Suzanne Grenager

The Cautionary Tale of Mother Teresa

Suzanne Grenager — Tue, 14 May 2013 23:47:10 +0000

We cannot give what we do not have. Many of you agree. But your illuminating comments showed me it’s also true that we cannot have what we do not give. Yep, and I’ll explain that too. First though, It’s so critical to understand the role self-love plays in devotional service I have to say more before exploring the flip side. As some of you wise sister travelers suggest—and as I watched coaching clients learn—trying to love and provide for others without loving ourselves first and last simply doesn’t work. We really, really cannot give what we do not have. Why? Because hoping to heap on others love and attention we don’t give ourselves is like drawing water from a dry well. We pump (and pump ourselves up) to little avail since there’s just no juice to be squeezed. Sooner or later, we are bound to resent doing for others what we don’t do for ourselves. Short of self-love and renewal, we burn up and out and wonder what’s wrong with us. Nothing is wrong with us, of course. Who wouldn’t be resentful about that sort of “selfless” service—doing for everyone but ourselves? How could that not feel compulsory, bitter and dry? No matter how noble our intentions, or how “good” our service may look, short of self-love what we’re serving up will be tainted with unhappiness, our own and that of those we hope to help. The much revered Nobel Laureate Mother Teresa turned out to have been a bizarre and terribly telling case in point. While she seemed joyously devoted to serving the lepers and destitute multitudes of Calcutta, her letters to her confessors and superiors tell a different story. Published after her death, in the book, Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light, and featured in TIME magazine, those letters admitted to a deep unhappiness and hypocrisy. In August 23, 2007 TIME said:

The letters…reveal that for the last nearly half-century of her life she felt no presence of God whatsoever—or, as the book’s compiler and editor, the Rev. Brian Kolodiejchuk, write, "neither in her heart or in the eucharist."

That absence seems to have started at almost precisely the time she began tending the poor and dying in Calcutta…Although perpetually cheery in public, the Teresa of the letters lived in a state of deep and abiding spiritual pain. In more than 40 communications… she bemoans the "dryness," "darkness," "loneliness" and "torture" she is undergoing…and…says it has driven her to doubt the existence…of God. She is acutely aware of the discrepancy between her inner state and her public demeanor. "The smile," she writes, is "a mask…that covers everything...What hypocrisy.”

To the world’s surprise, Mother Teresa felt terrible about herself, pretended otherwise and was deeply unhappy for much of her life. But what I find most interesting is that she fell into despair at the very time she started devoting herself, exclusively it seemed, to being of service to others. My guess is she must have stopped directing her love and light (or what she’d perhaps have identified as God’s love and light) inward, in the mistaken belief she “should” focus entirely on service. However helpful her service may have been, the way she did it was not serving her. I have learned—and continue to learn—a great deal from the contrasting spiritual role models represented by the unhappy, outwardly-oriented Mother Teresa on one hand, and my beaming reclusive Master Guru, Bapuji, on the other. Bapuji was serving, too, as my own life I hope attests. But from all we could tell, he valued service to himself and God above all else. It’s true his meditation and prayer often yielded songs and teachings of the highest spiritual order, which he shared in writing and, for the last years of his life, aloud with us, a service to mankind if there ever was one. The difference in his service is that meditation—the one-pointed devotion to Self and God—always came first. The writing and sharing were no more (or less) than the juicy fruits of those years of days and nights alone in silence and, increasingly, in love. Pondering all that, here’s the fruit I am coming around to: Learning to be happy with ourselves—to love, honor and nurture our dear hearts, or what I call the Self of All, may be the single greatest service we can offer the world, showering happiness on us and everyone we touch. How we do that—and the notion that we cannot have what we do not give (any more than we cannot give what we do not have)—must wait till next time. Meanwhile, I am even more eager than usual to hear what you think, about Mother Teresa and Bapuji’s examples and, always, what you are learning about living the love we all are. To leave a few wise words of your own takes only a few minutes and makes for rich and meaningful conversation for us all. Thank you!

The post The Cautionary Tale of Mother Teresa appeared first on Suzanne Grenager.

Radical self-acceptance—are you ready?

Suzanne Grenager — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 21:57:37 +0000

How do we get so friggin’ happy that we can enjoy the gifts of an abundant life, with joy to spare and share? That’s my question. Last post I decided happiness ain’t happening till we’re happy with ourselves. We aren’t talking narcissism or self-indulgence here. We’re talking about learning to accept, nurture and love—really love—our singular selves in a way we rarely dare do. So let’s talk about it! Some of your comments last time reflected our cultural ambivalence about whether it’s okay for us to make ourselves happy, rather than focus on the happiness of others. And, I might now add, what about pursuing our happiness in the face of pervasive unhappiness, from Boston and Texas to Damascus and China, where explosions and earthquakes rock worlds and kill the innocent? In her blog comment, Vicki shared this quote from Shantideva, an eighth century Buddhist scholar, which toes the standard spiritual line about happiness: “All those who are unhappy in the world are so as a result of their desire for their own happiness. All those who are happy in the world are so as a result of their desire for the happiness of others.” That one gives me pause. Shantideva seems to suggest we will fail to be happy if we make our own happiness paramount. I’m thinking hard about this, and must beg to differ, though the difference may be partly semantic. We all have our own understanding of the “pursuit of happiness.” And the sage’s words make sense if I think of the few people I know (and many I know of) who are successfully preoccupied with attaining fame and fortune—presumably to be happy—but seem miserable. I’ll bet my own wee wad that few Wall Street tycoons know the simple joy I derive from a home-cooked meal, a loving foot rub or performing a random act of kindness. Those guys (and they are mostly guys) are too busy wanting and grubbing to stop to take life in and savor it, which requires a very different, less acquisitive skill set. So if that is the kind of personal happiness Shantideva means by his first statement, I agree that all-out seeking of happiness doesn’t produce it. To be happy with— by which I mean within—ourselves is something else entirely. And my experience suggests we do well to make that our primary focus, whether or not we are intent on being of service to others. For to be happy with(in) ourselves doesn’t come from getting stuff for me or giving stuff to you. Being happy with ourselves arises when we get to know and accept ourselves and our “stuff” enough to love ourselves the way we are. Only then can we relax into being our full-blown selves; only then are we empowered to do what we alone are here to do. That kind of radical self-acceptance is, I believe, the source of true happiness and, as you too must have noticed, it’s about the hardest thing in the world for us to come to. We are too well-versed in judging our flaws and mistakes, even as we downplay our one-of-a-kind gifts and contributions. But anything short of knowing and accepting ourselves one hundred percent leaves us disabled, unable to give all we’ve got. Short of self-love, we shortchange the world. So let’s get to it, kids. Radical self-acceptance. More of my perspective on why and how we do that next time. Meanwhile, how about your perspective? I can’t wait to hear, and if my words speak to you, would you kindly subscribe to this blog if you haven’t already and, hey, why not share our link with friends who deserve to be happy and might have something to add? Thanks!

The post Radical self-acceptance—are you ready? appeared first on Suzanne Grenager.

Happiness is an inside job

Suzanne Grenager — Tue, 19 Mar 2013 00:27:01 +0000

Happiness is the new black. The topic is showing up everywhere, from NPR interviews to the latest AARP magazine cover story. What makes us happy and why? It’s the question du jour. So how about we get to the bottom of all this happiness talk—and get in on being happier too! I know, I know. We would-be-enlightened ones aren’t supposed to be so interested in happiness; equanimity is the thing and, on a rare day, as I point out in my book, there’s bliss. There’s also the question of what we mean by happiness anyway. It’s so subjective that even the self-proclaimed happiness experts are unscientifically vague when it comes to defining the word. Like pornography though, I guess you know happiness when you see it, or, in this case, feel it—yourself. So I stop, I check. Am I “happy” right now? Sort of. I am glad the sun is out and that I can watch the goose couple make its way languidly across the pond from where I sit. Most of all, I notice I’m relieved, if maybe not quite happy, to be writing again, one thing I do that brings me present, my heart and mind engaged in expressing themselves—for my sake and, I hope, for yours. Does happiness happen whenever we’re fully present and engaged? Are self-expression and service part of the equation? Is that what happiness is? Presence? Engagement? Self-expression? Service? What do you think? I’m not yet sure, but if so, we’d do well to get the skinny on what draws us in and what draws us out, setting the engaged stage for us to smile. Interestingly, most of those qualities I mention don’t show up in happiness studies. That may be because experts didn’t think to ask about qualities of being like presence and engagement (more on that later.) What we do hear from the experts is that, except for the first $75,000 (for an American family of four), money doesn’t buy happiness. Extra bucks don’t up our happiness ante. Not unsurprisingly to me, the wealthiest people I know seem unhappy (a “rich” conversation for another time). If money doesn’t do it, what do happiness studies say does? Good health and marriage are supposed to help. But plenty of singles (especially women) report being very happy, while some people with severe handicaps say they’re happy too. I might add that those of us graced with good health and life partners often take them for granted, until we no longer can. Living somewhere lovely, having upbeat friends and regular attendance at church, temple or mosque also top happiness factor lists, which go on and on. But observing myself and hundreds of students and clients over decades, I’ve come to the stark conclusion that many if not most of us aren’t nearly as happy as we say and like to think we are—not to mention want to be. Nor do we understand what really brings us joy. Sure, we can tick off a bunch of things we think make us happy (and sometimes do, for a minute or two). Then, like lottery winners everywhere, our good fortune gets old, and we may even blow it. So here’s the bottom line, kids. From the spiritual perspective I hold dear, those ambitious lists of reasons people give for their happiness (or lack thereof) merely scratch the surface, and may even obfuscate this basic truth: external conditions can only get us so far on the happiness scale, because happiness is an inside job. Nothing outside can make us happy. And as long as we think something can, we’ll be distracted and stuck short of the deep, abiding joy we seek and deserve. Not least, we’ll deprive those around us, and the world at large, of ourselves at our glorious best. Unless and until we get wildly happy with and within ourselves, from deep inside out, no amount of money, gorgeous surroundings or fabulous friends—not even all-out unconditional love from a marvelous mate—will make us glad enough. I know because I am remarkably blessed with just such things. And still to this day, I don’t enjoy my many blessings nearly as much as I’m sure I can and as I long to do. That’s because only I can make me happy, by being happy, with my own dear self, first and last. And it seems I am not quite there! That raises the next big question, which I hope to explore next time: What can we do to get so happy with ourselves that we can enjoy the gifts an abundant life bestows on us? I suspect the answer may bring us back to the ideas of presence and engagement. Meanwhile, I urge you to shed some light, with your own observations and questions about the all-important matter of happiness and how you know to spark it. One thing I know I am happy for is you, here, inspiring me to write. And thank you for spreading the word!

The post Happiness is an inside job appeared first on Suzanne Grenager.

Angel’s Facebook Fast

Suzanne Grenager — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 23:25:14 +0000

Among the many insightful comments on my last post came one that I’m making the focus this time. It’s from Angel Pricer, a young writer who’d been longing to share herself and her “word soup” with a wider world. I am happy to oblige! HEEEEERE’s Angel: Thank you, Suzanne, for your invitation to expand on my last blog comment about how totally liberating it was to disengage from social media. Turns out you were complicit in a universal conspiracy designed to get me to read my journal for what yearned to be plucked out, added to what I call my word soup, and shared. Here’s my social media withdrawal story. About a week before I took action to step away from Facebook, I felt a burgeoning sense of freedom within, which seemed altogether at odds with the emotionally empty expressions I was too often finding in the social media realm. I felt full of spirit, on the cusp, I sensed, of a great erasure of the day-to-day me and a merging with the eternally present observer me. Facebook was the primary way in which I engaged with the world-at-large. But even there, I was mostly observing, only inserting a few words here or sharing a song or post there. My interactions were not providing the deep connection of being-to-being that I long for—as an evolving woman and as a writer—and deep down I knew they never would. I realized that this essence, this freedom that I Am, cannot be portrayed, packaged, sold, bought, consumed or dissected. And it was dawning on me that such portrayal and packaging is exactly what I had been trying to do with it—with myself!—within the social media realm and beyond. Something else I realized—and a good example of this is your invitation spurring me to read my work and push through my resistance to sharing it: whatever we need to know and do is most freely given, and received by us, when our awareness is unfettered by the noise of the outer world. From my emerging feet-planted-on-the-ground perspective, I began sensing how much more there is to life (and especially to the life of the spiritual writer I fancied myself to be) than watching others recycle sage words online just because they resonate, while neglecting to take their essence deeper—as if resonance with a grain of truth were equal to BEING that truth. Those critical wakeup moments of mine came at the start of the crazy-making holiday season, in all its material glory. I’ve been at odds with the Christmas season from my earliest childhood. But last year I was made even more uncomfortable thanks to Facebook, where I saw too many people announcing their spiritual good works, at the same time as they feigned humble acceptance of the very praise their action were meant to elicit. All that pre-holiday hawking and squawking was the final push I needed to pull the plug. And so I did. Following a meditation one day, I heard the words “Facebook Fast,” and off I went. For the first few days, I felt like an addict in withdrawal, recognizing the compulsion to check my feed about four to five times an hour. Slowly the urge subsided, creating more space within. Only then was I able to fully feel the pangs of discomfort that I soon recognized as remorse. I was every bit as guilty of not having lived up to my spiritual ideals as the would-be sages and do-gooders I’d taken to task on the other side of the computer screen. Free of Facebook’s attractions and distractions, I’d caught myself in the act of a “holier-than-thou” hypocrisy. So I made the (for me) big decision to step away from the so-called “spiritual,” both online and off, and to explore instead what it might mean to embrace all of life—as a whole, not-holier-than-thou human being. As I found myself opening up to a larger, more inclusive world within and without, I was also moved to focus more seriously on sharpening the skills of my craft. I even entertained the idea of doing writing that is not overtly “spiritual” or “self-help” related, a novel and exciting possibility for me. It wasn’t a pretty time and I felt very alone. But boy was I growing! When my 30-day fast was over, I was in no hurry to re-engage with Facebook. By then I was deeply involved in the exploration of a fictional character and proposed book series I’d long hoped to embark on. But best of all thanks to my time-out, I felt more comfortable than ever BEING myself, and noticeably less in need of defining, promoting or validating this “being.” A huge development. Suzanne, based on your vulnerable last blog post, I understand you are on the cusp of an “erasure” of your own. I hope you’ll keep sharing your experience with us. And thank you so much for encouraging me to share mine. Thank you, Angel, for jumping in with both feet to inspire us. I for one can use all the support I can get to step back from what I, too, find to be an ever more vapid, often unsavory virtual world. (And hey, don’t even get me started on the the “real” one!) So, dear readers, have you taken a break from information overload or the world at large? If so, what happened? If not, are you tempted to? Or do you have a different perspective altogether here? Please keep your valuable comments coming—about that or anything that stirs you. And if you enjoy our blog and haven’t already, why not join the tribe and subscribe, and kindly share this link with your friends.

The post Angel’s Facebook Fast appeared first on Suzanne Grenager.

Ours is a breadcrumb journey

Suzanne Grenager — Tue, 05 Feb 2013 18:47:30 +0000

Two different worlds we live in. That’s the 1950s tune my head and heart have been singing to each other in a growing rift that’s been tearing me apart. So I’ve made the hard decision to start letting the heady world go and see where my heart might lead. It’s scaring the shit out of me. Am I avoiding something I should stick with to “succeed,” my head keeps wondering? Or am I veering back into territory where I really belong? I’m still not sure if it’s a siren or wake-up call I’m heeding here and I have no idea yet where I’m headed next. But every attentive step I take in the new direction—or away from the old one anyway—will likely help me find out, and may just be of use to you, too. Phew! As Maurie wrote in a recent comment, ours is a breadcrumb journey. For us spiritual seekers, one crummy (or succulent) clue leads to another, and we must pay super close attention if we’re not to miss our way. Because I’ve spent so much time on-line hoping for virtual miracles, I haven’t done enough of that real world attention-paying lately. But better late than never, I’m freeing myself up to look down for those telltale—tell me where I’m going!—crumbs. I’m not going to the Greek island I wrote about (though on this cold February day, Greece is looking good). No, the first move I’m making—the one I need to make far more than changing up my geography—is this: specific steps to tear myself away from the all-too-promising (and none-too-delivering) virtual world, which has caught me up and made me lose my way. Letting the virtual world go is a twofold plan: first, to reduce a source of ongoing psychic pain; and second, to free up time and space in myself and my life to sink into the less familiar and, therefore, often terrifying inner world, also known as the fertile void. It seems absurdly obvious, so please don’t laugh. But how can I find out what’s truly right for me in this next—and next-to-last—stage of my life, when I am unhappily preoccupied with what is not? So first things first—to disentangle from all that doesn’t serve me. After another “big talk” with Trond, who is tired of watching me spend so much time to so little effect, I decided to unsubscribe from nearly every last blog, newsletter and virtual group I’d signed up for since my book came out. And Facebook might just be next. (I won’t even tell you the challenge I faced in alerting “influential” people that I don’t want to stay on their lists; but face it I did, and it’s done.) Here’s how I came to this (for me) radical disengagement. On a coaching call the day before my talk with Trond, I’d owned up to something I’d been pretending and hoping wasn’t so. (Coaching is good that way!) I had to admit that being on those e-lists I’d signed up for—hoping they’d help me sell books—was making me sick. My coach pressed me to drop into my body and remember how it felt to check morning email. And there was no question about the “sinking feeling” I instantly named. (While part of this was jealousy about other bloggers’ success, which I may explore next time, the issue goes deeper than that.) I hated seeing those emails I’d signed up for, let alone reading them. Some were from exemplary “spiritual” bloggers who play by (and in some cases create) blogging rules. They offer tips, write in short, simple paragraphs and do what it takes to build big subscriber lists. Even after I realized their rules weren’t right for me (and that took a while), I strung them along. Maybe I’d write a “guest post” for them, or they would finally read and promote my book to their followers. But as time passed and very little happened, there was no reason to hang on but vain hope. After all, I’ve been around the block several times, as a seeker and a writer. I didn’t need the spiritual guidance of those bloggers, or to emulate their writing. And I was deeply disheartened that hardly any of them returned the favor of subscribing to my blog or checking out my work, which I’d done for many of them. As Trond put it, dogged as I was, I was barking up the wrong tree. In addition to those blogger lists, I’ve also put the kibosh on the “experts” who offer endless and redundant book marketing, social media, and related advice. Much of it is so intuitive I was already doing it (like build relationships and give—duh!). Other of their ideas (like frequent email or cell phone “blasts”) seem pushy. This crowd sends out newsletters, offers teleseminars and online courses, and/or sells ebooks, some of that for free. Most mean well and all agree that to do marketing right and make a dent, you need to be at it practically 24/7 for as long as it takes. I gave it my best shot, kids, reading much of what arrived for the better part of last year. I tried on some of the best advice. I even signed up for a few seminars (both spiritual and book-promotional in nature) hoping for sparks to ignite. My ego really wanted to play by the rules and fit in. But I just can’t, or, to put it more honestly, I won’t. It got too damned hard trying to force my deep square peg into that shallow round hole. Little that I read resonated and almost none of it was me. No wonder I’ve been feeling sick! Little surprise either that the strategy didn’t work. How did I let a year slip by? And why do I—and perhaps you, too, sometimes—get so convinced we should be listening to people out there that we fail to listen to the singular, often wiser person inside—the one who knows us and our heart’s desires best? Anybody else here not listening to yourself enough? And has the onslaught of other voices—whether via the Internet, out in the real world or in your own head—been part of your problem, too? We’d all benefit from hearing. With some luck and pluck, and your invaluable comments, let’s continue this conversation next time. Many thanks as always for being here. And, please, if you’re touched by what you read, I’d be hugely grateful if you’d share this blog link, via email and, yes, even Facebook, with friends real and virtual. (And, hey, you marketing experts, this is about as pushy as I am going to get!)

The post Ours is a breadcrumb journey appeared first on Suzanne Grenager.