Turning heads and hearts

Like many, I began thinking about the New Year a few weeks ago and compiled a list of ways I wanted to change and grow in 2014. In the past, I have had varying degrees of success with resolutions, but I still get excited when looking to the future and imagining what could come from a new start. Each year, my excited heart beats with increased hope, but, with my inevitable stumbles, I often lose faith by March and can’t remember one goal or resolution by June.

This year I’m trying something new. I am being kinder to myself. Yes, I still have a list of things I want to do, or not do, but instead of using the list as a personal ruler to measure and judge, I have decided to think of the list and my hope for change in a new way. 

This year, I have made only one resolution: to turn my head and heart in a different direction.  The items on my list are not the focus, the new direction is.  Like a finger pointing, I am to follow its guidance and not focus on the finger itself. As a result, I may not achieve some or all of the things on my list with perfection, but, if I use them to guide me, I will “stumble in the right direction,” as they say in the rooms of recovery. The stumbling, I believe, is not nearly as important as the right direction.

So, as we begin our journey through a new year, I wonder if it might serve us all well to step back from the this and that’s on our list of resolutions and ask a more fundamental question: In what direction do we wish to head this year? I suspect if we turn our heads and hearts in a new direction, many of the things on our list will be achieved.

Letting Leaves Fall

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On a recent hike, I breathed deeply and tried to take in the wonders of Fall. There were many leaves already on the ground, crunching under my feet, teams twirling in the air like synchronized dancers, and still others clinging brightly to the trees.

Despite the fact that the season points to winter’s inevitable chill, Fall remains my favorite time of year. Perhaps it’s because of my time in New England, where I think God invented the season, or the fact that I spent much of my time in the school world where Fall marks an electrifying season of new life, but, whatever the reason, it’s a season that awakens my soul in surprising ways.

As I made my way along the familiar trail, I noticed I could see things usually shrouded by the leaves. I saw mountains not usually visible, and noticed as clouds and birds swirled above. All of it was visible because the leaves had fallen.

For me, it was a reminder that I could create such a season in my personal and spiritual life. Like the leaves twirling in the air and those resting on the ground, this could be a season in which I let things twirl from my to-do list and routine social obligations rest on the ground, revealing distant sights and cooler breezes.

New leaves will arrive, bringing new life and fresh air, but now is the season to let leaves fall, air chill, and views appear.

To everything there is a season . . .  inside as well as outside. A gust of gratitude swirls within like the breeze blowing the leaves.

Going home

“Who says, ‘you can’t go home’?”

— Jon Bon Jovi

The email arrived from someone I did not know. It turned out he was the chaplain of my high school and was interested in me coming and speaking to the students at one of the morning meetings. Honored, I accepted and then tried to think of something to say. To the students, having an alumnus come speak is no big deal, but to the alumnus it is as exciting as it was intimidating.

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It’s been 35 years since I attended the school and much has happened, to the school and to me. Trying to bridge the gap between what was and what is took much time and reflection, but, in the end, I decided to speak from the very core of my being. I refused to put on a show, appear more than I am, and that meant taking a deep breath and being completely honest and vulnerable.

I arrived early and wandered the once familiar halls. Like me, the place looked different but was also the same as it was 35 years ago. I decided to speak to the only student I’ve ever known, me, and so in the presence of the current students I had a conversation with me when I was a student. In the conversation I spoke of the things I wish I had known years ago.

I have no idea what my words said to those in attendance, but for me it was a powerful and cathartic experience. As I drove away, I realized I had just experienced a homecoming of sorts. On the surface, one might say I returned to the home that was once my school, but I know the homecoming was deeper than that. I returned to the person I was and am, stood comfortably in my skin as if for the first time, and it was wonderful to return home.