Topic: Encouragement

Dear Grey Ford Fusion Guy,

I don’t think you really knew, did you?

You couldn’t know that I had a meeting this morning which was challenging and worrisome. That what you did was sandwiched shortly before another meeting where I went in feeling in a “liitle over my head”.
 
You couldn’t know that I work in a business that sets me up to hear stories of how people have been hurt. I hear about experiences of people that no one should have to ever experience…those experiences often need a place to be processed…often, it’s me who provides that place. I’m honored to do so…but it means I see a skewed and twisted side of life more than most…and so you couldn’t know what it would be like for me when you did what you did.

You couldn’t know what you did touched me.

It was no big deal really…except it was.

I parked right behind you at metered parking on the downtown street today. And just before I could put money to buy the time and get the piece of paper…you gave me your ticket…you said you only had used 2 minutes of your allotted 60…and so you gave me the 58 free minutes.

No big deal really….it only costs a buck for an hour.

But it was a big deal…because you didn’t have to. You could have just continued on your merry way, and I would have put my own dollar in to park for the 50 minutes or so that I needed that downtown spot. I wouldn’t have minded…I expected to do that.

But you extended grace to me…you got out of your car, pulling that parking tag out from your front window and offered it to a total stranger. It didn’t cost you anything financial…but it did cost you a moment or two of your time.


And it cost you some courage…you troubled yourself to go out of your way for a total stranger, not knowing how I would react.

You did it totally selflessly…there was absolutely nothing in it for you…

except

hopefully you could see the delight on my face as I received a surprise gift “out of the blue”.

There was no need to do it…nothing would have been lost if you hadn’t decided to be generous.

But you were.

And you saved me a buck.

But that is trivial to how it brightened my cold dreary January Monday.

For today, Grey-Ford-Fusion-Guy, you restored faith in the kindness of the human spirit, reminded me of gentle moments that human beings are capable of, of the value of bringing joy to a stranger, of the little often-brushed-over moments where we can choose to brighten someone’s day…it might only take a moment, cost very little…and yet make a BIG difference.

In a world that is often cold and demanding, you extended grace to a stranger in a gentle kind way that someone noticed…

…just in case you didn’t know, Grey-Ford-Fusion-Guy…I wanted to write it down and let you know…

I appreciated your grace…

Hopefully now you can know.

Sometimes, as I endeavor to be an encouraging presence in someone else’s life, it backfires…instead of being a blessing, I walk away as the one blessed.

I went to see Linda at the John Howard Society  a couple of weeks back...we both have common interests in working constructively with men who get themselves into trouble. She works with male offenders…guys who need help negotiating the legal system, who are fresh out of prison and need some support to get a fresh start, and generally working with those involved in the legal system. It’s intense work, and I’m guessing there are days when it can feel like 2 steps forward and 3 steps back.

She is a lady who cares deeply and compassionately and courageously…the type of woman who can give a new pair of boots to a guy who needs them desperately…and can enjoy watching his pleasure at receiving them. And then she says, “Those are for your feet, and I better see them on your feet the next time I see you. And don’t you dare sell them for drugs”. And he promises her they will keep them…knowing she cares…and she’s serious that she’ll be on him if they go missing. She loves these guys, and says because her children are grown up and moved out, they are the reason she gets up in the morning, the reason she can’t ever imagine retiring. She’s great.

Linda and I had this great conversation about what she has learned, and what she knows, and what makes a difference in people’s lives. We work in similar areas and enjoyed comparing notes. As a strong and wise Aboriginal woman, she and I spoke about how I, as a Caucasian, can work effectively with clients who are Aboriginal. My race has played a huge part in the situations that many Aboriginals find themselves in…as a systems therapist, I recognize that there is a complex interplay of cause and effect that goes back generations. When clients who are Aboriginal come see us for anger management, it is important to recognize some of those complex dynamics, and not have it impact negatively with effective and respectful work. She has the 7 Sacred Teachings stenciled on her wall, and spoke about how she uses them in her work with her clients. I could go on about the visit and how inspiring it was.

We had a great discussion. Linda is a wealth of knowledge, is a tell-it-like-it-is kind of woman, and she has a great laugh that is often heard.

One of the things she suggested to me, as a way to be respectful of our Aboriginal clients and the Aboriginal culture, was to have some respected Aboriginal art in our office. She gave me a few suggestions…she knowing better than I about the artists and their work.

We hugged and wished each other the best of the season, and we left…each proclaiming gratitude for the visit to the other.

I got a package in the mail yesterday. About an inch thick, and about 2 feet by 2 ½ feet. I had a funny feeling about it and I was right. It was a picture from one of the artists Linda had recommended. She sent me a framed picture!!
 

The visit itself blew my socks off. Its rare to see someone who has been in the “helping business” for as long as Linda has to have the energy and optimism and sense of fun that she has. …and then she sent me a picture, with a lovely card.

Over. the. top. Blessed. Incredibly.

Thanx for what you have taught me, for how we work together to help male offenders in the justice system find solutions and better strategies for living. Thanx for the picture. Thanx for what I have learned from you.

Thanx Linda, for you!

New York is an amazing city to visit...one I wasn't sure I'd ever get to.

I was there last week.  Wow.

Wow.

Wow...just wow...unbelievable.  The lights on Broadway that light it up brighter than day after dark.  The "M & M" store is 3 stories tall...three stories of souvenirs celebrating the little colorful candies.  No kidding.  Even went to a show on Broadway...more wow.

But, by far, the most meaningful part of the trip was going to St. Paul’s church. A little church…the oldest continually used building in Manhatten…built in 1767, 10 years before Confederation. The church George Washington went to pray in the day he became the first President of the United States. They even have his pew box that he used off to the side of the church.

St. Pauls church is across the street from where the twin towers stood on the World Trade Center site. Though huge buildings all around sustained significant damage, this little church didn’t even have a window broken. It remained intact.

The meaningful part was how this church became a refuge, a meeting center of comfort and care in the many months after 9-11. Families posted pictures of missing loved ones on it’s fence…you’ve seen that fence in pictures, haven’t you? The church became a place for foot care and food, chiropractic care and , massage and naps, prayer and hugs for thousands of rescue workers. After dealing in the smoldering ruins to do their grisly recovery work, the workers could come and have some time of quiet, a time of restoration and sustenance before going back out to continue the painful and horrifying and brutally hard work. 

"St. Paul’s chapel is a haven in the midst of hell."

quote from the a rescue worker

 

This is a church that is two and half centuries old. A church that carries important history to it—a church that might have said, “Don’t come in here and mess anything up—this place is too historically significant to get dirty”…but every square inch of that place was used. There were no sacred cows in the place. George Washington’s pew box? Used for foot care for recovery workers who had their feet in boots that had been stepping on smoldering ruins for days. The governer’s pew box? Used for storage for supplies of gloves, masks, chap stick, stuffed animals. A church that might have refused to have a nail put in the wall to hang a picture was plastered on every surface with messages of love and support. People of different religions, genders, cultures and orientations got in there and volunteered to help the rescue workers feel support during a time that was heartbreaking for a nation.

Restaurant provided food; hundreds of volunteers served meals 24 hours a day. Chiropractors helped workers unload their equipment and soothed their aching backs. Podiatrists patched and stitched tired, injured feet. Massage therapists eased away physical strain, often bringing forth tears and stories from their patients with a touch.

quote from church poster

The day we toured the church, we stepped in at exactly 1:00…the same time the concert started. I wandered around the poignant displays with tears in my eyes as masterful musicians played and sang Brahms’ requiems…songs for the dead. A poet read his poetry written in response to 9-11, as I walked around the outskirts of the building, looking at the fire department badges, the poems, pictures, soup pots, cots, and art that remain from those months.  The bittersweet beauty of the mournful music was powerful to listen to as I read stories of those remaining and looked at pictures of those who had perished. It was indeed a holy moment.

A quote from a poster on the site: 

“I heard a firefighter say to a reporter, “When I come in that door, I’m covered with blood sometimes, and they hug me. They love me, they take care of me, they treat me as a real human being. And then they feed me, and they massage me, and they give me adjustments. These are my people. This is my place. This is where I come to be with God.”

The place felt like “love”…love and care triumphant in the midst of adversity.

I’ll never forget it.

Smiling is good.  Nothing makes me smile more than a profound connection with someone.

You make me dance like a fool
Forget how to breathe
Shine like gold
Buzz like a bee

Smile, by Uncle Kracker

Valentine's Day is a great day for celebrating relationships...with "that special someone" for certain...but for smiling at all the connections that give life to you.

Six Critical Messages for Children to hear from us:

1. I believe in you

2. I trust you

3. I know you can handle this

4. You are listened to

5. You are cared for

6. You are very important to me

Barbara Coloroso

Barbara Coloroso is my parenting hero. Her style provides clear respectful boundaries that allow children to explore their own unique style while understanding their parents put down common sense limits out of love. Her approach has a few concrete strategies that are wonderful, but mostly she imbibes a spirit towards children that is contagious and inspiring.

My one beef with her is that she implies that parents and teachers need to give these messages to children…and then she leaves it at that. As a parenting/teaching guru, I suppose that makes sense. But don’t we adults need to hear these messages from our partners, our BFF’s, our bosses and so on?

Absolutely--children need to hear these messages from their parents and teachers. But adults benefit from hearing these messages from those that are important to them as well…

The last time someone close to you complained about their job or their bad knee, how did you respond? Did your response imply the “Big 6” as above? Or did you focus on a solution that skipped past what they were saying, tell a similar story of your own that focused away from what was said, or in some other way minimized what they said?

I’m not sure it’s so important to say the six critical messages word for word. It seems to me that living the spirit and attitude of them as we speak and relate to others would make the world a different place.

The big 6 critical messages aren't just for children...they're for all of us. Let's give them to the ones around us in our lives.

To the readers from Swaziland, Argentina, Chile and Peru who were on this website yesterday...if you come back today...you may well not understand the internal feelings of winter doldrums I describe today.  But if you were among the visitors from Norway, Poland, or Winnipeg, you can probably understand where I'm coming from.

It's been cold around here lately.. cold temperatures with windchills added to that. And snow. Lots of it. Seems everyday, there’s more to scrape and shovel. I live in a white world…lots and lots of whiteness. Between the loads of snow that need moving, and the amount of stress induced by bracing oneself for the cold as I go in and out of the car, and the vast expanses of “white” everywhere the eye looks—it can feel bleak. 

So, yesterday, when I went grocery shopping, I saw daisies…beautiful, big, colorful ones. And my eyes drank them in, and I stood there, debating…I wanted them, but flowers are usually something I buy for other people. Who buys flowers for themselves??

And then I had a conversation with myself about where life was at…I was dashing in the grocery store in between the morning driving and the afternoon driving. I had yet to prepare for a meeting I was chairing that evening. It was a busy week of teaching preparation, and so I'm behind on getting ready for the full week ahead. The cold white weather will be around for a while. I was feeling a little heavy in my soul, and these daisies had this amazing effect on me. Maybe it was a good idea? Did I dare to buy them...for me??

I stood there, debating, remembering a line I read sometime ago:

When you have only two pennies left in the world, buy a loaf of bread with one, and a lily with the other.  ~Chinese Proverb

Ironically, part of my purchases that trip were a couple of loaves of bread—my assigned contribution to the meeting that night.

Buying flowers for oneself is splurge…one that had me almost take them back to the container on my way to the checkout counter. Feeling a little guilty for indulging myself. Many of us were raised to be thoughtful and kind to others, but received messages that kindness to oneself is some sort of evil selfishness.

Then another part of me remember  about a line I repeat to clients on occasion… “Put on your own oxygen mask first”. In the midst of the white world that affects my soul, I still want to be colorful and alive and meaningfully connected to those in my tribe. There was this little moment realizing that the effect these flowers had on me in the store could continue throughout the week!  And then, I would probably be an easier person to live with…maybe even a better person to live with. With those daisies putting “gas in my tank”, I could give to those around me easily, rather than having to “dig deep”, as can happen at this white, cold time of year for me. 

I think those around me can actually tell the difference, even if I don’t want to think they can: when I am scraping bottom and being pleasant through gritted teeth, or when I am genuinely seeking to connect in authentically rich way?

How much more do I enjoy life when my “tank” is not running on fumes…can I give myself permission to create the opportunity that fills that tank…if for no other reason than I am enriched?

So…you guessed it…I bought the flowers:

Beautiful--aren't they? Two on my table, one on the counter in the kitchen now…bright, vibrant, vivid splashes of color that lift my soul whenever I look at them…and I look often.

I get that flowers don’t do it for everybody…I’m not suggesting everybody run out and grab some colorful blooms. But…what “fills your tank” and when’s the last time you invested in yourself? Some of you are good at this…for others, it’s been a long time.

So…for those of you who are overdue…go take a bubble bath, or tinker in your workshop, read a non-business book for the sheer pleasure of indulgent reading, light a candle, squeeze some orange juice from fresh oranges—and drink it from a champagne flute. Do something to restore your soul.

Who buys flowers for themselves?

ME!

...and this week...maybe, just maybe-- you too??

 

We are entering a time when families travel to spend time together with each other.  Many will have vacations as business have a seasonal shut down, or time in between school terms.  Teachers are off, and many others have requested vacation during this week when they were making holiday choices months ago.

This time is a chance to slow down, spend time with immediate family in the household that we often pass by in a rush on our way to lessons, workouts, meetings, and the bustle of daily activity. It’s a time when we get together for dinners and gatherings with in laws, parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins that we might not otherwise see very often.

For many, these will be opportunities to reconnect:

• to share old memories with laughter and tears,
  
• to eat recipes that have time honored traditions attached to them,
  
• to put together puzzles, go sledding, take pictures, tell stories and generally do the sort of stuff that creates new memories that will be recalled in years hence.
• in sum, a treasured opportunity to spend time with the people that matter
  

For others, this increased time with family is not a “Hallmark moment”…but one that prickles and rubs, or haunts, or frustrates and infuriates, or has one working to "stay strong" in the face of the pain that is so present. These family times during this season, are “supposed” to be very happy and lovely, and so, many are putting on a brave front steeling themselves from the feelings that will be painfully present but silently unmentioned.

For some, this family time means:

• spending time with people who have caused significant pain, and finding a way to paste a plastic smile and pretend to be enjoying the time together, when it really feels like “finger nails on a chalkboard”. Unresolved issues, remembering very hurtful times that have never been acknowledged or processed are pushed down with great energy, great personal cost, and limited success. There isn’t even an expectation to put them aside…rather it is more of a complete obliviousness of something that feels so huge to the pain-bearer.
• having a bittersweet Christmas morning…trying to find a way to put aside the impending loss and having a sick feeling that this is the “last”. The last Christmas before the divorce…so trying to put on a “chipper” attitude, and with cheer that is more expressed than felt, going through the motions with a leaden heart. The last Christmas before the illness wins, and death takes over. The last Christmas before the big normal-inevitable-but-nevertheless-sad-life-changes occur with someone moving to the other side of the world or even across town, or a child gets married and is shared with another family.
• the awkwardness and pain of a divided family. A grown child going home to small town Manitoba for Christmas…knowing that no matter where he sleeps, he disappoints the other parent…there is no way to make both of his divorced parents happy
• the closeness of spending time on vacation with a spouse…what was hoped to be a special time of togetherness only serves to show the cracks in the relationship that have been untended and unnoticed in the frenzy of a full fall. Tension underlies each comment. Ouch.
• Drinking. Too many of these special family times have a lot of alcohol involved. People drink too much, and family members lose their inhibitions and say and do things which mar the evening, fracture relationship, and create painful memories of what happened over Christmas. Every year I hear stories in early January of painful family gatherings, and what was said after people drank too much.  People do silly, hurtful and dangerous things when they've had too much to drink...and must live with the consequences for months after.
• Busy-ness…young families with small children who need naps and routine are pressured to be in multiple places at once, to see parents and in laws, grandparents, and so on…rushing to make everyone happy and in the meantime, in a significant level of misery themselves.
• The effort into making this Christmas a "jolly" one, even when something or someone important is missing, for whatever reason.  It's hard when a person knows how the season feels and rolls as it has always unfolded, but the sensation of the season is different because of distance from from home and familiarity, or a loved one not present.  There are huge holes in the familiarity of the seasonal rituals, and the jagged edges of those gaping holes are felt, even when there is much surface merriment designed to conceal them.
  

These family times at Christmas have expectations of “wonderfulness”. These family times are filled with real people who burp, have bad moments, are overtired and need naps, have histories of painful relationships that can’t simply be dismissed for the convenience of a beautiful scene around a beautifully dressed turkey.

This Christmas season, may you find ways of being real with yourself and others in ways which support yourself in your journey, and create authentic life giving moments to others that you encounter. As certain external behavior is required in order to cope with what the situation demands, may you find ways of supporting yourself internally, and being honest with what is really happening. May you be able to watch your own alcohol intake and your own timelines and energy level, and be realistic to make good choices…and may you know when to “pull up the drawbridges” from situations that are best to withdraw from.  May you be given the words, grace and timing to bring up "the elephant in the room" of what is happening inside in a way that adds to the richness and genuineness of what Christmas 2010 is for you and yours.

May you release yourself from the pressure of creating a fantasy of “being family” that doesn’t, and can’t possibly, exist.

This is not a fancy metaphor about looking up, this is not like "how life is", this is not me making something bad all cheerful in a way that denies the crap of life.  I think that there are times when the cup is not half full, and there is no bright side.  It doesn't always have to look pretty.  This is just me enjoying a light moment in a dark day when I share this.

Very recently, I went out for lunch with a friend.  A good friend. It had been too long since we'd really had a "heart to heart" which we did that day.  It was good to be together.  But it also wasn't good.  It was awful.  The friend shared gut wrenching, heart breaking stories that made me want to wretch...stories that filled in gaps in what had been a painful part in both of our lives.

I was feeling a little numb at the end of lunch, dumbstruck by what I had heard.  A good lunch with a good friend, connecting meaningfully, but around tough stuff.

As we were walking back to the office, we saw this in front of us...I usually don't have the presence of mind to take pictures of cool moments like this, but I was "on the ball" in the moment and got this:

The day continued with the heaviness and the wretching feeling didn't leave. It was a hard coupla days after. But in that moment, my buddy and I looked at each other and LAUGHED!  Genuine laughter--these guys were fun!  We chatted with them for just a moment, but it provided such relief, even for a moment.

And then they were gone...we turned the corner and they kept walking straight.  It was only a few seconds, but the pleasure in their silliness was heightened because of the spinning confusion I had been in and would be in again.  But in that moment, I wasn't confused...I was back on firm footing, fully present in the biting chill of the day, grabbing the camera and catching the delighted sparkle eye of my friend as we slowed down enough to stay behind them, and enjoy the sight.  The world righted itself, and I could remember goodness for a flash in time.

The sight didn't take away from the yuck.  It didn't make it better. But it provided this magical moment of respite from the conversation and it's pain. When I remember the lunch, I will remember the devastating stories and being ambushed by unexpected tales, but I will also remember being surprised by joy.

This doesn't always happen in the middle of the "ick".  Doesn't even usually or sometimes happen.  But it happened this time. 

And I'll take it.

It's hard to get a hit when you're vulnerable.  Even a soft punch hurts a lot when you're not in a strong place.

It's been a long November for me.  It was a day or so after Halloween that I got some sort of cold virus.  I had the sorest throat for about three weeks.  Drank gallons of tea during teaching and therapy to keep the voice up and the coughing down. It’s not very sensitive to be hacking while someone is courageously working up the energy to tell you something important and close to the heart. I get that. It’s so rude to interrupt the moment with horrible noises. So. Not. Cool.

So…I know that one just has to ride these things out…get a bit of extra rest when possible and wait for it to be over. The daily schedule continues on, and I continue with life, dragging this cold around with me as I go. Couple of false starts where I thought I was feeling better, and realized by the end of the day, that it was just wishful thinking. But by week’s end last week, there was no doubt the end was in sight. I could sleep the night through without any choking…I was on the mend.

Except Saturday morning I woke up with my eye gunked shut. Sorry to gross out readers with a more sensitive stomach, but it wasn’t pretty…very red eye. I took out my contacts as a precaution but decided that this couldn’t be anything...I was over my cold now and was healthy. I declared that if my cold was getting better, I was better, and this couldn't possibly be anything. I went about my plans for the day, and as the day wore on, I realized I was fooling myself that this was “nothing”…it was tearing, and burning, and felt like I had an eyelash stuck in it permanently. By late afternoon, my head hurt from the effects.

By now, all I wanted to do was go to bed…but I dug deep and went to a walk in clinic. The guys at the Portage Ave. Walk In Clinic by Polo Park were FANTASTIC…I was in and out in half an hour. The doctor diagnosed “pink eye” and gave me a prescription. (and to all clients who I might see this week…I’m washing my hands regularly and its gotten a lot better already--I won’t infect you!)

 

He asked about my health, and I told him about the cold that was just finishing. 

He nodded knowingly and sympathetically, explaining to me that this was quite common…to have something like pink eye show up when the immune system has just been challenged by something else. We are vulnerable to further illness when our body is already stressed and weakened.

Life is like that too, huh? It often seems that when a life challenge comes, it’s a struggle, but a do-able one…trying to find strategies to meet the challenge, having difficult conversations, experiencing the stress and so on. Really working hard to handle the situation…and actually pulling it off. Maybe not easily, but gettin’er done.  It’s exhausting but the light at the end of the tunnel starts to show,

and then,

Something blindsides you in the middle of the vulnerability of getting to the end of something big and it wipes ya out.

This pink eye thing on the weekend was like that. I felt a little bit like that poor coyote in those “Road Runner” cartoons. You know the one I’m talking about. That poor coyote keeps getting beaten up, blown up, dumped down cliffs, etc. The part that I’m thinking about is that he would go through so much, get up, brush himself off and continue his life, and then at the end of the episode, he’s be sitting there dazed, tired, bruised, beaten, and worn down in defeat…and that roadrunner would reach over and gently tap the shelter he was under with his beak. And the few pieces of wood over him would crash on his head. It was no big deal really…after all he had been through, this was peanuts. Except that is when he would fall over, in utter defeat. End of show. Remember?

Just seems that we can rise to big challenges, work hard to meet them and feel the triumph of prevailing…and then, as we start to relax and look forward to some respite, something little can come along. The little thing is a piece of cake compared the big thing comes at a vulnerable time. The memories of having conquered the big thing don’t inspire the handling of the little thing…the worn-out-ness means that the little thing just finishes a person off.

So, on Saturday, after pushing through a rather nasty virus that affected my head, throat, chest and body for three weeks without a break in routine, I was broken by one moderately irritated eye. I could carry on regularly for 3 weeks during the nastiness, but on Saturday, the “pink eye” did me in..I took the night off, stayed at home, and cocooned. I couldn’t deal with “one more thing”, even if that “thing” was minor…because it was one more straw that broke my proverbial camel’s back.

Like:

• going through months of major cancer treatment, with recovery from surgery, enduring grueling chemotherapy and radiation treatment, and making it through…and then the inconvenience of a fender bender unhinges a person
• grieving the ripping agony of the death of a spouse, leaning into the grief, dealing with all the endless paperwork of the taxes and will stuff, establishing a new life very deliberately and courageously…and then the cat dies, too

It’s not always so apparent that the way something takes the wind out of our sails is often related to not only the incident itself, but the previous stressors too. 

Those are the times when we need to take a step back, extend ourselves grace, and rather than berating ourselves for how something so insignificant could knock us down, support ourselves with the understanding that even something seemingly insigificant is “one more thing” on top of what the rest of life has held for us.

That view has a gentleness and understanding to it...something that means a lot when life has given us a one-two punch.

 

There is subtle but real pressure to be "fine" when we are asked how we are.  To respond with social politeness that we're "OK".  To not acknowledge the stresses and pain of life.  It's socially acceptable to be "busy" or "stressed" but not "struggling" or "down".

I'm not sure that pressure is purely a cultural one...I think it can be an internal psychic pressure we impose on ourselves. We often hide our own pain even from ourselves.  Pain makes us vulnerable, and for many of us, that's frightening.  Like animals scared to show their throats, we hide our pain, and if anyone comes close to bumping up against the pain, likely all they'll see is bared teeth and a snarl.

I've spent some time thinking these days about the admiration I have for people who can live with vulnerability, acknowledging the stressors of life and living with the painful tragedy that they might find themselves in.  There are those who are able to hold the tension of this vulnerable and open living with pain with a calmness that also sees beauty and has a sense of gratitude. 

For some, acknowledging the difficulty doesn't seem to hold the fear that vulnerability often implies.  They admit struggles and foibles, weakness and failure--and it doesn't diminish or overwhelm--and in fact, the refreshing forthrightness of vulnerability is actually attractive and admirable.  The vulnerability connects them with others, and creates space and opportunity for authentic and whole-some conversations, enriching the conversants. The vulnerability creates a mindfulness that opens a person not only to feeling the pain, but being able to soak in the small beauty of holding a child's hand (even in the hospital), valuing things that can be otherwise overlooked (the pattern of raindrops on the window), and acts of kindness (like when my kids actually put their cereal bowls in the dishwasher without being reminded!)