shiftshapers

Healthy Mind Platter

2011-07-20T13:46:00.000-04:00

Feeling overwhelmed?

Here are 7 activities recommended to help you take care of your mental wellbeing.

Focus Time. When we closely focus on tasks in a goal-oriented way, taking on challenges that make deep connections in the brain.

Play Time. When we allow ourselves to be spontaneous or creative, playfully enjoying novel experiences, which helps make new connections in the brain.

Connecting Time. When we connect with other people, ideally in person, richly activating the brain's social circuitry.

Physical Time. When we move our bodies, aerobically if possible, which strengthens the brain in many ways.

Time In. When we quietly reflect internally, focusing on sensations, images, feelings and thoughts, helping to better integrate the brain.

Down Time. When we are non-focused, without any specific goal, and let our mind wander or simply relax, which helps our brain recharge.

Sleep Time. When we give the brain the rest it needs to consolidate learning and recover from the experience of the day.

From an article in The Harvard Business Review by David Rock sent to me through Lloyd Princeton of Design Management Company.

Here's an exercise to try:

Construct a recent day. Consider the types of time listed above. How did that day measure up?
Construct your ideal day incorporating all types of time. (make sure you include enough, uninterrupted sleep)

When I first did this exercise, I had a hard time separating play time from connecting time.

If you need help with this exercise, email me at regina@shiftshapecoaching.com.

with good intent
Regina

Where is the Passion?

2011-06-04T17:28:00.003-04:00

There is a notion out there that if you follow your passion you will be happier. Career counselors and motivational speakers ascribe to this.
But what if you don't have a particular passion for anything?

Here's one way to find your passion.

Write down at least 3 things you are proud of. They could be accomplishments in your work, in school, or even things you did as a kid. Expand on them with a story. You don't need to be a good writer to do this. You are doing this for yourself and you don't need to show anyone, so go ahead and enjoy the process. After you complete the stories, go back and read them over. Look closely and highlight the action in the stories, that is look at the verbs and look at what you were doing. Were you developing, negotiating, inventing, supervising others, singing your heart out, or playing detective? There are hints in these stories that illustrate bits of your passion before life stripped them down and hid them from your view.

Here is one of my stories. See how the exercise works.

I was in first grade when I discovered that two of my classmates went to dancing school. They showed me a routine they were working on. I was so impressed, I asked the nun if we could set aside a time when the girls could show the rest of the class their dance number. The nun agreed and the day came for the girls to put on their show. I cleared out the desks in the front of the room and went out to the hallway where the girls were waiting in the wings. When I got there, I could see that they were frightened. I told them they had nothing to be afraid of. I told them how talented they were and it was only our class in there. The kids would love it because they didn't have to do schoolwork. That didn't work. Then I told them that they had to go on since it was a promise. That didn't work either. Finally, I told them that they were cowards and that they had to go in there or I would. Well, they didn't budge and I had to go on. I jumped around and around making up stuff as I went along. The class loved it.

From this story, we can see that I have a passion to showcase other's abilities. I like to produce, develop, and organize. I am encouraging and not afraid to be in front of a group. Did you notice how many times, "I told" appears in the story. Speaking is the most dominant means of communicating.

Not so coincidental that I am an event director, a coach, and group facilitator.

See what your stories bring forth.

Enjoy

with good intent
Regina

The Power of Ignorance

2011-03-27T13:09:00.287-04:00

My friend Kay and I attended the annual Ceramics Fair in its new location, The Bohemian National Hall on East 73rd Street in Manhattan. It was a cold, slushy night, the kind that begs for cancellations but no way were we going to miss this charming affair.
Last year was our first encounter with this annual event that drew a crowd who clearly reached the top of Maslow's hierarchy of needs list by being able to acquire that $12,000 ceramic artichoke.
Fascinating as the objects of porcelain and ceramics were, it was this gathering of "old money" that amused us and we were eager to see them again.
We checked in and hurried to the elevator that was heading up to the festivities. Fitting with the old world charm was the addition of an elevator operator wearing white gloves who graciously pointed us in the right direction when the doors opened on three.
Fortunately there was another coat check on this floor since we forgot to check our big black Parkas on the main floor. This year the event was a bit different. Last year appetizers and wine were passed as we viewed the objects of desire, but this year they separated the food and wine in a room away from the other floors where the exhibit was housed. We were eager to load up on the goodies, and then see the show. There was a man blocking the doorway to the reception area speaking to another man and a woman. All three were rather rude to be just doing their cocktail talk in the doorway, so we pushed past them. I did say "excuse me" but, you know in that tone that means, "excuse you!"
We dashed to the cocktail table where Kay was brave enough to try the Czech liquor. It seems that the Bohemian National Hall also was the home of the Czech Consulate. It was a nice touch that they blended a bit of the Czech culture with the ceramics fair preview.
The trays of appetizers appeared and we were both impressed. It was real food, not misrepresentations of edibles that are passed around at cocktail parties Kay and I are accustomed to. We mostly attend design industry events where the appetizers are teeny tiny bits of highly designed morsels that support the environment but not the linings of our stomachs.
It was amazing how the servers appeared at regular intervals just as we were ready for our next bite of something. No need for us to park ourselves near the caterer's prep area like we normally do when pouncing on trays in fear of scarcity.
We also adored another great feature of the reception, the inclusion of chairs. Kay and I took advantage of those immediately. I took the opportunity to take my hairbrush out of my bag, gave myself a quick tidying up, and a new coat of lipstick I happily applied too. We were certainly off to a good start and we hadn't even seen the show yet!
As we were enjoying the act of sitting, we noticed that the crowd was entirely different than last year's. They were mostly men in black suits, nothing like the eccentric garb the patrons wore at last year's show. But then we did arrive an hour after the show began and the true lovers of pottery were already perusing the collections upstairs. It was time for us to get up and see the works of art rather than spending the night stuffing our faces and drinking all their wine.
As we left the room there was that man again standing in the doorway. Maybe he was part of the Hall so I decided to introduce Kay and myself. I immediately went into how wonderful the building was and asked him if he was part of the establishment. He told us that the building had just been renovated and that all the work was done by Czech workers and architects. I asked him if he knew of Eva Jiricna but then I remembered that she was Polish.
I proceeded to tell him that Kay works in ceramics aside from her work at Interior Design magazine where we both work and that we were so looking forward to seeing the show. On that note we moved on. Across the hall was another room where they were serving cake and coffee. Lovely. We would come down after the show and have Czech cake but we did enter for a brief perusal of the space before we continued upstairs. There was a young man there who looked like he worked at the Hall and I asked him if they would be serving wine at the show as well. He said he didn't know for sure. He then told us that the people at the ceramics show probably were serving just as they were at the Ambassador's going away party here on the third floor. It was at that moment that Kay and I realized that the whole time we were eating and drinking we were at the wrong party. No wonder that man in the doorway didn't know what I was talking about. He was the host and it was his going away party. Well the Ambassador and Permanent Representative of the Czech Republic to the United Nations certainly was diplomatic about Kay and I crashing his party.
Up to the fourth and fifth floors we went and yes there was a wine bar and passed appetizers, not as good as the Ambassador's though. One of the antique dealers, a man of years approached us as we were studying a porcelain medicine bottle and asked, "What do you ladies collect?" I couldn't help but think, "embarrassment," but I was good and refrained from clever talk.
The crowd was just as we remembered, quirky, peculiar in dress, and bored with wealth. Perfect for people watchers like Kay and I. The show was coming to a close and it was time to leave. What seemed fortunate earlier was something we dreaded now, we had to go back to the third floor to get our coats. Just as we were approaching the coat check, the servers saw us and they still had plenty of food left on their trays. The Ambassador wasn't at the door anymore so we decided to go back in and help the caterers get rid of the excess food. This time we felt uneasy. The servers were so happy to have us back. How could we resist? We sat down again as we were being served. The caterers attended to us solely as we chatted with them. It was nice but it wasn't as enjoyable this time around. Suddenly Kay was turning her back around and hid her face into the chair. She grabbed my arm and told me to turn around too. The photographer was rounding up the guests for the group photo and we were in his line of vision. It was one thing to have the guts to come back in but to be the spoilers in someone's lasting photograph, that we just couldn't do. I turned around to see if there was an opportunity to escape. The photographer was calling for the Ambassador and that's when I pulled Kay off the chair and we scurried out of there. We watched from the doorway as the Ambassador made his way into the center of the group for what looked like what was going to be a lovely captured memory without the back of those two stranger's heads in it. As the guests were preoccupied, Kay and I realized that this would be a good time to help ourselves to a cup of coffee and a piece of that coffee cake in the room across the way. We figured why not, we came this far.
The coffee was strong and the cake wasn't too sweet, just the way we like it. The china was delicate and the silver divine. Good choice. Finally we collected our coats and left the building.
On our way to the crosstown bus, we discussed how fortunate we were that the Ambassador was so diplomatic, the way he was trained to be. When Kay told her parents about the night, they said it had little to do with the Ambassador's diplomacy, and everything to do with our power of ignorance that got us in the door and enabled us to enjoy ourselves.

Winter's Tale

2010-12-30T16:23:00.004-05:00

I was reading Mark Helprin's Winter's Tale on the train coming into Manhattan when I reached the end of the tale. The tale merged time and space together in the snow-filled mythic city of Manhattan with its darkness and white lights. Those who had passion to punch through time had a pursuit that spanned through space and somehow the mechanism that produced the New York Sun had something to do with it all. The New York Sun, the popular newspaper founded in 1833 was a central part of the story. The main character, Peter Lake was The Sun's master mechanic at the turn of the 20th Century and he is there again a hundred years later bringing back life to the old press. His obsession to stop time and bring back the dead plays an important part in the story. I was thinking about The Sun when I departed the train and walked through Penn Station. I wondered what it would have been like to work there in the 1800's. Outside the station, the air was crisp, the sky was gray, and the smell of chestnuts roasting tugged at the memory of the novel I had just finished.
Ending a book is like living in a remnant of where I just left, the author's world created in my mind. I stay there for a day or two as I go about my reality.
Once I left the station, I decided to stroll through Macy's on my way to work. I longed to continue my nostalgic sense of Christmas. I passed the men's department, climbed the stairs to the heart of the store, then moved swiftly through the perfume counters with their fragrance hucksters, and swept through jewelry, making it to handbags and finally the Broadway exit. Perfect, I could see the windows. And there they were entertaining tourists and fascinating children. They were dedicated to "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus." Macy's "Believe" theme was based on the popular front page story printed in The New York Sun in 1897. There it was right in front of my eyes, the newspaper! One of the windows showed the editor, Francis Pharcellus Church composing the piece at his desk in the office of The Sun. The remnant of Winter's Tale merged with my reality, the two worlds collided, just as it had in the book. The Sun was the connection. As I stood there mesmerized, something came back to me. I could hear my Uncle Al's voice from a Christmas Eve long ago as he recited "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus." It was a magical night as the winds howled, and the snow fell. I am the only one left to remember that night since my family is gone. Just like in the book, they must exist somewhere, I am not that different from Peter Lake who only wants to stop time and bring back the dead. Tears filled my eyes as I studied the windows and thought of my sentimental state in the middle of 34th Street. But hey, I can give myself a break to be nostalgic, after all, I thought, "Yes, everyone, there is a Santa Claus," and at that moment a Michael Jackson impersonator passed the windows and waved to us with his white glove.

Whoo's Dat?

2010-10-16T13:31:00.000-04:00

Michael and I attended a destination wedding in Jamaica. Long after the festivities of the reception ended, I sat outside our room on the deck to breathe in the sea air and dream. That's when I noticed the fake owl perched on the tree across from me. The owners of the establishment probably thought this would be a nice addition to their guests' experience and you know it actually worked. I sat there for the longest time trying to let my mind wonder but I felt compelled to look straight ahead and into the eyes of the creature before me. The person who carved this thing took such liberty with the proportions of the eyes. I know that owls have large eyes but these were exaggerated, a caricature of an owl. It also had unnatural colors of orange, yellow, and red. It was made of wood just like those parrots that sit on perches in novelty stores. I found myself locked in a staring contest with this inanimate object and just as I thought to quit, the damn thing flew away. I was dumbstruck!
I the fool "whoo" I was could have caught ten flies with my open mouth as I sat there realizing this was indeed a real owl and one that was watching me for a very long time. This turned out to be the best part of my trip since I have never seen an owl, not even a brown one back up in the Northeast.
Six months later when I was at Barnes & Noble shopping for Christmas presents, I stumbled upon another owl, "The Little Owl," a small white one in a box. He was my present to our home for Christmas and he sits atop our stove. I stroke his head often for good luck.
At the same time I was discovering owls so was my friend Peter. He found a vintage crystal owl pitcher that sits across from his sofa. When I visit him I find myself staring at it and making wishes. Recently Peter brought home some more owls. He put the crystal owl in the bedroom and replaced it with a lamp that has a base of three brightly carved wooden owls. These guys look exactly like my buddy back in Jamiaca. Our friend Linda asked if he got it at an "owlet." Actually it was his trip with David to Maine where they shelled out two bucks for this incredible find.
Did you know that in some cultures owls are viewed as evil? Most cultures view owls as wise. This is probably how you think of an owl. The reason owls are considered wise is that for centuries they have appeared in images of the Goddess Diana, the wise huntress. Wise through association. I get that, that's why I like to hang around smart people!
Owls may not be wise but the one I saw in Jamaica was. He actually knew that the woman sitting across from him was real.

3 Times a Lady

2010-04-22T15:42:00.014-04:00

Why can't I control my premonitions? Why do I have to accept that my head is like a radio and I have no control over what comes through, what channel to play, or when to turn it off or turn it on. This is what I was thinking on my way to play the Mega Millions at the store on Park Avenue near my office.

Before I played the lottery, I stopped by Gregory's coffee shop to get a short dark roast with room. As I was at the counter adding milk, a very hyper lady stood next to me as she added sugar to her cup of unnecessary coffee. Brother, the last thing this woman needed was caffeine. A sedative would have been more in order. She had a raspy voice like a life-long smoker and she spoke to me about something mundane. I remember thinking that she was the kind of person that would be good on a sinking ship...rough around the edges but she would save people, you know the heart of gold who would get the job done.

I continued to my destination where I played the numbers Michael had dreamed the night before. Maybe his premonition would work. He had six numbers written down that he saw clearly in his dream about a drawing that played on television.

As I was filling out the mega millions card the same lady from the coffee shop came into this store and was standing next to me again. This time she was asking for a pack of cigarettes. She looked at me and said, "Are you following me?" I laughed and said, "you caught me."

I was walking back to the office when I thought that if I would see this woman again that meant I would win the lottery. I arrived at my building and stood outside hoping I would see her among all the passing bodies but I knew it was next to impossible. Just as I was about to push the revolving door I heard that raspy voice. I turned around and there she was standing nearby talking on her cell phone and smoking a cigarette. She recognized me and ended her phone call. She said, "you again." We introduced ourselves to each other and shook hands. Then I went into my building and she continued to walk uptown. This was a sign!

The next day I eagerly checked online to see what numbers were the winners. I had three of them, two plus the mega ball. I was excited to see what it rendered... how about a measly three dollars? I guess I could say I did win the lottery, a buck for each time I saw that lady!

It seems that most premonitions are warnings about death, illness, and disasters but once in a while it can happen that they point to financial gain. I am going to keep trying and I will let you know when it really works.

The Water Principle

2010-03-14T16:42:00.003-04:00

I had a half-hour before the train arrived at Trenton to take me to New York. A cup of coffee would be fitting as I lounged around the station. But then I thought water would be better to drink. I found myself daydreaming and as my mind drifted I focused on the image of water. I imagined a clear pond, still and reflective. I thought of a waterfall and its hypnotic rhythm. I imagined breathing in the ionized air. How clear my thoughts were and how relaxed I became. I remembered learning from a woman who taught a class called, "Brain Gym" that water is a great neutralizer. She believed that taking a sip of water between mind exercises cleared the palette of our brains.
"Yes," I thought, "I will drink water instead of coffee!"
I got up from the bench that had become my meditative sitting area and I walked over to the Dunkin' Donuts portable cart where the bottles of water were stacked in the fridge adjacent to the hot coffee dispensers. Slowly I reached in to retrieve a bottle. Then I walked to the counter to pay for it.
"Don't I have a right to be happy?" the young woman behind the counter said as I handed her my money.
"Excuse me?" I said.
"I can be happy too, don't I deserve that?" she continued.
I hesitantly replied, "yes, of course you do," not knowing what I was saying and wondering what the hell was wrong with her.
"You don't know what I am talking about, do you? You don't know the spirit. You only think about what you have to do and where you need to be."
"You have no idea who you're talking to," I replied. "I am a very spiritual person and in fact I was just thinking about the principal of wa..."
"You don't know anything!" she exclaimed with her eyes ablaze and full of hatred.
Then she gave me my change.
I moved away in a confused state and wondered if I was witnessing someone having a nervous breakdown and soon an ambulance would come to take her away.
I stood to the side of the cart in a spot that was close enough but not too conspicuous so I could watch what she was going to say to the next customer.
When the man paid for his coffee, she said with a sweet smile, "have a good day."
I watched her with more customers and there was no hint of that previous venom I had witnessed. She was back to normal.
I've been to that cart often since that day and she waits on me without any hint of what happened between us. Sometimes I buy coffee and other times I get water. Once I gave in and bought a chocolate glazed donut. But never again will I meditate in a train station or any public place for that matter. I guess that's why the yogis tell us to sit in a quiet, safe place when we want to clear our minds.
Who knows what we could conjure up when we have our guard down?
Maybe there was "something" hanging around the Dunkin' Donuts cart that day, like a nasty spirit with a sweet tooth.

Can You Write Your Life Story in Ten Words or Less?

2010-02-16T13:06:00.007-05:00

There was a story on NPR Talk of the Nation about the storytelling skill of Ernest Hemingway. When asked if he could write a story in six words, he came back to his challenger the next day with these lines. "For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn."
I challenge you to write your life story in ten words or less. Send an email message to regina@shiftshapecoaching.com,comment here or contact me on facebook. I also added a ShiftShapers Group on linkedin.com.

A Candle for Elaine

2009-11-18T14:03:00.000-05:00

The Virgin of Itati, Argentina

I returned to St. Francis Church to light another candle. I had hoped that I was finished with lighting candles for the dead in 2009 but no, there was another to light this late October.

My sister and I parted ways in 1994 and with that I lost contact with my nephews and my brother-in-law as well. I thought of them often but lately, especially this past summer, I felt that my sister was trying to reach me.

I had a burning in my legs that my doctor ruled out as being serious. Instead he attributed it to stress. I wasn't buying that it was stress. One morning I woke with the answer to my leg condition. I just knew that the burning in my legs was connected to my sister. I was sure of it. I couldn't go to work that day and I was resolute that a message was coming to me soon. The next night as I was sitting in Penn Station waiting for a train, I checked my blackberry and there was a message from one of my nephews that he was following me on twitter. Finally a break in the silence.

It had been fifteen years since there was any contact between us. I thought this was the first connection back to my sister who I was afraid may be sick. I was stunned to find out that she died twelve years ago and I had no clue all this time. My reality was that she was here all through the things that have happened. She was here when we toasted the new Millennium; she was here when we were attacked on September 11th; she was here when I sobbed for Mitch our retriever, when he went to doggie heaven; she was here for my graduation from Fordham and she was here as I lit a simple fire at home in Pennsylvania once we moved from our New York apartment.
I often thought of her as I did things grand and small and I wondered what she was doing. Was she enjoying her grandchildren? The ones I imagined she must have had by now. But to find out that she did not see these things, that she was not here on earth for any of it, not even to have her own cell phone, oh, and how we could have emailed each other and had fun on facebook. Then I stopped thinking this way. I realized that I had kept her alive all these years and that was not reality at all. How many other false realities have I created in my mind? I can't think of that now. Now I need to find a new way to think of her.

Why now? Why in 2009 did the truth rise up and grab me from the other side?
My nephews could have found me for years. I've had a website for a long time. But I think it was when I posted the picture of my mother on eveningswithpeter that opened up a channel. I submitted my mother's potato salad recipe on my friend Peter's blog and also sent in a picture of her outside our house back in the 50's. I remember staring at that photo once it was uploaded and seeing her standing prominently on the internet. It was like she was alive again in a new dimension and not since 1969 had she been able to be seen. I thought that she would have loved to be a part of our new technologies. This was indeed the way my nephew found me. He was looking for his family ancestry since he had just become a Dad himself and the picture of my mother came through loud and clear. She was only up there for two weeks and already a bridge was formed.

I sat in the pew at St. Francis and thought this is what my mother wanted. She wanted me to know the truth about my sister and she wanted my nephew to find me. The door was open and now my sister was able to get through too. I would light a candle for Elaine now that the Mass had ended. I remembered that she loved the Blessed Virgin and often prayed to her. I went to the back of the church to light a candle in the little alcove that housed the Virgin with Christ in her arms. There was a woman there who was standing very still and looking up to the ceiling. I stopped in my tracks out of respect for her privacy but then I a voice in my head said, "go in now, and kneel before the statue." I entered the space even though I did not want to intrude on the woman's privacy but she moved aside and let me kneel under the Pieta.

I prayed that I would find a new way to think of Elaine. I thought of The Spirits Book written in 1857 before the New Age stuff. The book purports that the dead are on a spiritual continuum and that often they need to stay in a space to reconcile unresolved issues before they can move on to another level. Maybe my sister moved on to another level and she or possibly her emissary was able to reach me now, not anytime before. It could be that she was in a room somewhere and it only seemed like a few days to her even though it was twelve years on earth. Then I thought "this is crap." This is something that would be nice to think so I could feel better.

How do I know what is true? I am not too good with true lately as it goes.

I asked God for a sign to let me know if I should accept what I've learned from The Spirits Book, that the spiritual continuum exists and my sister has moved on. At that moment the woman in the alcove moved very close to me. She leaned over my shoulder and placed her hand on the wooden bar in front of me. She stayed very still. After what felt to be an eternity, she left the alcove. I kept my eyes fixed upon the statue and when I looked down, there on the bar was a holy card of the Virgin. The Virgen de Itati. The woman had left this card for me. I accepted it as the sign to accept that my sister indeed moved on and she had reached me through the symbol of the Virgin. This is the time. This is the space. Now I can think of Elaine in a whole new way.

I googled the prayer on the back of the Holy card and being that it was in Spanish, I had it converted as well. This is a rough translation.

Most tender mother of God and men, under the patronage of the pure and clean Conception of Our Lady of Itati looked at with eyes of mercy for over three centuries to all who have prayed for you. Do not reject the prayers of this now your son, who humbly turns to thee. It serves my needs that your better than I know. And above all, Mother, grant me a great love of your divine son Jesus, and a pure heart, humble and wise in life, patience, fortitude in praise, temptations, and consolation in death.
So be it.

Karen and St. Francis

2009-10-08T14:30:00.002-04:00

I posted "A Candle for Stanley" on this blog and in it I promised God I would return to Church the week following to bring the dollar I owed for the candle I lit. I also pledged that I would light a candle for the other 8 people who died in 2009.
I couldn't make it to Mass that week. Shakespeare was right, "neither a borrower nor a lender be." One of the ShiftShape community, Karen, read the Candle for Stanley, and went to St. Francis of Assisi to hear Mass. She looked around to see if I was attending the same Mass but I wasn't there. When she came into work and told me that she felt compelled to go to St. Francis because of my blog post, and that she discovered "signs" that seemed directly related to her, I felt that writing the blog justified itself. What Karen didn't know was the disappointment I felt that I couldn't make it to Mass that week at all and I was not going to make good on my debt. She also didn't know that I prayed to God to give me a sign that it was ok that I could owe him for another week. When she told me that she decided to put an extra two bucks in the slot for me while she was lighting her own candles, I knew that was my sign. I had my answer and my debt was paid as well. I finally made it to Church and this time I put two dollars in the offering slot, one for Karen, and one for her intentions.

A Candle for Stanley

2009-09-17T16:19:00.002-04:00

I went to Mass at St. Francis of Assisi near Penn Station to pray for the smooth transition of my friend Brian's father, Stanley.
It was fortunate for Brian that his Dad passed while Brian was here in the states. Brian came in from Brazil to tend to a legal matter and during this precise time, his father died. Stanley was ready to move on especially since his health had declined two years ago and got progressively worse. I hope he is finally with his beloved wife who died many years ago and he missed terribly.
I was waiting to hear from Brian as to the time and place for his Dad's viewing so I kept my blackberry on not to miss the call. As I walked into the back of the Church, my phone went off. I tried to reach it quickly but it was somewhere buried in my large handbag. Fitting as it was, I don't think the congregation appreciated the playing of my ring tone, Bob Dylan's, "knock,knock,knock on heaven's door." I made a quick turn and ran out of the church. I finally found the damn thing and answered it. There was Brian on the other end with the news of when his father's viewing would be and that it would be a bit later than expected because his father's Church was having a peach festival; no time for funerals.
I could hear that Brian still had his sense of humor as he laughed about the church's reverence for peaches. I took the liberty of telling him that his call resounded throughout the church with the Bob Dylan ring tone that he knows very well. He chuckled again. Good, another chance for a break in what I feel is exaggerated piety when I speak with someone who has just lost a loved one.
That's when Brian asked me to light a candle for his Dad. I knew he was going to ask me that. As I walking to Church I thought, "I bet Brian calls me any minute now and when I tell him I am going to Mass, he will ask me to light a candle." I thought of that already, but I didn't have a God damn dollar. I am on this new budget now and I try not to have cash on me. I use my debit card only and it keeps me from buying extra things I see on the street. I told Brian that I had thought of lighting a candle but I didn't have a dollar. That's when Brian burst out laughing and then that was it. The floodgates opened and I went on about the sorry state of affairs these days and that we all need more money and now I will owe God a dollar. I never thought there was a way to actually owe God money. I was certainly good for lighting a candle since I would be back the following week and I could pay God back then. I went on to say that I could light a candle and not owe anything at all since I gave five dollars a couple of weeks ago in the offering basket. Who was I trying to fool? I couldn't negotiate with God, the offering was the offering, and the candle was the candle.
With that I ended the conversation and went into Mass with a smile on my face. During Mass I prayed for many things. First for Stanley, then for the other eight people who died this year so far. What a record year of lay-offs, endings, and deaths. I ran out of sympathy cards I bought at Duane Reade twice already. I also prayed for more money so I could light more candles.
When I finally got around to lighting the candle for Stanley, I remembered my father and how Brian was with me at his funeral years ago. After the service, we were driving back to a friend's house and we passed a school that was having a carnival. I immediately thought of my father who ran the school carnivals. I thought it would be fitting to go to the carnival and have fun that day. Brian, Michael, and our friend Adele ate candy and went on the rides in honor of Mike, my Dad, the man with carny in his soul!

Next week when I will return to Mass I will slip a buck in the slot to pay my debt and I will bring another one to light a candle for all the rest who departed in 2009.

Michael Stiller's mother
Marino Zulich's mother
Cindy Allen's father
Xiang Xu's father
Linda Zatta's step father
Helene Oberman's father
Brian Rook's father
Rita, our young neighbor
Tony's young son

9 is the number of completion, maybe that's it for this year but there are still 3 months to go.

Paul McCartney Premonition

2009-08-20T13:41:00.000-04:00

Did you ever notice how working in the city on Fridays in August is eerie? Doesn't it seem like one of those Armageddon films where you and some other random folks are left behind? You see remnants of activity that used to be and traces that much has happened here but somehow it all stopped. I shut down my computer, walked around the aisles and felt a sorrow that the past was trying to hold on but the world had shifted already. It was lonelier than other August Fridays in years past since more people were permanently gone from here and so many others gone from other floors and gone from other buildings in New York. Outside the streets were equally as empty. It was 6 o'clock and I had an hour to get to Penn Station, way more than enough time to get there. I kinda sauntered across the block between Park & Madison while I imagined a big hand coming down from the sky to scoop me out of this cardboard model of a city and place me somewhere else. I needed to focus so I decided to read an ad that I must have passed many times. It was about John Lennon, The New York City Years, Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Annex in Soho...exclusively created by Yoko Ono. It was a limited engagement that started in May. I wondered if it was still going on. It was so hot and humid standing there taking in the poster. I felt like I was in the center of gravity and I couldn't stop looking at those letters YOKO ONO. God, I thought life is changing here like another force is around, just like the one that breaks things up and can't be stopped...just like the force that broke up the Beatles back then. At that point I breathed in deeply and slowly. Finally someone was passing by me, another random survivor on planet earth. Unlike "the end of days" movie where the last survivors don't recognize each other, I at least recognized the stranger left behind as the other Beatle, Paul.
Here we go again, I thought, one of my nocturnal premonitions is playing out and I probably won't know why. I walked behind him a bit until he sat on a bench. I stood by a traffic light across from Tabla and contemplated. Years ago I dreamed that I was in a conversation with Paul McCartney outside a park. I warned him that he would marry a woman who he could not trust and his family would not like for him and she would have a baby. Once the baby was born he would start to see the danger. He asked me what career coaching was and I was trying to answer. That was it. Now here he is at Madison Square Park and I have him all to myself but I just couldn't get myself to approach him. Instead I called Michael and played a guessing game with him as to what famous person was sitting on a bench near me. Once Michael guessed that it was his favorite musician ever he convinced me to take a picture. I forgot that my blackberry has this feature. This was a hard one for me. I loathe disturbing celebrities, but a legend as well, this was going to be a real stretch of my personality. Maybe that was the significance of the dream, that this is a time when I need to be more assertive in all things and it begins here. I pretended I was talking on my phone when I snapped the image. There, I did it and I survived, and Michael will be happy, that's nice. It was time to move on.
As I entered the park, I saw a little girl who was reaching out to pet a bull dog who was there with his owner. The blond girl was standing next to who I presumed was her mother and I heard a growl and I saw the dog lunge at the child. The owner pulled back on the leash and the child was spared. I thought it odd that the mother did not react much to the threat of her daughter getting attacked. Then I watched the woman and child walk over to Paul McCartney where the little girl was delivered to her "weekend Dad." Father and daughter showered each other with kisses.
The rest of the way to the station I thought about the peculiarity of premonitions. They are like variety packs that have many items in them. We can open them, chew them, digest them, and release them into a story. How significant are they?
I reserved my deeper thoughts for the train ride. The pattern of the motion of a train moving at the same speed for long stretches of time induces the alpha state, perfect to ponder a premonition that has collapsed onto reality.
Once we pulled out of the station I let myself relax and reflect. I dreamed of something that did happen to Paul McCartney. Why? I have no real connection to him.
The dream could have been a foreshadowing of this day, but why? In Larry Dossey's book "The Power of Premonitions" he considers that premonitions are mostly about chaos. People who have premonitions usually see disasters, deaths, illnesses, or danger in general.
He also questions what can one do about a premonition to change the outcome. Could you imagine if years ago I tried to get in touch with Paul McCartney and warn him about his future? It didn't matter anyway, his kids warned him and he still followed the path that brought him to Madison Square Park on a summer Friday in August.
Could it be about the force? I was reading the poster about Yoko at the time he walked by me and I was focused on the force that creates chaos. Could the dream be a warning that when this seemingly innocuous event occurred , something chaotic was stirring in the air. The only way I would recognize it was by seeing the celebrity I dreamed of years ago. Maybe it had no meaning and it was just one of those time experiences. But I did dream of the coming personal upheaval for the Beatle back then. Could he be on a verge of a another transition?
Could it be that something was going to happen to the child since the dog lunged at her? Again, what maniac would I be to think of saying "your daughter is unsafe."
Then there was the detail of the dream where he was asking me about career counseling. That could be a sign to reconsider this practice and come to terms with a way of changing it. Another indicator of timing.
It could also be a basic life lesson in seeing that my life has problems because it is supposed to. The dream could have indicated a time when I would be in transition and that I needed to see that we all are here to make mistakes including legends who seem to have everything.
Premonitions indeed are like a variety pack of possibilities. Some premonitions are about big events, some about small stuff. Some are about people you know, or people you don't know but think you do, like celebrities. What all premonitions do have in common is the revelation that everything is connected, it is only shrouded in symbolism and the illusion that we are separate.

Croque Monsieur

2009-06-13T13:50:00.000-04:00

The other day I decided to blow my budget and have a nice lunch and get a much needed manicure/pedicure. I headed over to Nails Noble at 28th & Park. It is my favorite nail place; moderately priced, pleasant atmosphere, and excellent work. I figured Les Halles would be good for lunch, since it is next to the nail place and the Steak Frites are $17.50. I sat at the bar. The last time I sat in that exact spot was the first day I temped at Variety in the early 90's. The Editorial Director had fired a temp the day before and I got the call from Human Resources at the publishing company to be the emergency fill-in for the rest of the assignment. I was to act as his interim assistant while one of his assistants was on maternity leave. HR warned me that this was an important man and he demanded excellence at all times. On my first day, his other assistant was coming in later in the afternoon, so I was on my own that morning. I had to check this titan's appointment book to confirm his lunch appointment.

The lunch was with Kurt Andersen. I recognized the name since he was at that time the co-founder of the satirical monthly, Spy Magazine. I was surprised that Kurt answered his own phone but then he explained that his assistant was out that day and somehow he didn't know about this lunch. Of course he accepted and he was quite excited that the Editor of Variety wanted to have lunch with him. I told the powerful Editor that his lunch with Kurt Anderson was set. One accomplishment down. Maybe this assignment wouldn't be so scary after all.

The Editor left for his lunch date at Da Umberto, a great little Italian restaurant on West 17th Street, and soon after his other assistant arrived. She asked me if I had confirmed the lunch. She looked in the book and gasped. She said that it was the wrong Kurt Anderson. There was another Kurt Anderson, the one with the letter "C" as his first initial who worked at Hearst. He was the one who was supposed to be having lunch with the Editor. I was stunned. What are the chances that there are two men named Kurt Anderson that are both in publishing in New York and in the Editor's Rolodex? I wanted to run out at that moment but this woman begged me to stay to help her figure out what to do. She said it was her fault. She should have double checked the phone number to see if it matched the correct Mr. Anderson. I immediately suggested we blame it on the temp that got fired. She loved that idea. So that was that, he would be having lunch with Kurt Anderson from Spy instead of Curt Anderson from Hearst. These things happen.

Then it occurred to me that the Kurt I spoke with didn't know about the lunch. Could it be that both Mr. Andersons would show up? I called Da Umberto and asked how many people were in the Editor's party? When the person on the phone said, "three" I decided to high tail out of there for a couple of drinks. But before I left, I alerted his assistant that her boss was having lunch with two K(C)urt Andersons. I couldn't help but act out what probably happened at the restaurant. I pictured the Maitre'D going over to the Editor's table and saying, "your guest, Kurt Anderson is here, sir." And then a few minutes later going over to the table again saying, "your guest, Curt Anderson is here, sir." Suddenly, his assistant broke out into laughter and the two of us became fast friends. Finally I composed myself and headed over to Les Halles where I sat for a couple of hours gulping glasses of Cotes Du Rhone. I considered never going back to finish the assignment. But I got up enough courage and returned to see how the blunder would play out. I stepped into the elevator and there was the Editor. I felt a reserve come upon me and boldly looked him straight in the face. I was ready for the confrontation. But instead of berating me for his awkward lunch date, he complimented me on my hat. The wine I had inhaled prompted me to ask, "how was lunch?" He responded, "actually, very interesting." He never mentioned anything about it neither to me or his other assistant. Powerful people are unpredictable; that's how they keep others off guard. Here we expected him to come back yelling and instead he accepted it with ease.

Now years later I am back in the spot at the bar amusing myself with memories of that day and ordering a Croque Monsieur instead of the Steak Frites. It's been a long time since I had Croque Monsieur, that gooey French white bread sandwich with the ham between the slices and the melted cheese on top. I felt compelled to have it. I confirmed with the bartender that the Croque Monsieur was indeed the sandwich I wanted, not the other one with the added egg on top. When the Croque arrived, I ate half of it. Whenever I order something really fattening I eat half of it - a diet I've adopted from the film Analyze This where a mob guy asks another mob guy what would be less fattening then a sandwich and his buddy says, "a half a sandwich." I finished lunch and it was time for a luxurious pampering session.

I popped into the nail place and picked my nail color and just as I was getting into the pedicure seat, I heard someone say my name. An ex-coworker who had recently been laid off was sitting in the next chair. There went my quiet time. I told her I was next door having Croque Monsieur. She looked like she saw a ghost when I mentioned it. "Croque Monsieur? I can't believe it," she said. "I was talking about Croque Monsieur a few minutes ago. I had lunch with a friend who was in Paris and she brought up this whole story about Croque Monsieur. I never thought about Croque Monsieur in like ten years. So when we were talking about Croque Monsieur you were eating it next door?"

She then went on to say that she is not a spiritual person but this was weird about the Croque and maybe it is a sign that she was supposed to bump into me today. The conversation went on about job interviews and how she was going to handle being unemployed. We talked about when she looks back on this summer, she can either remember it as a good one where she was able to spend time with friends and her beloved nieces or she could look at this summer as one where she missed those opportunities because she was too worried about getting a new job. She stayed even after her nails dried and sat with me at the manicure station. It was getting time for her to leave and when she proceeded to get up from her chair it wheeled backwards off the edge of the platform. There was a loud crashing noise and everything stopped. She was going down. I didn't move an inch. My body stayed straight forward with my nails perfectly placed on the manicure table. I only moved my head to the side when I heard the commotion and watched with horror as she was scrambling to save herself down there. Luckily there was a railing nearby that my colleague grabbed. She caught herself about an inch away from disaster. Within seconds one of the manicurists came to her aid. Once she got up I could see that she was embarrassed since her face was scarlet and she had the attention of everyone in the salon. She so yearned for the meaning of bumping into me that day and all I could do aside from protecting my newly applied orangey red nail polish was think "It's a good thing I ordered the Croque Monsieur for lunch instead of the Croque Madame!

Wacky Wednesday

2009-06-05T14:29:00.000-04:00

Last Wednesday I swung by Cafe 28 on 5th Avenue to pick up a hot lunch. I knew I wanted the rice with peas but what was going to be the main dish? I saw the baked ham with pineapples and knew that was it. It was partially carved and I needed to take off a piece. Of course there wasn't a sharp carving knife anywhere in sight so I had to manage with the tongs. I kept pulling and pulling with them but the ham was relentless. I ordinarily would give up by choosing something else to go with my rice but I was determined to finish what I started. It was the theme of the day. I had such a stressful couple of months and I even had a nightmare where I was in dirty water filled with bugs and slimy creatures. In the dream I had to push through the water that was getting deeper and harder to navigate. I finally pushed through the scummy water and found myself on an elevator. As I was wrestling with the ham I thought about the dream and I was not going to give up until I got my piece. It was crowded in Cafe 28 and people were all around the hot food area. I didn't care if they were watching me. I kept going for it. Suddenly, another customer next to me said, "let me help you with that." He proceeded to take his own set of tongs and he instructed me to hold on tight as he pulled in the opposite direction. He was determined too and I felt like he was in the same "head" as I and we were both trying to accomplish anything these days...maybe that's what led us to this particular piece of ham. We had to get it off the bone. I knew that if I just pulled the piece with my fingers it would come off easily but I didn't want anyone to see that I had to "touch" the food, a real "no no", like double dipping at cocktail parties. Finally I decided to go for it and I pulled it off with my naked hand. One of the pineapples went flying. It landed on the chicken wing dish. No one flinched. I thanked the man and went on my way. The ham was actually very good.
Later that day I received an email from my friend. Her subject line was "Wacky Wednesday." That afternoon she stopped by Genaurdi's Supermarket in PA not because she likes it, in fact, she hates that store. She only went because she wanted a Starbucks coffee that has a space in the store. She needed a couple of veggies too so she entered where only angels dare to tread. While she was perusing the ears of corn, the moron who works the produce department came up to her and scolded her about pulling back the husks. She has bumped into this guy a few times before and he was one of the reasons she stopped shopping there. He screamed at her for touching the corn. He said that he would need to throw out the ones she touched if she didn't buy them. My friend went off...see she had a couple of tough months too and this was just the thing to put her over the edge. She cursed him out and people were looking at her. She threw the corn and went over to the service desk to report him. I emailed her back to let her know that around the same time she was throwing corn, I was wrestling ham.
It was a "Wacky Wednesday."

So What If I Have Peanuts

2009-06-05T13:07:00.002-04:00

I was coming up the escalator at Penn Station when I thought about how my father used to say that I had peanuts in my head. I was beginning to think he was right since none of my new ideas for my coaching practice seemed to be working. One of my ideas was to start a blog which would definitely fit into my father's idea of peanuts. I was sad. I know my clients benefit from coaching and I get excited about my future plans to do the work and make it into a viable business. When I reached the top of the escalator a young man reached into a big blue bag and handed me a free Planters Peanut Big Nut Bar. There was a promotion going on for their new chewy triple nut granola snack. Just as I was about to give up, there were the peanuts and here is my blog. Maybe it's a good thing to follow something my father would ridicule. The traditional stuff doesn't seem to be working anyway. I took it as a sign to continue believing in my ideas. I opened the candy bar and took a big bite. Boy, was it good!

Focus

2009-05-10T18:02:00.000-04:00

I recently sent an eletter to the shiftshapers from www.shiftshapecoaching.com on the topic of focus. Any comments on the issue can be posted here on the blog. If you are not signed up to receive the shiftshape eletter, you may view archived eletters on the site itself or sign up to begin receiving them. They are periodic eletters that will be sent to your inbox email accounts.

Welcome Shiftshapers

2009-05-10T13:38:00.000-04:00

This blog is the beginning of the extension of the website shiftshapecoaching.com.
It will be linked to the site and other social networking sites as well.
Out of ordinary experiences are posted here.