I think if we deny this, we are denying our human nature.

I believe on comparison with the norm, I think WIIFM less than others. I don’t keep a ledger book of who owes me what or what I owe anyone. My friend, Cameron, is constantly insisting on reciprocity and I am constantly resisting. I give because I want to give and I trust others will give when they want to give. I tell him, “Don’t deny my giving. You need to learn to receive just for receiving’s sake.”

I don’t know if he hears me but I believe it is a worthy pursuit.

Sometimes when I help people I wonder what that will do in light of who I am in this world and what I am up to rather than the “gimme gimme” that WIIFM suggests. On one hand, knowing what relates back to you or resonates with you is a higher form of consciousness.

I think our knee jerk “It is wrong to think of ourselves” is the practice of an unconscious person.

I would rather be conscious.

I would rather confess to thinking of myself.

I would rather be authentic than smudge the lines of what is so and what I think is noble.

Even though this is a rather unwieldy ‘a-ha’ I think when we think of what is “in it” for us, we are weighing the level of commitment we want to offer so as not to get sucked into something bigger than we are willing or able to do at that moment. Sometimes I leap anyway – not because of what I will receive, but because I believe either I will have a jolly good time and/or I believe it is for the greatest good of everyone.

Which comes back to consciousness.

Which comes back to in thinking of myself, I am thinking of the other person.

See? Sometimes the first response which we think is “right” is not “so right” after all.

Lyved: Do I complain?
No. I don’t think I do. Though to be completely honest, I believe most of my complaining is unconscious. I don’t necessarily speak it, though – maybe.
I remember when my brother, Mom and I went to visit Aunt Alice in the nursing home. We picked Grandma up on the way. We wagered, wondering and scoffing at how many times Grandma would complain on the drive to the nursing home, which would be about a ten minute drive. My sweet spirit was a bit perturbed at this wager and my small, “I think she will complain 6 times” was miniscule compared to Mom, who said she would complain 12 times and my brother who said she would complain 15 times.
She complained more than 15 times on that short drive.
Everything was fodder for complaint. She was the anti-gratitude warrior. Nothing was right, everything was wrong, each word from her mouth was coated with spew.
I look over my past relationships and think, “How many of these men were complainers?”
Each of them.
This morning, I heard “I’ll see you tomorrow” almost burst from my lips before I changed “tomorrow” to “later” I could almost feel you asking “are you mad at me?” Well, sort of… I don’t have many requests and I don’t have many complaints, but I don’t like being left. I don’t like being left hanging. If I wanted to wake up alone, I would have stayed away. If this is complaining, so be it. It is valid.
I don’t believe in complaining that isn’t constructive.
I just googled Mike. He is on Myspace. Amusing. Hasn’t made the leap to Facebook? I don’t think so. The last time we spoke I found a ridiculous amount of negativity and complaining so I don’t know what is up but I do know his memory has been vividly implanted on my mind’s eye lately which usually tells me something is up. I’m not complaining here, either.

I think I will consciously watch my own complaint to gratitude ratio today.

Next Question: What is next for me…..

10 – What do I need to change about myself?

I am going to work on this in tandem with Grace/Receiving… and write, freestyle in my journal, later today at Dagny’s.

Will report in later.

Yes.

Wouldn’t it be funny if this is all I wrote?

Helping was ingrained in me early, not sure whether it was out of love or fear or a combination of the two. John was born when I was thirteen months old, so I was thrust almost from that time into a helping position. He had down’s syndrome which meant – someone had to look out for him and I, being the just barely a year older sister, was the best choice for the job, right?

Sort of Peanuts-esque, it didn’t occur to me my parents were helping him. My mother created her career around him, she was obviously helping him.

I didn’t get it though so I also built my life around John and through that, being self protective, environment protective and eventually, helping to the point of it not being so helpful.

Perhaps that is a better question: Does my help harm? Do I step over the line with helping? Do I help people become more capable or do I create an environment where they become more dependent on my helping?

8. Do I work hard?

If you ask anyone who works with me, “Does Julie Jordan Scott” work hard, the response would be “Oh, yeah – she is so devoted to her work and so particularly focused upon improvement it is… way higher than the average” yet when I think about whether or not I work hard, I have a tendency to look at my failings or shortcomings.

I work hard, I am devoted, and as 2009 has lived itself to fruition I have gotten better with my nemesis of completion.

Parker (my new code name for CMore) and I had an interesting conversation the other day. He was attempting to convince me that I belonged in academia and I said to him, “How many times have I told you I do not want a job? I abhor the bureaucracy that comes with a job, especially at an institution involving government… which is what educational jobs eventually translate into for me.”

He somehow had missed that I actively choose not to have a job.. and in doing so, I forfeit some of the conventional conveniences that come with a job. If people translate working hard with a job, then I don’t work hard.

I think sometimes I fall into that thinking-trap. Because how and what I do is unconventional, I must be lazy or a coward or worst of all, a lazy coward.

Although this sounds bizarre in the first reading, it is worth exploring with more depth – because I have often thought my resistance to completion, e.g. publishing more books, is due to fear on several levels… even though I know publishing my work would give some form to my work and make me feel more satisfied, overall.

In fact, it is one of my foci for 2010.

I will respond, for now, simply….Yes, I work hard. And part of 2010 is proving it to myself.

*again, this became an article for Daily Passion Activator”...

What is it that compels us to approach certain queries from a negative perspective? What is it that invites me to look through the “What is wrong?” lense rather than simply pick it up and go with it.

The question is so simple: “What is missing?” I first looked at this question from a negative stance:

What is wrong? How come I don’t have… what is wrong with me that I can not do… what skill set have I fallen short on this time?

People who know my world view might be startled to hear this form of rant because… I am not that sort of thinker most of the time.

My fingers hesitated to finish that last statement. I paused after “I am not that sort of thinker….” And waited… the ending of that sentence could have been so many different things.

I could have said, “I am not that sort of a thinker – or am I?”

I think this is the thread that has the most colorful intriguing taste of all.

That same “otherwordly” element that held my fingers poised, above the keyboard, is now pushing me – again. “I am not that sort of thinker, or am I? Am I a thinker who rants and raves of the accidentally discarded flotsam and jetsam rather than the intentionally created art all around me every moment?”

For whatever reason I am thinking of a Mom and fellow autism activist I met recently when I attended her support group meeting. I sat down and she started throwing information into my head without asking me a simple question, “What are you seeking” or “How may I serve you?” or “What brings you here?”

Her fine intentions spilled from my skin before they had a chance to land.

Interesting.

Flotsam and Jetsam are too “missings” from my life until this morning because I didn’t know, truly, what they meant. They were fanciful twins-in-language was all, or so I thought.

I read this Martin Luther King, Jr. quote and knew I would need to create art from that poetic coupling of words: “I refuse to accept the idea that man is mere flotsam and jetsam in the river of life, unable to influence the unfolding events which surround him. I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality.”

Interesting, thinking of those words – the flotsam is the stuff that is discovered floating in the water after a boat has sunk. There is a random, without explanation disorderliness about the presence of flotsam. Jetsam, on the other hand, is purposefully discarded. It is actively tossed from a ship in suffering. There is choice involved.

AND both flotsam and jetsam have the same result. Discarded, displaced and floating without a paddle or a sail, in the water.

So how does this relate back to the initial question, “What is missing?”

My first attempt at writing about “what is missing” didn’t include any thinking. It created flotsam, lots of tarnished energy all pointing back to what might be wrong with me. There is a hurried, “Don’t look, don’t see my responses!’ element to it, a constant looking over the shoulder and butterflies in the stomach element.

When I kept moving on my responses, allowed my responses to not simply be the unconsciously “What’s missing” to be negative, some positives appeared on my list, surprising me. There are things that are missing which I am perpetually grateful they are missing.

In my list making response to “what is missing” I swung back and forth between gaps which I can work on filling and gaps which invite celebration.

I tuned into this quote from Anne Sexton this morning. She wrote, “Put your ear down close to your soul and listen.” So I did exactly that – I listened to what my soul had to say about the ‘What is missing?’ question and what I heard in response was this:

“Nothing significant is missing. Nothing is missing I don’t have the power to change if this is what is called for, I have the power to engage what is missing and the power to shift from seeing ‘missing’ as a negative rather than just another clue to what is next for me in this phenomenal gift called life.”

So what is missing? There is nothing missing that has a big, slash mark red mark. There is nothing missing that is discombobulating or overly messy.

Engaging within what feels like it is missing will consistently bring growth and positive change.

Suddenly it doesn’t have that same panicky feeling it did the first time.

Suddenly, I have walked my way towards what is so rather than my opinion of what is so.

Powerful.

Passionate.

Purposeful.

I am grateful for what is missing.

and it is fascinating.

I started with a list and putting down the negatives. Blahdy blah blah and then I shifted because I realized some of the missing things from my life are positively missing and I am grateful for their absence.

Cool, more than cool, awareness.

Will keep writing!

I never fail to entertain myself!

The Truth Lives in the Question
By Julie Jordan Scott

I thought the question was almost as ridiculous as asking, “Do I really need to take another breath?” Disdain dripped from my pen as my fingers tapped my response onto the keyboard.

I have been working through questions from a website called lyved.com. The questions always evoke something in me: anger, frustration, curiosity, and when I am particularly blessed, new awareness.

Today’s question felt redundant, perhaps because it is something I ask myself each day. I thought, “Do I need to explore this more than I do now?”

Something happened, though, between the time when I started writing about an hour and a half ago and the time I sat at the computer to write something “more official” to share with the world. No, it isn’t about having you, my readers, my audience, enter into my stream of thought, it is more like the question and my slightly arrogant approach to it settled into my gut and started working me from inside my body.

I realized my disdain and arrogance weren’t the true thing. My practice and my ongoing love for the question is the true thing. My curiosity was linking the space in between, the “what is up with being disdainful about it?”

The question:

What am I grateful for?

I have journal entry after journal entry on this topic. On the 43things.com website alone I have made, up to today, 885 entries of gratitude. This, from someone who used to sneer down her nose at “gratitude losers” – people I thought were “in denial of reality pollyannas”… until I started practicing gratitude myself.

Obviously I am a fan of gratitude and expressing gratitude as a sacred practice – so why was this simple, aligned with my heart question causing my hair on my arms and the back of my neck to stand up, like a cat facing off with the neighborhood bull dog?

What am I grateful for?

I could shout out a list right now. Easy as pie. I wrote mine earlier today after all. I answered the question right at the top of the morning, like I do each and every day. See? Here they are, my at-least-five-gratitudes:

I am grateful today is Passion Activator Friday. Haven’t hosted one for a long time, so I am looking forward to a highly productive, enjoyable day. Woot Woot!

I am grateful to hear initial raves about “How I Learned to Drive”... when the creative director came to our Wednesday rehearsal (which none of us thought was that great!)

I am grateful for my cast mates. We have fallen into a groove of mutual support and respect. It feels so good! There are only five of us, so it helps that we are all strong, committed and focused.

I am grateful for the poetry challenges at ReadWritePoetry.org. It helps with my October goal PLUS it gives me a focus. All those poetic people showing up and commenting positively helps a lot, too.

I am grateful for phone calls with CMore, especially now that he is away…(but from the sounds of our phone call last night, he will be back today and not-so-very-late after all.)

I am grateful for Barbara, who helped me out with Sam yesterday.

I am grateful for the scent of applesauce cooking… so peaceful all day yesterday. I am grateful.

What am I grateful for?

The more I review my relationship with the question, the clearer the “what is up” comes.

First, there is a sense of worry and self judgment. “Am I doing this gratitude thing right? I must not be doing it right if I get so angry about being asked it here, by an inanimate web page created for personal growth, not personal tantrumming.

Second, there is a sense of “I am so above these questions”. That same sense of arrogance that bothers me about some of the authors of books many of my friends read. I don’t like to read them because their tone, their “I am such a guru and all of you reading this are such schlocks.” No, those authors don’t say that at all – but I manage to shove my opinion of their attitude – which I make up, by the way, into their work.

Ouch.

Third, there is a sense of “Why the heck am I wasting my time doing this when I could be decluttering or making phone calls or working on my business plan or doing some real writing?” my biggest area of lack or limited thinking. I have this belief I don’t have enough time – it has a tendency to take over and choke me, like vines climbing on a beautiful brick house, my warped time-beliefs become like a cloak and the matching dagger is my perceived inability to squelch it.

The truth is there is no “right” way to do gratitude beyond keeping it sacred. The point is well taken that if I am writing my list solely to check it off my planner, I am missing the point. Gratitude lists, sharing what we are grateful for, should be akin to prayer. Responding to this question reminded me – which is a very good thing.

The truth is there is not a hierarchy of questions which we answer and my favorite is probably akin to newborn question asking: “What is up with that?” A mom asks her newborn, “What is up with the tears, sweet heart?” and checks the diaper, burps the baby, perhaps brings her to the breast for a feeding.

“What am I grateful for?” may be answered in the cradle, in the graduate school, in the back alley and in the board room, all the same. It is a question that lives in the infinite
and also, perhaps in the rungs of a ladder.

The question is, perhaps, one pathway away from cultural hierarchy. It provides shifts that suddenly make the hierarchy unnecessary.

This is potent.

The truth is staying grounded in what I know eliminates any perceived time crunch. Staying in focus and aligned with what I know to be true settles fills me with the purple, gold and green of abundant thinking. That is the truth.

“What am I grateful for” helps me remember so much. It helps me live so much.

It is your turn to ask the question:

“What am I grateful for”

Can you see me smiling, in anticipation of your response?

I am grateful. So grateful.

It has been a “shake your fist” in the air day, or more accurate would say, a “shake your fist” in the air week or fortnight or month.

Am I Doing What I Really Want to Do?

That was my lyved question today. I started writing it earlier this morning, on my porch, when tears were greeting the dawn. It didn’t feel like I was doing what I really wanted to do yet a part of me knew it was yet another part of the process.

This is going to be a short envy, partially because I want to get it done and my unwillingness to engage the question completely is aggravating and frustrating me.

My aim is to turn this around by this time next week.

I will be in Dana Point then, turning my tears of frustration into tears of something else.

Watch with me, here.

Am I nice? That question makes me laugh.

Well – laugh is that too “nice”? Maybe I am responding to the word “nice”with disdain because I don’t value “little miss nicey nice” one of my alter egos.

Nice is the PTA President, welcoming the kindergarten moms to the fundraising committee meeting. “Nice” is that long, drawn out “iiiii” sound with a modern day Arthur Fonzarelli checking out a young woman in tight jeans.

Am I nice in either one of those ways? No. I am thoughtful, usually. I am compassionate, most of the time. I am hospitable.

I have moments in my history which are definitely not nice at all. Mean, horrid, “are you serious grown up mean girl material?” No, not in my way.

Let’s just say there are moments in time I still feel shame when I think of them. Appropriate shame. Shame that is well placed in my soul. Shame that says, “let’s work on this, let’s find a way because the way you have been moving along isn’t right.”

I remember when I was going into the fourth grade. For whatever reason. I decided to spread ugly meanness about the two girls I played with the most, two little girls whose houses were within a stones throw from my house.

We were a year apart. I was the eldest and perhaps it was the combination of being older and always liked and their proximity, which felt safe in being mean. I knew, somhow, no matter how mean I got, it was a “safe” mean.

I remember one of the mothers lovingly confronting me: the conversation lasted maybe five minutes and it changed my behavior for a lifetime.

I wonder if I would have become a quintessential mean girl if it wasn’t for that conversation. Perhaps its karma, and that’s why two and four years later I lost my friends en masse and then lost my friends again.

The average person might describe me as “nice”… shivering.

It is such a non-descript, unscented word. I don’t care if people think I am nice, after all. Or do I?

I would rather be interesting, quirky, unconventional, funny, curious or as my friend recently said, “spiritual and poetic” which is much better than nice.