Procrastination gets a bad name.

We often feel terribly guilty about putting things off, about not taking action on things that are hanging over our heads. This creates a viscious circle of guilt, procrastination, a feeling of being overwhelmed, more guilt, more procrastination, etc. as we feel less and less capable of getting up and sorting through the rising tide of obligation.

Whew! But guilt is no use in dealing with procrastination. The first thing to bear in mind is how utterly normal it is to want to put difficult issues on the long finger. We all do it, far more than we’d care to admit. It’s only human. (I mean that in more ways than one. Have you ever seen an animal put things off? They want what they want when they want it and they take action NOW to get what they want. We could learn a lot from a terrier!)

However, although there is nothing to be gained by feeling guilty about putting things off, there is also precious little to be gained by doing so. Procrastination is, in many cases, a feeling of wanting to be doing something else, a fervent wish that the thing looming in front of you would just go away.

But it doesn’t, does it?

Delaying the inevitable inevitably makes it worse. And your imagination is your own worst enemy. The vast majority of the time, the thing we dread doing is no where near as awful as we imagined it to be. This is because of our enormous capacity to imagine the worst, and scare the bejeesus out of ourselves. And think about this: imagining the worst takes time. In fact, it usually takes up more time than you’d spend just doing the thing in the first place.

I hate getting into cold water. But I love to swim, and I know how quickly my body adjusts to cold once I get moving. But often when I find myself at the edge of a lake or the ocean, about to go for what I know will be an exhilarating swim, I freeze. I tell myself that the sun will warm me more if I wait a couple of minutes. Or I feel a breeze and want to just wait for it to pass … anything to avoid that plunge, which I know from experience will not be nearly as traumatic as I am building it up to be. But I wait. And wait. And wait.

What am I waiting for? For circumstances to change? For the temperature of the water to miraculously rise? Silly, isn’t it? So I came up with this little trick. I take a deep breath and count to five. I won’t allow myself to stay out of the water past the count of five. It’s an arbitrary but absolute rule. One. Two. Three. Deep breath. Four. One last deep breath … OMG I can’t believe I’m doing this … Five! In I plunge.

And I never regret it! This allows me my silly few seconds of procrastination (I’m human, after all), but then breaks that pattern and sets me free of the cycle.

Try it yourself.

The next time you face something odious that you must do – whether it’s making a difficult apology, cold-calling a prospect or just doing the washing up – take a deep breath, count to five, and then (Nike got it right) JUST DO IT!

You may be surprised at how exhilarating it can be.

What if people who used to seem tiresome to you suddenly became interesting?

What if could develop a source of knowledge and insight that is more relevant and useful than books or newspapers?

You have all the tools you need to make all this come true.

There’s one on either side of your head: your ears.

Listening is a skill that we all take for granted, and yet one that – if nurtured and carefully developed – can make our live and those of the people around us much richer, more fulfilling, more meaningful.

So listen up:

When a friend or colleague comes to you with a problem, do you really listen? Or do you assume early on that you ‘know what they are getting at’ and then just wait for a break to jump in with your opinion? This sounds ruder than it is … it’s just how most of us interact with others. We listen long enough to find our own opportunity to contribute, to tell our side of the story, our own similar experiences, our own opinions. That’s human nature, and most of the time it’s fine as a casual way of chatting and passing time.

But if you want more from your relationships, if you really want to learn something from others and if you really want to help them with issues they are facing, you must learn and practice Active Listening.

Most of our listening is passive. In fact, it isn’t so much listening as waiting. And often when we see someone else as being dull or uninteresting it’s because we find it hard during their side of the conversation to think of things to respond. This is because of our tendency to listen for ourselves, not for the other person.

Active Listening is about doing 5 simple things to make our listening more effective – and to make conversations more enjoyable and useful.

1- Shhh

You can’t listen if you’re doing most of the talking. This doesn’t mean simply shutting up while the other person rambles on, but keep your talking focused on moving the coversation along. Give encouraging feedback. Ask for clarification. Offer a relevant anecdote. The trick is not to succumb to the temptation to turn the conversation back to yourself. Think of how a skilled journalist conducts an interview: they are very careful not to interrupt the flow of the subject’s speach, speaking only to keep the momentum going.

2 – Open Questions

Which brings up questions. Here the best technique is to ask open, rather than closed, questions. A closed question can be answered either ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ and when you get that answer it is rarely enlightening. Asking someone ‘Do you like your job?’ Won’t usually reveal much. Asking instead something like ‘What is it you find most frustrating at work?’ could open the floodgates to true insight into a problem.

3 – Paraphrasing

One way of letting the other person know that you truly are listening is to tell them what you’ve just heard, in your own words. It’s very helpful in reassuring someone that they are making themselves understood. But it is also a great technique for learning. If you get it wrong, the other person realises they haven’t made themselves clear, and they can then elaborate, correcting the misunderstanding.

4 – Emotional reflection

A major reason people confide in others is to express difficult emotions, so that they don’t feel so alone. One way of making listening more effective for people is to recognise the emotions behind the words, to understand not just what is being thought and said but what is being felt. This is the very definition of empathy, and it is essential to develop the ability to read others’ emotional state. As with paraphrasing, you may sometimes be wrong, and so a part of Active Listening is the give and take of conversation: you state your reading of the other person’s feelings, and they respond in kind – either you’re right, and they feel better for having been understood; or you’re wrong, and they can attempt to communicate their feelings more clearly. Often, we don’t actually know how we feel about something, so emotional reflection is a great way of learning what is really bothering us.

5 – Read between the lines

In order to effectively interpret someone’s emotions it is vital that you listen with more than your ears. Use your eyes and mind to interpret their body language. Read their eyes. Are they making eye contact? Are they avoiding your gaze? Are they fidgeting in their seat? Keeping their arms crossed defensively? Pounding the table? These are all clues to what is happening beneath the surface of their words.

Active listening is not easy, because it requires us to resist a very ingrained habit of waiting for our own opportunity to talk about ourselves. But with practice it will become second nature, and you’ll be amazed not just at what you can learn from others, but at how much more interesting they will suddenly find you.

With warmth,
Sheila

Fear keeps us from living our lives fully; it locks us behind doors, too frightened to take chances, so afraid of losing what we covet that we can barely move at all.

Fear creeps into our lives in so many ways. We fear death, so we are afraid of living. We fear rejection so we are afraid of relationships. We fear failure so we hide from success.

Fear makes it impossible to enjoy what we have, to appreciate life, because we are afraid that our happiness, our successes, our possessions can be taken away from us. We can’t live in the present because the possible horrors of an imagined future paralyse us … with fear. But, what can we do about it?

We can begin by recognising that fear has many forms, and that there is such a thing as healthy fear. We have a biological fear of fire, for example, which keeps us from getting burnt. A car comes careening toward you, you leap out of the way, your heart pounding in terror. Primal fears are hard-wired into us to keep us safe, so that we don’t act recklessly or take unnecessary risks.

But when fear blocks our very ability to live, it is supremely unhealthy.

Of course, fear – as a natural part of our human make-up – can never be banished forever. Circumstances change, life is in constant flow, and no matter how well we train ourselves to become free of fear, we will nevertheless face that challenge again and again.

The trick is to recognise this, and to not succumb to fear when it re-enters our lives.

One of our greatest fears is fear of change. And yet the world is constantly changing. The problem arises when we begin to identify with the changes – when we begin to define ourselves as a particular manifestation, rather than as a living being in a fluid state of existence.

Imagine looking in the mirror when you are very angry. You know this is a temporary state, but for the moment you identify with that state. You say, ‘I am angry,’ as if you are defining yourself as an angry person. But the anger – as something temporary caused by changing circumstances – is an illusion. Thus, the person you see in the mirror is also an illusion.

You are only seeing one facet of your complex self, and ignoring the deeper, spiritual you – the part of you that has nothing to do with circumstance. You see, once you identify with temporary feelings, you experience fear. Maybe you’re afraid you won’t get what you want – your next meal, a big promotion, love … whatever – and that fear begins to suffocate you.

But when you remember that you are a spiritual being, that you are separate from appearances, that you are eternal, you can begin to release the fear. By bringing your attention back to what already exists you can be in touch with your divine nature. And in that place, there is no place for fear.

At its core, fear is the ego’s fear of not existing. The ego – that part of us that thinks it is all of us – is constantly analysing, intellectualising, measuring and quantifying in its effort to dream its way into existence.

Many of us have had enlightening glimpses of our true nature. When it happens, it’s beautiful – a freeing and uplifting experience. However, the ego is very powerful, and it usually comes marching in again and tries to retake its position at the centre of our existence.

But once you understand this, you can work to free yourself of the ego’s power. You have a choice, every moment of every day, to silence the chattering beast that is the ego and to focus your attention not on fear of what might be, but on the certainty of what is – your true nature.

We are all reborn every single moment. If you choose fear, it is fear you will experience, and you will find yourself surrounded by other fearful people.

But yes, you can choose to detach yourself from fear and focus instead on the higher truth of your spiritual reality. Life often seems to be a rollercoaster ride, dipping from heights of good, down to troughs of bad … all the dualities: good/bad, happy/sad, rich/poor, loved/lonely, sick/well, etc.

But the trick is not to simply focus on the apparent high points which we call ‘good.’ Instead, the trick is to see it all as a wholeness, the flowing process of life, without judgement, without anger, without fear.

For most people, the greatest fear of all is the fear of death. It paralyses many of us to the extent that we are obsessed, incapable of appreciating the life we are currently living.

The great teacher Ramana Maranhi recommends practicing your own death. Check out this little story about facing death for the first time:

It was in 1896, about 6 weeks before I left Madurai for good that this great change in my life took place. I was sitting alone in a room on the first floor of my uncle’s house. I seldom had any sickness and on that day there was nothing wrong with my health, but a sudden violent fear of death overtook me. There was nothing in my state of health to account for it nor was there any urge in me to find out whether there was any account for the fear. I just felt I was going to die and began thinking what to do about it. It did not occur to me to consult a doctor or any elders or friends. I felt I had to solve the problem myself then and there. The shock of the fear of death drove my mind inwards and I said to myself mentally, without actually framing the words: ‘Now death has come; what does it mean? What is it that is dying? This body dies.’ And at once I dramatised the occurrence of death. I lay with my limbs stretched out still as though rigor mortis has set in, and imitated a corpse so as to give greater reality to the enquiry. I held my breath and kept my lips tightly closed so that no sound could escape, and that neither the word ‘I’ nor any word could be uttered. ‘Well then,’ I said to myself, ‘this body is dead. It will be carried stiff to the burning ground and there burn and reduced to ashes. But with the death of the body, am I dead? Is the body I? It is silent and inert, but I feel the full force of my personality and even the voice of I within me, apart from it. So I am the Spirit transcending the body. The body dies but the spirit transcending it cannot be touched by death. That means I am the deathless Spirit.’ All this was not dull thought; it flashed through me vividly as living truths which I perceived directly almost without thought process. I was something real, the only real thing about my present state, and all the conscious activity connected with the body was centered on that I. From that moment onwards, the “I” or Self focused attention on itself by a powerful fascination. Fear of death vanished once and for all. The ego was lost in the flood of Self-awareness.

Yes! He says, we should imagine exactly what it would be like to die right now – each and every moment. Then when death comes, we will realise it is not frightening at all – it is simply a natural transition – another change in the flow of life, and if we have trained ourselves to greet change as a natural part of life, instead of fearing it, we have freed ourselves from the greatest barrier to happiness: FEAR.

A common source of fear is desire.

One way to practice what Ramana Maranhi suggests – a bit less dramatically than practicing our own death – is to ask yourself about your needs and desires.

Ask yourself

Do I really need this?
Do I have to judge this?
Do I really need to be appreciated for this?
Do I really need his approval?
Do I really want this?

And by asking these questions, you begin to strip down your wants and needs and discover what really matters to you. When you don’t really want something, the fear of losing it evaporates into thin air!

A huge obstacle to this kind of acceptance is our insistent yearning for something ‘out there.’

‘Out there’ is an illusion. There is only the here and now. Our desire for something else has us playing the ego’s game of if only …

… if only I had more money
…If only he loved me
…If only I had a better job
…If only I could afford those shoes …

But what we need to develop is an ability to stop and look at ourselves – not our ‘self-image,’ which is an illusion – but at our true selves. Enlightenment is all about realising that there is only one consciousness, and that the self, itself, is an illusion.

Of course, this realisation can also be frightening. It is a bit ironic that conquering fear can generate a new kind of fear: fear of the truth. What the Buddha calls ‘spiritual death’ can be very frightening indeed, as we awaken from not only our own dream but humanity’s collective dream.

In this new state of being you must just let it be. Don’t think of enlightenment as something you receive. You don’t get anything from enlightenment, you lose the part of you that has been seeking it so desperately. The need, the desire, are gone.

And with them, fear.

Okay, you may be thinking, ‘But fear is fear. When you’re afraid of something you don’t want to face it, so how can you fight it?’

You’re right. Seeing fear as the ‘enemy,’ that must be defeated just feeds more fear. What you need to learn to do is to allow fear to crumble away into nothingness, rather than confronting it head on.

This isn’t a battle; you have no stance to make. Simply draw your attention to what is arising and allow it to dissolve.

One of the most common expressions of fear is anger. When you feel anger rising inside you you can fight it, you can express it, you can repress it, but none of these things will defeat the fear that generated the anger. What you should strive to do is ‘let it be.’ Try to picture the fear for what it is – the ego’s attempt to control you – and let it slowly fade away.

Instead of running from fear, just stop! You see, fear gets all its power from you. Negative emotions have tremendous power. But if you can be still and refuse to be moved, that power fades, the shadow dims and fear drifts away.

But she is continuously apologising for ‘taking advantage.’ Recently she called me, in tears, not to ask for help, but to tell me that she felt awful for being such a burden to me, always ‘dumping her problems in my lap.’ I felt bad for her, but nothing I said about it being no bother, or that I was happy to help seemed to get through. She told me she hated herself for being so ‘needy.’

That’s when I told her a story.

I was having a day from hell. One thing after another was going wrong. People I had thought I could count on let me down. My car and computer picked the same day to go on the fritz, and by the time I opened my refrigerator to make dinner and found it as empty as a cave, I really was at the end of my rope.

At that moment my friend called.

She was in a crisis in her relationship – trying to interpret signals that felt, to her, mixed and unclear.

Boy, that’s just what I needed, right?

Well, yes.

Turns out, it was exactly what I needed. Because as soon as I heard my friend’s voice, my own problems drifted into the background, as I sat down, poured myself a cup of tea, and began a calm and reasoned discussion about her relationship. In a short while, her voice calmed and she took on that lovely confident tone of someone who knew exactly what to do next and was eager to get started.

As we said goodbye, she asked me how I was doing – was I having a good day? I said I was, and at that moment it became true.

Because I truly love helping my friend. I told her that I know she will always take ‘I’m too busy’ for an answer; she’ll never take advantage, never ‘use’ me. But in helping her, I am also helping myself. Nothing feels better to me than helping someone through an issue they feel incapable of coping with. A friend in need really is a friend indeed, because friendship is about smoothing over the rough spots in life.

Some people would say that our relationship is one-sided. But we’re each getting something valuable from the relationship. More importantly, no one is keeping score. Relationships based on favours – regularly tallied and always repaid in kind – aren’t friendships at all. They are business arrangements. There are definitely two sides to our relationship, and who is to say which one of us is getting more out of it?

After all. What are friends for?

There’s a different sound in the air when the ground is covered with snow. It’s quieter, for one thing. Fewer people are moving about, fewer cars on the road.

On the other hand, the sounds that are there seem to fill the air. If you make yourself really still, you can hear so many sounds you don’t normally notice:

• The crunch and squelch of your own footsteps, and the crack of ice beneath your feet
• The whooshing wing beats of crows (or maybe a hungry heron) passing overhead in the still air
• The drip and tinkling of water droplets melting at the ends of twigs and falling onto icy branches below
• The thrilling flush of a rabbit (or a fox? or both?) working its way through a hedge
• The tickle and scrape of robins bopping through thickets
• The heart-stopping flutter of a pheasant, startled into flight
• The sound of your own, visible breath condensing in the frigid air

And if you listen really carefully, you’ll begin to notice something amazing: a definite rhythm to the sounds around you. It’s as if some mighty conductor were orchestrating the sounds to build a private little symphony just for you.

And something else. You’ll suddenly notice, despite the sub-zero temperature, you’re not the least bit cold.

It’s the coolest music you’ll ever hear.

With warmth!

Sheila

It’s a great expression, isn’t it? And a great feeling – a New Year is a kind of rebirth, a time to put the past behind us and concentrate on starting fresh. It’s a clean slate, a blank screen, an open opportunity get things right this time!

I think part of the reason we celebrate New Year’s is because of our tendency, most of the time, to live too much in the past – dwelling on past mistakes or the misfortunes that have befallen us. This focus on the past can hinder action because we become fearful. We may be afraid of repeating errors or of bad things coming to pass.

But every December 31st we let go of all that. We pop a champagne cork and throw confetti and declare that this is going to be ‘our year!’

I think that’s great. But I know that enthusiasm for the present usually fades,  and we begin to drift into the routines of the past. It’s human nature, and it’s completely understandable. But what if there were a way to keep that sense of New Year’s enthusiasm all the time?

Actually, there is.

Think about it: Today is Monday. New Year or not, I love Mondays, because they herald the start of a brand new week. Every Monday is an opportunity to say ‘Last week is irrelevant. This is going to be my week!’ Monday is a fresh start.

But what about Tuesday? Well, when you wake up Tuesday morning, what are you facing? That’s right: a brand new day. And every new day is an opportunity to put the previous day behind you and say ‘Whatever happened yesterday is irrelevant. Today is going to be my day.’

Get it? You can start fresh anytime. Once you recognise the beauty and power of the NOW, you can celebrate every moment of your life.

So. Happy New Year. Happy New Monday. Happy New Day. Happy New You!

With warmth,

Sheila

Let me give an example.

Recently, I had one of those days.

You know the kind. It started out bad and went downhill from there.

The electricity had gone off some time during the night, so my alarm didn’t go off, so I woke up late and had to dash out of the house to make a meeting. It was raining (of course), so I drove with my lights on. I rushed into the meeting, late, of course. When I went in, the meeting was well underway and I had to sit at the front – the only spot at the table, so everyone’s eyes were glaring at me. When we broke for lunch, I tried to make my apologies, but everyone was rushing for their cars.

The meeting was in one of those industrial estates where every building looks alike, and there are no amenities – no newsagents, no restaurants or coffee shops … nothing.

I got in my car, too, but it wouldn’t start. In my haste, I’d left the lights on.

I reached for my mobile phone and immediately knew it wasn’t there. I’d plugged it in by my bed the night before to charge, and it was still there.

I started walking toward what I assumed was the centre of town – hoping to find a shop with a pay phone.

I passed warehouse after warehouse. No people. No shops. Not a single car drove by.

Eventually, over the hill I could see the top of a petrol station sign. I headed in that direction. When I arrived at the petrol station it was closed. For good. A sign of the times, I guess. Now I had been walking away from the meeting room for half an hour, so I had to go back to be on time for the afternoon session.

Incidentally, I had skipped breakfast, and now I was positively starving.

I arrived back at the room just as the meeting was starting up again. Panting and out of breath, I took my seat, only to be told that it was my turn to do my presentation.

I stood up, flustered, flushed and breathless, and tried to give my presentation. I opened with a joke, which fell flat, and in the silence that ensued, my stomach decided to announce its displeasure at not being fed.

The presentation did not go well.

When the meeting was over, I asked if anyone had jump leads, and one very nice man said he did, and he’d give me a hand.

He managed to get my car started. I thanked him, and he went on his way.

That was when I realised I’d left my briefcase in the meeting room. Everyone was gone by now, but I had a key to the room, so I turned off the car and let myself in to get my briefcase.

You guessed it. Now the car wouldn’t start.

It was getting dark, now, and I felt extremely vulnerable. No phone, no car, alone in an abandoned industrial estate.

Then these three burly workmen began walking toward me, talking loudly and joking together.

I tried to look like I had some purpose there, but I didn’t even have a phone to make a fake phone call.

When they got very close, I realised they weren’t speaking English. One of them looked me in the eye and smiled. He said something to the others, and after a bizarre game of charades they were able to persuade me to sit in the car in second gear, with the clutch engaged. They gave me a mighty push down the lane, I popped the clutch and, lo and behold, the car started!

I offered to give them a lift, but they just pointed to a van a few yards away, and laughed. I offered them some money but they laughed even harder and walked away.

A rotten day?

At the time, yeah. But I’ve had great fun since then telling that story, how one disaster led to another, but it all worked out in the end.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could see the humour in our daily trials and tribulations, instead of waiting to look back and laugh?

With warmth,

Sheila

Really. I know, many people think there’s something sad about eating alone, and most of us, faced with the prospect, grab whatever food is within reach and gobble it down as quickly as possible as if eating alone were something to get over with as quickly as possible.

But that approach misses a lovely opportunity.

On those rare occasions when I have the kitchen to myself, I like to take the time to really enjoy it.

Instead of heating up leftovers and eating them in front of the telly, I like to take some time looking through cookbooks for inspiration. (Warning, browsing through cookbooks can cause your saliva gland to go into over-production). Actually, I rarely use a specific recipe I find in a cookbook, using them instead for ideas, reminders of what I can actually make with the odds and ends in the pantry.

Of course, eating alone is a great time to experiment with a new recipe. If it falls flat, there’s no one to criticise, and you’ve learned something for next time. (Okay, peanut butter and pineapple really don’t go together well!) But if it is a delight, you’ve made a new discovery, and your courage in experimenting on yourself has paid off with a new dish to delight family and friends in the future.

Also, when preparing a meal by yourself you can really pay attention to each ingredient, savouring the smells and flavours and colours as you go.

Eating alone is also a great time to appreciate the visual delights of dining. Take the time to spread a table cloth and light a candle, put a couple of flowers in a vase. These things aren’t just for guests – you deserve them, too!

And music! I love music, and when I’m cooking and eating by myself I can play my favourite tunes as I potter about the kitchen. Then, when I’m sitting down to eat, the music really adds another dimension to the experience.

Taking time with these little details means that every sense is simultaneously nurtured.

Call it ‘soul food.’

With warmth,

Sheila