What kind of fence do you use?

Odd title, I know. I like to think that mine is wooden, with gaps large enough to climb through. The fence I am referring to is the one you created throughout your life, it is your story, your history. Many of us pretend not to have a past and prefer to cut all ties. Does that mean it has any less of a guiding influence? Perhaps that's invisible fencing that gives us a shock when we stray too far anyway.

Other people have a solid brick fence many feet high. It is sturdy and safe and keeps them in place. Some are like prison walls though, and are meant to keep people out: no change allowed. Or maybe no challenge allowed.

To what extent are we defined by our past? Lots of us like to move somewhere new, start over again, and while extreme it can be liberating. I know a child who was caught in the reputation of scrapper, picking on people, starting fights. Through family shifts this child moved schools and was able to shed that jacket and start again, and created a whole new image that felt much better. How great is that? But a man I know killed a step-father defending his mother. Prison and guilt destroyed him and he lives in search of another bottle, completely unable to move beyond the circular glass wall in which he has enclosed himself.

What about maintenance? Do we plough onwards, neglecting what's behind and paying attention only to what's ahead? Here come the cows over the broken fence to consume all we have sowed. Where is that balance point between maintaining who we have been, cherishing our old stories, and planning ahead to see where we are headed? If we see a mountain ahead, do we just sigh and keep at it, or look for another way to build or direction to go? I'm pretty sure my fence has crumbled in a few places and starts again some ten metres away.

Some of us have very prickly fences that have wounded us terribly. Physical or emotional scars will remain. What do we do with that structure, where bits of our flesh still hang off the barbed wire?

My story has been pulled from the past a few times lately. Once by the exercises in the course I am doing, and now with a visit with my mother. It feels weird. I see that I have tried several different structures that start and stop, and that they are falling for the most part into disrepair. Sometimes I have not wanted to go visit back there, afraid to face the old emotions that tend to rear up, but today I have read some advice and it goes like this: go back and visit your story. It is your story. Have compassion for yourself and release old pain without getting caught up in the story. We must give meaning to our story because it is ours alone, and from this meaning we can move forth helping other people to learn too. We are all imperfect, we all could use more compassion. It's time to plant some flowers along the fence line and take ownership. There's no other story like yours, like mine. And what child does not love to hear stories of parents or grandparents when they were little? Or even their own? My kids love to hear over and over again what they did as little ones. No matter how silly.  It's a perfect opportunity to help them build their fence. What does yours look like?

A Recurring Word

My word for this week is patience. It's been dancing around my thoughts over the past while, maybe year, as I wear myself out stressing about getting to wherever I'm going. Perhaps it's the forties, perhaps it's just me, but my journey seems to have a million hairpin turns with no end in sight. When will I be satisfied with my achievements? Patience, darling.

My husband came home this week describing the 'sales' attitude at his workplace as impatient. 'Just get the customer to sign now!' is the motto, where my husband traditionally has been the let's-build-the-relationship kind of salesman. I can relate to that impatient attitude. I want to be a best selling writer changing people's lives, and I want it now!

I've started a 12 week course at Humanworkplace.com and part of this week's lesson was to read and reflect on our life's journey. I must say I haven't given my history much thought, but after the exercises I realised that my strengths are the same now as they were in high school. How annoying as I thought some were recent revelations. As I reflected further on one particular article on our reading list, I became aware of the importance not only of the journey, but of honouring it, each and every step. The word patience flashed brightly like a neon sign in my mind.

I think now that if we slow down and look around ourselves more often, we will notice more, more of what's important, and more choices to bring on what we want. Once we stress that logical thinking part of our brain I referred to in my previous post shuts down. Just as asthmatics can't breathe so well once their chests tighten up, neither can our brain think clearly if we are tensed up and stressed.

One trick for me is thinking time. While I walk the dog, wash the dishes, cut up food for dinner, or sit and have a cup of tea, the more time I allot to pondering what's going on and how I can bring myself more fully to the present moment, the more I see. As a farmer harvests what is planted, our minds will harvest what we sow. Always thinking about what's next on the to do list? Then the focus will always be on how much there is to do and how rushed life is. Those funny people we all know, they always look for the joke, for the funny angle, and that's what they harvest. Who doesn't know someone who always manages to find the negative part of any situation? They look for what's too hard, too risky, too silly, too anything, and that's just what life will be for them.

 I've always envied meditators who can sit and empty their minds for periods of time. They seem so calm and centred and happy with exactly where they are in life. It must be nourishing for both body and soul. I started off intending to take ten deep breaths and usually made it to three before my mind wandered off like an errant sheep. Lately I've made it to eight. Not just sitting uncomfortably cross legged on the floor, but at my desk, or at the stove, or standing in a queue, or driving, or looking at the divine sweetness of a sleeping child before I collapse into bed with a treasured book. The result? My patience factor has increased. Imagine what meditating for half an hour might do for me.

Given how disabling stress can be and how great joy feels, I'm going to stick to deep breathing and ruminating as I charge through my days, and enjoy where I am with a patient frame of reference. Same list of things to do, just a different approach. It's certainly more fun, and I am more productive along with patient. Maybe today I'll make it to ten.