give thanks (big and small)

Art by Ellen

My friend Laura loves this quote:

“Comparison is the thief of happiness.”

I think there’s a lot of wisdom in this, even when it comes to suffering and gratitude.

A couple of days after Hurricane Ike, Dawn called to check on us. When she asked how I was holding up, I said, “I’m good. I really can’t complain. We need to be grateful. We have our house, we didn’t get hurt – given what other folks are up against, we are really lucky.” Dawn sighed.

“Yeah. That’s great. You’re alive. NOW COMPLAIN!” I started crying. “It’s hot as shit. The house is filthy and full of mosquitoes. There’s no fresh food. They say our electricity could be out for another three weeks. I’m losing my frickin’ mind.”

I can’t tell you how much better I felt. Dawn normalized my feelings and reminded me that I was in the midst of a crisis. Don't get me wrong, I was and still am extremely grateful that we weathered Ike with very little damage. I tried to practice that gratitude every single day during the weeks following the storm. It's simply that I was also struggling and I needed to talk about that with someone. Once I processed my feelings with Dawn, it was so much easier to be truly grateful.

The next day I was still trying to sort out my feelings. Here’s what I came up with:

1. Gratitude is good. Politically correct gratitude is NOT gratitude. In fact, PC gratitude is often driven by shame and there’s nothing good about shame (I’m a terrible person because I'm complaining and my suffering is so small compared to others).

2. “Suck it up” is dangerous. There are definately times when "sucking it up" seems necessary (3am, third load of throw-up laundry, 2nd kid is coming down with a fever, and you have a huge proposal due the next day at 10am). However, in my research I found that kids who are raised with constant messaging that says, "suck it up" or "deal with it" have a really hard time talking about their feelings and asking for what they need (especially in terms of support and help).

3. The problem isn't complaining, the problem is a lack of perspective. It would have been different had I given Dawn some version of "It's so bad for me - no one gets it - I've got it worst than everyone else." That's sympathy-seeking and that sucks (see pages 51-53 in the book). We hate strongly dislike sympathy-seeking in ourselves and others. I'm talking about something different - I think the key to healthy complaining is perspective. New bumpersticker:  Piss and moan with perspective - it's good for you. Complain but stay mindful of how big or small the issue really is.

4. Comparative suffering corrodes compassion and connection . It makes us judgmental and critical. Belittling our own suffering doesn't elevate the suffering of others. It throws us into a "race for the bottom." It disconnects us from the truth that we are all inextricably connected - we all have strength and we all have struggle. We all need and we all give.

I think all of this holds true for gratitude too.

Sometimes when we say grace at supper, we take turns saying, “I’m grateful for __________.” A couple of weeks ago, Ellen and Steve were both grateful for our family. When it was my turn, I said the first thing that came to my mind – “I’m so grateful for my Turbo DYMO Label Printer.”

As soon as I said it, I thought, “What’s wrong with you, Brené?” Luckily, Charlie went last and he was grateful for The Incredible Hulk. Whew.

After giving it some thought, I decided that I’m indeed grateful for my label printer. It brightens my day and makes my heart sing. It’s an obsessive-compulsive organizer’s dream machine. And, yes, I could have said, “I’m grateful that I’m not being assaulted in the Congo or living under an illegal government in Burma,” but that would have been totally disingenuous. And, I believe that the people who are truly struggling to stay alive need us to be genuinely grateful for what we have. In my work, I find that those who are paralyzed and ashamed of their privilege seem to have less compassion for themselves and others.

So, this Thanksgiving, I’m grateful for the big, life force things and the small, lovely gifts.

I’m grateful for:

1. A family health scare that turned out OK.
2. My family and friends who love me because of my imperfections, not despite them.
3. My faith.
4. Meaningful work.
5. Laughter.

I’m also really grateful for lots of wonderful, small things that make me smile and remind me that the world is full of hidden joy, that people are good, and that there are little gifts everywhere. I’m grateful for:

1. An invitation to The Bloggess’ Nintendo Wii Fit party. I completely dodged having my weight and BMI measured in public (a worst case party scenario under any circumstance) AND I had my first “swag” experience. I got my own Nintendo Wii Fit! How awesome is that?

2. Jen Lee’s Solstice: Stories of Light in the Dark - A beautiful CD of transformative stories. This would be the best holiday gift!

3. Spending last weekend alone in my house while Steve and the kids visited family and went fishing. It only took me 2 hours to acknowledge my vulnerability and manage my anxiety so I could stop visualizing a horrible car wreck (which would have been my fault because I was enjoying alone time). On Sunday, I came home from church, put on my PJs, and watched nine episodes of NCIS. Seriously.

4. This incredibly moving website (sent to me by my friend Farrah).

5. The opportunity to make a difference in the life of a family by simply pushing a button.

6. A superhero* jewelry sale here!

7. A gypsy girl photography sale here!

8. All of you who keep me honest by reading the blog and sharing your vulnerabilities and wisdom!

Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your “label maker?” I’d love to know what small gadget or TV show or indulgence or piece of jewelry or song or _________________________ makes you grateful?

cheetahs, leopards, and iowans . . . oh my!

If you ask Ellen about her favorite Disney moment, she'll tell you, "The Cheetah Girls were on our flight from Houston to Orlando and they signed my homework notebook." If you look suspicious, she'll whip this out:

We saw them waiting to board in Houston and Ellen kept saying, "I know it's them. I just know it." During the flight she was so distracted thinking about it that she couldn't concentrate on her pile of make-up homework. Finally, at baggage claim in Orlando, she walked up and asked them for an autograph. They were very sweet.

If you ask me to describe my favorite moment yesterday, I'd say, "Opening my Nordstrom box." If you know me or even if you've just seen me speak, you know I'm a clog-wearer. The black Dansko Patent Leather Clog are my favs. Well, lo and behold! The newest Danskos on the market: The patent leather leopard print! I know some people might look and think, "OMG! Are they ugly on purpose???" But not me. I love them so much I'm wearing them with my PJs.

Last, but certainly not least . . . a big shout out to the folks in Iowa! I had such a great time. We got in from Disney on Sunday around 2pm. I had to fly out Sunday night to Des Moines to do a keynote and a workshop at conference for women who work in corrections. I thought I was going to die of exhaustion, but when I got there I was so inspired by these women and the amazing work they're doing with the most vulnerable populations you can imagine. We talked a lot about shame, resilience, and compassion, but we also laughed - A LOT!

I learned to avoid saying "Breakout" session and to stay clear of the words "hostage" (as in emotionally hostage). Riot is not the best word for laughter either.

They learned that you can take the girl out of Texas, but you can't take the Texas out of the girl. In the course of a 4-hour breakout workshop session, I said:

"Around the bend."

"Fish or cut bait."

"You can't swing a cat without hitting an example of this."

And, my most stellar moment . . . "Like a duck on a june bug."

I'm not sure what it is, but the older I get, the more I turn into my grandma. All I can do is shake my head, sigh and, in her immortal words, mumble "Well . . . shit fire and save matches."

dedicated to jen. on her birthday.

When we were in Oregon this summer, Jen and I were chatting at the table when she looked down and said, "Oooh. I love that ring."  I smiled and glanced down at my hand. Then she said, "That ring has a good story. What is it?" 

Now, c'mon. I get a lot of comments on my David Tishbi ring, but NEVER has anyone looked at it and said, "It has a story." That is pure Jen Lemen. She is a woman of the story.

Of course, the ring does have a story. I bought it for myself for my 40th birthday. I saw it and I loved it. I didn't even realize that it had moving parts until I tried it on.

A couple of days after buying it, I found myself in a familiar situation. Someone needed wanted asked me to do something that I didn't have the time, energy, or inspiration to do. Rather than saying "yes" right away, I stood there (looking crazy, I'm sure) and thinking. When I turned 40, I promised myself to be more thoughtful about saying yes when I really need to say no AND saying no when I really need to say yes.

As I stood there, I suddenly realized that I was spinning the little rings on my new ring. Each spin gave me confidence. It was a reminder about the real gifts of turning 40.

I said no. I chose discomfort over resentment.

For the last couple of years, this ring has been my reminder. I use it almost every single day. It doesn't always work, but it helps. Here's a little demonstration:

When I told Jen this story she said, "Promise me you'll blog about it."  I can't think of a better day for this post.

Happy 40th Jen!  Thank you for reminding all of us about the power of saying "Yes" to love and tenderness.

And, for all of you out there with special strategies for saying "no!" and "yes!" . . . do tell!