Thank You for Stopping By!

Though I’m a big fan of metaphysics, I haven’t yet cracked the code for packing a thousand activities into each 24-hour time period.

Yes, I’m a writer. And I’m also a reflexologist/small business owner, homeowner, cyclist, yogini, craftster, and aspiring online course creator. So I’m currently taking a break from Wendy Z Wednesdays to juggle other priorities.

All that said, I’m glad you’re here. You like to read, and I like that about you. I invite you to peruse past Wendy Z Wednesdays (scroll down), my articles, and my book Jump in the Holes. Curious about what I do when I’m not writing? Check out my reflexology site, sewing/embroidery craft site, and handmade goodies for sale on Etsy. My diverse interests give me lots of writing ideas and inspiration!

Follow me and I’ll let you know about author news, upcoming events, or new kickass stuff to read. Thanks for visiting!

~Wendy Z

Photo by Courtney Hedger on Unsplash

Isn't it Puzzling?

The jigsaw puzzle progression.

Jigsaw puzzles have been around since the mid-1700s when John Spilsbury, a map engraver, mounted one of his maps onto wood and cut it into pieces to help children learn geography. Since then, the humble analog jigsaw puzzle has endured, despite digital entertainment inventions like television, computers, and video games. In fact, during the recent pandemic, demand for jigsaw puzzles spiked.

So what’s the allure of jigsaw puzzles, anyway? Exactly what is it about them that humans find so captivating? For some, the challenge of creating order from a chaotic pile of pieces is irresistible. For others, there may be a nostalgic charm—a reminder of childhood and simpler pastimes. For many, there’s just a deep sense of satisfaction that comes from seeing a pile of pieces come together into a recognizable image.

This past weekend, I started puzzling again for the first time in many years, when my man and I tackled a custom puzzle I bought us for Valentine’s Day. It’s a fun task to share with others; you quickly find out where each person’s strengths lie, and how to combine those strengths to work together. He’s great at finding those edge and corner pieces hiding in a pile, while I have an eye for detail so sharp that I can often pick up random pieces, compare them to the picture, and determine exactly where they should go.

However, there are always those pieces that are confounding; though maybe you can tell generally where they belong, you can’t tell exactly what they’re a part of or where they fit in until you join them with a similar piece, and then another and another. Pretty soon, you see how that first, seemingly meaningless piece, when combined with others like it, fits into the bigger picture.

When you’re puzzling over a puzzle for hours, you have lots of time to think. And while pondering this puzzle, I couldn’t help but reflect on how puzzle assembling is like so many other things we encounter in life—experiences, people and relationships where we can’t see the bigger picture until we’ve stuck around long enough to put enough similar pieces together. Looking back, it’s easy to recognize signs of good things to come, or those “red flags” of warning.

Like jigsaw puzzles, sometimes we can’t see a bigger picture of a life situation until we assemble enough pieces together. But we have a choice in whether or not we continue, and both options are strong; we can complete the puzzle and hang it proudly on the wall, or say, “I’m done!” and walk away.

Congratulations, You've Been Promoted to Beginner

I’ve been a beginner and an “expert” at many things. Currently, I consider myself to be intermediate at yoga, sewing, and cooking. I’m an advanced beginner at cycling. I’ve been proficient enough at writing to make a good living doing it. Running and swimming? I’ll always be a beginner.

When I started out in the martial arts, obviously, I was a beginner. But after maybe six months in Tae Kwon Do, when I’d reached a decent level of proficiency in the basics, I thought I was pretty good; I hate to admit it now, but I’d look at the higher-ranking students and think, “Ha, that’s easy! I can do that!” But one day I saw pictures someone had taken during a class, and was shocked to see how bad I looked. It motivated me to correct those mistakes. More importantly, it taught me a humbling lesson–there was still a ton I needed to learn.

In my journey of roughly 28 years in the martial arts, studying several different styles, I’ve been a beginner, intermediate, and advanced. There have been some truly humbling moments–like the many, many times I’ve been thrown to the mat, punched in the face, or kicked in the abdomen so hard I doubled over. But even more humbling have been the times when little kids looked up at me, wide-eyed, and said, “You’re really good!” or when adults came specifically to see me perform when our school had a public event or testing. I’ve learned that there are blessings at all stages of the journey.

After earning my first-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do, I wanted to study something different, so I began training in the Brazilian martial art of Capoeira. After almost a decade in the martial arts, I was a beginner all over again, which was challenging but also a relief; after having trained for years and advancing through all the belt colors at my Tae Kwon Do school, I’d become the highest-ranking student and Sensei’s assistant instructor. While it felt good to move skillfully, expectations were high, insecure students were quick to criticize, and I had to work even more diligently to keep my hard-earned skills sharp.

A few years after starting Capoeira, I switched to Muay Thai, and once again, I was a beginner advancing through the ranks. After I’d been training for a few years in Muay Thai, sometimes a beginner student would criticize me, and when they did I had to chuckle at the irony. Have you heard of The Dunning–Kruger Effect? It’s a type of cognitive bias where people with low ability, expertise, or experience regarding a certain task or field tend to overestimate their ability or knowledge. In other words, the less you know about something, the more you don’t know what you don’t know. The beginner Muay Thai students were judging me, just as I had once judged the higher-ranking Tae Kwon Do students. I had come full circle.

Early martial art systems didn’t have colored belts–only white. Over time, the white belt would become dark with dirt, sweat, and wear. Then, a curious thing happened as the martial artist continued to train and work hard–the outer material of the belt would wear away, exposing white layers underneath, making the belt “white” again. At this point in their training, it was believed that the advanced martial artist would have learned enough to realize how little they actually knew, and their new “white” belt signified their promotion to beginner.

So while it feels good to reach a level of proficiency–in martial arts or anything–the true master realizes that the more they know, the more there is to learn. In fact, the true “expert” will never feel like one.

Photo by Thao LEE on Unsplash

Tell Me About a Time You Failed

One of the interview questions job seekers most dread is, “Tell me about a time you failed.” In a job interview, it can be hard enough to talk about your failures when trying to impress people with your resume of successes. But how about writing an entire resume of failures? It’s a trend that’s catching on.

Recently I came across a highly entertaining infographic of Elon Musk’s “resume of failures.” Now, I’ve written about failure before, here and in Jump in the Holes (see the essay “Regreats”), but it’s a juicy topic with many angles, so we’ll explore another one of those today.

Regardless of your personal feelings about Musk, you can’t ignore the fact that he’s done some things in his life that most of us only dream about (we’re talking Star Trek-level shit, like space travel). And until recently, he was the wealthiest person in the world. (And no, wealth isn’t the only measure of “success,” but Musk beat out 8 million other people for that title.) Musk has also had some very high-profile failures, much to the delight of those who dislike him. It’s also hilarious to note that Musk’s infographic of failures was updated from when it was first created in 2016 because “Musk managed to fail a few more times since then.”

Princeton Professor of Psychology and Public Affairs Johannes Haushofer once wrote a “CV of Failures” for his students. Others, he said, often got the impression that he succeeded at most things and, as a result, they were more likely to attribute their own failures to themselves. Haushofer wanted to give his students one of the most important lessons–that we all fail on the path to success, even people who appear to be very successful.

While we’ve all experienced our own failures and have seen, firsthand, the failures of friends and family, we often forget that even the most “successful” people most likely have failed just as often, or even more, but because we haven’t seen those failures, we may not realize they happened. That’s why Haushofer put his document online in 2016 in the hopes that a broader audience could embrace the concept. It quickly went viral, no doubt because people found it so relatable.

Many in academia and beyond have started creating–and sharing–their own resumes of failures. It’s a practice that can be a stepping stone to growth. Reflecting on our failures can help us:

• Learn how to do better next time.

• Pat ourselves on the back for even trying.

• Motivate us to keep going until we succeed.

• Realize that failing is an inescapable part of life.

• Not take ourselves so damn seriously.

I don’t have an official resume of failures, but here are three fun ones:

• Auditioned for STOMP in New York. Failed miserably onstage.

• Sang terribly in front of a karaoke crowd (after two previous successes).

• Cooked one of the worst things I’ve ever tasted: Instant Pot barbecue spare ribs (totally inedible).

You know what? None of those failures destroyed me. In fact, I’m really proud of myself for auditioning for STOMP. I still danced on the STOMP stage (even if it was only for a minute). How many people can say that? And the karaoke failure? I was horrible. I really, really stank. But you know what? The same experience, earlier in my life, would have killed me, but this time I was able to laugh about it–proof that I’d grown a lot. And I feel good about that.

Why not start a resume of failures, or even a simple list? Learn from it. Have fun with it.

Photo by Sander Sammy on Unsplash

Books That Kick Ass:

Stitches: A Memoir by David Small

“Books That Kick Ass” is an occasional feature about a book that impacted my life and that I think you’ll love, too.

I’m a writer. Writers love words; it’s the medium we use to create images in readers’ minds. That’s why it’s pretty noteworthy that Stitches: A Memoir—a graphic novel, of all things—is one of my all-time favorite books. The author, David Small, is an enormously talented artist who tells the harrowing story of his early life through drawings­—and very few words.

Small grew up in a highly dysfunctional family in Detroit in the 1950s. His home was not a safe place to voice opinions or feelings, ask questions, or speak much at all. It got even worse at age 14, when Small literally lost his voice following surgery to remove a cancerous growth in his neck.

The surgery removed the cancer, but also Small’s thyroid gland and one of his vocal cords, leaving him able to speak only in a raspy whisper. The procedure also left Small with a large, jagged scar across his neck—a physical reminder (as we learn later in the story) of one of the the harms inflicted on him during childhood.

Small’s drawings in varied styles—sensitive, playful, and often haunting—capture the rich inner world he inhabited when he lost his voice, learned startling family secrets, and finally found a hero whom he credits (in the acknowledgments) with “pulling me to my feet and placing me on the road to the examined life.”

There’s a common belief that “picture books” are for children, or that pictures in a book are a crutch for poor literature. But Stitches is a story I believe couldn’t have been better told any other way.

Take Ten

Life is busy and things often get hectic. When you’re stopped in traffic, dealing with a problem at work, or they got your drive-thru order wrong at Dunkin’ Donuts, it can be easy to sigh and roll your eyes, slip down the slippery slope of “life sucks” and focus on the bad.

That’s why I have a gratitude practice I’d like to share with you today. Though it only takes a minute, it has the power to reset my entire day. (It’s also a fantastic way to start the day!)

Whenever I need to get centered or refocused, I stop and count 10 things I’m grateful for. I usually count on my fingers, too, just to make it more tactile and help me slow down and really be in the moment. And I focus on basic things–the simpler, the better. Usually it’s something like this:

1.     I have fingers and hands to count with.

2.     I’m basically healthy.

3.     Hot yoga class is going to be fun.

4.     I’m fortunate that I can buy hot yoga classes.

5.     I love that new recipe I made; it’s a new favorite.

6.     I’m grateful for my bunny, Nelson.

7.     I have a wonderful life partner and I’m looking forward to dinner with him.

8.     My lovely reflexology client yesterday said that funny thing and made me laugh.

9.     My car is working fine–no problems; it doesn’t even need an oil change.

10.  The sun is out today.

We all have bad days, but we also have the power to shift our outlook at any time. When you shift your attitude to one of gratitude, nothing else in your life or day may have physically changed, but your perspective has. And usually, your new mindset will remind you that the day isn’t really all that bad. I hope you give it a try. How about right now?

Photo by Lina Trochez on Unsplash

Cooking and Creating

One of my latest creations: homemade French onion soup (freshly created and mid-demolition)

I have a theory about food; if we weren’t meant to enjoy it, we wouldn’t have taste buds. Think about it; if eating was merely a way to fuel our bodies, I’m sure the nutrient-acquiring process would be simple and utilitarian. Maybe we’d just shove food directly into our stomachs, via a belly button flap, bypassing the mouth entirely.

But fortunately, we do taste our food. And we enjoy it, as evidenced by the fact that there are entire cultures focused around eating. We meet friends at restaurants, we have picnics and potlucks, make birthday cakes for our kids, and otherwise share food with those we love as part of happy occasions. For some, food is a career—some lovely people become chefs, others own grocery stores, and some become farmers. Our diets are also part of how we define ourselves—as vegetarians, vegans, meat lovers, gluten-free folks, drinkers/non-drinkers, and more.

As a DIYer, what I love most about food (besides eating it) is the science of creating it. For example, when I sew, I take thread, fabric, and a ton of intangible ideas and make something entirely new—something that didn’t exist before, like a “purse.” When I dive into a woodworking project, lumber, glue and nails become a “bookshelf.” Cooking, to me, is the same magic; I take a bunch of raw materials and use all kinds of science—construction, assemblage, chopping, heat, cold, and chemical reactions—to create something entirely new. Best yet, when you cook, you can fuel your body with what you make; you can’t eat a purse.

I get a kick out of when my manfriend (not “boyfriend”—we’re too mature for that) asks me to make one of his favorites, because for most of my life, I never thought I was much of a cook. But now, my manfriend regularly requests my protein oatmeal cookies and enchilada-inspired stuffed shells, people rave about my banana bread, and my foodie friend invites me over for you-make-this-and-I’ll-supply-that dinners at her house. She loves my homemade hummus.

When I hear people say they’re not “creative” or “talented,” I think they’re just overlooking the many ways they create, every day. What have you created today, food or otherwise? A recipe? Sandwich? An e-mail? Sweat? A smile on someone’s face? Think for a second; I bet you’ve created something.

This Year, Only Please THIS Person

I’ve been semi-obsessed lately with videos from the Pa Pae Meditation Retreat Center in Chiang Mai, Thailand. Venerable Nick, previously a practicing psychotherapist, has been living there as a Bhuddist Monk for about five years. He has a series of YouTube videos on all sorts of useful self-growth topics.

He published this recent video, The Danger of NOT Keeping Your Word, shortly after the new year. It’s 20 minutes (which may be a long time in some busy lives), but I promise you it’s worth it, for what he has to say about New Year’s resolutions and the promises we make to others and, most importantly, ourselves. Give it a listen.

---

And, if you liked that…

Also worth watching is this beautiful video, A Monk’s Life (29 minutes). There’s no narration and you have to figure out a bit of what’s going on, but it’s serenely beautiful in its simplicity.

New Year's Revelations

I once worked in a gym, selling memberships and doing general manager-y stuff. In December, lots of people came in to buy memberships they’d start using “after the new year.” Ambitions were high.

The first 2 weeks of January, the place was packed. The regulars complained at the front desk. It was crowded with “all the new people,” they said.

“Don’t worry,” I assured them. “Give it a little time. In a week or two, it’ll be back to normal.” And it was. By the third week of January, the crowds were noticeably thinner. By February first, the “new people”—and their goals—were gone.  

A new year is a great time to pause, reflect, and think about what we’d like to accomplish with our lives in the next 52 weeks. It’s also a time when our well-meaning aspirations can swell so large they make us forget the day-to-day realities that conspire to deflate them. At the gym, I saw lots of guys who fully intended, on January first, to work out like The Rock every day of the new year. Then things like work, school, and maybe childcare and family obligations got in the way. And let’s not forget pesky things like eating and sleeping.

In contrast, I once read about a sedentary woman who needed to start exercising to improve her health. Her doctor helped her set a goal: when she watched TV in the evenings, she’d get up and jog in place during every two-minute commercial break. Doesn’t sound like much, does it? But here’s the thing: it was a goal so realistic she almost couldn’t fail. She kept it up every night for a month, and found she felt and looked so much better that she decided to increase the time. Then she added some pushups. Then she added some squats and sit-ups and…you can probably guess where this story goes. Each small, confidence-building achievement inspired her to keep reaching for new successes. She’s now living a healthy, high-quality lifestyle that includes half-marathons.

Isn’t it ironic? Sky-high resolutions can set us up for a long, hard fall. But when we instead take small steps upward, we can climb to unlimited heights—in fitness or anything else.

Photo by Alexander Redl on Unsplash

Enter Empty

Many of us have just wrapped up Christmas and Chanukah—holidays of goodness, abundance, and the giving of gifts. It’s also a time of year where, everywhere we look, there’s lots of stuff—decorations, wrapping paper, trees, candles, and such. Though it’s pretty and festive, after a while, it can just seem like a lot.

That’s why the days before and after the new year are a time when many of us put away the decorations, return the unneeded gifts, and generally get back to normal after the intensity of the holidays. If I have decorated, this is the time when I put away the festive dingle-dangles. And around this time—usually on New Year’s Day, I also do something else—I deliberately get rid of something. I got into this ritual a few years ago, and I invite you to share it with me.

Find something you no longer use, want, or need (holiday decorations don’t count), and give it away, donate it, or throw it out (whatever is most appropriate). It doesn’t matter if the object is as small as a thimble or as big as a sofa, because the purpose is the same—to consciously create space in your physical world. Why? Because this time of year, we look hopefully at the new year ahead and the things we’d like to be, do, and have. Clearing space creates an energetic shift that will help usher in those things.

Take a look around you—right now. What can you release? Do it now. I’d love to hear about it.

Photo by Paul Pastourmatzis on Unsplash

Hurry Up and Slow Down

A holiday poem for real life 

’Twas the week before Christmas and all through the city
People rushed and they shopped, and generally felt shitty.

Parking lots sucked and traffic was tight.
’Twas a miracle to shop Walmart without seeing a fight.

Folks lined up and moved at a crawl
At the post office, grocery, and especially the mall

To pay for the gifts and things they must buy
This time of year when tensions run high.

We know it’s coming every year in December
So it’s really not hard to try and remember

To set aside time and get our inner self quiet
Even if all around us feels like a riot.

For a true season of peace, love and light
Starts with finding your inner delight.

Meditate, breathe, and shut off your phone—
It only takes moments to “get in the zone.” 

So spend time alone, get peaceful inside
Then go out and share it with those far and wide.

Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash

But did you enjoy the ride?

Goal-oriented, high achiever-type people can be great to be around; their energy is often contagious. I usually find such folks to be incredibly motivating, as they make me excited to get my own shit done.

I had a friend like that many years ago, and when she moved to San Diego, I flew out to see her. The city and its surrounding areas offer tons of fantastic things for visitors to do and see, including beautiful mountains to climb. Since my friend was a sporty outdoor person, one early evening she took me on a hike up one of those mountains.

As we climbed higher and higher on the winding and often steep mountainside path, I was awed by nature’s beauty and its stunning vistas. It only became more breathtaking as we went, as each step took us a bit higher and allowed us to see farther along San Diego’s striking coastline. There was just one problem—my friend wasn’t paying attention to the views; she was only concerned with reaching the top quickly, as if it were a race.

Once we reached the summit, we had barely stopped for a couple of photos of the now-setting sun before my companion began itching to begin our descent. As we went, I stepped carefully, distracted by the beautiful golden red, orange and yellow hues that bathed the trail and other nearby peaks. Twisting my head back and forth between the faraway views and the path right before me, I struggled to take it all in without losing my footing.

“Are ya fallin’ asleep back there?” My friend yelled over her shoulder. No, I thought, It’s so beautiful I could stand here wide awake for hours and watch night fall.

The next day, I overheard her on the phone with a friend’s young daughter. The girl had been looking forward to visiting a local merry-go-round with her family—the kind with the brass rings—and my friend, during their previous conversation, had challenged her to grab ten.

“She got ten rings!” my friend exclaimed, hanging up the phone.
“Cool, but did she enjoy the rides?” I asked, at which my friend just stared at me blankly (and let’s not even talk about how many rides it took to grab that many rings).

Though I’d always found my friend motivating and her accomplishments inspiring, that week I gained something else from her—a lesson about how the journey is often just as important as the destination. And yes, she and I lost touch after that trip.

Climbing a (literal or figurative) mountain? Great! But don’t miss the views on the way to the top.

Photo by Ales Krivec on Unsplash 

How to Make Art Out of Nothing

The Kiffness, How to Make a Song With Your Neighbour’s Cat

David Scott, known on YouTube as The Kiffness, is a South African musician, producer and parody artist. He’s so talented that he can create music from just about any sound—cat meows, washing machine squeaks, and various human noises. Not only are his music and videos a testament to his creative and musical talent, they’re also hilarious. The Kiffness has more than a million YouTube subscribers, which only proves that the world needs his lightness and humor.

More important, the Kiffness reminds us that creativity doesn’t have to be “serious” to be worthwhile, and that art can be created from almost nothing. How often have you squelched dreams or creative ideas because you thought they were too silly or would never “work?” The Kiffness gives us permission.

Click the links below for my favorite Kiffness tunes/videos. You’re welcome.

How to Make a Song With Your Neighbour's cat (Let Me In)

The Kiffness x Mr. Coca Cola / Faisan

The Kiffness X Haiku The Husky - Ancient Husky Melody

Make a Grand Exit

A friend and I once established a protocol for our phone calls: when each of us had told the other all of our latest news and had nothing else to say, we’d say so. Then we’d say goodbye and end the call. Simple, huh? I guess it was pretty advanced thinking, considering that we were both only fourteen. But this practice grew out of a mutual dislike of the awkward “How do I end this call?” small talk we’d both experienced with others.

Our loved our system because we always ended our “catch up” calls on a good note and I always looked forward to talking again, knowing that her call would never go longer than necessary. Plus, it reflected the depth of our friendship, the level of honesty we’d developed, and our respect for each other’s time.

This was an early lesson in “grand exits,” or knowing when to wrap up. Most things come to an end, no matter how enjoyable—a phone call or visit with a friend, an awesome yoga class, or maybe a book, movie, public talk or performance. I’ll bet you remember ones that have left you feeling exhilarated and the ones that left you exhausted. I’ll bet again that the exhausting ones were those you wished would just end.

Many such experiences have three parts--a distinct beginning, middle, and end. A good ending supports the first two parts and leaves you with a great feeling about the entire experience. A fantastic ending is even better—it leaves you wanting more.

Photo by Junseong Lee on Unsplash

Black Friday and The Wizard of Oz: Author Reading

A very special Wendy Z Wednesday video for your Thanksgiving season. Enjoy!

Transforming Lawns and Lives

Spencer owns a lawn care company in Wichita, Kansas, and he’s been in business for 11 years. His company maintains about 40 properties in the area every week. In his free time, Spencer helps people in need. How? Does he serve food at a soup kitchen, donate scads of money to charity, or perform acts of service that would have put Mother Teresa to shame? No, no, and no. Each week, Spencer drives around the area looking for properties with overgrown lawns. When he finds one, he knocks on the door and asks the homeowner if he can clean it up—for free.

Spencer often finds that the lawn has become neglected due to the owner becoming injured, ill, or disabled, and they cannot afford to hire a lawn service. Some of these folks are at risk of being fined.

On a whim, Spencer started videotaping his lawn makeovers and posting the videos on YouTube. To date, his channel, SB Mowing, has grown to more than 409,000 subscribers in less than a year. Thousands of viewers and subscribers tune in each week to be inspired by his lawn transformations and his acts of kindness.

In a recent live Q&A video, Spencer says his motivations are to stay busy, improve neighborhoods, and help others. Sure, his volunteer work and videos are great visibility for his company, and he also sells logo shirts and accepts donations on Patreon—money that no doubt helps him fuel and maintain his equipment and edit his YouTube videos. But that’s okay, because Spencer’s crisis cleanups are hard manual labor, often done on hot, sunny days or in the evenings, after Spencer has already put in a full day of paid work.

Sometimes Spencer’s work becomes a kind of archeological dig where he discovers long-forgotten sidewalks buried under inches of heavy dirt, and he unearths them by hand with a shovel. It’s difficult, dirty work. But once Spencer commits to a project, he finishes it, even if it takes several days or evenings. And if the homeowner tries to tip him, he declines. Often, they’re moved to tears by his kindness and efforts. Spencer has now purchased pressure washing equipment and has begun offering free walkway and driveway cleanups.

Spencer’s time-lapse lawn makeover videos are a strangely relaxing way to unwind after a busy day (ask me how I know). But they’re also a reminder that meaningful acts of service and kindness don’t require huge amounts of money, planning, or complexity; we can just use what we have. Spencer had lawn care equipment and free time, so he decided to knock on some doors and mow some lawns. The lawns may grow back eventually, but the memory of Spencer’s generosity will endure.

Watch one of Spencer’s lawn makeover videos here, or click the image above.

Fire Me Up

At many summer music festivals, an evening candle-lighting ceremony is an integral—and much-anticipated—part of the festivities. I attended a festival many years ago where a candle ceremony kicked off the event on a Friday night. Tens of thousands of candles were distributed to everyone in the crowd (a feat in itself) while several singers kept us entertained.

When everyone in the audience finally held a small, white candle, a speaker came onstage and explained that all the candles would be lit from the flame of his single candle at the stage. Each person in the crowd would have their candle lit by the flame of the person nearest them and, in turn, they were to light the candle of the person next to them. Each person’s lit candle represented their light in the world.

A band took the stage and began playing a heartfelt song. Standing near the rear of the crowd, I saw the tiny orbs of light slowly multiply from the front of the stage like a growing swarm of fireflies. With great anticipation, I saw the wave of little lights grow closer and closer until they reached the people just in front of me, the amber glow from the candles illuminating each of their faces softly and warmly from below. With a wordless smile, the woman next to me stepped close, holding the hot flame of her candle to the cold wick of mine. When the flame held, she stepped away and I passed my flame to the next person; I had become a link in the chain of light, and I stared in awe toward the stage where, from the power of a single tiny flame, the once-dark arena now glowed softly from the lights of thousands of candles.

It was a beautiful illustration of our connection to—and influence on—others. I’m sure we can recall times when the flame of our spirit was ignited, ignored, or perhaps extinguished by the people around us. May we always aspire to be brightly burning flames who share their light.

Books That Kick Ass:

Zen in the Martial Arts by Joe Hyams

Wendy Z Wednesday is a little different this week. Today I introduce “Books That Kick Ass,” an occasional feature about a book that impacted my life and that I think you’ll love, too.

Our first “Book That Kicks Ass” was written by someone who actually did kick some ass; he was, like me, both an author and martial artist. Zen in the Martial Arts by Joe Hyams is a book I discovered around 30 years ago on my then-Sensei’s bookshelf when I was training in Tae Kwon Do. I borrowed it, devoured it from cover to cover within a few hours (it’s a great, quick read), and ended up getting my own copy that I could underline and mark up. I still pull it out for inspiration from time to time, and its format was one of my inspirations for my own book, Jump in the Holes.

Joe Hyams was born and raised in Massachusetts and became a successful syndicated columnist in Los Angeles in the 1950s and ’60s. He frequently interviewed the leading Hollywood stars of the time, including Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Katharine Hepburn, Frank Sinatra and Spencer Tracy. He first became involved in the martial arts while serving in the U.S. Army, where he said he was frequently targeted for being Jewish. In his civilian life as a writer, he continued training in the martial arts. He became a student of kenpo karate and studied Jeet Kune Do with Bruce Lee, as well as becoming proficient in many other martial arts disciplines. Hyams authored many books during his career, including Zen in the Martial Arts, published in 1979--a collection of philosophies and lessons learned from his many years of studying martial arts with Lee and others.

I’ve returned to Zen in the Martial Arts again and again over the years and bought copies for others, even those who’ve never studied the martial arts. Why? Because it’s not just about martial arts, but about life, philosophy, the mind-body connection, and much more. Many of its lessons, such as de-escalating situations, combating self-doubt, and dealing with difficult people, originated for Hyams in the dojo but are applicable to all of us in everyday life. Hyams may no longer be with us (he passed in 2008) but his timeless lessons live on in this classic little book of wisdom. I hope you check it out.

Stay tuned for more Books That Kick Ass; I’ll feature them occasionally.

Life's Trampoline

There’s a poignant Japanese proverb, “Nana korobi, ya oki” which translates into English as “Fall down seven times, stand up eight.” A similar English phrase, “Two steps forward, one step back” is often used to describe a path that, though difficult, is still a path of progress over time (It’s a more positive spin on One Step Forward, Two Steps Back, the title of a 1904 revolutionary pamphlet by Vladimir Lenin.) Both expressions describe strength, persistence and perseverance in the face of challenge, or the path of life itself, which is sure to have its challenges, no matter how fortunate you may be.

This week, I came across this principle brilliantly embodied through movement, or at least that’s what it means to me, since all art is subject to the interpretation of the observer. Here, French dancer and circus performer Yoann Bourgeois navigates upward steps, downward falls, and beautifully fleeting moments of suspension, on and alongside a staircase leading nowhere. You’ll find many versions on the Internet, but this one’s my favorite, accompanied by Clair De Lune, one of my favorite pieces of music. We should all aspire to “bounce back” from life’s challenges with such grace and beauty.

Can’t get enough? Here’s another version, filmed outdoors (not sure where, but I believe it’s somewhere in the French countryside):
Fugue / Trampoline

Shifting into Abundance

It looks like this.

I’m not usually impressed with fancy cars. But while driving to work one morning in 2009, I saw a vehicle on the highway that was so beautiful I’ll admit that it distracted me from the road ahead. It was sleek and shiny, with sexy curves and a unique shape I couldn’t place–it sure wasn’t a Porsche, Corvette, or any other classic “fancy” car brand. I kept driving near it, stealing glances, until finally I got behind it, close enough to make out the emblem on the back–it was a Saturn. A Saturn? I thought. They make soccer mom SUVs. When I arrived at work, I dropped my bags, turned on my computer, and Googled “Saturn sports car.” Up popped hundreds of images of the Saturn Sky.

When I told my then-husband, a car guy, about it, he urged me to take one for a test drive, but I wouldn’t–I didn’t see the point, since I would never buy one. But he kept egging me on, and I finally did, for the thrill of driving such a gorgeous dream car, even if only once. During my test drive, I found that the only thing more fun than admiring a Sky was driving one–it handled smoothly, turned corners crisply, and shifted effortlessly. The driver’s seat hugged me comfortably as I chirped the tires on the drive back to the dealer.

But I didn’t buy it. You see, I’m a very pragmatic person, and I only buy things I need. And I didn’t need a Saturn Sky. And I didn’t buy new cars, either–only used; new cars’ value depreciated too quickly. The salesman kept calling me for a few weeks, until I finally, firmly told him that yes, I loved the car, but no, I would not be buying one.

A couple of months later, that sales guy called me again. “Any chance you’re still interested in a Sky?” he asked. General Motors would be ceasing its production of Skys, he explained, and his dealership had incredible incentives on their new ones so they could clear out their remaining stock. I went back and test-drove another one. I loved it, too, but told the sales guy “No” again and went home.

That evening, I had a thought–a big one. I don’t know where this particular moment of clarity came from, but it struck me like a Sky going 90 miles per hour with its 260-horsepower engine: if I died next month, I would regret never enjoying that car.

I knew the issue wasn’t about a car; it was about how I was living my life. Would I only give myself permission to fully live my life if I were 30 days from death? I had just turned 40. Was I going to play it safe every day of my next 40 years, or sometimes allow myself something that gave me reckless, over-the-top, abundant joy? The sales guy had followed through with an amazing deal, too, so my practical nature could be appeased.

I bought the Sky. Not the used one, either–the brand-new Turbo Redline–the black one, with the special edition red and black interior. I drove it out of the dealership with double-digit mileage, a huge smile, and zero regrets.

Thirteen years later, I’m still enjoying Abundance Car. Every drive, even if it’s just to Walmart, reminds me how to live my life. And sometimes when I drive Abundance Car, people smile, give a thumbs up, or pull up close behind to see what it is.

Whatever you choose each day–a sports car or something else–may you always choose from a mindset of abundance.