HIT THE BOOKS- (TOOLS TO SHIFT PERSPECTIVE)

The #shiftingperspective series is an unscientific compilation of the tools, 

attitudes or approaches that have supported my journey to becoming whole-hearted, 

awake, and not controlled by my trauma.

You can read the first installment here:  Meet Your Maker

Attitude is a very important tool that can take you towards or away from any goal.
The attitude I have towards learning can make a major difference in whether 
or not I am able to become something different.

When we're little, our minds and hearts are like little sponges, ready and able 

to soak up any information that comes along.

Somewhere along the way, we decide that because we've mastered

 certain skills, we don't need to learn as much anymore.

We decide that because we know how to do one thing, 
we don't need to learn how to do others.

By the time we're adults, most of us have slowed the 

learning down to a trickle, barely experiencing the world in new ways

or being challenged by new information.

It's why they say it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks-

not because the old dog CAN'T learn or is dumb

but because the older dog thinks it already KNOWS everything.

It is next to impossible to shift your perspective to something new 

if you think that you already know everything about everything. 

If you want to change, then it's important to adopt the attitude of a student.

Intentionally accept that you don't actually know how to be different 

already and open yourself up to learning.

Sometimes it's hard to resist knowledge potential.....even when you're not in that class anymore

Waaaay back in the early 2000's, I decided that I wanted to be an excellent cook.

Not a professional chef (probably) but definitely a person who had mastered techniques,

had the ability to create meals that were memorable, and was competent in the kitchen. 

Most of all, I wanted to please my own demanding palate.
I had been cooking on some level since I was 10 years old but I decided
that there were things to learn and that I was going to learn them.

I studied everything I could get on the subject of cooking and used every available

 avenue to acquire this information:  cooking shows, youtube videos, 

blogs and all the cookbooks. 

I did not focus on one flavor profile, style, or food. 

I picked up anything that interested me and absorbed it. 

From a book on pioneer cooking (actual recipes from the 1700s) to flashy
fluff written by reality TV chefs-

I read cookbooks like novels at night, marking anything that looked interesting

for weekend kitchen attempts.

I tried out thousands of recipes and hundreds of techniques.

I took some classes led by experienced professionals.

I practiced by myself and with friends who were like minded and better cooks than me.

I spent 10 years mastering something-immersing myself in a sea of information so that

I understood the rules, the science, and the areas where I had been under-achieving.
I practiced, failed, and tried again.

I learned from other people's broad experience

before I knew how to do it myself.
I trusted that something about a particularly complicated technique or 
flavor combo worked because it had worked for someone else.

Over a decade in, I can operate in a kitchen

in a way that would lead you to believe I never had to work at it.

I make it look easy-when it was actually a slow, messy slog.

Lemons into lemonade....

A few years ago, I decided that I was going to become a more integrated, healed person.

I was going to figure out what would help me thrive as a person, understand why I 

behaved in certain ways, and break the cycle of dysfunction that was 

laid down for me as a child.

I might as well have set myself the goal of learning to breathe underwater

given my understanding of the world, my life experience to date and my perspective.

I was a people pleasing, perfectionist, over-achiever who looked outside of 

myself for all of my value.

How on earth was I going to become someone who was healthy and integrated?

I basically applied a similar attitude towards my goal of personal growth that
 I applied to cooking.

I became a student again.

Learning new things is hard but it is not impossible. 

The attitude of a student allows me to admit that I'm inadequate or lost in an area

 so that I can open myself up to learn.

I read voraciously, listen to podcasts, utilize social media, and talk to anyone

who will engage with me on the subject.

I have no judgement or aversion to a particular teacher-

every book or podcast will teach me something.

From Wayne Dyer to Dr. Laura, Rumi to Rob Bell, Oprah to Rachel Hollis-

I've got a hundred teachers who have been invaluable in shifting my perspective.

I read books and then I read their references and indexes to get my next reading list.

I jot down notes when podcast speakers share what material 
or thought leader inspired them.

I go to conferences, I take classes, I ask other people what has helped them.

Having the attitude of a student allows me to take all of this in without
 feeling the need to qualify it,

justify it, or worry about how it might be sticking to me.

What I've noticed is that when I'm reading material around healing, self-help or even just physical health-I can have all kinds of crap roll up into my lizard brain.

Resistance is real-particularly when it hits you in your tender spots.

The first time I read a book that told me I'd need to take some personal responsibility for the wounds I inflicted on myself because of my trauma, 
I wanted to scream at the author that NONE OF THIS IS MY FAULT.
I could have stopped right there, put down the books and decided to throw in the towel.
If I am in my ego, in my feelings, feeling smart and like an expert-I likely will.
If I have the attitude of a student, I can accept that the teacher is sharing something 

they believe to be important and useful.
I can hold some space for the message and resist the urge to categorize 
information as valid or invalid, useful or wasteful, for me or not.

There are lots of things that I've learned as a student that don't become 

useful later in life (for instance- calculus equations for calculating the path of a parabola

 or the bleak descriptions of the sea in Moby Dick) but that doesn't mean they

 aren't true or useful in someone's life or weren't a good use of my time in the moment.

Having the attitude of a student lets me absorb the information and place it on a shelf until I am capable of deciding whether it will be useful to me in particular.

In case you're interested, I've created some Pinterest boards with resources to books and podcasts that have been useful on my particular journey so far.  
You can find it here:  Shifting Perspective Resources

I'd love to hear any recommendations from you for books, teachers or even memes that have helped you along your own path.

MEET YOUR MAKER (TOOLS TO SHIFT PERSPECTIVE)

I am a very different person than I was four years ago and that is not the result 

of a magic one week cleanse or a finding the right man or a gypsy curse.

I have done some particular behaviors that have made it possible for me 

over time to incrementally become a different person.
In full disclosure...my discovery of these items was often accidental.
I'm creating a series called #shiftingperspective because
it's possible that one other person needs some tips or tools for how to change.

It's is an unscientific compilation of the tools, 

attitudes or approaches that have supported my journey

 to becoming whole-hearted, awake, and not controlled by my trauma.

An important step for me shifting my perspective was

committing myself to God.
No...I don't mean taking a vow of celibacy or joining a cult.
I mean connecting to my Maker with intention by
creating a practice that moves through my daily life.
I mean picking a path to reach God that gives me framework and accountability.
I stopped avoiding my own belief and ideas about God
and decided to accept God as an integral and necessary 
part of my existence.

For the first four decades of my life, I was an arrogant jackass in my relationship to God.  

To anyone who struggles with faith, who longs for a connection with the Divine

 and can't quite get there-I'm sorry.  

I hear your pain and struggle and I acknowledge that my next few paragraphs

 might make you feel rage at my wasteful and irreverent attitude.  

To those of you who are committed atheists or anti-religion-I hear you too.  

I am not trying to convert anyone to a religion.  

Just hear me out and let it percolate for a while.

I think there's something in here that will shift even the most 

self-destructive or apathetic soul.

Let's talk about God...the Divine...the Universe....Love with a capital L.

I have always had a connection with God that was personal and real. 

God has been with me since I was little and I have always been able to 

find that golden thread that connects me to the WHOLE when I go looking for it.

I have talked to God throughout my life-
usually asking for guidance once I was well and truly lost.

God answers me on the reg-

sometimes in clear, direct ways and sometimes in infuriating riddle.

My personal connection with God requires very little suspended belief or blind faith.

I don't understand God per se...but I experience and feel God 
moving and working in the world.
God is as real to me as the wind or cellular division or fermentation.

If I believe that God is real and I experience God often, you would think that 

I would develop intentional ways to connect with that mystery as often as possible.

I hate to disappoint you with my humanity 

but this very ease enabled me to dismiss a spiritual practice 

as unimportant for a long time.

I went through my first four decades or so taking this connection for granted-

treating this gift as if it were not precious or important to my overall well-being.
I reached for God when I needed a favor, I high-fived God when something
amazing happened, I said some nice things to God on holidays, 
and I tried really hard not to work on it too much.

This connection was organic and fundamental-but also
suspiciously free from angst, pain or expectation.
Because of my unresolved trauma and family of origin

I preferred to focus my energy on more challenging things-
like people-pleasing, chasing someone else's dreams, or pretending everything was FINE.
It's hard work hustling to meet the challenges that the world values
and I was a winner dammit!  

God often told me that I was enough, that I could choose differently,

that I was made for more, that there was another path.

If I'm being truly honest....I felt this connection was kind of annoying.
God was so consistently present and frankly...
saying something that I was uninterested in hearing.

I learned to ignore God so I could do what I wanted.

Yeah yeah....I said.  
I'm gonna try that, just as soon as I convince this person to love me

 or I become financially set for life, or get through this hard parenting milestone.

Just over that mountain-that's where I'll meet You, 
spend some time in Your presence.

But my priority for this connection just kept receding into the distance, 

dropping lower on the life goal list.

Be still God said.

Hold my beer I responded.

So what changed?

I failed.
All my worldly targets and achievements didn't keep me safe.
My people pleasing and focusing on the worldly ideas of success
didn't exempt me from pain, shame and humiliation.
This fail was so big and so deep that I couldn't dust myself off 

and pretend like it was no big deal.
I was down for the count for months and I wasn't sure I was getting back up.
There were sleepless nights within this time where I felt dead-

stunned into stillness by the blows to my soul.

I wanted to die; I felt dead in many ways.

I wanted to leave-this life, my job, my marriage.
Any relationship that I had previously participated within
felt barren, tasteless, and colorless.

I reached out to God-connecting to that source that I couldn't make time for before.
I spent much of that dark time wrapped in God-

using God for strength when I couldn't eat, couldn't breathe, 
couldn't climb into a chair much less move mountains.

God sustained me in a way that I didn't know was possible-

and showed me something precious I had been dismissing because

 it was so available to me.

I was reaching out to God consistently for a protracted amount of time.

I showed up, I listened to what God said-
even when it sounded waaaay harder than just leaving, 
even when it seemed like lunatic guidance,

when it made me angry and was exactly the opposite of what the world 

told me to do.

Somewhere in this darkness...I committed to a path
that included God and it made a major difference in my healing.
I kept coming back, kept doing my part, kept reaching for the connection, 
and I accidentally managed to heal parts of myself that were stuck.
My perspective about many things changed because I gave
over myself to a higher power.

Now I can feel you bunching up.
Perhaps everything I'm saying just reinforces that I'm bonkers to you
but I'm going to keep pushing for a minute.

Skepticism and resistance makes a lot of sense to me-

more sense than any on the spot conversion ever has in my opinion.

I am not telling you to be a certain religion.

I'm not actually telling you that religion is the answer to anything.

Religion can get in the way of personal growth and development

because it often narrows the field in 
ways that are based in human failings, fear or power.
Religions are support paths or frameworks-ways that other humans
have managed to connect to God.
They persist because they work-like 12 step programs or weigh watchers.
I am not knocking them but I am also not saying you need them
or promoting one over the other.

I'm not talking about theology or consequences-

whether there is a heaven or a hell,

who gets to be in or who gets to be out.

Everyone belongs to God, in God, with God.

Why do I think this helps?

There are a couple of angles I could take up about this.

My understanding of my own nature is that I'm a physical body,

with emotions and logic as primary influences of my behavior.

I'm an entity comprised of body, mind and spirit.

Fueling my spirit is just as important as physical health
and requires a commitment from me to support that spirit.
It's not likely that I can shift my perspective intentionally
if I'm not healthy in all three areas.
Connecting with God helps my spirit be healthy.

Don't like that angle?

How about this one...whatever you believe, 

I am assuming that you don't believe that you personally

 were the Force behind the universe creation, 

behind the stars and planets and those little baby feet that are so perfectly scrumptious.

Something ELSE did that and I'm pretty sure you don't understand 

what that something ELSE is.

It's a mystery.
Accepting that you don't know everything is important.
Trying to connect to that mystery more often-
letting go of your ego, listening to the seashell of the universe,
living into possibility-changes you.

What if you're angry at God?
First....you're not alone.
There are so many broken and damaged people-
every single one of us is pretty messed up.
If you've been hurt or neglected in the name of God,
don't you deserve redemption?
If you've been taught ideas about God that 
sound like middle school drama rules, wouldn't it be nice
to take that to the principal's office?
Second...God can handle your anger.
You are encouraged and allowed to feel all the feelings.
God is not a human-passive aggressive and bound by our rules.
Let me ask you this:
You ever have a fight with your best friend and stop speaking to her?
How long did you stop speaking to her?
Was it forever?
I stopped speaking to one of mine for a year in college.
And then one day I realized that the burden of my anger
was too heavy to bear-no matter what terrible thing she'd done-
and we went to dinner.
We had a hard time getting started, what she'd done wasn't undone,
and what I'd done in response wasn't either.
We'd both missed out though because I didn't know how to speak
my disappointment, rage and frustration.
We learned a lot in that experience-both the fighting and the forgiveness.
If two self-centered and dramatic college kids can wade into 
a conversation and come out better,
then certainly the Force that moves through the universe
can handle your rage.
Give it over and see  what happens when there's a space.
Be still, open up,
reach for something bigger than you little human.


There are infinite names for God.
You cannot ever fully know or contain God.
The task is impossible.
There is still value in the trying, in the journey, in the wrestle.
There are 6 billion paths to God-there is one for you too.
Whatever path you choose...the action of choosing, 
the practice or the commitment has a payoff that is unexpected.


This post feels really long-winded but I don't want to lose the important bit.
Here's what I'm saying in the most direct way possible:
Actively work to connect with God
and your perspective will shift.
It has too...your focus is different so your view will change too.

LEMON MERINGUE PIE (A LOVE OFFERING)

No mother is perfect, it's an impossible job.

It's possible to be a mother, give it everything you've got

and still have your children wish you were different.

My children are already amused and exasperated by their mom-
I don't imagine it will get better with time.
Grandmothering seems to be evaluated differently.

Grandmothering appears to be a skill that can be mastered

and allows for more latitude in terms of execution.

Both of my grandmothers,

Inez and Annie Ruth,

were truly outstanding in their field

when it came to grandmothering.

They were so different from each other-and yet....
their love was similar in that it didn't waiver

as they nurtured and cared for my little heart with tremendous soul.
Each of them gave me different gifts, intentionally
pouring love into me with their time and attention.

If I'm truthful, some of my more ridiculous and persistent 

character traits are owed in large part to their influence.
I would not have it any other way.
On this week of Thanksgiving,
I want to share some of the gifts they gave me-
including a recipe I use to help me remember
that while love is not a pie, pie can remind us of love.

L-R: Inez, 16 year old me, Annie Ruth

Inez was not a particularly good cook or housekeeper-

her home base talents were a zest for life and a willingness to drag some

 scraggly grandkids along while she did pretty much anything. 
She was a trail blazer-working outside of the home
in a male dominated field very successfully until retirement.
She moved back to NC and turned that prodigious energy on us-
the grandkids that lived next door, or with her, depending on how
lost our mother was in the moment. 
With Inez, we were always going-

to visit her colorful sisters or friends, 

to try out a new swimming pool, on a walk to find ice cream sandwiches,

 or taking a road trip to somewhere we'd never been.  
The zoo, the beach, the mountains, museums and the new Chinese restaurant.
She had a robust sense of possibility or a deep fear of boredom.

She was interested in whatever shenanigan interested us-

at least enough to encourage us to get back at it.  

She quoted poetry, did little jigs while she made us turkey sandwiches,

and apparently had a song snippet for just about every occasion.  
She encouraged reading, academic achievement,
debate (about politics or college basketball).

I don't have a lot of Inez recipes-she had more energy than skill. 
Her home was my place of retreat and safety-
where I was always welcome to have anything I wanted to eat.
There was usually a loaf of banana or zucchini bread,
or sandwiches or soup.
She just didn't make a lot of meals necessarily-
or at least none that were over the top tasty.
Her kitchen projects were more prolonged and 
with a longer focus in mind than one particular meal.

She loved to dry apples, pick blackberries or grapes or cherries, 
make jam or pickles or chow-chow.  
The only thing I can really think of that she made at holidays was something

 she called scrabble but her other friends called trash.  

It's basically chex mix mixed with nuts and covered in soy sauce
and spices, baked until it dried back out to a crunch. 

In November there would be mountains of it stacked in ziploc bags

 on her dining table, ready to take to church bazaars and give as favors.

Annie Ruth was a firecracker-almost wholly without filter.  

I say 'almost' because as she aged, her sons often wished for 

the halcyon days where she had apparently been holding back.  

I loved to spend time with her-there was no telling what she was going to say. 
When I called to see if she wanted to go to lunch, 

she would answer the phone, out of breath, and sound truly annoyed

 that someone had interrupted her.  

Call back 2 minutes from when you hung up with her, and the same routine. 
She hadn't gone anywhere and yet-she was out of breath and exhausted,
possibly dying slowly from a preventable but terminal disease.
Every time. 
Until she found out it was a grandchild that is.

Then her voice would brighten like a child on Christmas morning.

Oh HELLOOO DOLL BABY!

Yeah, let's go up to Huey's and get the buffett.

Then you can take me to get my medicine.

She was not politically correct, she had opinions 

about everything and they were some combination
of irreverent and concerned for the welfare of someone
she had no business being nosy about.
She inhabited a place fully without ever really

expressing a desire to go somewhere new

(although she did go to the beach and to Dollywood with my Papa).

She was not a city person, trusted no one, 

was convinced she was one step away from being robbed or 

assaulted by a stranger.

This should have probably been scary but instead it was hilarious.

There were no strangers in Mebane NC-at least not strangers to her.

She wielded a cast iron skillet like a holy grail of grease.  

Her biscuits and fried chicken set the bar high for how I will forever

 evaluate Southern American celebration food.
I have yet to taste any better-and most don't even come close.
Creamed corn, field peas, fried okra, cornbread, country ham,
red eye gravy, and sweet iced tea that had to be sipped in tea cups.
Even sliced tomatoes tasted better at Annie Ruth's. 

Annie Ruth had a sweet tooth which she believed in indulging.  

Every Sunday lunch had pies, cakes, and occasional jello concoctions.  

Banana pudding (the actual cooked kind), pineapple upside down cake, chocolate or lemon chess pie, coconut creme cake...

there were always at least 4 things to choose from in the back room

 on top of the cabinator (freezer). 

 One of her specialties was lemon meringue pie.

Her version was pale yellow, sweet enough to hurt your teeth,

and fell apart immediately when you cut into it.

This pie became a symbolic act of love from her to me

during my high school and college years.

Anytime I was going to be home (at my dad's)

she would make me a whole lemon pie.

A whole pie just for me-the extravagance of it is absurd.

 It was so rare for me to feel beloved or wanted in family 

spaces-grief is a real place, that can only be navigated in doses.

  I think she tried to overcome the bitter with the sweet-

and as love offerings go, this one could have resulted in
a wave of altar calls.

This is NOT Annie Ruth's recipe-hers involved a lot more stuff.  

She made the crust from scratch and the sheen I remember 

coming off of her pies would suggest there's a 

missing ingredient that cardiologists would not approve of
(not that cardiologist would approve of this one either).  

This recipe is slightly easier than hers but is pretty close to the flavor.

It is not healthy and there should be no further attempts to 

make it more healthy-this is not daily food meant to support your body.

This is soul food-meant to remind you of heaven and unconditional love.

Eating the whole thing is possible-

but not recommended. 

Find someone to share it.
Or give it to them outright.

Lemon Meringue Pie

Ingredients:

1 store bought graham cracker pie crust

3 egg yolks

1- 14 oz can of sweetened condensed milk

1/2 cup of lemon juice

3 egg whites

6 tablespoons of sugar

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Mix yolks, condensed milk and lemon juice until smooth.  

Pour into pie crust.

In a clean bowl, mix egg whites and sugar.

Blend egg white mixture with a hand mixer 
until you think you might actually die standing there....
which is about the time stiff peaks will start to form.

When you can work with the meringue as if it's an 80's hair sculpture, 

place it on top of the lemon mixture.  

I like to make little peaks so they will brown but you can 

basically shape it almost any way you like.

Put in the oven for 15 minutes.

Cool on the counter and then refrigerate for 4 hours.

  

IF I WANT TO BE DIFFERENT THEN, I HAVE TO MAKE CHANGES NOW

I've talked before about the level of energy and production I have.
I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say I 'do' more than most.
When I want to do something, I generally get after it.
And yet....in spite of all of my hustling, there are some to-dos
that just never seem to get checked off.

Things I've told myself are important and are going to happen.  

Things that I don't want to let go of for some reason but I always 

move lower on the priority list because...

well, I haven't been 100% sure of the because. 

Why do I keep moving particular items from the top of the to-do list

to the middle, even though I agree in my bones

that they are important and need to be done sooner rather than later?

It's been one of those annoying but consistent mysteries 
that falls in the same category as single sock syndrome.

Here are some things that I have said are a priority and 

then repeatedly nudged to the lower middle of the to do list:

doing a pull-up
developing a daily intentional connection with God

scheduling hard wood floor replacement in my home

making eye contact-especially with people who are different than me
having a highly informed opinion when I vote

avoiding inflammatory foods-like ALL THE TIME, not just on Mondays

dusting (anything)

writing one of the 3 books I have outlined

lots of corporate paperwork for Bloomin

When I look at this list, it appears to be a mix of large, 

chewy things and small irritating minutiae.  

It's hard to find the invisible thread that runs through them all.
At first I thought it was laziness.

I know what to do if I'm feeling lazy.
I wake up my internal drill sergeant
and have her bully me over the top of the wall.
Except-that didn't work.
Trying to work on these items felt like carrying dead 
weight over that wall.
I couldn't lift one-much less carry it and myself.
Maybe they are too boring or uninteresting?
Not shiny enough?
Nope...that doesn't fit either.
How about too hard or complicated?
Maybe I'm intimidated by them?
Possibly but...that doesn't feel quite right either.
I'm not usually avoidant of complications-quite the opposite.
What is it about these tasks that makes them slippery?
I don't want any of them to come off the list
and yet, I can't seem to manage to move them over the line.

What is the difference between work that I say is a priority

and work that actually becomes a priority?
What connects these things that I have such a hard time
moving off of my list?

There's something about writing that very often unlocks doors 
within my brain that I haven't even realized were there.
I create a draft blog post and then let that topic percolate
 through my subconscious while I go on with life.
Every couple of weeks I check in on it, turn it over,
and then walk away again.
It's a kind of magic that works a lot
like composting or fermentation.
I can't see what's happening but eventually I will 
have an epiphany just because I set my mind to work on it.
I've been giving this topic side-eye for multiples of months-
letting this post age and breathe but making very little progress.

A few weeks ago, my daughter and I were talking about her ability to 
sustain long runs on the soccer field.
She's a fast, competitive little hummingbird who
has some serious natural talent for this sport.
Her innate abilities have been enough to keep her in the 
game until very recently.
Lately though, she runs out of juice by game end
and that's pretty frustrating to her.
She wants to be able to run as fast in game minute 40 that 
she can run in the first 10 minutes.
That is possible but it will take some investment
in the form of long runs a few other days of the week, 
solid nutrition, and probably some mental conditioning.
Her genetics and inclination will only take her so far.

I said this phrase to my daughter:

If you want to be different then, you have to make changes now.
This happens a lot-where my subconscious speaks to me
when I think I'm teaching someone else.

If I want to be different then, I need to be different now.
Well duh.
How obvious and easy does that feel?
Except, of course it isn't.

Back to my never completed mid-level items.
Each of the items that keeps getting bumped off of the top 

of the list has the ability to cause me a protracted amount of discomfort. 
I won't be able to rely on my natural abilities to get them done
without some planning and training to support those efforts.
Don't believe me that dusting would take a long protracted effort?
Well....here's a hot tip that I have recently realized:

  I've mislabeled a few items to keep

the list small and to pretend it's not that challenging.
Dusting is short hand for 'get my house right'
because it always leads to protracted cleaning and decluttering.
Which I like in theory but can derail an entire month of weekends.  

(See Insights from a Garage).   
This is exactly the same barrier to replacing our flooring.
Replacing our flooring will mean several weeks
of upheaval in the heart of our lives.

 Other items on this list will mean months or weeks of extended failure.  

None of the books that I've framed out are nearly as clear and 

direct as any of my blog posts.  

Some of the content in my books will require me to warn
my children before the rest of the world
understands exactly how screwed up I have been.

Writing a book will mean I intentionally spend weeks in the recesses

 of my mind, tugging on imperfections, remembering really 

uncomfortable situations and somehow turning that into work worth sharing.

Saying what needs to be said but using my own soul for the catalyst. 
Also, I've never written a book and I'm pretty sure my first drafts
(and third and fourth drafts) will be horrendous.
I will have to hang with that content for months until it becomes real. 

My point is, each of the items that keeps sliding
needs me to develop some habits to support my ability to 
be uncomfortable in my own life for a protracted period of time.
These items might not be hard for someone else
but they hit me in tender areas that aren't naturally resilient
enough for me to endure a protracted campaign.
If I want to move them off the list,
I'm going to need to do some training.
If I want to be different then, I have to make changes now.

Short term perseverance has been a towering strength of mine
but long term, consistent change has often eluded me.
Especially if we're talking about personal change.
My signature move is to provide an overwhelming amount of focus
and energy to hit a crazy goal, and then drop 
back into my old patterns as I search for a new wave to ride.
I would never describe myself as someone 
who avoids hard things.
But I would describe myself as someone who lacks structure
or consistency...someone who has a weaker
amount of self-discipline.
Anytime I've had consistent improvement or change
in long term self-discipline,
I've had an external structure to support that goal.
School, career, motherhood.
A reason outside myself to push through to the goal.
I haven't been able to move some of these personal
goals forward because no one outside of myself cares if I do them or not
AND they require me to develop new habits that need
to persist for longer than a few weeks.

If I want to be different then, I have to make changes now.

I'm starting to see that making small amounts of discomfort 
a daily habit is key to reaching many of my goals.
I am afraid of being uncomfortable, of failing, or doing it 'wrong'.
Not on things that matter to other people-
but on things that matter the most to ME.

This is uncomfortable but also, exactly who I want to become.

A person who stops shuffling her priorities in favor of 
her own immediate gratification.
Someone who doesn't need external validation
or an award to move her own agenda forward.

Someone who respects herself, nurtures herself, and doesn't
 regret her avoidance when she's eighty.
How do I do that?  
I'm planning to cover that in a series called #shiftingperspective.