I have been thinking about doing a series of giveaways, for various reasons, and tonight in my meditation it became clear that this needed to be the first one. In honor of yesterday’s 100th anniversary of International Women’s Day, I am giving away a copy of one of my favorite awareness-raising, life-changing books, Half the Sky by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. I think if everyone in North America read this book, the current state of our world would shift dramatically.

I am reposting what I wrote about it on my original blog, wholeselfcoach, when I began to read it last summer.

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Women hold up half the sky – Chinese Proverb

I started reading Half the Sky by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn the other day. Here are a few quotes from the introduction:

This [meticulous] study found that thirty-nine thousand baby girls die annually in China because parents don’t give them the same medical care and attention that boys receive – and that is just in the first year of life.

In India, a “bride-burning” – to punish a woman for an inadequate dowry or to eliminate her so a man can remarry – takes place approximately once every two hours…

…but keep in mind this central truth: Women aren’t the problem but the solution. The plight of girls is no more a tragedy than an opportunity.

Which brings to mind His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s recent, famous quote:

The world will be saved by western woman.

Talk about a call to action. A call to open our eyes and our hearts to what’s happening in our own backyards as well as around the world. It is a call to step outside of our comfortable (or perhaps not so comfortable) lives and do something, anything, that makes a difference.

There’s a lot of talk these days about charity not being all it’s cracked up to be. It is often misguided, dis-empowering, misused. I prefer to talk about empowerment (still overused, less offensive). How do we empower ourselves, our children, the mentally ill homeless man on the corner, the Cambodian girl who was kidnapped, trafficked and sold into sexual slavery? The answer is different for everyone but I think it starts with being aware. Painfully aware. Beautifully aware. It means living intentionally and recognizing the incongruencies in our lives. Recognizing the places where our actions are out of line with our deepest knowing of ourselves – the knowing that lies underneath thought.

When our days are full of necessary to-do lists – raising children, maintaining relationships, paying the bills, walking the dog – how do we find the time and space for greater good? Is it enough to simply hold the vision, meditate on peace or volunteer once a year to feed the homeless at Thanksgiving?

I believe – I trust – that if we open our hearts to each other and allow ourselves to connect to what resonates for us, we will find our best way to contribute to the world. That if we know ourselves to be connected to everyone else in the world, the flapping of our butterfly wings can create ripple effects felt somewhere.

I don’t have specific answers for anything these days. The more I know, the less I know. I find myself more and more willing to open my heart to the difficult questions. To allow myself to be touched deeply by others while still choosing my own path. In the spirit of love and respect, with a profound desire to be a force for good in the world, I continue to learn, to build community, to meet like-minded souls. I know that by the time I finish this book, I will be a different person. I will be changed by the stories of horror and hope within its 252 pages. I already am. I’m curious about how those changes will manifest. Will I take action immediately? Will I find something new to be passionately committed to? Will I forget, all too quickly, what I thought was so important only days before?

So back to the Dalai Lama’s quote. The world will be saved by western woman.

Really?

Count me in.

You?

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Add your name to the comments below and if you like, please either tell me how you celebrated International Women’s Day or what you do/would like to do to make the world a safer, healthier place.

The winner will be chosen Tuesday March 15 – my 39th birthday – giving me another reason to celebrate.

I spilled the salt today. It wasn’t a big deal. I was working on another batch of kale chips and hadn’t made enough room on the counter. The salad spinner was drying on top of a bowl. It shifted and knocked the bag of celtic sea salt to the ground, the partially submerged tablespoon a perfect slide for escaping crystals. I can’t remember what I said – shoot! or ahhhhhhh! or darn. (I work hard to be PG. I used to swear like a sailor). Ada ran downstairs, tripped over her feet and landed in the kitchen with, I’m okay. Mama, why are you frustrated? I laughed and told her I’d spilled the salt but it wasn’t a problem and I’d sweep it up when I was done. Okay, she said and turned to go. Talking to herself I heard, Mama is always frustrated or tired or sad or not happy or not feeling good. I froze, listening. As she started up the stairs, she repeated herself. Mama is always frustrated or tired or sad or not happy or not feeling well.

My stomach hit the floor and tears welled as her reality, the reality of her life in our household for the last year and a half sucker punched me and dropped me to my knees.

I know she feels loved. We play. We laugh together. We draw and do puzzles and cuddle. And yet…and yet. Here is my bright light, the little being I’m doing my best to pull myself together for, holding up a mirror I don’t want to look into. Since January 2010 I’ve been pregnant, miscarrying, hobbled by a broken leg, pregnant, bleeding, nauseous, tired, scared, bed ridden, hospitalized, grieving, healing, sick. There have been months where I couldn’t pick her up, couldn’t walk, couldn’t cook, couldn’t stand, couldn’t play. We sat on the couch and watched Mary Poppins and My Neighbor Totoro, we painted rocks and built sandcastles but for far too long, I couldn’t take her to the park, push her on a swing, chase her on the beach. She’s heard me cry countless times. She already knows death in too intimate a way. As much as I talk about the gifts of the experience – and there were many – it has been brutally hard on all of us.

It’s time for a change.

Today my daughter gave me the kick in the pants I needed. I’ve been wallowing lately, allowing the story of being tired and frustrated to take over. I am a master at getting in my own way, at wanting things to be a teensy-weensy bit different than they are, at resisting joy. I’ve been working on it. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it’s time to stop working and play at life. Play with life.

It’s time for a new story. And until that new story feels solid, I’ll be the one throwing the dance party with my three and a half year old.

A Wished-For Song

You’re song,

a wished-for song.

Go through the ear to the center

where sky is, where wind,

where silent knowing.

Put seeds and cover them.

Blades will sprout

where you do your work.

— Rumi

I have more to say. It will wait. There are blades that need to be tended.

I am exhausted. Clearly the story I am telling myself about my health needs rewriting as I have another cold. Over the three years that I got no more than two hours of sleep at a time, I hardly ever got sick. Well, other than the broken leg and dead baby situation. But a cold? Ha – not me. Now I’m getting more sleep, doing all this work on myself and I have yet to feel 100% healthy this year. It’s been a funky year.

I set myself up. 2010 was hard and I desperately wanted that one digit shift at midnight on December 31st to usher out challenges and open the door for ease. I’m in a place of transition on many levels and while there are moments of grace, moments that feel easy, moments of complete alignment, there is also a massive struggle to let go of old habits and thoughts that no longer serve. I am keenly aware of every step backward, every missed opportunity, every time I circle back around to something I thought I’d dealt with.

I am working hard.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Hard work and ease don’t hold hands and play nicely.

Now that I’m coming out from under the shadow of intense grief, my expectations of my ability to be productive and accomplish Shera-like feats have risen dramatically. I want to be making money now, to be skinny now, to have boundless energy and no fear NOW. The baby steps no longer feel like enough. Which makes me miserable and the whole point – the whole point – is to enjoy the journey. To treasure the moments. Because we do not know when life as we know it will vanish into the ether of yesterday.

Buddhism tells us that life is suffering. It also says there is an end to suffering. I believe this with my whole heart. It’s not that life suddenly gets easy and there is no more pain. It’s that we stop being so attached – to our thoughts, to our outcomes, to our stories. I’ve been working with Byron Katie’s four questions in my head, if not on paper, and I can see that 90% the thoughts I think are not true. When I imagine who I would be without a particular thought, it’s as though a world of freedom opens up. I can feel myself stepping into it, and then wham! Another thought hits and I am knocked backward into comparison, expectation, and attachment to outcome. I keep picking myself up, dusting myself off and trying again.

If I weren’t aware of all this going on, I think I’d feel better on some level. While not exactly bliss, ignorance can make life easier. If I were further along in the process I think I’d feel better. But here I am, in the thick of it. Learning. Growing. Painfully stretching into my new skin. And there is so much good, when I remember to take it in and celebrate it instead of barreling through and focusing on work still to be done.

So tonight, I celebrate the steps I have taken, the ease I have found. I celebrate 20 pounds lost and a sense of purpose rediscovered. I celebrate this cold as an opportunity to practice additional self-care. I celebrate the unknown, the questions that I live in, for they will lead me to the next step and the next. I celebrate sharing my journey here, for my willingness to be vulnerable has connected me to brilliant shining souls all over the world. I celebrate the mediocre stories I tell my daughter before she falls asleep because while I judge, she delights. I celebrate my husband, who has not had an easy wife this last year and who continues to love and support me without hesitation.

Here at my desk, having forgotten to put my glasses on again, I raise my cup of tea to us all.

To life. In all its glorious mess.