Life Story

Let the Bag Decide

| Mairead

(You can never have enough tin cans…. or blue paint…..)

On holidays, a small bag was the only storage available for my worldly goods. There’s only so much luggage a motorbike can carry and it’s not as much as a small car! At first it seemed impossible. How would I fit everything I needed? Maybe it was impossible.

But Denis devised a mantra which he delivered faithfully whenever I asked if there was room for something new….. “Let the Bag Decide”. By this he meant, if it fits in the (small) bag then there was room for it.. but the bag had to close……..

(You can never have enough baskets……)

So I had to prioritise. I had to bring less. I had to choose what was important to me. Not a bad exercise. But the surprising things? It was amazingly freeing, really…… and easy to keep tidy…. and easy to pack up….. and easy to unpack….. and it took me less time to choose what I would wear each morning, not a small saving!…… and I didn’t miss the stuff I didn’t bring.

(Maybe you can have too many CDs…)

Back home there’s no need to prioritise. If I think I might wear something I hang onto it just in case. It’s not just clothes. So I was thinking it’s time for a new mantra:   “Less is More”

Starting tomorrow (too busy tidying up to start today…) I’m doing a de-clutter.

(You can never have too many board games……)

How many shoes do I really need? Could five rain coats be excessive, even if it is raining in June? Can I survive the loss of the old paint cans in the shed? Will I regret dumping (in the recycle bin) the jam jars I’ve been saving for…. mm… for something?

Less is More, Mairead

Raindrops

| Mairead

(Rain on the red flowers in the front garden….)

I was out walking in the rain today. Not really by choice, I had some things I needed to do. I was wearing a raincoat and a hat and a skirt. Sorry men, but a skirt is the most comfortable thing to wear when it’s raining. It doesn’t stick to your legs and when you get into the car you can turn it around and not be sitting on the wet bit…. comfy! So I was dressed to withstand the downpour. But I’m not usually.

(Very wet rain)

I was wondering about that. The fact that I know it rains a lot here and yet I don’t usually go out prepared for rain. Am I crazy? What’s that about? Never mind, the result is I’m wet and miserable and I don’t notice all the lovely things going on around me. Not useful.

(Rain on the things that grow from the big plant….)

How might I improve on this? What if I start acting as if it rains a lot in Ireland – by bringing an umbrella and a hat and a coat and a skirt? Or by wearing the motorbike rain gear all the time? Both those solutions are grand but it’s all a little heavy to carry around in my handbag.

(Rain on the lovely looking leaves….)

There is one other solution. I could let go of resisting the thing that’s already happening and consider getting rained on as a nice enjoyable thing,or just a thing that’s happening.  When I get home I could change into the dry skirt and hat and maybe even the coat (in case I’m a little chilly). Less to carry around, nice attitude to be feeling, probably good for health. The great thing is, there’ll be plenty of opportunities to practice letting go of resistance (with all the rain, I mean).

Embrace your rain (whatever it is…), Mairead.

It’s in the blood.

| Mairead

(There’s a lot of iron in Guinness)

About once a month a group of us meet to play poker. It’s a friendly game, with offspring included if they’re available. The smallest number required to play is five and the most has been ten. Everyone puts in five euros and gets a stack of chips (playing chips not eating chips…)

(A cup of tea makes everything better)

Sometimes there’s nice food, sometimes there’s whatever’s in the kitchen. The food’s not important.  But the most consistent and important thing on poker night is the laughter. We laugh a lot… at anything. Could be we laugh at the cards we’ve been dealt. Could be we laugh at one person trying to pretend she has bad cards…… or someone else pretending he has good cards. Or it could be we laugh just knowing that we’re okay in this group, there’s nothing to do and there’s no way we have to be….. It’s just fun.

(Hang onto your money)

I went to a burial today. My aunt’s brother. I didn’t know the man but he’s my aunt’s second brother to be buried in the last two months so I went to see her. She lives in the same house as my Dad and my Granny used to live. As children my brother and I were taken there to visit our Granny and see all our cousins. Today I travelled roads I had traveled as a child and I felt like a six-year-old. When I got out of the car, there were my cousins again and we were laughing and joking like we did as children.

(Nice food today)

As well as tears, there’s always lots of laughter at funerals……  like the poker there’s nothing to do and no way you have to be. Just turn up and be… with others who know you’re okay. You are family… even if you are a bit weird and don’t quite fit in with the rest of them (oh, maybe that’s just me!).

(Passing on traditions)

At the graveyard it rained and there were hailstones (yes June in Ireland is full of surprises) but that’s ok because it’s good luck! So I was dripping wet as I left to walk to the car and almost bumped into a woman. She was saying to me, “I have to meet this woman”. I smiled, presuming she was talking about another woman, but she went on to say, “You’re Peter’s daughter, aren’t you, I had to come and tell you, Peter played poker in my house every week when he was young.” So I laughed, hugged and asked Elizabeth her name and thanked her for making my day.

Ok Dad, got the message – I’ll keep playing the poker!

Do something that makes you laugh today, Mairead.

Pictures and Patterns.

| Mairead

(Slats of a garden chair in the rain)

About six years ago I saw a program on TV about photography. It had an expert photographer and three newbies who wanted to learn. The program was only thirty minutes long but it made a lasting impression on me.

Don’t know the name of the expert, but he made the process of photography seem easy, maybe because he talked about patterns. Patterns that we pass everyday and don’t notice. Like a line of trees or the wooden poles in a banister or the groves on a deck. I love patterns, so I notice them.

(Fisherman’s huts – now gone – at Greystones Harbour)

Patterns of behaviour are harder to photograph. But no less beautiful to notice. Like the pattern to say Yes when we want to say No. Really beautiful. A lot of work went into creating that pattern. It is truly a work of art…. unless you don’t want it!

A year after that program I needed to find some project that I wanted to do and I remembered the photography and started to take photographs for myself. Even though I’ve been to classes I still don’t understand all the numbers and buttons on the back of the camera. But that doesn’t take away from the pleasure.

(Hexagonal basalt rocks at the Giant’s Causeway, Co. Antrim)

You don’t have to understand how you got a pattern of behaviour in order to change it. Not understanding doesn’t take away from the pleasure of noticing and letting it go.

(Grooves on the wet deck)

Notice the Patterns! Mairead.

Just do it.

| Mairead

(Irish sky – we have the best clouds!)

We travelled for 4,500 kilometers in wind and rain and sun. We were coughed on and sneezed near, and we were never ill. But we’re home now and we have the ‘flu…..

(French sky)

So my thinking is not very clear today and that may lead to this post not being very clear but I have hope! It’s about trying. We use that word all the time but do we really know what we’re saying?

(More French sky)

Today I’m trying to write my blog. Trying involves a lot of effort. There’s a lot of gazing out at the cloudy blue sky. There’s a lot of thoughts about all the other things I should be doing at the same time. There’s a lot of re-writing and deleting. It’s very hard work. Very serious work. Do you realise what work is involved in this blog writing? Oh, its tough. It’s not much fun either and I doubt if it’s fun to read…..

(Spanish sky)

Usually, I don’t try to write my blog. Usually, I just write my blog. There’s no effort. I hardly look up. Once I start I couldn’t care less about what else needs to be done. I hardly change a thing (except spellings, I still manage to mis-spell!). It’s very easy. It’s not serious, it’s funny in my tummy! There’s no work involved. It’s not tough, it’s fun to do and maybe it’s even fun to read……

(Irish sky)

It’s so much easier when I don’t try…… and instead just do it…… Trying is no fun, I like fun.

Was that clear? Mairead.

PS I have set aside a large inbox area in my email for correspondence relating to recipes from you…. but so far there’s only one recipe in there (thank you Madge, we will be eating Chicken in White Wine and Mushroom Sauce tonight and thinking happy thoughts about you). I’m guessing you might be trying to get around to sending me one…. stop trying! I need your recipes, now. Thank you.

Decisions, Decisions.

| Mairead

(Mantlepiece decoration in Powerscourt)

Today I made a decision. Decisions are very interesting concepts. The idea that there are two or more possibilities to choose from should be exhilarating. It rarely is though. Because, if you think you have a decision to make, you have probably already ignored your “feeling” and… you’ve started to irritate yourself.

(Nice door….)

So, you’re walking along the street, you wonder if you’ll cross here or further on. Immediately, you will know what feels right. But that’s too easy, isn’t it? So you second guess it. Maybe here isn’t such a good spot, maybe you should wait until the corner or further on at the traffic lights? And you walk on. Later you start to wonder if after all, that first spot was the very best place to cross….. now, what’ll you do?

(My kind of books. Two of them are completely blank inside!)

Most decisions are made before we even realise it, in our body. Then we think about it and poke at it and annoy ourselves until we’re so bothered we make any choice just to stop the irritation. Wouldn’t it be great if we could go directly to the choice we know we want, hang the consequences and give up the irritation?

(Nice tree…)

I’ve decided to take weekends off! The next post will be on Monday morning.

Have a nice weekend, Mairead.

Fearlessness

| Mairead

(Nice chairs in Powerscourt)

It’s four hours past the time I normally write my post. Fortunately, still twelve hours before I send it to you. But today, I have nothing to tell you! As this has never happened before, I am confused. I am also a little worried. “What if nothing comes to mind?” Ooh now I notice a little panic…. “what if I can’t do this any more?”

(Rain makes very pretty pictures)

Oh ok, I remember fearlessness, right…. give me a moment. Ok I’m fine again now and I remember something I want to tell you…..

There are many times when we get the opportunity to practice Fearlessness – we should take them!

(Ciara and I had lunch at Avoca in Powerscourt)

Yesterday I met my friend Naomi for coffee. We haven’t known each other that long and as she lives “up North”, this is the first time we’ve met for coffee. We talk to each other like we’ve been friends for life. Yesterday we realised our beliefs are very similar, so that may explain it. She was the one who asked me to speak at the Enniskillen motorbike meeting.

(I don’t like cheese unless it’s hidden, so after the photo I took it out)

So in a way it’s her fault I was standing at the front of the hall on Saturday 28th May, wondering if I should have written something down. All the way across France and Spain I imagined my presentation going well. I even had a few ideas about how to make it more interactive (forgotten on the day…) But, as I stood up there with my pictures waiting on the lap top, an old torn Keycamp map stuck to the wall and a stick we found in the field for a pointer, I thought of how badly this could turn out.

(I love cookery books, if only they could cook the food for me too)

I did mean to make those 4×6 index cards, you know the ones with the little reminders on the front and back? But there wasn’t time……. or I didn’t make any……. So I stood up there and began to hear my own heart beating. It was two minutes to two. In two minutes these people sitting in front of me would expect me to speak. I was also expecting me to speak. But instead I was kinda occupied with fear.

(“One person can make a difference, and everyone should try.” John F Kennedy)

Now, fortunately, at some point on the back of the bike and feeling good I had chosen the title for the talk – Freedom through Fearlessness. It was up on the projector and as the time ticked down to zero and I looked up to read it….. oh, this is what that means?

(Like this shop very much…)

Fear doesn’t have to stop you going for the thing you want.

Bring it on! Mairead.

Success Teams Blog

| Mairead

(Continued from yesterday… Five Lives.) The kind of story I want to be in is one where every day I’m involved in something that lifts my heart.

You see, down in the everyday “stuff” of life it’s easy to get stuck and think you’re not worthy or that your ideas are useless or that you’ll make do with a life you find boring. Because…. it takes a lot of courage to do the things that you love, to share the ideas that you have, to go for the exciting (to you) things. It takes courage to lift your voice up and say “this is what I want.” It takes courage to wonder “what do I want?”

Fortunately, it doesn’t take much courage to lift your heart. It lifts on its own every time you are involved in something you love….. in sport, art, writing, walking, cooking, riding your motorbike (he, he)…. what is it for you?

(Nice cup of tea)

When your heart is lifting….. then you can make up a new story, of a new life.

When I finished the Wishcraft book and wanted more I searched the internet and found that Barbara Sher had devised Success Teams. A team doing the exercises in order to find out what you wanted and then encouraging you to go for it….. But there wasn’t one in Ireland.

I’d have to set it up in Ireland.

Oh, my goodness the FEAR……I’m not worthy, this is a terrible idea, I’ll make do with reading the book again. But it wouldn’t go away. So bit by bit I started telling people and something about my passion for the idea grabbed them too.

They joined me in my story and now we’ve completed the eight weeks course.  Each of us has our own project to lift our hearts. Each one of us is at a different stage. Each one of us feels the fear from time to time and then we meet and the team keeps us going. Going towards what we want.

And the amazing thing to me is…. it’s not about what we want at all…. it’s all about the journey towards it.

Thank you, (in alphabetical order, women!) Ashleigh, Frieda, Julie, Marion, and Molly – my team mates, for lifting my heart when I couldn’t! And now I’m going to do it again.

(For the Wicklow team who played today – Burn the Boats but Keep the Passion!)

Want to build a team to lift your heart when you can’t? Send me an email (mairead@hennessynet.com) or ring (086 827 2332) and get on the next team!

To your soaring heart from mine, Mairead.

The story of Zac and the pooh.

| Mairead

During December I spent some time with my nine year-old niece, who seems to attract trouble, skillfully! She has inspired me to write the following story. (By the way, my sister, her Mum, discovered that she had started to re-write the story using a new spelling for the stuff that was attracted to Zac. She guessed adults might not like the word poo….. I respect my neice’s wisdom so I have changed the spelling in the following version.)

Story for Caoimhe.

Once upon a time there was a little boy who had an unusual skin problem, pooh of all kinds was attracted to him. Wherever he went pooh flew to him like iron filings to a magnet. His Mum and Dad and his Granny cleaned off this pooh so that the boy could walk among the people of the village without being laughed at or shunned. But the boy hated this cleaning. He shouted and raged against his parents and Granny. You see he didn’t know that he was constantly covered in pooh and he didn’t smell it. One day he was so angry (about the cleaning) that he ran out into the garden and screamed and screamed. When he finally got tired of screaming he stopped and immediately heard a quiet voice whisper,

“Zac, would you like to see my magic mirror?”

Over by the compost heap stood a little fairy girl and in her hand was a tiny little mirror. The little boy was astonished because he had never seen a fairy before and he didn’t realise fairy’s could speak.

“Yes, please”, he whispered.

So the fairy girl held up the mirror in her two hands and Zac looked in, and for the first time he saw that he was covered in pooh. He jumped back in fright and landed in a patch of carrots, on his bum. He was very surprised and nearly missed what the fairy girl said next.

“Now Zac, look as I turn the mirror over.”

And he looked and what he saw was so… so…. so…. beautiful and so handsome and so lovely that he smiled – a very big smile. And when he smiled that very big smile he saw himself in the mirror shining like a bright light for everyone to see and admire. Then the fairy girl whispered,

“Zac, its time to let go of the pooh.”

But the little boy didn’t know how to do that so the fairy girl gave him instructions:

“First, every day for the next 21 days while your Mum and Dad and Granny clean off the pooh you have to stand very still. Second, after the 21 days are up, come out here and meet me again and I will give you my magic mirror and further instructions.”

Zac did exactly as he was told and 21 days later returned to the spot by the compost heap where the fairy girl was waiting. She held up the mirror and he saw how gorgeous he was and when the mirror was turned over he saw that he was gorgeous on that side too.

“How come I look so great on both sides, now?”, he asked…. and the fairy girl replied, “Because now, Zac, you are as beautiful on the outside as you always were on the inside.”

And the fairy girl gave Zac the mirror and told him to check from time to time how he was doing on the outside, but to always know that, “you are beautiful, radiant, and shining always, always, always on the inside, where it matters.”

From that day on only small bits of pooh clung to Zac and when he looked in the mirror and realised they were there, he stood still and cleaned them off, himself. But always, always when he looked at the other side of the mirror he was beautiful, handsome, gorgeous and radiant.

The End.