The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.   ~Anna Quindlen

When was the last time you chose to step outside your comfort zone?

The notion that we grow the most—personally, professionally, and spiritually—when we step outside our comfort zone has been central to my life and central to what I have chosen to write about over the last decade.

The flashy part of the journey, of course, lies in taking the “big steps,” the dramatic life changes that challenge you to re-examine, to question, your core values and beliefs. In my own life, I took such a big step when I chose to abandon a seemingly successful career in finance in New York City to circumnavigate the world in a small sailboat. Years later, when I decided to write a novel, I wanted something equally big but a change that didn’t require leaving home. In this case, I chose a series of betrayals that would hurtle my fictional protagonist, Lindsey, out of her comfort zone against her will.

Quindlen’s quote reminds us that dramatic external change provides a necessary but hardly a sufficient condition for growth.  Growth has to come from within.  Quindlen’s message is that much of the heavy lifting in the matter of personal growth comes through the often exhausting, sometimes frightening effort, step by small step, to find a new approach to getting through the day. It requires a conscious effort to step outside our psychological comfort zone as well as our external or environmental one.

As I’ve noted in past blogs, psychologists often define one’s psychological comfort zone as the spectrum of behaviors and emotions that an individual is willing to allow, based on values and patterns developed during childhood. Put another way, your comfort zone sets the emotional and relationship boundaries beyond which you will not go—even when the resulting behaviors are counterproductive in adult relationships.

So it is with Lindsey, a charming and competent but introverted woman who prefers to listen rather than to talk. But Lindsey’s reserve goes far beyond the normal energy saving devices of an introvert.

Caught up in her childhood image of the perfect wife and mother, Lindsey worries that she is far from perfect, but she has never been willing to acknowledge her own anxiety even to herself, let alone to others.  As a result, she often sees herself as a victim of people who consistently put their own needs ahead of hers, a casualty of family and friends who are willing to betray her for their own comfort. From my authorial perspective, Lindsey has been “betrayed” because she never told anyone what she wanted . . . because she did not share enough of herself for those who cared to understand how not to betray her.

On November 22, 1963....

I was walking to my English class among swarms of other high school students, when someone ran up and shouted, "President Kennedy has been shot!"

Surely this cannot be, I thought. But as I settled into my seat, the teacher stood and then haltingly announced that our President had died moments earlier from gunshot wounds. Between gasps and tears, we were told we could leave early that day--and I did.

Four years later, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy were assassinated within two months of each other. Our entire nation mourned the loss of our beloved leaders--as well as the demise of our collective hope-filled dreams.

The decade of the Sixties was marked by tragedy, conflict, and clashes of perspective. For those of us who lived during this era, it was life-wrenching, life-changing. 

It seems to me that we are now living in a similar period of profound upheaval. The headlines warn of threats from Ebola, Isis, water shortages, extreme weather, impending war, racial divides, and so much more.

And again...we gasp and we cry, "What are we to do?"

The youth of the Sixties were guided by promises of a "New Frontier" with justice for all. We believed, indeed we knew, we could make a difference. But alas, our idealism was naïve and ultimately, our legacy became the music of that tumultuous time.

Looking back through the past decades, I have a new appreciation for the movement of grace through time. I can see the footsteps, some shallow but some deep, of societal change. I tend to overlook the progress we have made and dwell instead on the failures that remain. But, when I pause and set my impatience aside for even a moment, another thought arises and I wonder--could it be that the threats of this era serve a purpose unseen?

I'm reminded of the words of William Jennings Bryan, "Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved."

What is it we must achieve--collectively? You, me, those folks over there?

The road we travel is parched by time. It's horizon extends beyond what we can see. But through the clouds that stretch across our skies, one sun shines--on all who will see. Sometimes the rubble of our lives hide the light within our reach, but it is this Light, that brings me to my knees. Figuratively or literally, perhaps that is a way for us to meet. 

We live in a time when catastrophe dominates our lives. We awaken to news of one terror or another; and we end our day with updates of what horrors still await us. What are we to do?

Years ago, when I taught at Friends World College (now called Global College and part of Long Island University), I was asked to visit a Hasidic Jewish community in Montreal, Canada, where students were earning a degree through our college via mail. This was an interesting opportunity for me, for I had little knowledge of this community’s practices.

A man with a long dark beard and side curls, black suit and hat met me at the airport. He was polite though formal. As we walked through the airport corridor, I was unnerved by the stares and unspoken judgments of people passing us, but he seemed oblivious. Looking straight ahead, he walked quickly through the crowds to the chauffeured car.

Women with head coverings and long dresses greeted me when I arrived at the community. They quickly offered freshly baked challah bread and something to drink. They were cordial and kindly. One asked me which community I belonged to, and I awkwardly responded that I was from Long Island. She nodded and knew I was not one of their religious family. 

While speaking with the women about their studies, I glanced out the window and saw a few men, pale and bearded and similarly dressed as my escort, pacing in the yard while praying with a small book. They seemed unaware of anything other than their prayers. A separate world for sure.

I naively asked the students if they had read An Interrupted Life, by Ettie Hillisum, and my escort explained that all books needed to be approved by the leadership, and this book had not yet been. Their reading list was constricted by custom and religion. I asked about newspapers and was told that a weekly summary of events was provided but nothing more.  

“But, how will you know if something important happens today?” I asked.

“What difference will it make if we know today or in a week?” He grinned. “There is nothing we can do about it anyway.”

On the ride back to the airport, I thought about the women and their lives, the men and their prayers, the community apart from the world. This had been a journey like none other I had taken.

My escort accompanied me into the airport. The flight was delayed, so we sat across from each other at a table. Again, I was quite aware of the apparent hostility of those around us, and I felt uncomfortable sitting with this gentleman. Small talk ensued, and I asked about the men saying prayers in the courtyard, and he explained their practice and added that women did not do the same.

“Are you suggesting that women cannot directly experience God?” I asked.

He stared at me for a moment, smiled and then said, “Clearly, that is not the case.”

And so the day ended—with a simple gesture of recognition.

Isn't that what we all seek in our interactions? Some sign that the other person or persons hear us, understand us, value our experience? 


Ferguson, Iraq, Gaza….. what would “recognition” mean in these circumstances? 

The world will always have war. Sad to say, but history and human nature have not changed much through the centuries. The difference these days is that the world is a smaller place, thanks to the ease of travel and the power of television and the internet. We can see these wars and conflicts and the people caught up in them splashed in living and dying color across our screens, and feel intimately involved no matter where we live.

My mother was a young girl growing up in Japan around the time of WWII. Most people outside of Japan have no idea what life was like for Japanese civilians caught up in the war. Few probably cared, because Japan was the enemy. The enemy deserves what it gets. But, complexity exists. “The enemy” is not an all-inclusive concept. Whose idea is war, and who then is forced to fight it, and who are the ones dying for it? They are not all the same.

My mother’s memoir started out as a project just for my family, to save all the stories she told my sister and I as kids. Stories similar to those of American children like us— hunting for tadpoles and lightning bugs, playing hide and seek in the dark, getting lost—but with a foreign twist. Then I wanted to include more of the Japanese culture of the time. Then my mom started telling war stories and I realized probably no other Americans knew anything about the Japanese people’s perspective of WWII. No mention of that in high school history classes, nor of the American civilian experience either. When I considered having the memoir published for educational purposes and began a lot of research, I was shocked to discover (in 2003!) that Japanese-Americans had been sent to internment camps during WWII.

Cherry Blossoms in Twilight was published for a public audience to show that war has a human perspective, something dry history books full of facts don’t mention. World peace may never happen, but I wanted to play a part in teaching empathy for those caught up in conflicts they never wanted. War is no video game or entertaining action movie  to watch with popcorn, it is not just a lesson in strategies that worked or did not work. There are real people suffering for what their leaders do. Imagine the people in Iraq, Afghanistan, Palestine, Israel, and now the Ukraine. Imagine having your daughter kidnapped by Boko Haram.

And yes, war is very complex. Many times civilians—and drafted soldiers—are told what to do and think by brainwashing and controlled state media and by threat of bodily harm. Since Cherry Blossoms is a gently told story suitable for kids (it was published while my mother’s grandchildren were still school-age), I only hinted at some of that. War is hell, as my Korean War veteran friend likes to say. Let’s never treat it as something going on over there to those other people. Let’s never think “that country is bad.” That country is full of individuals who have a lot more in common with us than we may think.

Every morning, the sunrise whispers light through the clouds as the birds begin their song. Another beautiful day...

There was a time when I could not see the wonder around me. My circumstance blinded me to beauty, to love. Gripped by fear in an abusive relationship, I was empty inside, a mannequin of sorts going through the motions of life.

I know first-hand the long-lasting impact of violence, and because of that I worry about the peoples of the Middle East, Israel, Palestine, the Ukraine and more. When countries are torn apart by war, the devastation is more than fatalities and mortar craters. The violence burrows into the hearts of the people, leaving them despairing of hope or joy. And they, too, become empty inside.

What are we to do? Who can we trust?

Bishop Desmond Tutu created a pathway for healing the long-standing atrocities of Apartheid, and central to his approach was forgiveness. He stated, Forgiveness does not mean condoning what has been done. It means taking what happened seriously and not minimizing it; drawing out the sting in the memory that threatens our entire existence. By this method, he was able to begin one of the most dramatic healing ventures of all time.

Is such an effort possible now? Can we collectively draw out the sting that there might be peace? If forgiveness can transform my life and so many others, can it do the same for war-torn countries?

I long for the day when we can claim, like F. W. Deklerk at his Nobel lecture, that: The new era which is dawning...will lift us out of the silent grief of our past and into a future in which there will be opportunity and space for joy and beauty - for real and lasting peace.

We need this "real and lasting peace". Can we build a bridge between our differences?

My friend and colleague, Fran Kramer, shares her perspective of Perfect Love. As a life coach, writer, educator and artist, she uses intuition to heal, problem solve and create. She lives in Hawai'i - a real garden of healing.

Her beautiful reflection follows:

We all want to experience Perfect Love yet do we ever seriously ponder the subject?  In answering the question most of us have no trouble coming up with definitions based on our experiences of not receiving it.  We all know what it isn’t.  To take a positive approach in defining Perfect Love, we could use St. Paul’s classic definition found in his first letter to the Corinthians 13:4-13 which gives a long list of love’s attributes such as “love is patient”, “love never fails,” etc.  Then there is the Dalai’s Lama’s pithy and direct bombshell, “Love is the Absence of Judgment.”   Or for an extended and complete analogy of love we may look at the life and death of Jesus who, paradoxically, made many judgments on people.   

Love: A Universal Truth and a Conventional Truth

I think Perfect Love is one of those spiritual paradoxes which can only be understand and practiced through an open, intuitive heart that doesn’t see reality as “either/or” but as “both/and.”   (See my blog “Intuition Helps Us Plumb the Depths of Spiritual Paradox,” May 30, 2014.) There are two levels of reality we are dealing with.  On one hand we have “Love is the Absence of Judgment” which conveys a universal truth.  It implies that at the root of all reality there is a perfect love that draws all things to itself.  This is a universal truth which is true for eternity and in all situations.  It underlies the teachings of all major religions.   To intuitively realize this truth at an experiential level is a major accomplishment of a human life.

On the other hand, we must live in the everyday world of conventional reality where we are called upon to make judgments all the time such as when we are evaluating our own behavior or that of our kids.    There are times when we must make difficult judgments indicative of tough love that often don’t look very loving on the surface such as when to divorce an abusive spouse or send a childish adult packing.  How and when do we love in these situations?   The complexity of these situations can be compounded if I need to ask if my judgment helps the greater good or helps the individual.   Often following the rules will only complicate or cause harm in the situation.  Sometimes to do the loving thing, we have to break the rules.  Then there are cultural differences.  Some cultures say doing one thing is right and another culture will say doing that very thing is wrong.  These are conventional truths we all have to live with which are only true for particular times, places, people, and cultures.  But when we do the right thing at the right time based on an intuitive, empathetic understanding of the situation, we are practicing love in conventional reality.  And most people will recognize it for what it is.

The Deeper Question

How do you resolve the differences between the Perfect Love of Universal Truth with the love of Conventional Truth?  That is the deeper question.  It is a paradox:  How to not judge in a situation that requires making a judgment.  In practicing Perfect Love, the task is to intuit moment by moment how the Universal Truth of Perfect Love can apply to this conventional truth I am dealing with now.    Only the intuitive heart has the answer.  It is the center point holding both Universal Truth and Conventional Truth.  It is a spiritual dimension which processes the tensions between these two realities, the point that visualizes “on earth as it is in heaven” – and acts accordingly.  The result is Perfect Love: An intelligent action informed by the empathetic awareness of Universal Truth and Conventional Truth acting in my life.