Communication

I've been remodeling my house.  Most of it is skeletal.  The things a house needs to remain upright and insurable.  Right now, I'm refinishing the old floors.  Even that touches a part of my brain that tags it as necessary.  If the floors are left to weather from their already weathered state, in another ten or twenty years, I may not be considering whether or not they are pretty, but rather whether they are structurally sound.  I have been living in the house during the work and I have discovered the depths of my patience.  Meanwhile, my cat Peabody hates it.

At the moment, one side of the house is cut off from the other side of the house while the floor finish dries.  Peabody, who I rescued from the neighborhood almost never has any interest in going outside, but is seriously bothered by his current lack of mobility.  I wish I could just whisper in his ear and he would understand.

"It's ok Sweet "P".  It's only for another few days.  You'll get your mobility back."

This morning I realized I was wishing for an event with an animal that rarely even happens between humans.  To communicate and be understood.  To listen and understand.  We think we do.  Probably we even come close most of the time, but then we have those moments.  Those stark uncomfortable moments where we suddenly become aware we are talking to a friend who has become a stranger.  Viewing each other across a chasm of uncertainty and strangeness, we can't help but eventually wonder if we ever had a real dialogue at all.   

Consider this.  I have been talking with an old friend from school on Facebook.  We are finding more similarities than differences between us.  We both believe in growing and changing and improving.  We both believe choosing happiness is the answer.  We've flirted a little.  The other day, after a few weeks of this, his daughter friended me on Facebook. 

Let me stop for a moment and ask you.  Why did his daughter friend me on Facebook?  What do you think?  Figure it out and remember your answer.  

When I told him, he sounded surprised.  I told him that he had probably mentioned my name a few too many times and his daughter was protecting him.  Checking out what trouble he might be getting himself into.  He made a "hmmm" noise and said, "She is friends with a lot of my friends."  I took it as confirmation for a moment or two and then I realized I was doing it again.  If my goal was a dialogue.  If my goal was communication.  This wasn't it.  This was simply playing the B-roll of the amalgamation of my life's viewpoint.   Wherever it is that I am now having intentionally drifted from where my parents raised me to be.  The viewpoint-colored glasses that observed their close relationship and chose to see a loving daughter protecting her dad.  (I have reached the point where my glasses are colored in benign loving world tints.)  

What did you think?  I know you can't tell me, but I challenge you to consider this.  Your answer tells you nothing about me, nothing about her, and everything about you.  Ask yourself this.

What are the glasses I use to view the world tinted with?  Do you view the world in a happy benevolent way?  Or is the world more sinister and inscrutable?  Because what you see is not necessarily all that is there, but it is what you will get.  

Ear Worm

The first time I ever had an ear worm, I was just a child.

"The Lion Sleeps Tonight."  

"Wimoweh ... wimoweh ... wimoweh."

I was so mystified and out of touch at that age, I actually actively avoided that song so it wouldn't happen again.  Like it was something bad that could actually hurt me.  When we're living a life that engulfed in fear, we avoid silly things.  Superstitious things.  We're bullied by shadows.  

While I was driving home from work last night, a song played on my playlist that I had meant to remove.  It is a beautiful song.  A remix of Everything is Everything by Phoenix.  But as it progressed to the lyrics:

Things are gonna change

And not for better 

Don't know what it means to me 

But it's hopeless, hopeless

I have tried to embrace positivity as much as possible.  So weeks ago, when I noticed the song in my playlist, I was going to remove it.  Except my house is being renovated.  Simple desktop computer tasks, like sync-ing your iPod, become a bit larger.  This time when I noticed it, I thought, "Well, it is a beautiful song.  Just listen to the music.  You are positive enough that you can resist being influenced by the lyrics."  

My mind flashed on my last ear worm.  I saw" Into The Woods" a couple of weeks back and for more than a week, my mind was haunted by:

Only I can lift the spell 

The spell is on MY house

The spell is on OUR house 

Just those lines.  Over and over.  Funny how our subconscious works.  All those beautiful Stephen Sondheim lyrics and that's the one that sticks?  A funny thing too.  It seemed to pop into my head at appropriate moments.  Meaning moments where I was contemplating some difficulty.  It seemed to emphasize it like I could expect no help.  

Only I can lift the spell

I don't know about you, but I'm not sure I want:

Things are gonna change

And not for better

it's hopeless, hopeless

Popping into my head three days after I hear it and, unless something stronger overtakes it, chain echoing there for weeks.  

"Three days?" you may ask.  I listen to a lot of music and I get a lot of ear worms.  As an adult, I began to notice a pattern.  The third morning after I had heard a song, I woke up with it in my head.  Or at least a small random part of it.  The trouble was:  I couldn't predict what song and I couldn't predict what little part.  Like I said, I listen to a lot of music.  I haven't yet noticed a pattern that predicts which song or why THAT song.  As I type this, I wonder if I can give myself some sort of suggestion to try and influence it, but as of yet, I haven't tried it.  

Think about it, though, even if it means limiting myself to songs that have uplifting lyrics, it is like tapping into the best affirmation system ever.  All those times, I looked myself in the mirror and repeated a fortune cookie positive statement.  I could have just listened to:

Because I'm happy

Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof

Because I'm happy

If you found yourself thinking, "God I'm sick of that song!  They've soooo overplayed it."  You might want to clear on the limiting belief that great things without a "sell by" date can go bad or spoil.  Do we say of the Mockingbird, after hearing it a dozen times, "Not THAT bird again!"  

Ok, I suppose maybe you do.  I know I used to.  At first I refused to read Harry Potter because "if it's THAT popular, it can't be any good."  I've nearly completely weaned myself off that sort of negative statement nowadays and if I find myself beginning to judge like that, I stop short.  Book, song, food, whatever it is; I decide to give it a try.  

I've told you before.  I've been as negative as nearly the worst of you.  I'm happier now and I haven't even yet begun to exploit my ear worm affirmation system.  

I'm sure I'm not alone in this either.  If nothing else, it illustrates the usefulness of knowing yourself.  Of noticing those little quirky things that are how you tick.  Do you get ear worms?  When was the last time you heard the song that popped into your head?  

Another thing I was just talking about with a friend a week or so ago.  I used to have this terrible habit when I was sad or angry.  I'd go turn on some of the saddest, angriest music I could find.  NIN (Nine Inch Nails) sang my favorite "go to" song:

You'll make this all go away

You'll make it all go away

I just want something

I just want something I can never have

Then one day I found myself a tiny bit appalled just how much I was relating to that line:

I just want something I can never have

I can't tell you how many mornings it taunted me when I woke up.  

You didn't just think it, did you?  You didn't just think, "What am I supposed to do?  Limit myself to jingles and kids songs?"

William Shakespeare once said, "There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so."

No, you don't have to listen to jingles and kid's music.  But, whether you listen to House Music or Classic Rock, is there anything wrong with limiting yourself to the songs, the ones that have lyrics at least, to ones that are written in a positive way?  Songs that speak to the best version of you, rather than the sad, dejected worst version of you?  Feelings come and go.  You will experience more negative feelings no matter what music you listen to.  Why not try to salt the kitty?  Why not place your thumb on the scale to the positive side?  If you can influence your subconscious to talk nicely to you, why not do it?

I know, I know.  What about art?   Many magnificent pieces, in every media, exist that are not exactly positive.  Dark even.  Shakespeare had his comedies, but he also had his tragedies.  All I can do is urge you that self awareness is key.  Do you know if you wallow in sad, angry songs when you are feeling down?  Have you ever become aware of the inspiration for an ear worm or a dream?  How DO you want to feel?  What are you willing to do in order to make that happen?

Keep in mind, though, both movies and television programs have their soundtracks.  Today I found the song in my head had changed.  This weekend I watched "Cat Ballou."

She killed a man in Wolf City, Wyomin'

Wolf City, Wyomin', killed a man it's true 

Pockets of Negativity

Back in March of this year, I was at a Hay House Writing Workshop listening to Doreen Virtue when the negative Nelly who has resided in my head nearly all of my life, channeled my father.  I'm listening to this delightful, positive woman who seems to genuinely connect with the panel members who have lined up at a microphone to ask questions.  She connects and gives each of them a book that is cherry picked to address whatever issue they asked their question about.  I am moved.  I am inspired.  I am happy.   In my head my father says, "They only do that as a marketing scam, you know.  She knows that for every book she gives away, you idiots will buy six more."

That's all it takes.  For that moment, I am caught.  Stuck in a pothole of disillusionment.  I snagged my hopes, my aspirations, and my dreams on a submerged limiting belief which hadn't even originally been  my own.  It had been my father's.  I still remember why he felt that way.  Sometime during his childhood, he sent away for Christmas ornaments.  I think they were supposed to glow in the dark.  I really can't remember anymore.  When they arrived, rather than being real Christmas ornaments as he was led to believe, they were paper.  Not origami.  Flat, two dimensional paper, as in just a drawing of the item he thought he had been going to receive.  It became a defining moment in his life.  It made him a bit of a skeptic.  Certainly he wasn't someone who would trust again once trust was betrayed, but truthfully, it seemed it also made him look for the catch or the lie even while the ball was still in play.   He was looking to be burned.

That.  That pothole of disillusionment.  That "looking to be burned."  That is why the Law of Attraction doesn't work for so many people.  If you believe in something, you have to believe in it.  Whole heartedly even in the face of it looking like a lie.  You must not only talk the talk, you must walk the walk, you must "be" what you believe.  For the Law of Attraction, that means you can't be looking to be burned.  You need to be excited about the possibilities and certain good things are always on the horizon.   You have to see every red light and traffic jam for the good things it may bring you rather than the irritation of it disturbing the flow of your day.

The first step is to ask yourself what do I really believe?  Take all of the things you've learned over the years throw them in the same pot as what you believe or has been handed down to you about God, the universe and everything else and shake them around together.  Look at where they actually seem to converse with each other and make sense to you.  Tell yourself your own story of what life is all about, who we are, what happens when we die.  Whatever life's mysterious questions, tell yourself the story that makes sense to you.  Tell yourself the story that answers all of your questions.

Have you ever played that game where person number 1 whispers something and by the time person number 10 is whispering the same secret to person number 1, it has morphed into a different sentence entirely?  With the exception of those who believe they have had a direct experience with God, everything from the Bible to a pastor's weekly sermon is fed to you via someone else's perceptions.  It is filtered through them just like a suspicion of salesmen was filtered to me by my dad.  In my opinion, you simply owe it to yourself to suss it out and figure out what makes sense logically to you.  You don't have to share it with anyone.  It is just your personal "backstage" to how everything works that enables you to believe the action "on stage" is real.

I can give you my own example.  I believe in the First Law of Thermodynamics.  Energy is neither created nor destroyed.  Arguably, each and every one of us is or has a certain amount of energy.  I tend to think of energy as flowing through humanity as water cycles through weather.  Now while it doesn't reassure me as to whether I will remember being me or not, this does give me a notion of death and the afterlife.  Energy cannot be destroyed.  So that part of me that is energy will not die.  It must go on to somewhere.  It supports the Law of Attraction for me.  Energy has positive and negative charges, just as our personalities and windows on the world do.   I can explain a lot more aspects about it, but for our purposes, that is what I believe.  By extension, you could say, that is who I am.

So it's March in San Francisco, I'm stuck in a negative pothole while listening to the very lovely Doreen Virtue talk, and suddenly the answer shocks me near to standing up.

Believe.

It's like the riddle about the two men guarding doors.  One of the doors has certain death, the other has freedom.  One of the doors has a man guarding it who always tells the truth, the other has a man who always lies.  The man who always tells the truth (or for my purposes "believes") is the path to the right door and life.  The riddle's answer is:  You ask each man the following question.  "If I ask the other man which door to pick, which door will he pick?"  Then you walk through the opposite door.   You see, the man who always lies, when asked which door the man who always tells the truth will choose, will lie.  The man who always tells the truth, when asked which door the man who always lies will choose, will tell the truth.  So both answers will point at the lie, or in other words, the door that would kill you.

So I asked myself, "What if she is telling the truth?  What if she believes every word she is saying?"  At the core of the Law of Attraction is a belief in abundance.  There is no need to compete because there is more than enough for everyone.  The accompanying positivity adds being grateful and happy about every bill you pay and hoping the recipient gets wealthy in part because of you.  Why not?  I don't need you to be poor for me to be rich or vice versa.

And it was just like the riddle.  I knew.  If I believe that she believes what she is saying, then she believes what she is saying and she believes there is no need to compete and in that case ….  no need to scam.

My Intentions

It is well known that Americans don't have enough savings, particularly for retirement.   They also carry a lot of debt.  It is so well known, I don't need to bother looking up any statistics to prove it to you.  It is common knowledge.

My intent is to help the 99% repair their relationship with money and turn their lives around.  It is a daunting task that has three elements I fear I may not be able to overcome.

The first, why listen to me?  I graduated from UC Davis with a BA in English, back when a BA seemed to mean enough every educated person didn't feel compelled to continue on for an MA or PhD.  My dream was to be a writer and I have spent decades working in retail and playing at writing and photography.  At the same time, valuing my free time and freedom itself, I have worked part time,  three half days a week, for nearly two decades.  Although my income lands me solidly among the 99%, the rest of my statistics are a little different.  I don't carry debt.  I have accumulated savings, including retirement savings.  I have paid off my mortgage and own my house free and clear.

At least all of that was true when I began this project.  Since then, I have been trying to sell my deceased parents home.  Between paying to have a bridge repaired and having dumpsters delivered in order to ready the property for sale, my savings have been whittled down significantly.  Even as it undermines my own confidence that I can do what I already did and teach others to do the same, it also underscores the necessity.

Money is a tool.  That's all it is.  Money is a tool by which you can buy education, comfort, and freedom.  They say money can't buy happiness, but it can buy things which will bring a smile to a loved one's face.  It can buy experiences a person will remember for the rest of his life.  Money is nothing but a tool, but it isn't one like a hammer or a saw.  It is more like putty or sand.  You can find yourself running out and wishing you had more.

Second, a huge percentage of my financial strategy involves the Law of Attraction.  Every time I open my mouth and try to explain its principles to somebody, I see that look on her face.  The one that suggests I just told her that fairies are real and I was haunted last night by a banshee.

There was a joke on Saturday Night Live years ago about learning to be an art critic.  After learning the fundamentals and beginning to critique a gallery's art, the student turned on patrons around her and criticized their outfits, their postures, their smiles.  Looking for the negative and pointing it out comes as naturally to humans as breathing.  When we've actually been given permission and free reign to do so?  We become relentless bullies, nearly unstoppable.

The Law of Attraction is the belief that "like attracts like."  We create our world with our thoughts.

I once read about a social experiment.  A researcher gathered a group of people together and had them look at two straight lines drawn on a chalkboard.  The two lines were exactly the same length, but the researcher had placed one individual in the crowd who claimed one of the lines were longer.  It turns out, I can give you advice and tell you what you should do and you probably won't follow it, but one person placed in a crowd, confidently repeating a lie, can cause you to agree with him and doubt your own eyesight.

Every day we are surrounded with a negative onslaught of news supporting the notion of a world of scarcity.  If abundance is mentioned, it is still framed as there being enough for everyone's needs, but not their greed.  Many of us buy things we don't really want or need, frantically stuffing ourselves to feel happy, while feeling judged for our attempts.

I ask you, who hasn't purchased some stupid, silly item, perhaps for as little as ten dollars, that seemed so great at the time, but we are later ashamed to admit?

How can I ever convince drowning victims, under water for the second time, flailing about with no idea who will save them, that they can save themselves simply by changing their thoughts?

At this point in my life, it feels like I have been every type of emotionally damaged and unhappy there is to be.  I can remember the days when my mouth would involuntarily scowl if I so much as saw a poster proclaiming "Love is a warm puppy."  It's as if negativity isn't happy just existing.  It has to roll around in the muck continually reaffirming its ugly existence.

"Ugh!  This smells really bad.  Here smell it."

"Ugh!  That really stinks."

I have been dedicated to changing the way I think for decades.  It still took me years to realize that love?  It IS a warm puppy.  Sort of.  Or at least the sustained joyful warm feelings about life and its wonderful possibilities that you might feel when enjoying the company of a baby of almost any species.

Third, we are all unreliable narrators.  In writing, an unreliable narrator is someone who tells a story, but who has a warped view and perception of everything.  We each have our personal story and we tend to believe the details we tell ourselves.  Yet we experience our lives through the distorted window of only seeing through our own point of view.

Think about that room with the chalkboard and two lines.  Even though they end up united in an answer as to the length of the lines, if you ask them about the experience afterwards, they will all have a different story to tell.  Some will have a simple recitation of facts.  Others will have anecdotal details which may not appear to be connected to the event, or at least not to anyone other than the person whose viewpoint felt they were important.  Unless the researchers are included, probably not one story will include the information one person was asked to lie.

At the same time, we continually second guess ourselves.  We say we want to lose weight and doubt we have the will power.  We ask the universe for some money.  Buy a lottery ticket and say "I knew that was a waste of money" as we throw our losing ticket into the trash.

I recently had a bad break up.  I loved that man so much.  My heart felt as if it had shattered into a million pieces knowing it had ended.  I cried and cried and cried.  One day, posting happy little kittens to cheer myself up on Facebook, I noticed how many friends I had who were talking and interacting with me.  My heart flooded with love and appreciation.  It was then that I realized how close I had come to seeing only what I had lost when all I had to do was turn my head and see all of the good things and people who are still right here with me.

Really that is everything I am trying to get you to do.  I am trying to get you to stop focusing on your losses and failures and to look and really see life's wonders.  I want you to appreciate all of your good fortune and know it didn't happen by accident.  You're not an ungrateful sinner who deserves only God's tolerance and indulgence.  You aren't a bad boy who is too lazy or lacks willpower.  Each and every one of us is no less a miracle than a blade of grass growing despite humans blocking its path with asphalt.  Each and every one of us is as important and essential as every atom that makes up a molecule.

C'mon.  (Metaphorically) take my hand and we can do this thing.  Just do one thing for me first.

Turn your head.