Practice kindness.
Live generously.
Speak truth.
Cultivate love.
In this world of constant media tally, hierarchy, and perceived competition, it is all too easy to compare ourselves to others. It is especially easy to rank ourselves relative to those who do things better, achieve more, seem to know more, have more, do things with more ease than we managed so far. After all, there seems to be an endless stream of listings–the best in this, the most accomplished in that, the richest/biggest/strongest/thinnest/best-dressed/most-tweeted/most-friended/most-bought … It is as if we are expected to place ourselves along ordinal strings of relative abilities (and by extension, relative worthiness). As if we are to define ourselves by where others are. To chase the pace of others so we not lose our spot.
Compare yourself to others, and neutral becomes unimportant. You either win, or lose. You are either the best, or risk being the worst. You run: for more wealth, more friends, more recognition, better placement. You look behind your shoulder. You run some more.
Comparison itself is not a bad thing. It can serve as catalyst for progress–you may see someone achieve what you did not know was possible, and it can give you hope to try for dreams you did not dare believe you could make real before. However, it can also–and all too often do–serve to put yourself down, to discourage, to dissuade, to convince yourself that you just don’t have what it takes (though supposedly others do). Comparison can have you believe that you cannot do it and might as well give up on the dream before you even try it. Because others already did it better. Or got there first. Or would.
Comparison is energy–it just is. How we use it defines whether it binds or frees us. Whether it restores or drains. Having awareness of what is possible builds. It infuses motivation. It sustains. It fosters growth. However, relative worthiness stilts. It instills anxiety. It fosters disillusion. It chips at self-worth.
You have the power to choose which forms of comparison you use. Be wary of how you compare, to whom, and why you do so. If you choose to compare yourself to others to show how better you may be than some; know that alongside whatever you think you are measuring, you will also be planting a seed of doubt and failure by making your own worth dependent on your relative ranking among others. If, on the other side, you compare yourself to what you could before and where you’ve come from and what you now believe is possible; know that alongside this perspective you’d be planting seeds of strength and clear-seeing. You will be inviting possibility, expansion, gratitude, and generosity.
Comparing yourself with others–by definition–nurtures shoots of jealousy. They may be well hidden under social platitudes and self-deceit, but you must know that if your sense of who you are depends on where you place in relation to the success of others, there will be some spot of wishing for another’s failure so that your space may advance.
This is not necessary for growth. Like light, more progress by more souls only means brighter futures for each one and less darkened corners for all.
Set yourself free of rank and skin-deep importance. This does not mean you just lean back on half-baked laurels and dismiss the need for further growth. Rather, it calls for finding motivations that do not include climbing over others to get ahead. It calls for identifying the mountains that are uniquely yours to climb and the vistas that are meant for you to see. It releases possibilities that no one can take away from you, for they are within you, and not dependent on another’s stumbling or bowing down or burning out.
Use others’ success as guideposts, not podiums. Utilize their abilities as mentoring for what is possible. Identify what you would and would not accept as paths to growth. Find hope in journeys that belay what you used to believe your could do, then chart anew. There are no limits and there is no race but those you place against your own old habits or lazy bones.
You’ll be stoking the fire of your own dreams, rather than the engine that spins the hamster-wheels of others. Cut ties to relative succeeding, you will enable others to follow and snip free their own. Disavow competition for self-knowledge and self-prodding. Your horizons will become clear of motivations that were soaked and cloaked in jealousy and greed. You’ll walk where you are meant to walk and be who you are meant to be.
Moreover, you will forge a path for young ones, caught as they may already be in constant ranking as a measure of self-worth.
Become a beacon for individual ability. For less competition. More growth.
“An amazing book!”
“One of the best!”
“Thrilling!”
“A sublime read!”
“Outstanding!”
“Brilliant, enchanting story telling …”
“A captivating and addicting page turner!”
“A winner!”
“Marvelously written, fascinating book!”
“Na’ama Yehuda has written a gem of a read!”
“Provocative, introspective, and hopeful … read it, enjoy it, and most importantly, discuss it with your reading circle.”
THANK YOU, ALL!
Want to take a peek? See below …
“Outlawed Hope” by Na’ama Yehuda (Published December 4, 2013)
Synopsis: Abandoned as an infant, adopted, and then forgotten until seventeen, Aimee was raised for an unknown future. Outlawed Hope is her story, the story of the Outlaws who birthed her, the Society that raised her, and the infant she finds. Aimee needs to save the infant from a future she knows too well. Through dangerous close calls, Aimee discovers that she isn’t who she thought she was, and nor are those around her. Why was she abandoned? Who found her? For the truth, Aimee must face stunning revelations. She is trained to comply, but cannot—it would doom her and the baby she struggles to protect. Can she find another way, and at what cost? Outlawed Hope is a story of loss, unexpected empathy, brutality, and heartfelt resilience.
Advance reviews:
“A story of escape and capture, the power of hope, and the heroics necessary to ensure a child’s future.” Meredith Blevins, The Hummingbird Wizard (The Mystic Café)
“Reminiscent of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, Outlawed Hope is a compelling, fast-paced novel set in a less-than-utopian society. We feel the race of Aimee’s pulse as we follow the twists and turns of her journey, meeting various characters who help, hinder, sabotage, and heal both her past and future. In this first novel by Na’ama Yehuda, change is given the ride of its life and hope is anything but outlawed.” Adele Ryan McDowell, Author of Amazon Bestseller Balancing Act: Reflections, meditations and Coping Strategies for Today’s Fact Paced Whirl.
Available on:
Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/outlawed-hope-naama-yehuda/1117555597
iBookstore: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id773444300
Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/Search/Query?fcmedia=Book&query=1230000200869
“Color inside the lines.”
“Re-write these letters.”
“Sit on your circle.”
“This is not playtime.”
“Keep to the right.”
“Climb the ladder, not the slide.”
There is a good reason why we direct children. We want them to learn to follow rules and obey instructions. We want them to listen. We need them to pay heed. After all, laws and guidelines are part of an orderly society and are important for maturation, regulation, and delaying gratification. Rules help maintain safety. They help define the difference between free play and guided study, between teamwork and individual projects, between creative writing and a summary of a given book or essay.
Rules and guidelines are good. It is healthy for them to be challenged and okay to keep rules even if a child thinks they are stupid or unnecessary (as long as we truly know why). Boundaries clarify what is and isn’t acceptable, where and when and how. There’s nothing wrong with structure. Or with following directions. Or with consequences when one chooses to do otherwise.
Structure is a good thing. So is knowing what’s expected. At least as long as those do not become a means to an end. As long a they are not ways to exact conformity and control, paths to making our adult life easier, roadblocks to creative thought, plugs for personality.
When we extend guidelines into demanding unified and unjustified conformity, we risk snuffing out individuality. It is then that we may end up raising robots, not children. It is then that we gag magic and bind wonder, imagination, awe.
When we say things such as:
“Elephants aren’t purple, color it gray.”
“You can’t draw two suns in the sky. There is only one.”
“Stripes do not go with polka dots. You’ll look funny. Go change.”
“This doesn’t look like Mommy–she has long hair, not short.”
“Don’t mix the Lego with the blocks.”
“You can’t just make up rules–this game has an instruction sheet.”
“People don’t eat olives with cookies.”
“Stop making things up.”
There is nothing wrong with purple (or rainbow) elephants, with three suns, pattern mix-and-match, people who look like aliens and aliens who look like mice, Legos with blocks and carton boxes and a Barbi perched on for a knight, with new rules for old games, and with plenty of made-up imagining.
Order has a place, as does chaos and unpredictability. We ask our children to tolerate our rules and limitations … it is only reasonable that we train ourselves to tolerate (even encourage!) theirs, wild as they may seem to be.
Let your child out of the box. You’d be amazed what children can achieve. How much they can create, plan, build, conjure, put together. How far their brilliant, fresh thinking, free mind can go!
People ask me how I find the time to write. Though I know they often come from a true query, it never fails to puzzle me … For I don’t see how I could not find the time, when to me writing is like breathing. Writing is my heartbeat.
“How do you find the time to breathe?” I want to ask them back. “How do you make time to see, or hear, or learn, or live, or laugh?”
My heart beats in words. It strings them into sentences and puts them forth into the keyboard or the page. There is magic in writing, certainly. It is not something to claim to own but to allow the flow of. It has in it old life and lives that never happened or might or have not yet been found. It embroiders the fine threads of reality and mystery, interwoven as they are through the uncountable miles of words already written by those who came before: their words that I’ve read, their books that scratched their essence into my soul and changed me, the writers who forged manuscripts out of molten core, the teachers who chiseled rawness into finery, the poets who strung words into daisy chains of soul.
It is a force of nature, writing is. A cumulative tide. A mirror of what is and what could be and what still is hoped for. It is a pool of stillness and a roiling sea.
Writing does gather light from the eyes that read it. Through them it reflects the recognition of what unites all spirits, amplifies the rhythm of all hearts, connects the pace of tides, anchors the pull of moons into the hopes and dreams and grime and steepest climbs. Reading eyes infuses writing with continued life. It strengthens words that last into tomorrow. It is as it should be. Writing is meant to be read.
In its nascent state; however, writing unfurls shoots of new breath into pages for the pure joy of its birthing. It evolves for the very marvel of the stem unbending and the leaves uncurling and the buds of something that could never be imagined until it came through, come true.
“Where do you find the time to write?” I’m asked. “I wish I had the time to write, as you do,” some say. “It must be wonderful to be able to make time for writing,” they comment.
And I don’t know the answer for the ‘where’ or ‘how’ or ‘when’ questions. Nor do I have the key for finding more time (though I wish I did, with writing a vast ocean and only splattered drops finding their way into the daily grind). I do not know where one finds more time for living, when life happens to move through already, interlocking stories as we go. The wonder of the writing I do get, however. The deep gratitude for being allowed the magic in the heartbeat, in life’s pace.
“Writing is like breathing,” I want to tell them. “I can no more cease to do it than I can hold my breath. Oh, for a moment, surely, but not much more. For the words fight back and breathe me and sneak out … as they should. They are my heartbeat. The pulse that crosses time and space to hold together human thought, invention, wonder; life.”
I write because I breathe.
Why do you write?
Needing some guidance? Oh, have I got a great spot for you to go to!!
If your life feels upended, out of whack, overwhelmed–here’s a splendid path for you to follow–check it out: Adele and the Penguin–making sense of an upside down world, is a delightful site in general, and to top this off Adele is currently running a series of practical, spiritual, and path-enlightening entries on how to manage life’s upheaval and find light aplenty through dark tunnels of tough stuff.
Down to earth, high on spirit.
Read it! To borrow Adele’s oft expression: This is fab!
In this awesome series, there are two installments down, one to go–read them now, so you have time to mill it over before the third one makes a show.
First Installment: Challenges for today’s brave Lightworkers and Healers
Second Installment: Initiation Portals for today’s brave Lightworkers and Healers
Third one coming soon and I am absolutely sure–worth it, so be in the know!
[While you’re at the Penguin, poke around. You’ll find gems in every link. Great stuff abounds!]
In response to today’s entry re: portals--some thoughts, and much gratitude to the soulful words and instructing teachings of Adele (seriously, check out her website, you will not be sorry, and you’ll likely get a good laugh while you’re at it–she’s serious fun!):
So very important, Adele, and so true. For, yes … for the good to be distinct, we must KNOW what is bad, how to recognize it and how to forge a path to emerge from it into new homes.
Like the oscillation of a pendulum, the higher we want it to go to one side, the lower it must go to the other. It cannot go up without repeatedly dipping down. We cannot soar without plummeting. It is comforting to know this is how it is done …
For light to be defined, we must know the depth of darkness. It is the bog of hopelessness that teaches the power of a ray of sunlight and a handhold. It is the horror of cruelty that magnifies an act of kindness and instills the absolute knowledge of the transforming power of empathy and love.
Let there be light in the darkness; let there be a handhold to have in the depths; let there be hope in the void; let there be help in the desperate corners of pain; let there be friendship in the loneliest places, let there be love to weave strength with in the most desolate place. Let there be new rising bright, rising wise, from the old.
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