Porch
by Gika Rector

Since that day on the porch, my oldest child got married, my younger brother died, and two of my favorite people on the planet are slowly dying.

I like the married couple, and I’m trying to be a good mother‑in‑law.

My brother’s life was shorter and tougher than anyone would want, but he seemed to have made peace with much of it, and was spending time doing what he loved to do. He died suddenly, apparently in his sleep.

The part about the people who are slowly dying is hard to sort out. They’ve lived rich, full lives, and are leaving the world a better place because of their presence. Certainly they’ve enriched my life in lots of ways. The slowness of their dying means that we’ve already lost much of who they were and how they interacted with the world. Their brains just don’t work the way they once did. Short term memory is gone, and odd fixations have emerged.

They mostly look the same, but every now and then I’m startled by how old they look, and wonder how strangers might see them. How could a stranger know the intelligence and passion and drive that once lived here? Could a stranger see the curiosity and dedication and learning? Probably not.

One of them is quite confused; the other depressed, perhaps even suicidal. How can this be? Hard to watch, and hard to understand. The one who is confused is trying hard to work it out. Trying hard to get organized, have important meetings, and prepare for a trip. The other is quite unhappy, resentful of the situation, struggling to find a way to make things different.

There are still moments of ease and clarity, warmth and good will. Intellectually, I can see that this is a time of withdrawal, winding down, and letting go. Emotionally, I’m wondering why it has to be so challenging and why I can’t “make it all better.”

My front-porch friend once said that we each choose our own way to die. I’ve puzzled over that concept for a really long time. Is it true? If so, what does it really mean? My best guess is that how we live is a part of how we die. Are we curious and present? Are we responsible? Do we look outside ourselves for someone or something to take the blame or to fix it? Are we response‑able? Do we resist the reality of our living and dying? Does that take us away from our purpose on the planet?

Do we have a purpose? I’ve heard and considered a number of answers to that last question. We’re here to love one another, or to learn to love one another. We’re co-creators. We’re here to be fully human.

I like that last one. We’re here to be fully human. Another meaty morsel from that same friend. And again, something to puzzle over for a long time. To be fully human means so many different things. To live, to breathe, to laugh, to love, to die—maybe slowly or maybe quickly. And perhaps the best way to be fully human is to experience the richness of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly. The fullness and the wonder. As sad as I am to watch dear ones wind down their lives, I’m equally grateful for the richness and grace that their lives have added to mine. I think they know that, and I hope it brings a little richness and grace to their current experience.

And for all of us, my favorite quote, from a stone somewhere in India: lift your heart, open to grace.

It’s so nice to complete a project and have it really complete. When you sit down to dinner, what a delight to have the kitchen already neat and tidy. When you spend time in the garden and allocate the last 10 or 20 minutes to put away your tools, you earn a moment to step back and admire your work.

After the parade
by Gika Rector

Whether your office is a place at the kitchen counter or an entire room, what a difference it can make when you clean up along the way. It’s the difference between a clear, clean workspace and a disastrous mountain of paper. Even when you go paperless, it helps to clean up along the way. A sea of computer files can be just as overwhelming as a mountain of papers.

And what about our personal interactions? Thomas Leonard, the father of modern coaching, said, “When someone is doing something…you must communicate immediately or forever carry the extra burden of your unspoken reaction.” How many people or groups of people do you avoid because of something you didn’t clean up along the way? What if you addressed issues as they came up?

What if you haven’t cleaned up along the way? What if you have some piles of stuff, or baggage, to deal with? Start with baby steps. Don’t try to do it all at once. Pick a place, tackle a few things—keep allowing time to clean up along the way, even in this process—and then get on with the rest of your routine.

Whatever you do, notice. Notice what it’s like when you clean up along the way. Notice what it’s like when you don’t. Notice what it’s like when you go it alone. Notice what it’s like when you find some assistance along the way. Notice what you notice.

if you’re facing a mountain of stuff and don’t want to tackle it alone, consider working with someone like my friend Gayle Goddard, The Clutter Fairy. She’s a brilliant professional organizer. Better than anyone else I know, Gayle has a talent for understanding our relationships with our stuff. She even makes it fun!

If you’re facing a different kind of mountain and don’t want to tackle it alone, consider coaching. Coaching is one way to clean up old ideas and stories and expectations, making room for fresh possibilities. It might look like baby steps, but coaching often leads to surprising transformation. Simple baby step: e‑mail me.