hear, "You are an itch." when really what they mean is "you just made a valid point and I am intimidated by you and can't think of anything to say that is equally as clever, so I will throw out the "B" word in the hope that it will so inflame and insult you that you will rendered speechless." SCORE!!!!

Then there is the ever-ubiquitous, "What an itch!"generally said with an accompanying eye roll and exasperated sigh when the woman in question is not acting according to "good girl" standards of being seen and not heard, or (GASP!) daring to be assertive in the face of a controversial situation. While we forgive this betrayal of our own when it is perpetrated by pubescent females referring to mothers, teachers, and any other female authority figure over the age of 21, it is appalling to admit the number of adult members of my own gender who are also all-too-frequent utterers of this phrase. This occurs, most notably when the woman being referenced is one's mother-in-law, or perhaps towards a female who politely asks another to please refrain from talking loudly into her cell phone expounding on her latest blowup with the beau, or a stylist who gave one a bad haircut and refused to apologize!

Yet it was a most enlightened man (and for those of you who know me, no...it was NOT Jeremy; that is a word I rarely hear him use--whether it's because of his gentle nature or because I put the fear of God into him about that word on our first date, I will never know!) who told me the other day that the "bad part" about running my own business is that I have to "be the itch" and take care of the business end of things (i.e communicate the price for the service rendered, negotiate the terms of the contract and collect the funds).

Wow! I was pretty surprised. I'm one of those people who has the "fun" (at least I always thought it was fun) of being able to engage the imaginative and emotive aspects of my right brain (in performing ceremonies as well as bonding with couples) in harmony with the mathematical, logical and written word skills of my left brain. Naive me! I thought that was an asset that set me apart and made me unique. I pride myself on being able to market the business, pay the bills, and keep all the i's dotted and the t's crossed while getting to engage the creative and interpersonal aspects of my personality as well. I love all aspects of what I do and can't imagine that the touchy feely aspects of the wedding business are any more desirable or socially-acceptable than the more logical, detailed portions.

Have we made so little progress that savvy businesswomen tolerate (even expect) the label of the B word when they successfully harmonize right-brain functions with those of the left? Believe me when I told you that the person who spoke these words to me is truly an open-minded individual whom I greatly admire. This is not about him and I have no intention of shooting the messenger. He just happened to be the one who said it last. In fact, I didn't even pick up on the impact of the statement until much later. The fact that I was not immediately stunned is indicative of a societal pathos that perpetuates the "B-word" stereotype, when in reality a woman might be simply a fair, articulate, shrewd, savvy, big-picture oriented leader! I resolve to be careful to my own over-usage of that word--of which I admit guilt, both in describing myself (inappropriately and incorrectly, I might add) as well as other women (ditto). What was I thinking?

Granted, I might never desensitize myself to the B word as noun, but if the definition I outlined in the last paragraph is what it really means, then....welll...just call me itchy!

Joy to the World

As many people have had a low success rate in keeping the ten commandments, here is all you need to remember.

1. Do what is nourishing to your spirit.

2. Do not do what is loathsome to your spirit.

Alan Cohen

You know, it's funny how the Universe sends you the exact message you're supposed to receive at the exact moment(s) that you need to receive it. Also funny how different people need (and heed) different messages. My friend Corey, a personal and professional coach, keeps getting the message of "balance". It comes to her in everything she reads, the people she talks to and she hears it over and over when she meditates and is still. Now Dixie, on the other hand, has been hearing the message of "creativity" (amazing how succinct God can be, isn't it? The spirit within us is one of few, yet powerful words). If you read Dixie's blog (on this site), you will see the theme of creativity repeated over and over. it is her current calling.


The current message I have been receiving over and over the past few months is (again!) simply one word-- "joy". Of course this is the message I need to here. My wedding officiating business is in its 7th year and I still love what I do, love meeting fascinating new people and love helping them put together unique and creative ways to express their love on their big day. Yes, all of that is still there, but of late I confess to feeling a bit mechanical in the behind-the-scenes-process of bookings, contracts, billing and endless ceremony scripts to write.

While I can't envision myself doing anything else, it's clear that the Universe is telling me to infuse more joy into that which I am doing so that I avoid boredom and burnout. (I'm pretty sure no one wants a less-than-enthusiastic officiant at their wedding celebration!). Since my natural tendency is to focus on the nuts and bolts of marketing, outreach, accounting and generating creative ceremony ideas, this rather ambiguous focus on "joy" is a bit out of my comfort zone. At first a challenge, I do find that it's now becoming a fun game to figure out ways to infuse more joy into my day. This past Wednesday after performing the wedding for Jeff and Ashley at the Botanic Gardens I actually stayed to tour the gardens for an hour or two, then headed off with Jeremy to a scrumptious dinner at Thai Cafe in Edgewater. Ah yes! Joy at its best. I've also developed some new and creative ways to add more joy to the experience that my couple shave in working with me. More on that in future blog entries.

Think about it....what message is the Universe sending you? If you pay attention, you shouldn't have to look (or listen) very hard to find it. It may be as simple as one word! When you hear it, heed it, for it is more than likely the path of your greatest potential for the moment.

I wish you joy!!!!!!

Of Benefit

Do not try to dictate or force the avenue through which your paycheck comes. Spirit has ingenious ways to pay your due salary.

Alan Cohen

I was waiting for Jeremy at the Market Street Station bus terminal downtown last week and I had some time to people-watch while waiting for his bus from Boulder to arrive. Since it was a nice day, I plopped myself on a nearby bench and prepared to be entertained. The first thing that caught my eye was a large banner for a local company extolling the joys of working for them, proclaiming in large letters, "We have great benefits!"

As I sat pondering on exactly what that statement meant, I noticed the people hurrying to and from their various buses. All I can suppose is that no one I watched (and I saw many, many folks during my 20-minute rush hour sit) had the "benefit" of good benefits, for they certainly didn't seem very happy. Men trudged, women tottered on their office high heels, avoiding cobblestones, bricks and any miscellaneous crack in the sidewalk. Nobody smiled. Everyone looked kind of drained.

As I've matured (sounds better than "gotten older") I've learned that there are many different types of benefits and currencies. Some are more precious than others and their values change with time. Other than the obvious currency (money) and the typical benefits (health insurance, paid vacation) there are the currencies and benefits of my time, the people I love, my creativity, the people I hang with, my spirituality, my home, freedom and my peace of mind, among others. I've learned, for example, that no amount of money is worth giving up an hour with my granddaughter; no amount of paid vacation will compensate for doing a job about which I am not passionate; no business transaction worth the price if I am not the best fit for my client. No amount of joy can come from spending any part of my day around toxic people, or those who drain my energy, no matter what my hourly wage.

I looked up "benefit" in the dictionary and it was defined as "something that enhances someones well-being". Ah! Now THAT I can relate to. If I was to list my own personal "well-being enhancements"of living a fulfilled entrepreneurial life, it would look like this:

No set hours for "work," "home," leisure," "personal time". It all flows into one wonderfully holistic day of "me-ness".
No need to request a pay raise--ever!
Ability to choose my own daily peer group (employees call them "co-workers") thereby avoiding the need to associate with the office bore, the stinky excessive--perfume wearer, the irritating-laugh bozo in the next cubicle, the drama queen, the whiner, etc.
Pick whatever radio station I like--even if it's Donny and Marie crooning
No dress code
Commute of approximately 10 giant steps
I am never asked to compromise my integrity by a boss who puts company values over my personal ones
Well-stocked employee lunchroom
Private washroom--no need to bend down and look under stalls for feet before entering
Built-in soul rejuvenation breaks in the form of periodic calls and spontaneous daytime visits from spouse and children, walks around the neighborhood at one's own discretion, meetings with kindred entrepreneurial spirits, and periodic long soaks in the claw foot tub during business hours
License to pee while on the phone with a client (just remember to flush after I hang up)
The smell of bread baking in the kitchen (oops..."employee cafeteria") while working
An office painted light purple.....with a door...and walls...and a window
Never a need to call in sick or ask to leave early
Time off for happy hour
Never having to wait in line because I must save all my errands for the weekends
Reserved parking space
No one borrows things they don't return
A candy stash that no one but me ever dips into
"Work" that is stimulating, ever-changing and fascinating
Spontaneous "staff" meetings in the mountains
Ability to drop everything for a sale at Neimen Marcus
Starting each day with passion joy and the certainty that "all is as it should be"

Think about your own personal currencies. What do you most value? What "costs" the most? What benefits in your day to day life are truly "enhancing your well being"? The answer may surprise you!