Airports

How many of you love to travel? I don’t mean: how many of you like to be on the beach or sight-see in Boston. I mean: how many of you love the process of traveling? The busy airports, the crowded planes, the living out of a suitcase? I must say, I love it.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of catching a connecting flight in Houston’s airport. I say “pleasure,” because while I was walking through the wide corridor, on my way to the gate I realized that it really was great fun for me to be in that airport. Maybe it was because airports are a great place to watch people. There were mothers pushing strollers while daughters and sons hung onto their hems or shirtsleeves. There were business men sporting ties and jackets and pulling carry-ons, incessantly talking on Blackberries or balancing laptops on their knees while they waited for planes. One young man wearing faded fatigues and boots was checking and rechecking his boarding pass… I couldn’t help but wonder. What were their stories?

 Part of the fun may have been the noises. There exists a general din in an airport: children eagerly pleading for ice cream, the sound of suitcase wheels on tile, overhead announcements that may or may not apply to me… There are noises coming from the restaurants: the rattle of plates and pans, bursts of laughter, the blended voices of people telling their stories. Amidst that din may even be an occasional comment from a passerby, directed at me, like “Excuse me,” or “Do you need anything else, ma’am?”

 If the joy I felt was not because of my general love of people-watching or my fascination with the way the lives and conversations of strangers flow in and out of each other, close in proximity but not quite engaged, then it was because of the possibilities that exist in an airport: the wide-eyed joy of a child seeing a new city, a lucrative business deal completed, the reunion of a soldier and his family… These are the times, when I am imagining all of the most delightful outcomes, that I am giddy.

I wonder how many times during our days we allow ourselves to be so much in the moment that we are focused, not on the final destination, but on what we are seeing and feeling during the process. How often do we allow the tasks we must perform (the connecting flights, the navigating of traffic, the taking off of a band-aid) to be our point of joy? What if all it takes to make these tasks a high-point is becoming aware of ourselves in that moment and intentionally imagining the most delightful outcome? Would a mundane trip to the grocery then become a journey through colors of fruits and smells of fresh bakery breads? Would we be elevated to joy just by our imagining what it will be like to take these ingredients home and make a lovely, fresh meal for ourselves, our families, or a new friend?

 Yes, it’s definitely the possibilities that make me giddy. And maybe I don’t have to be half-way across the country in an airport to feel that.

Living In Joy Challenge: What is a task that you do, maybe even dread a little, daily? This week, take one task a day (putting on your make-up, fighting traffic, making copies at work, for example…) and truly experience it. Imagine the possibilities to come from the journey (Who will notice you today? Where are the people in the car next to you going, and might you meet them? How will your copies impact the people who receive them?) Let me know how you do. I’ll be looking forward to your comments. J

Communication

I recently had the pleasure of seeing Sandi Patty perform. This talented singer has performed for years, and had several hit/award winning songs on the charts. On the day I saw her sing, we were at Conseco hall in Indianapolis, Indiana. This venue allowed for a concert, “in the round,” where performers played on center stage, and often turned or changed position, so they could face every part of the audience at some point in the performance. Meanwhile, cameras projected their faces on at least four large screens hanging at the top of the arena. Everything was very loud, very exciting, and very entertaining, but I noticed that none of us could feel terribly close to the performers, due to the vast size of the room.

Another thing I had noticed as I sat in my seat enjoying the concert was that there was a young woman translating into sign language everything that was being said or sung on stage to a large section of seats, where, presumably, all the deaf attendees were sitting. The translator remained well-lit and stood on the main floor, just in front of this section. When Sandi sang her first two songs, I was charmed by the translator’s ability to convey the lyrics, sometimes in small movements, sometimes in large, sweeping gestures.

About the time I noticed the signer, Sandi had finished her second song and placed the microphone back in its stand, though the music was still playing loudly. As the crowd applauded and screamed praises, she turned to face the signer and that section of the hall. She moved her own hands. “I’m going to sign,” she mouthed without a sound as the music and the crowd roared around her. Though the signer could not have heard a word over the performance din, she gracefully left her place in front of the crowd and took a seat. At the same time, the part of the crowd who had been watching the signer stood in unison and applauded, as if on cue, and Sandi began to sign, and sing, her most famous and inspiring lyric. 

I was awestruck, but not because Sandi could sign. I was struck by the fact that, had Sandi spoken those instructions into the microphone for all of us to stand, we would not have heard her over the noise in the hall. Always, when people speak from stage, the music volume comes down and crowds are hushed. But in this case, Sandi was able to communicate perfectly, right through the cacophony, and directly to the select group of individuals, in a crowd of over 14,000, whom she meant to address. If we thought that group of deaf people could not hear Sandi that night, we were mistaken. They “heard” her as clearly as any of us who were not called “deaf.”

I want that. I want to be able to hear over the noise: the noise of my own thoughts, the noise of my past failures, the noise of what I think I cannot do. I want the image of that entire section of people responding together to remind me that our differences don’t have to limit us. I want to remember that communication can happen, even when I think it’s impossible.

The Living in Joy Challenge: Is there someone with whom you have not been communicating very well? Your teenager? Your husband? Your coworkers? Try a different language. If you usually try to communicate with long discussions, for example, try, instead, to use actions to demonstrate the behavior you want to see. If you are usually quiet and serious, try to be fun and spontaneous. Get creative. I am excited to hear how you changed your communication styles. Be sure to let me know how it goes! J

One Bite

I have said, “yes,” too many times… I am overwhelmed. Perhaps you can relate.

I am on committees, taking courses, and working as a nurse full-time. I have editing deadlines, speaking engagements, and social obligations. I’m managing a household, maintaining a vehicle, and watching my waistline. And my prayer life has pared itself down to, “Dear Jesus, HELP!” Each of these things require my full attention and my creativity, but it’s very difficult to be creative when I’m looking for my keys half the time and trying to find my cell phone the other half. I don’t know how you operate when you are overwhelmed, but I find myself becoming what my father would have called, “Squirrely.” I’m easily distracted, forgetful, and scattered. I think about all of the things I have to do, but I can’t seem to get started on any of them. Or, I get started, then get distracted and start something else, and nothing gets finished. Sometimes I concentrate on tasks, like scrubbing the toilet or going to the grocery, just to get something off of my list. All the while, I feel exhausted and long for nap time. 

In an effort to become “inspired,” to at least work on any one of my self-imposed obligations, I re-read some of my goals for this year.  All of my goals feel like demands, now.  They feel like one more place for me to fail, which doesn’t feel good at all! I have to say, I’m not very connected to my joy at this moment.

I know some of you are in this same position, or worse, with children and husbands and ill parents, in addition to a To-Do list at least as full as mine, also demanding your full attention. And what, pray-tell, will get us back to our joy in these moments of disarray? I understand the principle of eating an elephant one bite at a time… starting a journey with a single step… one dripping faucet makes over a gallon of water per day (which reminds me, I really need to get that fixed…), but I just don’t trust that it will work. And then, I hear my mother’s voice. “One bite…”

When I was little, and going through that period that every child must endure, that of eating the dreaded green vegetable, my mother would coach me. “One bite,” she would say. “Then take a sip of milk.” Eventually, my plate was clean, and my childhood obligations were met for the day.

It’s time to scale my goals down to bite-sized pieces. The key, however, to the whole thing may be to add milk. Something to help wash everything down. Finish two slides for the rallies. Then make a cup of chai. Edit four pages of the book. Then take a walk in the sun. Search for 5 references for my research project, and stretch. Find the advancement website and print the application, then meditate. Some progress. That’s what I need. Just some. I have to take smaller bites. I have to give myself credit for the progress, the journey. Ah… that feels better already. Two slides… I can do that.

When you are overwhelmed, take smaller bites. Still too much? Make them smaller, yet. And, find your sip of milk. Take heart. Have faith in the process. It works. You know? I actually love broccoli, now.

Living in Joy Challenge:  Where do you feel overwhelmed right now? What goal, written or just nagging in the back of your mind, do you have that you are feeling pressing on you? Shrink it. Cut it into bite-sized pieces. You don’t need the whole plan, yet. Just one little effort. One thing for one day. And a sip of milk. Let me know how it goes. J  

Red Shoes

The other day at work, while I was in a patient’s room, I caught part of an episode of “The View.” Two of the four women hosting the show had amazing, red, stiletto-heeled sandals. The strappy kind. Very pretty. Not very practical, from a “shoes are for keeping feet warm and dry and for walking miles in” standpoint, but that’s ok with me. Most of my shoes, save the ones I nurse in, are not very practical either. What really struck me, though, was that one woman was wearing a purple dress, and the other was wearing a green and white one.

My mother was a fashion buyer while I was growing-up. At one time, she even owned a little boutique downtown that offered cutting edge fashions, bought in places like Chicago and New York. This was before designers had their own shops anywhere but places like Rodeo Drive, so I have always felt that I have been bred with the blessing of a certain amount of fashion flair. Still, red shoes are daring to me. If I were to wear them, it would be with a matching red dress, and probably only for evening. Or, perhaps, at my most wild of times, I could put them with gray or black, or hide them under jeans, as long as I had some sort of red shirt or scarf to tie the outfit together. I know that’s probably stuffy, or old-fashioned, or rigid of me, but I have to admit that I have certain things, most of which are as unremarkable as color coordination, that I “wouldn’t dare do.” Could this be distancing me from my joy?

These girls did not have my same sense of fashion, which I’ve now identified as a symptom of my timidity and attachment to rules. They, in fact, wore no trace of red, anywhere… except on their feet. And they looked amazing!

Something about that burst of bright, or the irreverence of failing to color coordinate, or the way they reminded me of Dorothy’s ruby red slippers’ magical quality, made me realize that I might just be missing the point of dressing.  I wonder if I make myself wear something, everyday, that feels just a little irreverent, or magical, or bright like the sun winking, if I would feel just a little more powerful, just a little better equipped, just a little shinier.

I haven’t quite decided what that special something will be for my practical nursing days spent dressed in scrubs, but tomorrow, I’m going to find some strappy, skinny-heeled, fabulous red sandals, and I’m going to wear them with everything else I own.

The Living In Joy Challenge: Each day for a week, find something you would normally “never do,”: wear a headband, go out without make-up, pin a rhinestone brooch to your jean jacket, use your good crystal wine glasses for water or milk, park in the farthest parking spot, stop to walk in the park on your way home, express your feelings, take a risk, and do it. And please do share how you feel about it. I can’t wait to hear from you.J

Welcome to Living In Joy

Hello!

I'm Shelly. I'm a nurse at a major metroplitan trauma center in Nashville, Tennessee, and I am ever fascinated by the changes, trials, pains, celebrations, and riches offered by life, and how people manage them. Moreover, as I work beside some of the most talented and beautiful people, who also have chosen caregiving as a profession, I am often struck by the fact that these caregivers completely fail to nurture themselves.

I do not think that failure is specific to nurses. So, I am starting this blog with weekly updates as an attempt to reflect on some aspects of life that I find curious. I'll also be sharing with you some strategies I have found, that help me to remain in touch with the joy of life that prevails, even when things are difficult. Regardless of the profession you have chosen, I hope to remind you in some way of your dreams, your passions, and your appreciation of this playground that is life in this world. I hope to entertain you in some way, or allow you a moment to reflect, or remind you that life is for living. In short, I hope to reconnect you, or help you to remain connected, to your joy.

Thank you for reading!

Shelly