Last fall, after years of saying, “I really need to start a meditation practice,” I finally did it.

At first it was all sweetness and soothing music, as I joined a 21-day online challenge led by none other than Mr. Mind/Body himself, Deepak Chopra. His calming voice, pearls of wisdom and suggested mantras made it easy to sit on the meditation cushion for 15 minutes each morning and feel pretty good about myself.

On day 22 I returned to the cushion, timer in hand, sans Deepak and his nature-scape soundtracks. And that’s when I faced the real challenge: my own mind.

“Meditation is not a way of making your mind quiet,” Chopra has said. “It is a way of entering into the quiet that is already there, buried under the 50,000 thoughts the average person thinks every day.”

And so it has become my earnest quest to access that quiet, which waits patiently beneath the eager thoughts that flood my mind from the moment I sit still.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to meditate!” I yell at my mind, rather missing the point. There follows a moment of shocked silence in which I focus on my breath, remember a mantra or visit the oft-cited “space between thoughts” where champion meditators hang out. For me, that space lasts as long as it takes to click a remote. In an instant, my mind is checking out a new channel.

I now see why they call this phenomenon “monkey mind.” It’s driving me bananas.

So what kinds of thoughts are crowding out my serenity? Well, there’s usually lots in there about the day ahead, yesterday’s remnants and the endless to-do list that haunts a self-employed person. It’s as if my mind decides, “Well, now that I’ve got your full attention, let’s rehearse every step of every thing we have to do this day/week/month/year/lifetime. Oh, and let’s not forget the list of stuff we need at Whole Foods, that weird shudder in the car and…did I return that email from Leslie?”

It’s exhausting.

The more I practice, the more I see what’s going on. It’s a control thing, led by my ego as it fights for its right to dominate my life, arrange every detail and have its say. Perpetually. Author and spiritual teacher Wayne Dyer has a clever acronym for EGO: Edging God Out. Mine is less profound: Endless Gratuitous Opinions.

Of course, this running commentary isn’t limited to my internal state or those minutes on the cushion. Once I had enough yoga and mindfulness training under my belt to start witnessing my mind, I was rather horrified to see that it has something to say about everyone else, too. And it’s often not very nice.

Walking into Starbucks, my mind starts to chatter about that guy’s bad haircut and that woman’s unflattering top and that kid with too many piercings and the barista’s annoying voice and…“Oh, just hush!” I tell my in-everybody’s-business monkey mind. Another second of shocked silence follows before it finds something new to inventory.

The thing is, the deepest part of me deeply craves that elusive quiet beneath the endless stream of thoughts. I think most of us do, despite (and because of?) all the distractions that tug at us 24/7. I just need to get my mind on board with this desire, give it another job to do while I’m meditating, and be patient with the process.

Ultimately, the point is not to try and walk around with an empty mind. It’s to get more comfortable with stillness, spend more time there, and take it with me when I rise from the cushion. I actually had a preview of this the other day.

Lying on a bed in my parents’ Cape Cod home, I found myself staring out the window, just watching the trees and the birds do their thing on a sunny afternoon. All of a sudden, I realized that I was thinking…about…nothing! It was a triumphant moment.

Of course, my mind had lots to say right away about how great that was, and how I must write about it, and, “What should we eat for dinner? It’s must be past 5 now. Where did I put my phone? Let’s Google that Italian place near the beach…”

Yes, I will keep practicing.

(Note – this essay was written for Kripalu Compass and appears here.)

Last winter I bought my dream car, a gently used Toyota Prius, because my friend was selling it for a tempting price and our ‘98 Corolla was aging rather ungracefully. I kept my new acquisition off the road for a few months in order to save on car insurance because: I worked from home, my husband commuted by train, and we were managing just fine with one car at the time. At least, that’s what I told myself each time I visited my pretty blue Prius in the garage.

Digging a little deeper, I found a layer of discomfort about owning something that I didn’t really need.

I’m a careful and somewhat reluctant consumer. I have outfits in my closet that make numerous repeat appearances because I’d rather do almost anything than shop for clothes. I tend to wear the same three pairs of gold earrings and the same three pairs of black pants over and over, which means fewer wardrobe decisions and more mental space for other kinds of creativity. Our apartment contains furniture and household goods that were handed down from family members, former housemates and neighbors with good taste (because one woman’s trash can truly be another woman’s treasure). Typically, I buy things in order to replace other things that disappear or no longer work. Period.

I suspect that’s the real reason that I left my shiny Prius in the garage and drove a dented,  rusty Corolla until my husband’s new job officially made us a two-car family.

It’s not as if I don’t welcome abundance. When I do splurge, it’s for trips and travel, special meals, workshops, concerts, organic produce, and holistic therapies. I also love having extra money to treat others. I guess it’s just things that I have issues with lately.

This material aversion could be chalked up to my growing eco-consciousness and thrifty Yankee roots, but that doesn’t tell the whole story. In truth, having too many possessions makes me uncomfortable. Our home is small, simple and clutter-free, and this just keeps me calm. Possessions require attention and maintenance, and I simply don’t want to put that much time and energy into stuff when there are more interesting things that I could be doing, learning and thinking about.

I’m pretty sure that my preference for simplified living was born in the summer of 1999, when I went to live at the Kripalu yoga center in western Massachusetts for an extended volunteer residency. I arrived with one big suitcase, a backpack and a sleeping bag for my bunk bed. Nestled in the green Berkshire Hills, Kripalu offered me a place to rest and refresh in the midst of a huge life and career transition. Back in New Jersey, the contents of my apartment were sold, left on the curb, or stuffed into the back of my Honda Civic as I pulled away from my formerly jam-packed life. My load has stayed pretty light since then, by design.

These days when I’m about to buy something, I ask, “Do I need this? Do I love this? Will I use it?” If it’s no on all three counts, it stays in the store. I’m a notorious “re-gifter” for the same reason. One gift that I do cherish came from my dad last year. It’s a solar-powered, revolving crystal that sticks to my window and showers me with rainbows as I pray and meditate on sunny mornings. Priceless.

In the past few years, this “less is more” philosophy has reshaped my schedule. A former activity junkie suffering from FOMS (Fear of Missing Something, in case you’re new to the acronym), I used to be overscheduled to within an inch of my life. Now I leave lots of soothing white space in my calendar, and I guard my free time like the wealth that it is. The words “crazy busy” will never again escape my lips if I can help it, as I keep releasing my need to fill time with activity.

Me and my pretty Prius

Embracing spaciousness and “enough-ness” in my home and life has the lovely effect of enhancing my appreciation for what’s already here. Those who study positive psychology call this savoring, and they say it’s good for mental health. I know that when I savor the things, people and activities that I love, life feels very rich indeed. And that’s much more fun than a trip to the mall. Unless, perhaps, I get to drive there in my Prius while cranking my favorite CDs, which is one collection of things that I’ll gladly keep.

(Originally printed in the February 2013 issue of Natural Awakenings Boston magazine)

February invites notions of sentimental cards, assorted chocolates and candlelit dinners for lovers. But Valentine’s Day can also be a reminder to boost self-love and create lives full of sweetness based on simple practices that cultivate peace, joy and a sense of abundance. It’s possible to fall in love with life right now by making a few small changes.

Create meaningful rituals. Ritual is largely missing from most people’s lives, as the demands of modern society and electronic communications tug and distract. Daily rituals can include journaling, praying, walking, writing gratitude lists, meditating, setting intentions, playing with pets or making time each afternoon or evening to simply sit, breathe and reflect. It’s about consistently unplugging from the business of life to honor what is personally meaningful, sacred and valuable. Lighting candles or incense, if desired, can enhance rituals.

Go play. Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity, advises readers who want to recover their creative gifts to take an “artist’s date” each week. It’s meant to be done alone, with no other purpose than to “refill the well” of inspiration, images and sensory pleasures. These self-directed play dates can include museum trips, concerts, classes, aimless neighborhood strolls, walks on the beach or in the woods, visits to unusual shops and florists, finger painting in the kitchen and dancing in the living room. Invite your inner child to set the agenda.

Savor the good. The growing field of Positive Psychology taps this practice as a way to improve mood and brain health. It involves focusing on positive things and saturating the mind (and heart) with appreciation. Throughout the day, pause to spend several seconds noting and savoring the good in your life, including creature comforts, special people, simple joys and natural beauty. Pay attention to what life is constantly offering, even, or especially, during stressful times.

Fluff your nest. Life coach and author Cheryl Richardson uses the term “soul nourishing” to describe the kind of home that she wants her clients to inhabit. It means living in a space that reflects what you love and value, with colors, fabrics and objects that delight and comfort. Clearing clutter is fundamental to the process of creating a home that feels welcoming; it also fosters calm and a sense of spaciousness.

Eat mindfully. The practice of conscious, or mindful, eating is good for digestion, sleep, energy and maintaining ideal weight. It’s also good for the planet. Pick one meal a week to eat mindfully. Turn away from screens, sit in silence or with soothing music, give thanks for the elements and people that made the meal possible and chew each bite thoroughly before swallowing, appreciating the taste, texture and nourishment. Stop eating when fullness arises, and take a few moments to digest the whole experience. Try bringing this consciousness to more meals, even that morning cup of coffee or tea.

Pause to give yourself credit. It’s easy to go through life on fast-forward, moving from one thing to the next thing and striving for new opportunities and achievements. While self-improvement is a worthy pursuit, it’s important to periodically note all that you have accomplished in life. Try saying, “I am enough, I have enough, I do enough,” and remember to honor your strengths and talents, especially the ones that are easy to take for granted. Another powerful exercise involves writing a letter to yourself that begins with “I love you for…” and later changes to “I forgive you for…” as a way to boost self-esteem and free up energy.

Give thanks, often. Cultivating a state of gratitude, another practice of Positive Psychology, nurtures a lasting romance with life. Whether it’s writing about or reciting things to be thankful for, or remembering to give thanks for what did not happen and what is no longer a problem, there is always something for which to be grateful. An “attitude of gratitude” creates an immediate state of abundance and lasts longer than a box of fancy chocolates.

Kim Childs is a writer and creative-living coach, based in Arlington, who offers workshops on The Artist’s Way and The Prosperous Heart, by Julia Cameron. For more information visit KimChilds.com.

I just turned 50 and, while it’s difficult to wrap my mind around this chronological fact, I think it begs a celebration. I’m therefore inspired to list 50 things that I’ve learned in my five decades on the planet. It’s a gift to myself, really, to honor the wisdom that I’ve received from people and life, some of which I’ve passed on to my students. I invite you to share your own lessons, too, if you’re so moved. We all learn from each other.

1) Believe in your worth. It pains me to consider how much time I wasted thinking that I was unattractive, untalented and un-everything-that-I-thought-everyone-else-was. I obsessed about a little cellulite when I had a gorgeous figure. I thought I was insignificant when, in fact, I made lasting impressions on lots of people. Enough of that nonsense. I now affirm my worth on a regular basis.

2) When you know better, you do better. That’s from Maya Angelou. My version? At 35, I abandoned the party crowd to find my spiritual tribe. At 40, I started flossing my teeth and found the right facial moisturizer. At 43, I gave up emotionally unavailable men. This year I added green smoothies and meditation to my life. It’s never too late to start a good habit.

3) Got a compliment on your lips? Let it roll. One day during an otherwise impersonal transaction at a department store, I complimented the sales clerk on her iridescent, multi-hued eye shadow. Suddenly, she was gushing about her passion for style and make-up artistry. We both grinned as she delivered her parting words, “And you really look good in orange, girl!” Voicing appreciation also works wonders in a marriage, BTW…

4) It’s good to be on time. My name is Kim and I’m a recovering latecomer. My old behavior made me, and everyone who waited for me, crazy and annoyed. Chronic lateness does a number on body, mind and reputation. I’ve discovered that it feels way better to arrive on time and unflustered. If I get there early, there’s my iPhone to entertain me, or (gasp!) a moment of mindfulness to enjoy. Feels so much better.

5) Things can change in an instant. One morning in 1996, I got a call from Thurston Briscoe, the program director at an NPR station in Newark, NJ. I’d submitted demo tapes to this man at some point, but I’d forgotten about them as I continued to work my radio production job at another station. Thurston told that me his morning news anchor was leaving and he needed someone “to fill in for a while.” Poof! That’s how I became a radio newscaster for WBGO, Jazz88.

6) You don’t have to keep doing something just because you’re good at it. In 1999 I left a “perfectly good” career in public radio to follow my heart. It led me to the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health, where I became a yoga teacher and a workshop facilitator. Eventually, I lost my passion for yoga teaching and so I left that, too. Now I’m writing and teaching messages that help people to live more joyfully and authentically. This job’s a keeper, I’m pretty sure…

7) Every feeling passes. I lived, worked and trained at the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health for two magical years. A chunk of that time was spent processing emotional pain from my past to get to the joy of who I really am. I sometimes felt that I’d drown in those tears, but they always subsided, and my sunny nature always reemerged. Like the weather patterns of the Berkshires, my emotions shifted all the time. Feelings, like clouds, come and go.

8) Comparing leads to despairing. I’ve squandered a lot of time and energy imagining how great other people’s lives are and using that misinformation to make myself feel crappy. No one’s life is perfect, no matter how shiny it looks from the outside. Now I tend to my own garden, savor the harvest, give thanks and feast on my life.

9) Taking risks builds risk muscles. Making bold moves and trying new things is scary. But that same energy, channeled as excitement, can propel us into taking risks with love, creativity, right livelihood, authenticity and every other good thing we want. The more I leap in faith, despite my fears, the easier it is to do it again and again.

10) Cultivate a sense of wonder and delight. Paying attention to the beauty of small and simple things, and appreciating the abundant gifts of Mother Nature, fuels a romance with life that never grows old. I put my inner kid in charge of this one.

11) Yes, I’m sensitive. A friend once called me a “champion feeler” and today I proudly embrace that label. My sensitivity allows me to empathize with people, and my tears invite others to share their own. The downside is that I can be a sponge for the unexpressed emotions of those around me, but I still wouldn’t trade my sensitivity for toughness. It’s a gift.

12) A lack of confidence wastes a lot of opportunity. I regret the times that I let my insecurities hijack and sabotage exciting chances. “Fake it ‘til you make it,” is a chestnut of wisdom that tells me to say yes to opportunities that come my way, even when I don’t feel totally prepared for them. I can always become a quick study, or ask someone for help.

13) Nothing stays the same.  I learned this one the hard way, when I became attached to certain products (and shades of lip color), only to watch them disappear from shelves when they were discontinued. The good news is that this truism applies to both painful and pleasurable situations. That’s nice to remember when the stuff is hitting the fan.

14) I proudly wave my freak flag. I’ve danced ecstatically on sacred rocks, howled at the moon, marched for peace, drummed around bonfires, chanted in sweat lodges and assumed yoga poses in the Grand Canyon. I’ve even been to a clothing-optional gathering or two. I’m a hippie-freak, tree-hugging flower child liberal, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

15) God is not Santa Claus (nor is s/he Simon Cowell). As a kid, I “parentified” God as someone who judged me when I was naughty. When I dove into New Age teachings and spirituality, I thought God would reward me for being nice. Now I know God as a source of whole and utterly generous love that’s always just waiting for my call.

16) Wish everyone well. Friends, family members, co-workers, the snippy sales clerk and that guy yakking too loudly on his cell phone…what if we’re all doing the best we can with the state we’re in and the mindsets we currently have? Wish everyone well today, especially those who vex you. I find it a surprisingly effective practice.

17) Pause, rest and integrate. I used to rush from task, to event, to appointment with no time in between for rest and integration. It meant that I was always active, yet rarely satisfied or present. Now I acknowledge the need for downtime to savor and integrate major events. Life is too rich to live on fast forward.

18) It’s easy to take our talents for granted. I can edit a rambling, 1,000-word mess down to a snappy 450 words. I can teach a yoga class and turn a group of strangers into a sacred circle. I’m also “good with eggs,” according to my husband, and I sing pretty solos. What talents come so easily and naturally to you that you take them for granted?

19) People are my treasures. “Do you collect anything?” someone once asked me. I said no, but that’s not entirely true. I collect people the way some women collect shoes. Special people from my life have special places in my heart, shining like diamonds in my memory long after our paths have crossed.

20) What doesn’t kill us actually can make us stronger. The study of something called post-traumatic growth examines how stressful events can effect positive changes in a person’s life. My own hardships forced me to grow courage, wisdom, compassion and strength. Given the chance to rewrite my history, I just might leave a few of them in there.

21) Things often take longer than we like. I’m still working on this one, which involves patience, trust and a good dose of faith. There’s also something to be said for divine timing and the lessons learned while waiting, not to mention how our desires can change over time and render some wishes obsolete.

22) A good talk with a good friend is great medicine. I am lucky to have people in my life who let me be a big, fat mess sometimes. They listen without trying to make me feel better, simply holding a space in which I can speak aloud my complaints, confessions, sorrows and fears. Ironically, I do feel better after these talks, mostly because I feel less alone and more acceptably human.

23) Work your circle of influence. When Oprah Winfrey ended her long-running talk show, she told viewers that they didn’t have to be TV stars to have an impact on lots of people. I thought about that, and realized that every person I encounter may be affected by what I do and say. We never know who’s watching our show, so we might as well make it helpful and uplifting, right?

24) The buzz is not worth the bummer. I just might be done with alcohol, coffee, and sugar. I say “might” because life is full of special occasions that call for treats, but I know that the fleeting pleasure I get from these things is often not worth their negative effects on my body, mind and mood. Practicing what works best for me, and feeling the benefits, is my new high.

25) Happiness is an inside job. I’ve heard this sentiment for years, along with Abe Lincoln’s version, “Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.” Now I finally get that happiness is a moment-to-moment choice that has less to do with what happens to us than what’s happening inside of us. Choosing to be happy takes courage and practice, and it’s bolstered by an attitude of gratitude.

26) Crazy busy no more. I used to be someone with no white space on the calendar, over scheduled to within an inch of my life. Behind all that activity was a sense of desperation, a fear of missing out and a discomfort with stillness. Today, I’m very selective about what lands on my calendar, and I guard my free time like the wealth that it is.

27) Parenthood is not for everyone. I am childless by choice. I just never felt the urge to be a mom. I love being with kids and I relate pretty well to them, but I just don’t want to raise one and have that 24/7 responsibility. Maybe it’s because of my tendency to worry, or maybe it’s because I’m still growing up.

28) We’re ready when we’re ready. Regarding change, I once heard someone say that, “We can only go as fast as the slowest part of us can go.” Not sure I believe that entirely, but I do know that some major transitions in my life took their own sweet time to incubate. While it’s uncomfortable to hang out in the unknown, and we feel impatient to move forward sometimes, readiness is a key to lasting change.

29) Contentment is underrated. Maybe it has a lot to do with being middle aged, but I’m pretty content to be content these days. It doesn’t seem to be a very popular sentiment, so I sometimes feel out of step. But savoring who I am and what I have brings me peace and joy, and that, to me, is more satisfying than the latest i-Something.

30) Tell on yourself. Last year I published something with a major typo that made me cringe. I couldn’t fix the error, so I told people about it. The outpouring of support that followed was astounding to someone who once thought that mistakes made her a target for ridicule. Screwing up is evidently something people relate to, so we might as well admit that we do it.

31) To-do lists are good; ta-da lists are better. This idea comes from Julia Cameron, my guru in the work I do as a creative living coach. She recommends that we write “Ta-da!” lists to honor what we’ve done in the course of a day. When I acknowledge all that I’ve accomplished, I feel good about myself and energized to do more. After a little reward, that is…

32) Turn your defects into assets. My brothers would probably tell you that I was a bossy big sister. But a tendency to be authoritative comes in handy when teaching yoga and creative recovery classes (“Lift your sternum, drop your shoulders, write your Morning Pages, breathe…”). Likewise, my overblown sense of responsibility makes me pretty reliable. What character “defects” can you see as assets?

33) Walking is cheaper than therapy. The other day I was all worked up about stuff and my husband asked, “Did you take your walk?” in the same tone someone might use to inquire, “Did you take your meds?” So I took the hint and went outside to walk off my stress and get out of my own head. About 30 minutes later, the knot in my stomach dissolved and I smiled up at the big, blue sky, grateful for this free and gentle remedy.

34) One man’s dirt is another woman’s dishes. I’ve lived with people who had different cleaning habits than mine. I’d go nuts when the bathroom was grungy, and they’d nag me to do my dishes before bed. One day after much grumbling, I got it: they didn’t see the dirt and clutter that I saw, and I was oblivious to the pile of dishes in the sink. What if no one is wrong and we’re all just wearing different lenses?

35) Don’t believe everything you think. I was 32 when I first heard those words from a guru. Today they make a lot of sense, as my meditation practice causes me to watch the tireless parade of thoughts that march across my mind, many of which are repetitive, judgmental, fearful and banal. Were I sitting next to someone voicing this chatter, I’d move away. Watching my thoughts gives me perspective on them, and the chance to shift.

36) Nature is the ultimate thriller. I’ve seen skyscrapers, cities that never sleep and award-winning movies and plays, but nothing thrills me like a hummingbird, a breaching whale, a Technicolor sunset, the full moon rising, the power of the ocean, a majestic mountain or a sky full of shooting stars. Mama Nature is the original artist, and she is such a diva.

37) I dare to love my imperfect self. Our brains are wired to look for what’s wrong; it’s how we’ve survived over the ages. But while that impulse was designed to protect us from real danger, we often use it to pick ourselves mercilessly apart. If “God don’t make no junk,” as the saying goes, who am I to nitpick? I’m willing to love myself—warts and all—even as I acknowledge that there’s room for “new and improved.”

38) Be a good receiver. The other day a friend told me that I looked beautiful and I simply said “Thank you!” because my intention for 2013 is to be a better receiver – of compliments, assistance, money and all kinds of blessings. This can be challenging for those of us who are hardwired for self-sufficiency and used to deflecting, but receiving keeps good things in circulation, and I’m doing my part to keep that energy flowing.

39) Season, reason, lifetime. Those words refer to the length of time, and purpose, for which certain people are in our lives. It took me a long time to get this, and maybe longer to accept the fact that some friendships and significant relationships do not last as long as I want them to. I can only appreciate whoever shows up, try to receive the lessons and gifts they bear, and really value those who are with me for the long haul.

40) I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. I use that idiom because I’m an avid tea drinker, but the point here is that some people may never like me. Ouch! So I have to ask myself, “Well, aren’t there people who leave me cold, annoy me or push my buttons?” Well, yes. “What if it’s because they mirror a part of me that I don’t want to see, or some part that I’m uncomfortable expressing?” Could be. Or, maybe tea just isn’t everyone’s beverage of choice.

41) I believe in a good cry. It turns out that tears are actually good for us. They lubricate the eyes, remove bacteria and toxins from the body and reduce stress. But even before I knew that, I believed in the power of a good cry to release pent-up feelings of anxiety, anger and grief. I don’t always feel great right after a big cry, but eventually I do feel lighter, clearer and less afraid of my feelings.

42) Rituals matter. My childhood rituals included going to church, sitting down for family dinners and celebrating birthdays and holidays. As an adult, I create my own rituals based on what truly nourishes me. My mornings now consist of prayer, meditation and journaling. If I skip them, I feel “off.” Rituals ground me, enrich my life and connect me to what’s meaningful.

43) I forgive myself. I’ve made choices in life that caused me pain and suffering. I’ve hurt people and said things that I wish I could delete from the universal record. Today I forgive myself for making mistakes and causing harm. I make amends when possible to those I’ve hurt, including me, aiming to be kinder and wiser.

44) I forgive them, too.
Resentments, grudges and grievances are like toxic waste piles that litter my mind and poison my spirit. Forgiveness, on the other hand, feels liberating and clean. Forgiving someone doesn’t mean that I condone bad behavior or want to become best buddies. It means that I no longer let another’s actions hold me hostage or define me. It also opens the way for healing.

45) Jealousy is a messenger. For years, being jealous of people who had what I wanted was something I just did. Once I became aware of my jealousies, I felt bad for having them (compounding the misery). Now when I catch myself feeling jealous of someone, I know it’s pointing me toward my own desires. I then remind myself that it’s an abundant universe, and only I can block my good.

46) Find the good and praise it. Author Alex Haley used these words to sum up his philosophy, and they describe a practice that I’ve been building on. It’s called savoring, and it’s related to the “glass half full” concept of looking for what is good and what’s working in our lives, aiming our focus there and giving thanks. This is especially useful when times are hard, and it’s a great relationship tool.

47) I love my body and it loves me back. I haven’t always been a wise or well-behaved inhabitant of this precious body, but it has steadily performed for me nonetheless. I’m amazed by what it can do, heal and repair, all by itself. The older I get, the more I want to reward my body with healthy food, lots of water, good supplements, massage, ample rest and movement. Whispering words of love also helps, and so I do.

48) Easy does it with expectations. There’s a saying in the 12-Step world that expectations are “premeditated resentments.” Translation: Don’t hinge your happiness on what other people do or don’t do. My unmet expectations of people and life have led to many disappointments and pity parties. A more useful attitude is to be grateful for what is given, cut everyone some slack and keep filling my own well.

49) I turn to face my shadow. Wisdom teachers say that if we don’t acknowledge and integrate our darker impulses and internal saboteurs, they’ll thwart our best efforts, tarnish relationships and trigger lots of bad behavior. Failing to see and own our shadow sides, we end up pointing fingers instead of looking inward. I’m willing to explore the aspects of myself that I’d rather not see, and shine a loving light on them.

50) Life is for learning. Agenda for the next 50 years: quiet my inner critic, calm my inner control freak, grow my gratitude and patience, be of greater service, appreciate the heck out of my parents and family, be more generous, stay curious, keep asking for what I want and have more fun. Not necessarily in that order…

I lived in Hoboken, NJ, for 15 years during my late ’20s and 30s. It’s a mile-square city, a so-called bedroom community to Manhattan, and the birthplace of Frank Sinatra. It was also one of the most close-knit communities I’ve ever called home, full of people who still occupy a special place in my heart.

The last time I visited Hoboken was October 2001, when I returned to empty the apartment that I’d been subletting and pull up my roots for good. I’d been away for two years, and out of the country during the attacks on the World Trade Center. As I walked around Hoboken that week, I saw dozens and dozens of “Have you seen…?” fliers with desperate, handwritten appeals and the haunting faces of those who were likely buried in the rubble of the Twin Towers. The city felt bruised, sad…and surreal.

On October 30, 2012, my heart went out to Hoboken again as I saw arresting images of flooded streets, destroyed property and stranded residents in the aftermath of hurricane Sandy. When I heard Mayor Dawn Zimmer crying out for help on CNN, I started to follow the situation on TV and Facebook.

Hoboken residents share their power

What I saw next was a different kind of surge, as the beleaguered people of this small city began sharing their precious power and resources, opening their homes to moms with kids for extended play dates and movies with snacks. People in neighboring Weehawken offered their showers, couches, spare bedrooms, kitchens and vacant apartments to complete strangers who were suddenly homeless.

The Hoboken Facebook page became a place where people posted all kinds of urgent appeals and generous offers. Kids and adults came out to clean up homes, parks, streets and businesses. There were block parties with free food and activities for kids who couldn’t go to school. People were dropping in on isolated senior citizens while making trips to donate furniture, diapers and flashlights.

And help arrived from beyond the Garden State, too, as revealed in a post that said,  “Super amazing. Heritage Academy from Monterey, TN, sent up a bus of 59 students and teachers to assist in our efforts at the High School. They were a huuuge help! Thank you!”

Across the river, New York City was grappling with its own devastation and loss. Again. Just as they did on 9/11, so many resilient New Yorkers rebounded as quickly as they could and rose to the occasion. “When something like this happens, it’s as if  you’re suddenly in a small town,” said a friend of mine in upper Manhattan. “A lot of people here are housing friends and relatives and colleagues who lost their homes. There was so much worse destruction in some places that my friends downtown say they felt lucky that they only lost power. One of them joked, ‘It’s like I’m camping, except there are no trees.’”

Making the best of tragedy is what a lot of Americans are really good at. And compassion often comes biggest from the smallest of us. In Bullitt County, Kentucky, three hundred elementary school kids mailed their Halloween candy to the children of Hoboken last week. Their teacher reported that many of these children, who themselves receive public assistance, donated all of the candy they had. “One student told me that he’d only donated ‘the good stuff,’” she added.

That candy was distributed at yesterday’s Ragamuffin Parade, Hoboken’s annual Halloween event for kids and kids-at-heart that was delayed, but not destroyed, by Sandy.

Two weeks after this massive storm, too many people in New York and New Jersey are still without power. Thousands have lost everything they owned, and more than a hundred people lost their lives. I have officially closed down my personal complaint department for 2012, as I’m reminded every day to feel grateful my home, heat, electricity, running water and abundant food and clothing. For those of us who were unscathed by Sandy, Thanksgiving is a month-long celebration this year, and a chance to remember and help those who were not so lucky.

I’ve had a rough couple of months as some major bummers have rattled my faith, dashed a few hopes and driven me to big, fat tears. However unique my circumstances, I know I’m not alone. A glance at the news reveals countless people grappling with crumbling economies, joblessness, violence and bullies of all kinds as we Americans head toward a pivotal presidential election. Lately, even our peanut butter and painkillers are tainted.

Sometimes, it’s just all too much.

“People are just hunkering down and they seem to be on overload,” says a colleague in California who, like me, experienced a sharp decline in business this fall. “We just need to get this election and this 2012 thing over! In the meantime, I’m giving myself a break. My husband and I went to a lovely mountain town last weekend and I sucked it up like a dry sponge.”

A weekend in the country is one way to escape, but how else can we soothe our sagging spirits when the going gets tough? First, it helps to acknowledge our true feelings, says spiritual teacher Deepak Chopra.

“Just telling yourself to ‘be positive’ isn’t much help, because moods can have a life of their own,” he writes in a recent article, “But the most satisfying project you will ever undertake…is to discover how to build a sense of happiness that no one can take away from you…”

An infusion of joy from Mama Nature.

“Building happiness” looks different for everyone. For me today, it was making a pot of chunky vegetable soup, baking some apple crisp and photographing the luminous orange leaves outside my door. Creativity heals and boosts morale, writes poet Sharon Olds. “Writing or making anything—a poem, a bird feeder, a chocolate cake—has self-respect in it,” she says. “You’re working. You’re trying. You’re not lying down on the ground, having given up.”

Hearing from friends about their own challenges also gives me comfort during difficult times, as does sharing my pain with those who can really listen, including God. I asked some of my friends to share what they reach for when the stuff hits the fan, and I heard about favorite TV shows that distract and songs that uplift or validate feelings. “I turn on music that makes me cry,” says one pal, while a former co-worker says “I run, with Pearl Jam on my iPod. Nobody knows my pain like Eddie (Vedder).”

Comfort foods made many people’s lists (I’ve personally cooked bushels of mashed potatoes, lately, well buttered), and a former student tells me that she has a collection of “comfort books” for tough times. “They’re not especially enlightening—Peter Wimsey mysteries, Jane Austen’s novels, a sci-fi series I love and Harry Potter,” she reports, “but re-reading them is like visiting old, well-loved friends or cousins…works to remind me of who I am and what I love and that the world can be all right.”

I give myself lots of space when I’m hurting, deliberately keeping my schedule open. One trip I do make time for is the library, which feels like a refuge of goodness and stability as the calm librarians scan my books and DVDs. Getting there via good old-fashioned walks, sans headphones, also shifts my mood by putting me outside, where nature and other people pull me out of my mental melodramas.

My sister-in-law says, “I recommend volunteering when life’s been tough. My neighbors and I just met to plan our monthly meal for the local homeless shelter, and I feel so much better realizing that my own life is so sweet.” Clearing clutter for donations is another mood-booster, since having unwanted stuff around can weigh us down psychically. One former student purges her closets and bookshelves when she’s feeling down, occasionally rewarding herself with champagne and a nice dinner. “And I must admit, I get a little buzz on, which I also enjoy,” she adds.

Yes, I’ve reached for Merlot instead of mindfulness at times to get that “What, me worry?” sensation. It’s not a good long-term strategy.

A local colleague allows herself brief pity parties when things go badly, before taking a deep breath and reaching for something better. “My absolute favorite is to pick up one of my puppy’s toys and play with him,” she says. “He’s never too tired, moody or distracted by anything other than what’s happening in the moment. I feel the joy of his spirit while we play.”

I like this idea, too, from a yogi friend. “Sometimes I just hang my head over the edge of a bed or couch,” she says. “It’s an easy way to be upside down to get blood and nutrients flowing to the brain.” I tried this and it made my head feel kind of shiny inside. Others tell me that they dance or drum to shift their energy when life disappoints.

Mira Kirshenbaum, a psychotherapist and author of Everything Happens for a Reason, writes that big events in our lives, good and bad, help us to learn, grow and renew ourselves. The trick is to trust that process when we’re in the midst of big events that feel like big heartbreaks. Perhaps learning that we can adapt and survive is enough sometimes.

Meanwhile, there’s always cinema therapy. I recently treated myself to The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, in which one of the main characters repeats, “In India we have a saying, that everything will be all right in the end. So, if it is not all right, then it is not yet the end.”

Now that’s an idea I can embrace right now.

Food can be a reliable friend when we seek to comfort and nourish ourselves. But when we repeatedly eat types and quantities of food that leave us feeling miserable, food becomes a weapon that we use against ourselves in an agonizing cycle of self-sabotage and, ironically, self-denial.

Because often it’s not that pint of ice cream or piece of cake that we really want. It’s more fulfilling work, deeper relationships, a break from caretaking, a nap, a massage, a walk in the woods or the chance to paint, write, sing, dance or whatever it is that truly fills us up inside.

I know this because I’m a recovering food addict and a teacher of creative recovery and expressive living. My workshops are based on The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity, by Julia Cameron. A recovering addict herself, Cameron writes about how people use food and other drugs of choice to numb the anxiety that arises when we fear pursuing our passions…and the depression that aches when we abandon them.

My own compulsive eating and bulimia surfaced in high school amid the usual challenges of adolescence and some additional life stresses. I would eat myself into a state of numbness whenever emotional pain threatened to overwhelm me, no matter how many times it made me feel utterly worse. On top of all my other issues, I rejected myself for not fitting into a suburban culture that didn’t reflect who I was: an original thinker with the soul of an artist.

When I moved on to attend college in Philadelphia, I began to thrive in an urban, multicultural environment. But it was a junior year abroad that really turned my eating disorder around. In London, I was too busy consuming life to hole up in my dorm room with binge foods. I spent the year gleefully reinvented myself, surrounded by theater geeks, musicians, writers and world travelers who affirmed me. At the end of that year I returned home effortlessly slimmer and, more importantly, self-expressed. I wasn’t cured of emotional eating, but I was well on the road to recovery.

Fifteen years later I took a course on The Artist’s Way to pull myself out of a personal and professional rut. The class helped me to resurrect creative pursuits and explore new passions. It also led me to quit my job and move to a yoga center, where I soaked up spiritual teachings and connected with kindred spirits who mirrored my playful and soulful sides. Ultimately, I became what I am today: a writer and teacher of personal transformation who dabbles in music and lives artfully.

These days, doing work that I love, indulging my creativity and practicing good self-care feel more delicious than a date with my old boyfriends Ben and Jerry. Not that I never touch the stuff, because occasional treats are part of self-care, as one of my students admitted when asked about the relationship between food and creativity in her life.

“After my daughter Rowan was born, I was inspired to sketch a rowan tree and write a blurb about its mythical meaning,” she reports. “Instead of letting the idea wither under a pile of dirty dishes, I bought a sketchpad and did it. So while I still go for the (homemade) chocolate chip cookie at night, these little touchstones with creativity keep the work/motherhood tedium at bay and prevent me from indulging in nasty foodstuffs during the day.”

Another former student recounts how a collage assignment during The Artist’s Way course woke up her real hunger. “I must have spent hours on my collage, choosing and rearranging the pictures,” she recalls. “I realized that I was starved for creativity. In recent years I’d stopped singing and performing and I’d steadily gained weight. When I finally had the chance to do something creative again, I ate it up.”

As this talented actress and singer began to make time for auditions and voice lessons again, her interest in compulsive eating waned. She also began treating herself to flowers and artist dates (an exercise that invites your inner artist/child on a pleasurable adventure), eventually creating and starring in a one-woman show. “Because I was focusing on other things I was less inclined to eat mindlessly in front of the TV all night,” she says.

The next time you find yourself reaching for food when you are not physically hungry, ask yourself, “What do I really, really, really want to be doing right now?” You may need to journal a bit to uncover your real desires, or call a friend who’s a great listener and helps you speak your truth. Once you’ve identified the thing that your heart longs to do, whether it’s a yummy piece of self-care or a delicious creative pursuit, go for it—with great appetite and pleasure.

(p.s. My fall 2012 intensives on The Artist’s Way begin the week of September 17. For more info visit www.KimChilds.com/calendar.html)

Me, singing some Ellington on a Boston stage in 2006

I lead workshops based on The Artist’s Way to help people recover and express their innate creativity. We don’t always make art in the course, but we do spend a lot of time listening to each other as we explore what gets in the way of living our dreams and what to do about it. In the first session I offer a handout called Could You Just Listen? to set the tone for our interactions. It begins, “When I ask you to listen to me and you start giving me advice, you have not done what I asked. When I ask you to listen to me and you begin to tell me why I shouldn’t feel that way, you are trampling on my feelings.”

Sound harsh? If so perhaps you, like me, have dispensed unsolicited advice and tried to talk people out of their feelings more than once. The author of this passage (who remains anonymous) goes on to say, “When I ask you to listen to me and you feel you have to do something to solve my problem, you have failed me, strange as that may seem.” Hmmmm…I had to roll that one around my brain a few times. After all, it’s hard to listen to someone who’s struggling and not want to help, right?

But listening is helping, as the author explains, because, “…when you accept as a simple fact that I do feel what I feel, no matter how irrational, then I can quit trying to convince you and get about the business of understanding what’s behind this irrational feeling. When that’s clear, the answers are obvious and I don’t need advice.”

Conclusion? Good listening is like witnessing, with added support. Author and theology professor David Augsburger even says that, “Being heard is so close to being loved that, for the average person, they are almost indistinguishable.” I know that some of the most healing moments in my life have been spent with people who sat quietly beside me, opening their hearts to receive what mine had to say.

Eager to be a better listener, I joined a book group this summer to study The Zen of Listening: Mindful Communication in the Age of Distraction, by speech/language pathologist Rebecca Shafir. We meet every few weeks to discuss the obstacles to listening,  which include: our judgments about a speaker, our impatience and desire to interrupt with our own input, speakers who monopolize conversations and, of course, our incessant internal chatter. Sometimes, even when we appear to be intently listening (maintaining eye contact, nodding our head), we may actually be composing our to-do list, formulating our reply, or thinking about anything but what the person is saying.

I fully admit that I can be an impatient listener. I don’t want people to waste my time or talk circles around a subject. “Get to the point,” I’m often thinking and, unfortunately, sometimes saying out loud. In those instances, Shafir might tell me to imagine that the speaker is a fascinating movie character, holding my interest. I’ve been trying that lately, with mixed results. However, when someone is sharing deep truths and heartfelt emotion with me, I’m hooked until the final credits roll.

Since joining the group I’m keenly aware of how often most of us are talking at each other rather than with each other. I’ve started to use the phrase “Just let me finish…” with interrupters and I’ve stopped greeting people with “How are you?” if I don’t have time to hear the answer. Likewise, I rarely respond to that question if I sense that there’s no room for an authentic reply. Ironically, I’ve actually gotten so used to people not listening that I sometimes feel uncomfortable when they do. In Shafir’s book she quotes people who say that they even feel guilty when someone offers them their full attention. I find that kind of…sad.

It seems that modern attention spans have shrunk in proportion to the number of hand-held electronic devices out there. Who has time to listen when there are Tweets to read and updates to post and so many things to do, do, do? And yet, as mentioned, deep listening is one of the greatest gifts we can give someone, and one of the most blessed gifts we can receive. It’s an opportunity for greater intimacy and connection, and aren’t we all hungering for that?

Next time someone is speaking to you, try to put down your phone, turn away from the screen, sit still and get quiet enough inside to really listen. And then find someone who can listen to you. You may notice that you feel better afterwards, and maybe even lighter. As Canadian psychologist and change consultant Paddy Ducklow writes in his “Comments from the Couch” blog, “My life is cluttered, as is probably yours. When I am listened to, my life becomes somehow less cluttered.”

Sounds good to me.

About fifteen years ago I was driving solo along the highways of New Mexico with some books on tape to keep me company. The most memorable of these was Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway, a self-help classic by Susan Jeffers. Among other good recommendations, Jeffers suggested that I take time every night to write down 50 things for which I was grateful.

“Did she say 50?!” I exclaimed, rewinding the cassette. Yup, she said 50. Because it’s not really about the list.

In order to create a 50-item gratitude list each night, you have to spend your days looking for things to write down. Today my items will include: the surprise of a monarch butterfly in my garden, finding Ben and Jerry’s on sale at Whole Foods, the shy smile of a toddler in the checkout line, my favorite Joni Mitchell song on the radio and that email from a soul friend full of just the right words. That’s 5 down, 45 to go. And so I’ll mentally note more to appreciate as the day goes on.

Sometimes the things that make my list reflect what did not happen that day, like a near miss on the expressway, the car repair that wasn’t needed after all, or the fact that my air conditioner worked on a 98-degree day when residents elsewhere were suffering a blackout and losing their cool. When I turn on the tap water, I’m grateful that I don’t live in a town plagued by drought. When my wheelchair-bound neighbor calls me for help with small tasks, I’m reminded to appreciate my legs. And because Thich Nhat Hanh once said something like “Be grateful for the non-toothache,” I try to remember to give thanks when a pain or illness has disappeared. It’s easy to be miserable when I’m suffering and forgetful when I’m well.

What Jeffers is up to with this list thing is getting us to flip our internal scripts from a running monologue of criticism and complaining (and their close friends “poor me” and “life sucks”) to one of appreciation and even wonder for the what we have and what is given to us. Research shows that gratitude boosts mental and physical health, and I find that it assuages loneliness, too. When I feel as if life is serving me up a bounty of blessings, I feel companioned by benevolent forces.

“So often what blocks people from their greater potential is that they don’t appreciate what they have so far,” says spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss. I think that’s because a focus on lack is akin to wearing super dark shades all the time. We won’t even recognize our good if we’re clouded with negativity, and we sure won’t be motivated to strive for better. Think about a closed fist versus an upturned palm – which is more likely to receive?

Author and astrologer Rob Brezsny takes the concept a little further in his book Pronoia: How the Whole World is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings. Brezsny explains that pronoia is the antidote for paranoia and “a mode of training your senses and intellect so you’re able to perceive the fact that life always gives you exactly what you need, exactly when you need it.”

Sometimes it takes me awhile to see that life is giving me what I need when it’s not giving me what I want. That’s when I have to flip into “Well, it could’ve been worse,” or “I guess there’s something I’m meant to learn here.” Believe me, I don’t go from angry to accepting in 60 seconds, but I do find that life is just gentler when I reach for things to appreciate in difficult times.

“Gratitude is a real practice in my mind, as valid as yoga or Zen meditation or Sufi dancing,” says Benedictine Brother David Steindl-Rast, adding that it begins with a sense of surprise for all that is given, rather than an air of entitlement. “It’s not joy that makes us grateful but gratefulness that makes us joyful,” he says.

Speaking of joy, I invite you to spend ten minutes watching Loius Schwartzberg and his gorgeous film about the power of gratitude. Then, in the words of German theologian Meister Eckhart, “If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, ‘thank you,’ that would suffice.”

Thank you. I’m grateful for your readership.

As I approach my personal half-century mark, I find myself in strange territory. Having successfully climbed a few career ladders in my life, I am currently, apparently, without ambition. It doesn’t feel like a bad thing.

I’ve lived in big cities and charming towns and traveled the world from Alaska to Zimbabwe. I’ve interviewed celebrities, been interviewed on TV, hosted radio shows, co-written books and hung out with politicos and hip hop pioneers in New York, New York. I’ve sung to crowds at Boston’s Symphony Hall and the Hatch Shell. I even swayed and clapped with fellow gospel singers behind Mariah Carey as she belted out “Make it Happen” to thousands of fans at the huge TD Garden. (That was awesome.)

I’m not trying to brag here so much as note the highlights of a life lived pretty fully so far. I’m sure I’ll be up to more adventures eventually, but right now I’m satisfied with the ones I’ve had.

The evidence of my contentment, if that’s the word for it, is mounting:

A few weeks ago, as I sat in the waiting room of a Toyota dealership, I scanned the table full of gossip rags. I realized I had absolutely no interest in anything that any celebrity was up to that week. This, from someone who used to devour People magazine from cover-to-cover, watch Entertainment Tonight religiously, and fantasize about being a big somebody some day.

Always a fan of comfort clothes, I now find myself primarily dressing in a style that can best be described as casual bordering on frumpy. Most days you’ll find me in sensible footwear, yoga pants, and no-iron tops. I cannot recall the last time I put on a pair of pantyhose or high heels.

I recently ran into a former yoga student of mine as she prepared to give a talk on European flower shows. When I asked her if horticulture was her business she said, “I do it for fun. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of a ‘kept woman.’” To tell you the truth, that sounded pretty good to me.

What happened to the teenager who wanted to be the next Barbara Walters, the public radio reporter who planned to host her own show, and the yoga teacher who thought she’d sit across from Oprah one day, gabbing about her spiritual awakening and helping millions to achieve their own? She’s the same person who walked away from a career in broadcast news at age 35 because her soul beckoned her elsewhere. She’s the passionate creativity teacher who recently said, “Yeah, I wanna be a ‘local somebody’ too!” upon hearing the clever phrase from a student. The current me delights in coaching others to live fully expressed lives, writing articles for a local healthy living magazine, selling the occasional personal essay and blogging for beloved readers.

When it comes to amassing a fortune, well, I always worked in non-profit but now I seem even less concerned with profiting. I pay the bills, enjoy a simple life, and follow a work schedule that leaves me with adequate free time. If time is indeed money, then I’m rich. So is a former student who echoes my sentiments as she writes, “Sometimes I feel I should be doing more and leading the kind of busy-productive life I admire in others, but my unscheduled time is so precious and essential to my peace of mind. I’m grateful to have it, because I know not everyone does.”

Author Daniel Pink recently said that this age of abundance and prosperity has liberated but not fulfilled us, leaving more people searching for meaning instead of megabucks. Last year I heard a news story about MBAs who were becoming farmers to live more sustainable lives, and last month I learned about the Junky Car Club, in which people drive old cars in order to have more money for charitable contributions.

Like these folks, my highest ambition is to be a better human being. I also want to spend more time with my family and friends while we’re all still around, keep using my skills to help people, and savor my blessings.

Crowding 50, I have no advanced degrees, no property in my name, and no record of civic involvement apart from some volunteer work and the local garden club. Still, I’m happy with the person I’ve become and I love my life. The other day I read a little message on my tea bag that said, “You can run after satisfaction, but satisfaction must come from within.”

I think I’ve stopped running.

Back in high school I thought I was too cool when I wrote my yearbook quote in French. Today, it’s the sentiment that impresses me. “What is success?” I wrote, in the English translation. “It’s being happy with what, who and where we are in life.”

More than thirty years later, I find that to be true.

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p.s. Okay, now I AM bragging – this essay made the front page/Editor’s Picks this week on Open Salon, a forum for writers. You can see it by clicking here.