The Cat Litter People: Getting in Touch with Your Inner Wildness

I've done a fair amount of pet sitting over the years. While at the home of one high-brow cat, I spent several days visiting various pet stores in search of a certain brand of cat litter that was odor-free and promised "superior clumping ability," which was what I wanted according to the empty container I carried on my quest.  (For the uninitiated, "clumping" is a euphemistic reference for how the cat's deposits will interact with the litter, for easier disposal.) 

I'm no stranger to synchronicity, yet it always amuses me greatly to see how Spirit uses "the subject at hand" for its teachings. So here I am, having successfully located a sister litter to the one the cat's human prizes, spelunking gleefully in foreign bookshelves.  (As a writer, the opportunity to peruse other people's books is one of the joys of housesitting.)  I fasten on a book with the intriguing title, Deep Play, by poet and naturalist Diane Ackerman. I de-clump the cat litter and settle down to read.

In Chapter Three, "Sacred Places," I am astonished by the words, "…people seem desperate to clump and bunch, swarming all over each other in towns while most of the land lies empty." Ackerman is describing her return to Phoenix after being succored by the Grand Canyon, contrasting the Canyon's ineffable vastness with the matrix of human habitation. Yet what sprang immediately to my mind was: cat litter. READ MORE

The Velcro Factor: How to Speak in the Language Others Can Hear

You know how to talk. You've been doing it for decades. But are your listeners hearing your intended message?

Learning to speak in the language others can hear is a critical task many of us never master, because it requires putting yourself in the receiver's role and asking if the way you're presenting your information makes sense to this particular audience.

For example: if I began a talk on personal growth by saying, "When I emerged from the womb after my dark night of the soul, I felt reborn, and ready to give my gift to the world," many people might completely comprehend what I was trying to say — but there are many, many more whose eyes would glaze over in confusion.

But what if I started with, "After a long illness during which I began to question the purpose of my life, I began anew with a deeper understanding of who I am and what I'm here to do." Is this clearer? I'm expressing the same thoughts, but for two distinct audiences. Sharing the second introduction with a group more attuned to the first message would be as ineffective as the reverse.

I grew into this awareness of learning to speak in the language others can hear slowly. One terrific though unwitting resource was my brother. When he was deep in the throes of his awakening, I eagerly sent him a book that had been given to me at a pivotal time in my own growth: Louise Hay's classic, You Can Heal Your Life. I've read it hundreds of times over the years and integrated her teachings into my life in numerous ways.

My brother added my offering to "the pile": books he'd already been given by well-meaning friends. Clearly, it didn't speak to him.

Not long afterward, I attended a weekend workshop on personal mastery. The trainer highly recommended a book that imparted spiritual principles through the lens of basketball, Sacred Hoops. I made a mental note to check it out.

As I held the book in my hands and glanced through its pages, I couldn't imagine why I'd want to read it. Basketball doesn't interest me in the slightest. Plus, I was already familiar with much of the content from other sources. Then I realized with a grin and an "Oh, duh!" that I was supposed to send the book to my brother, who loves basketball and, in his forties, continued to play at every opportunity. I bought the book and mailed it special delivery, without a note.

Less than a week later I received a four-page letter (this man is not a letter-writer! And this was before we were all on daily email), saying the package had been waiting when he'd come home from work that Monday evening, "after the worst weekend of my life." He wrote, "I can't put it down, I'm already halfway through it and I wish it was 1,000 pages long." I nearly wept with joy and gratitude that I'd been guided to send him exactly what he needed, at exactly the right time. All I had to do was get my own preconceptions out of the way, and speak in his language — in this case, basketball.

Actress and playwright Elizabeth Fuller calls this awareness, "The Velcro Factor": being so specific with her examples in a performance that audience members can recognize themselves in what she and partner Conrad Bishop share. Thus, the message "sticks."

Sending my brother Sacred Hoops was a Velcro Factor experience for me. Choose what you use, learn to discern. Communicate in the language your audience can hear.

The Renewable Resource Called Y-O-U

Is your future sustainable? Do you take time and care daily to replenish your own wells — or is the renewable resource called Y-O-U running on empty?

I invite you to disembark the "Stress Express" for a train of thought that takes time not only to stop and smell the roses, but to cultivate them as well.

H.O.M.E. is an acronym for "Heart Of My Energy," with "om" as the calm center. We come "om" by creating a plateau of peace, a home within that can't be shaken no matter what's going on externally. Think of it this way: work is applied energy. Sustaining your own energy means working with yourself as a renewable resource.

Here are 9 realistic rituals you can adapt to come "om" to yourself: Read the rest!

The Leadership Test

I had two interesting encounters with receptionists this morning. Arriving early for my meeting with a prospective client in a café nestled in a small office suite, I had time to creatively quest a copy machine. I wanted to copy a 7-page magazine article, and intended to pay for the privilege. The first office I entered didn't even own a copy machine. At the second, as I stated my request, the receptionist looked at me coolly for a moment, then said, "Let me go ask HR." I thought, "Ask Human Resources if someone can copy a few pages?" But I held my tongue. She came back and suggested I try the company upstairs.

This time, I chose to frame my request a little differently. I smiled as I approached the friendly-looking receptionist and asked if I might make a copy of an article I wrote in order to send it to my parents, as the subject matter concerns them (it's about aging in place). She glanced at the magazine and said with a tinge of wonder, "You wrote that?" [Apparently being a writer still carries a certain cachet in some circles!] I said, "Yes, and I'm happy to pay for the copies. It's just 6 or 7 pages." She said, "Oh, I wouldn't even know what to charge you." When I said most copy places charge 10 cents, she waved my offer away, then had a thought: "We probably have that magazine right here." I looked on the rack by the entrance, and sure enough, there it was. I said, "So, I could just clip out my article?" She answered, "No, go ahead and take the magazine." What if someone else wants to read it? I inquired. She smiled and shrugged, "Take it."

I don't know if either woman has managerial or entrepreneurial aspirations, but my money's on the second one, who took the decision-making reins, thought creatively, and arrived at a solution that was beyond satisfactory. To me, this was a microcosmic lesson in what leadership looks like. What do you think?

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Coda: I realized the next day that this creative response came from the company on the third floor — I had to go right to the top, where she made an executive decision! I laughed out loud as I made the final connection; Spirit has always amused me with its inimitable sense of humor.