Which brings me to the present. Essentially, this is a sermon on presence. Because when you’re showing up in the now, you don’t have time to expect much. You’re focused on the give, not the get.

This fall I traveled to NYC twice in four weeks. To hustle. Name a major women’s lifestyle magazine. Name any of them. I’ve probably been to their office, in cashmere, talking about the meaning of life and how to be a fire starter. One particular meeting was, in my mind, incredibly high stakes. “If I land this, it’ll change, like, my grandchildren’s lives.” I don’t have grandchildren. Just biggie dreams. I lost sleep over that meeting. I prayed, meditated, worked with my advisor, rubbed my mala beads, strategized and agonized with my crazy sexy and out-fucking-standing soul sisters. Ready as I’ll ever be.

It doesn’t really matter how the meeting went (very well,) or what the outcome is (it’s just the beginning,) here’s the net gain:

show up.
shine.
let it go.

When I left that meeting, something shifted deep in me. Something I wasn’t, expecting. Out went the adrenaline, in streamed the calm. It was a little bit of Samadhi on Park Avenue. I got it: lay down the expectations. Be done with them. Will? Never. She’s my paintbrush, my potion, my lucidity. But, expectations shrink your shine and weigh you down with worry and equations. I’m more interested in my art and connecting with what’s in front of me.

Expectation liberation is the new black. Style up.

A PRAYER FOR RECOVERING EXPECTATION ADDICTS

Lord, Shiva, Yaweh, Saraswati, [insert your own deities here] pimp my shizzle and deliver me to where it’s best.

Yess’m, Jesus, life, cosmic intelligence, Milky Way Magi, take the wheel.

I know you’ve got my back. I know that you know how intensely my heart burns, how sweet is the honey at the center of my center, how much I am capable of. And God knows (that’d be you) how game I am to collaborate with you to make good stuff happen.

I accept my calling: to show up and shine. Unfurled and honest. Determined to be only that which I am.

I’m here to give…my all.

I trust that pure intention counts for plentiful support.

I trust we’ll get where I’m going, together — once I learn to be where I am.

I’ll go make my art now.

I have faith that you’ve got the rest covered.

Amen. Om shanti. Shalom.

You can only do what ONLY YOU can do.
Do that.
The universe will configure around your very best efforts.
Willingly.

Park that thought for a minute.

You’re self-referencing. You’re successful (and you’re bright enough to know that that’s a relative term.) You’re a generally wide-awake, highly confident, compassionate, secure citizen of the collective. You know who you are. You’re committed to knowing more. You practice mindful speech, you send light to the people who piss you off, you get regular massage treatments, you own a few sex toys, you do workshops. Clearly, you treat yourself well. You know you’re worth it.

Self hatred? You?

Me?

I HATE MYSELF. THERE, I SAID IT.

I used to think my list of self-criticisms, we’re just criticisms. Innocuous opinions I held about myself that were mild, understandable, reasonable even – part of being aware of my “shadow”. Growth points. That on-going, fucking incessant chatter (as chill and dignified as it is,) goes something like this:

I SORT OF SUCK BECAUSE I SHOULD … (and I bet you can insert your own list here…) lose ten more pounds, work less, be kinder to my man, more attentive to my boy, less concerned about “arriving”, more responsive to my readers, less fixated on Twitter, more informed about world politics, less spendy, more willing to adopt a child, less judgmental of all of the shitty customer service and mediocrity in the world, more motivated to get my ass on my bike, less obsessive about strategic planning, more inclined to socialize, less irritated by small talk, more inclined to do less, and blah-blah-fucking-self-critical-unrelenting-BLAAAAH.

Add to that list: dust bunnies, a few missed birthdays, a grandmother that deserves a phone call, an overflowing Facebook inbox that I ignore, a nightstand piled high with books in progress (although I keep buying more books,) and some memories of thoughtless things I said to good people who may have been hurt by my ego … and, well, it’s not adding up to a lot of self-compassion or oozing Goddess worth, is it? It’s not sounding so light, so harmless, or so innocuous, is it?

Park that thought for a minute.

I ADORE MYSELF. TRULY. NO QUESTION ABOUT IT.
I could list 10,000 reasons, here and now, why I’m The High Priestess of Loveliness. My heart is galactic. My mind is laser-razor. I’ve made some good choices this time around. AND YET …

Those little paper cuts that I inflict on my spirit are not random or rootless. They are effective. They have a source. Yes, self-criticism may be well-intentioned. It may be fed by old hurts, family of origin, past lives, modern culture, mortal coil. But it’s seeded from the murky marsh of loathing. And to greater and lesser degrees, it’s part of everyone’s psychic biosphere. The trick to drying it up is to shine some light on it.

Self-criticism is not “love”, and it is certainly not indifferent. It’s a form of hatred. And when I name that, when I see it for what it is (raw and uncomfortable and saddening…) when I refuse to sugar-coat self criticism, judgment, agitation, and constantly trying to improve myself, then I’m one quantum leap closer to freedom. Out of the swamp. Grounded in love.

. . . . . . .

The most lucid material I’ve come across on self judgment, ego and presence is The Unfolding Now, by AH Almaas.

. . . . . . .

She has a tendency to panic. Makes it hard to trust her.
He is chronically greedy. Grew up dirt poor. Money is everything.
She is a channel of pure wisdom, a naturally gifted seer.
He is a genius, able to connect vast intellectual concepts.
She is fragile, new, and green to the concept of cause and affect.
He is angry, wounded, perpetually antagonistic.

People are where they are – despite our desire for them to be further along, more evolved, more fun, closer to our level, less intimidating, more relatable, easier to access, or simply more like us.

If you take the desire for someone to be different out of the equation – you can meet them where they are. You can meet them in the real moment. You can meet them in their despair or their magnificence.

And when you truly meet them, with no wishing for something different to wedge you apart, you’ll know what to do. You will have the compassion to be calming, the humility to be reverent, or the wisdom to walk away. The question becomes, how would you treat “wounded,” or “rage,” or “brilliance”? Not how would you help (or coerce, or plead with) someone be more healed, or less angry, or more down to earth.

They are where they are. Consider the facts, spare yourself the desire for change. Remove the friction of wanting to improve them. And engage. It’s the only way change happens.

. . . . . . .

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Could presence be heart-generated coherence in the world of personal magnetics? People with presence have an ineffable quality about them; they are ‘present,’ surprisingly attentive, and undistracted. A fullness, a centeredness, a wholeness radiates from them. We enjoy being ‘in their presence.’ You can build presence. It is the natural radiance of heart security.

- Doc Childre and Bruce Cryer, From Chaos to Coherence