Many of us have trouble saying “no”, but how about “yes”?  I recently came to realize that this can be as difficult and as important in living a meaningful life.  As I write this, I am happy to report that I am sitting at the airport headed for an adventure that might not have happened.  It took finally saying “yes” and realizing it can make the difference between living in a mindset of deprivation or abundance.

My husband travels a lot for work and for years has been encouraging me to join him on one of his trade show trips.  My first instinct was always a “no” as the idea came with the stress of it being too expensive, taking too much time, or missing out on something I needed to be home for.  But somehow this year when he mentioned he had an extended trip and invited me to join him for his weekend of open days between shows, I countered my immediate “no” reaction with a different idea – maybe!  And the fact is, when I googled flights and travel dates (ok, a big tip, flying to or from Salt Lake City on a Sunday is cheap!), it actually was quite reasonable! And now with a few computer clicks, a few arrangements to cover obligations, and the blessing of my daughter willing to spend time with friends, I am headed to Arches National Park, where I have always wanted to go!!

This got me thinking about my deprivation attitude.  I hadn’t even realized the extent of my tendency to think things are not possible and to live in the realm of fears rather than possibility.  It got me admitting to what I miss living with my head down rather than my eyes up. My immediate reaction seems to be tending to the practical, the “have tos” and the routine.  It is a defensive way of living, I must say. Everything outside of what I think is the norm is viewed with skeptical nay saying and a pit in my stomach for the stress it may cause.  But in finally saying yes to this trip, the potential pit in my stomach is now actually butterflies of excitement.

We certainly can’t always say yes, as we do live in a world of responsibilities and accountability.  But I do see how good people over time, especially, can be trapped by the fears of deviating from what is planned or expected.  My brother in law, Dan, is an Improv performer. He told me that a basic principle which makes for a good performance is “always accept an offer.”   In this way, the flow of ideas isn’t interrupted and the layers of spontaneity lead to creativity and joyous surprises.

In the real world of my life, with financial stress and an intense work schedule, the fact is I cannot accept all offers, as is true for most people.  But I can be more open to considering all offers and not living in defensive reactivity. And this can apply to many things that don’t involve spending money or gaining weight. It can be a deviation in my drive home to watch the sunset, or coffee with someone who I’ve always shared an interest with. The point for me is to think yes, first, rather than no.  Look into it, assume it is possible rather than impossible, and be open to new experiences. It does indeed involve a little rearranging and uncertainty, but the end result will be a morning hike in Moab with the man I love.

I must confess that after visiting my mother this past week in Virginia, I’ve been engaging in a bit of emotional eating. Although my brother is doing a great job taking over her care since she moved in with him after our wildfires, my mother continues to decline from her progressive neurological disease. The bittersweetness of seeing her turned into a complete craving for sweets, which rolled into a full week of self indulgent indulging. I, like so many people I hear from, was trapped in a downward spiral: eating something unhealthy, berating myself for doing it, only leading to more indulgence. Such a common trap, I know, but why do we do this to ourselves? After complaining about myself to my daughter, she pointed me in the direction of a study she had recently read that made a lot of sense to me and offered the potential for some change (thanks Sierra).

Researchers at Duke University investigated an intervention to the “go big or go home” syndrome of indulgence. Once we overeat or have something we think we shouldn’t, we figure the gate is open and let the whole herd through. We react to the stress of overeating by eating even more. Researchers focused on the negative self thoughts that occur in people who tend to further indulge, and found that having a little more self compassion could prevent the downward spiral. In one study, they had participants eat a donut followed by candy. Between the two treats, researchers reassured half the participants that everyone eats unhealthy form time to time, while the other half received no such encouragement. When it came time for the candy, the half of participants who were encouraged to be self-compassionate actually exercised more self control over their subsequent eating habits. With self kindness, the stress of negative self judgment was reduced, allowing them to make healthier choices. Self compassion keeps small indulgences in perspective.

The Duke researchers went on to complete a series of experiments related to self compassion. In each case, those who scored higher on a scale of self compassion reacted in ways that suggested self compassion was a significant buffer to negative emotions that influenced people to underestimate their coping or performance. Their conclusion, “In general, these studies suggest that self compassion attenuates people’s reactions to negative events in ways that are beneficial…Self compassion leads people to acknowledge their role in negative events without feeling overwhelmed with negative emotions.”

I appreciate the conclusion of these researchers in recognizing that self compassion was not a way of sugarcoating (pardon the pun) overeating or letting go of self accountability. I often hear people (and I do it to) fear and confuse self compassion as an excuse or blind permission that would lead to being out of control. Instead, self compassion served a role of keeping people’s reactions in perspective, actually increasing their ability to exercise choice. So the next time I find myself with a fork in the pie tin (just might be tonight), I’m going to give self compassion a little try! Paradoxically, allowing myself a little slice just may keep me from eating the rest of the pie.

Spring is in full bloom in Northern California.  In fact, the early blossoms have already dusted the lawns with white and pink petals, and daffodils have risen and crested in their splendor.  But now, what I notice most as I make my way up our hill is the blackened trees sprouting new growth in the first April after the wildfires. Their split presence catches my breath as I see the duality of trauma and recovery.

So many of the trees look like fused halves of a once mighty whole.  One side is the budding green hues of life returning, moist and supple.  The other half is the lifeless brown, dull, shriveled leaves, which cling to their branches as if to remind us all of what the tree still endures.  They speak to me, these survivors, as I witness their efforts to go on. There is no hiding the pain, the damage, the broken hallowed out limbs that split off and hang down.  The scarring is as permanent as the new growth is fresh. Their efforts inspire me, yet there is no guarantee. I hope there was enough rain this winter, I hope the roots have enough of a system within the trunks to spread the needed nutrients.  Each tree has its own struggle to survive and its own path to recovery. Many of our trees have already been severely trimmed or even dissected, returning to earth that will one day host a seed.

In Japan, Kintsukoroi is the art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixes with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.  The pottery, with its metallic striping, is considered to be stronger and more beautiful than it was before. Kintsukuroi is a way of living that embraces our flaws and imperfections. Every crack, every scar, every blemish is a part of the history that makes something even more valuable.

Our community is as cracked and split as the trees that scatter our hillsides or as a broken piece of pottery.  We share our stories, we shed tears, and we support one another in the process of regaining our strength and wholeness.  Like the trees, we have our deadened limbs, the memories of the life we will never have again as we once lived it. But we also have our regrowth; the green buds that seek to reach out to the sun and the air for survival.  In time, I do believe that we will come to see the split whole of each of us as stronger and more beautiful than we were before. Though imperfect, the cracks within us are our unique story of revival.