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One of the biggest benefits I reaped from the REAL program was the acknowledgement of “small successes.” The idea is relatively simple and probably nothing you’ve not heard before, but the phrasing was such that this time it sank in. Or, I suppose I was ready to hear it.
Small successes were not explicitly defined during the workshop, but what I gathered from the stories and conversations about them, a small success is any moment or event in your life during which you feel wholly whole (or centered, calm, joyful, in the flow; you get the idea. . .). The purpose of identifying small successes was primarily so we could incorporate them into our individual compasses (a concept I hope to revisit with ya’ll at some point). It was also (this is likely the part that may sound familiar) to shift one’s focus from problems or conditions to what is right with life.
See, not so unique of a concept, huh? Yet I have embraced it and each day find myself saying outloud, “A small success!” This has a whole slew of positive effects on my life. Recognizing small successes removes pressure to always do and become more, more, more. It eases doubt and worry. It can be reassuring in the sense that I am usually able to note some progress and growth, no matter how minute. It can also make big scary deals seem littler.
For example, today I met with my therapist, Joan, for the first time in over a year. We have begun working on some of the deeper, thornier issues in my life—things that for the most part I have gotten very good at compartmentalizing and ignoring.
Although our meeting went well and I have been taking good care of myself since, it can be overwhelming to think back to the topics we covered, to consider where I am and where I’ll end up. But you see, rather than struggle with overwhelm, I can choose to consider the small successes.
I took myself to see Joan in the first place. Small success! I took a walk and sat cross legged in a field facing Mount Shasta for an hour after our session, therefore taking another step towards my own healing. Another small success. For a trickier situation to assess: I bought myself a big mug of hot cocoa and a hunk of pumpkin pecan streusel bread. Although this may appear to be an unhealthy choice, I still vote “small success” because I gave myself a little gift of comfort food (yes, and sugar).
In the Enneagram book most recently gifted to me from Carl and Kathy, there is a description of Twos at a healthy level that says, “Healthy Twos let go of the belief that they are not allowed to care for themselves. Thus they can own their feelings and needs and are free to love others without expectations.”
I would say the three examples of today’s small successes that I gave you would put me (for a moment, however brief) into the category of Healthy Twos. And you know what that means. . . another small success. May the trend continue.
Two concepts have been catching my attention lately that I just saw to link this morning: anger and discipline.
I mentioned in the post Emotional Catharsis something about enjoying and indulging in emotions other than anger–and at this point I should probably use the term “hot” anger and take the time to distinguish it from “cold.”
It’s fairly simple, really. Of course, both will feel different to everyone, but essentially hot anger results in yelling, fighting, and aggressiveness. Outrage is an excellent synonym for this kind of anger. Cold anger, on the other hand, usually manifests as glowering or even being expressionless, and ignoring someone out of anger–giving someone the “cold” shoulder.
I was going to say I could accept cold anger more than hot, but I realize now that I was confusing containing or controlling anger with cold anger. In reality, cold anger can be just as cutting as hot.
Anyway, I saw the detrimental effects of hot–and undisciplined–anger this morning walking the two little dogs I am sitting for. One is part Jack Russel terrier and blatantly aggressive towards other dogs. I was warned of this by his owner, obviously, but I was still shaken when, as we were strolling along peacefully in the autumn a.m., he suddenly howled and leapt all over a gate with a dog behind it. First of all, I’m used to taking care of bigger, better behaved kanines– mostly labradors–and secondly, I was raised in a family where mistakes and punishments were nearly always handled with a calm and somber conversation (“Tessa, we need to have a talk. . .”). Needless to say, angry outbursts of any kind (or any species, apparently) are not anything I’m accustomed to.
Lesson #1 learned, I shortened Teddy’s leash considerably and we walked on. I mulled over the experience and held the lesson begrudgingly in my awareness. I didn’t like this having to be on the constant alert to the behavior of this dog. Although not such a terribly big deal, it became a little bigger when we passed the empty lot across the street from my parents’ house. Our yellow lab, Savannah, was doing her morning exploration of the property with her nose to the ground and her whole backend wagging in delight. It was all I could do not to call “Bonsie!” and watch her do her best impression of a gallop across the grass to greet me. But, knowing I had an unfriendly-to-other-dogs dog in tow, I was forced to let the opportunity quietly pass.
My anti-anger button was pushed again moments later. I was looking forward to taking one of my favorite shortcuts in town down a single car country lane lined with autumn hues, old farmhouses and an exceptional view of the mountain. But as we turned left to take the path, I had a sense that we would be unable to. Sure enough, down at the end of the road I could just make out the wiggling body of another little dog. We detoured instead.
Cradling my own frustration so as not to let it grow out of proportion, I recalled the words of Teddy’s owner. “I could probably train him not to act out this way, but I don’t have the . . . it just hasn’t happened.” Rethinking the conversation helped me realize that we all have a choice to literally train ourselves not to act in certain ways. “Training the mind” is a frequently used phrase in regard to meditation. Thus I made the connection between anger and discipline.
I considered that perhaps it isn’t anger, per se, that I have the problem with, but rather undisciplined anger. Undisciplined sadness, too, which when allowed to spiral out of control can lead to people actually taking their own lives.
Of course, discipline is it’s own double edged sword that I’d like to explore in some depth. Another day.
Again, my life is so, so rich. I’m lying down on a couch wrapped in an afghan my grandmother crocheted (that word is spelled so weirdly. How can anyone read it and not think crotch-e-ted?) with the Yankees and Angels dueling it out in the background. Dad and I just finished a scrumptious Italian meal of red wine, mixed green salad, spicy sausage, rotini and homemade spaghetti sauce ripe with sauteed mushrooms, bell peppers and tomatoes from our garden. It doesn’t get much better; and I’m beginning to believe that yes, it can always be this good.
Today was another exceptionally full and busy day. I had my first official day in the deli at Berryvale. Despite that no one has yet to mention anything about me doing any baking (which is what I thought I was hired for), I still enjoyed myself immensely. I spent the morning smiling, flirting, and waiting on customers, pushing buttons, serving wraps, filling coffee and did I mention? Smiling.
After Berryvale, I moved on to work a shift at the SAC gallery. That I followed up with a short jaunt (it’s hardly a jaunt; the door to the kitchen is in the gallery!) to the Village Books bakery where I prepared (and sampled; mmm) ganache for topping trays of brownies. If you’ve not yet had ganache, you ought to. It’s semi-sweet dark chocolate melted into heavy cream. It is so sinful and delicious, and makes me think of Chocolat every time. . .
When I eventually got home, I was tired and rather displaced. I tried to collapse into a nap, but was still buzzing from the day’s activity. So I went for a walk.
It was divine. Bonsey (i.e. Savannah Belle Bones, the best dog in the world) went with me, past the high school, through Shastice park and onto a Disc Golf course. The course is actually just a lovely trail that wends through the woods with the occasional wire goal along the way. It’s lined with deciduous trees and thimbleberry bushes that turn golden in autumn, so the richness of fall color is there on all levels. Tonight we were out at sunset and due to the alpenglow, the pink hue streaked 360 degrees of the sky.
The highlight of the outing occurred when I happened upon the most luscious of smells in the middle of the trail. Suddenly, it was as though I’d walked into a grove of honeycomb. A sweet, subtle scent permeated the air. I inhaled deeply and raised my arms to the sky. I inhaled again and again and again and sighed in between.
The richness of life is available in every breath. Every breath is a chance for glory, for grace. I challenge you: take it.
