Note Worthy

Last summer, I spent a leisurely long weekend in San Francisco where I filled my days with fresh air and sunshine, good coffee and good wine, and the company of one of my best friends. It was delightfully restful and not the least bit touristy. On my last day in town, while walking back from a yoga class at International Orange, I spotted a piece of paper nestled in some leaves alongside a chain-link fence separating a schoolyard from the street. Noticing a child's penmanship, I stopped to give it a closer look.

What a simple and profound message to come across! And written by someone so young. Heavy and light all at once. I snapped a photo and left the index card right where I found it.

A few steps later, I spotted this:

And then this:

Was this part of a school assignment? Remnants of the previous school year? Were they planted here as a pick-me-up for unsuspecting folks such as myself? Hands down, these three photos--and the experience of coming across these messages one at a time--were the best souvenir I could imagine bringing home back east.

I was reminded of this exquisite experience this afternoon when I came across a post on a very cool blog called Operation NICE that encourages individuals to be proactively nice. It's creator, Melissa, is brimming with heartfelt enthusiasm. Today on Operation NICE, she talks about leaving NICE notes, which are simply a few kind words penned for the benefit of a stranger. Much like those schoolyard notes I found at the intersection of Pine and Steiner, I have no doubt that a NICE note can have a profound impact on its passersby.

"Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I cannot take it, like my heart's going to cave in."                                                                                                                    -- American Beauty

Have you ever come across something random and profound when you least expected it? If so, please share. I'd love to hear your stories.

 _________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. Tangible souveniers are so 1984. (All three photos are © Holly Sivec)

Luck Be a Lady(bug)

How many times has a bug landed on you and you just swatted it away without thinking twice? Or do you--like me--discriminate against certain bugs? (Spiders: bad. Ladybugs: good.)

If a ladybug lands on you it is considered to be good luck. And that little ladybug that landed on my right ankle this afternoon got me thinking about all the times I've found myself swatting away people. (Literally, not figuratively--of course.) Who are you? Where'd you come from? You're not a part of the plan. Shoo.

What would happen if I turned that perspective around and considered it a small stroke of luck each time a new person crossed my path? No, not every one of these people needs to play a starring role--or even a protagonistic role. But more and more so, I'm starting to realize that every one and every thing is here for a reason. Perhaps it's to inspire me in some way. Or he or she references a band that becomes a new favorite. Or challenges me. Maybe he or she simply offers up a kind smile or a good laugh when it's most needed.

It is also possible that I might be the one who has something to offer that person. There's no telling, really, what the reason for the encounter may be. Perhaps hindsight will offer up a few clues. But more often than not, these people come and go in our lives with no more than a second's thought.

I am certain, however, that the more often I make an effort to see the good fortune, the more likely I am to hit the jackpot.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (Ladybug photo from Alex Bruda @ stock.xchng)

Related posts: Something There Is That Doesn't Love a Wall

Road Rage Is Mental Clutter

I've been thinking a lot about bicycling lately. Mostly because I recently helped out my brother who was competing in a 12-hour mountain bike race, but also because I've noticed myself experiencing road rage toward the cyclists with whom I share the road.

Me? Road rage? What's that all about? I'm a nice person. I'm all for the environment and eco-friendly actions. Why so hostile? Truth be told, I'm afraid of hitting one of them with my car. Terrified. Their elbow hitting my sideview mirror; them taking a spill, me veering to avoid catastrophe. Or worse--a right-hand turn, bad timing, and a catapulting body. Broken bones and ambulances.

So, when I'm driving beside a cyclist and trying to pass them so that I can get where I need to be a minute faster, I curse them. Stupid bike people and your stupid shorts and stupid helmets. Get the *#$&  out of my way. Occasionally, I displace some of my vitriol on the state, wishing our narrow New England roads had bike lanes or that there were fewer cars on the road. But it's usually the former.

As a corporate communicator, I'm always encouraging writers to put themselves in the recipient's shoes. How does the cyclist feel sandwiched between an SUV and a curb? Is he worried about his safety? Cursing at the cars on the road? Using that information, is there a better way to approach the situation?

Instead of thinking angry thoughts, why not try something more kind and affirmative. Something like: "Hey there, biker person. Look at you doing good for the environment--and your health. Way to go! Hope your travels are happy and safe. Please don't forget to use your hand signals, okay? Take care!"

I never curse all those roadkill squirrels for being so dumb as to run out into traffic. Instead I name them and offer up a little silent eulogy. So, how about a few kind words for that guy riding his bike down School Street with all the cars?

The thoughts that fill our heads are not unlike the contents of the hallway closet. Keep things orderly and all is well. But once things start to get out of control, everything else goes sour. A little mindfulness will take care of that.

What sets you reeling on a tirade of negative thoughts? What quick fix can you make to turn around your perspective on the situation?

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (Image from National Lampoon's European Vacation. Say it with me now: Rrrrrrusty.)

The Yellow Handbag

I was bad. A few weeks ago, I splurged on a new handbag. A cheerful, yellow handbag. Of course, I didn't really need for a new handbag. Nor was it in the budget. But it was on sale. And did I mention, yellow? I picked the handbag up off the shelf--the only one of its size, shape, and color--and draped it over my shoulder while posing in front of a full-length mirror. The image reflected back to me was summery and bright. Exactly what I was craving after this June's never-ending rain. Exactly what I was craving after so many months of being extra mindful of our expenses. I deserved it. Woozy with want, that bag was mine.

At home, I tucked my timeless old leather Coach bags into the closet, vowing to make the most of my new purchase. From here until Labor Day, it would be my go-to bag. The following day, with my cell phone, lip gloss, notebook, sunglasses, pens, and calendar all in place, I carried the bag with me to work--along with a whole lot of buyer's remorse.

What was I thinking?

Money aside, I had just willingly brought a new piece of unnecessary clutter into our home. A cardinal sin of good karma housekeeping. Plus, frivolous purchases are so last year.

Generous return policies certainly help, but I believe that saying no at the cash register--or, better yet, before even getting to the cash register--is the key to living a clutter-free life. It's not always easy to stand by that belief--but returning the bag (and the money to my wallet) feels like a win.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

Related posts: Plenty Is a Mindset The Haves and the Have Nots

A Bunch of Caramels

It's inevitable. Get a group of females together and before long the conversation will shift to one (or both) of the following topics: marriage and babies. Even still, after a decade-plus of answering these questions, they make me squirm. It's exhausting being in the minority. Though I've noticed, the older I get, the more often I find that I'm not alone in choosing to sit out these rites of passage. And the more at ease I feel with these decisions.

There's a line in one of my favorite movies, Good Will Hunting, where Will and Skylar are just about to make plans to go out on a date. Skylar says, "Maybe we could go out for coffee sometime," and Will's responds with "Great, or maybe we could go somewhere and just eat a bunch of caramels." Their simple transaction so perfectly makes my point.

So often we gravitate toward doing things just because it sounds like the right thing to do--or because it's what's expected of you and the situation you're in--not because it's what we truly want to do. Why is that?

Had I fallen in love with someone else, I very well may have gone the marriage and babies route. Would it have been right for me? I'm inclined to think not. Not everybody's a coffee drinker, so to speak. But that doesn't make coffee bad. Or good. Though it sure is nice to have options.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after.

Something There Is that Doesn't Love a Wall

With the sky bright blue and a weekend without too many to-dos, I spent a lot of time outdoors this past weekend. Several hours reading--and marking up--my copy of Patti Digh's Life is a Verb, sipping iced raspberry green tea out on the patio, dipping every vegetable I could get my hands on into my doctored-up humus, marveling at the upside-down sky while in a standing split on top of my backyard hill, and taking lots and lots of walks. On these walks, I couldn't help but notice, it seems that only the little kids say hello. Unabashed hellos with wildly flailing hands and "outdoor" voices.

"Hihihi!" called out one little girl with plush, cupcake-like pigtails and pink shorts, her grandfather back in the distance.

"Hieeeee," squeaked a toddling boy dressed in Nemo pull-ups and splashing in his inflatable pool. His mother kept her back turned as I waved and squeaked back a hieeee.

And then there was Anthony, the bespectacled four-year-old who shouted out, "Can I pet your puppy?" as we walked by and then proceeded to wrap his arms around our old pooch Inky's neck and tell us how much he loved our dog and that he, too, had a puppy--a husky pup named Shadow--and that we could come over and meet him sometime soon. Whew. His parents encouraged him to say goodbye to "our puppy" and to let us go on our way. Truth be told--I was okay with engaging in preschool banter with a neighbor kid. I know that, in a couple of years, Anthony, the pull-ups kid, and cupcake curls will stop calling out their friendly hellos and extending hugs to docile neighborhood dogs. And that bums me out.

I attended this little utopia of a university out in Pennsylvania where everyone said hi to one another, whether you knew each other or not. I remember the first few times I was hello'd by smiling strangers, I didn't really know what to make of it. Being a third-generation New Englander, that's just not the way it's done back home. Why is that? What happens to us as we get older? And what was it about my little utopia that gave us all permission again to say hi to a stranger? The only thing that makes us strangers is the fact that we havn't yet said hello. Right?

There's a chapter in Patti Digh's book titled "Just Wave." She talks about the subtext of this gesture, calling it "a recognition of humanity on both . . . parts--a connection, however brief." Back when I was in my yoga teacher training program and giving it my all to make that connection--however brief--with my students, I had a quote from Chopra's Seven Spiritual Laws of Success (page 65, I think) that I would repeat over and over to myself : "When you experience uncertainty, you're on the right path, so don't give up." Those words kept me from keeling over mid-instruction--and did a little something to relieve the pressure of a "perfect" delivery.

Several months into teaching, I noticed my mantra had unknowingly morphed. Uncertainty had been replaced with connection. What I had been repeating over and over to myself was this:

"When you experience humanity, you're on the right path, so don't give up."

These moments of humanity, these extended connections with a community of strangers-turned-friends, made me feel like I was five years old again. Completely oblivious to Frost's walls.

So, what is it about our cold, long, New England winters; our reservedness; our need for privacy and boundaries that holds us back? When's the last time you made a connection with the person behind the check-out counter, next to you on the train, or walking down the sidewalk? What's stopping you? Do you need a double-dog dare?

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--both mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (photo © Pamela Glaysher)

Related Posts: Luck Be a Lady(bug)

Observations on My Sense of Observation

I have always fancied myself to be a pretty observant person, taking mental note of all the random little things that often go unregistered. Like the two small cups of Dunkin' Donuts coffee one of my old professors used to bring to every class. Or the ladybug design on the PLU sticker on my apple. Or the surprising number of people at the grocery store who buy those sugar wafer cookies. So, when I was climbing across the passenger seat of my car a few days ago, getting my trusty l'il Honda ready for its end-of-lease inspection, I couldn't believe what I noticed: a sticky mark on my windshield from where a piece of tape once held the spec sheet on my car.

I've had this car for three and a half years now, and I'm just noticing this tape on my windshield? What else have I been living with, ignorant of its existence? True, my purse and shoes don't often match--yet they're not artfully mismatched in that Clinton- and Stacy-approved way. I've spied a poppyseed in my teeth hours after eating an everything bagel for breakfast. I sometimes wear a gold ring along with my stainless steel watch. The horror, I know. But at the end of the day, who cares really. Does it make me less intelligent, less presentable, less successful? No, no, and no. So what if there's a line of sticky gunk on my passenger side windshield that has been there for the past 41 months.

But if you ever see me walking around with the 100% lambswool tag hanging from the sleeve of my coat or (gasp, shudder) the little white stitches on the back waistband of my pants, then you can judge me. Until then, I'm owning up to my smudges and imperfections.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. ("Imperfectly Yours" photo credit Mel B. via Creative Commons--thank you!)

Related posts: And Then There Was One