Upside Down Kris

Our Inner Child It's funny how our childhood creeps up into everything we do without our being aware. It's like a five-year-old is constantly following us around asking questions that we don't want to listen to. She's so annoying, that child: always asking why, always bringing up stuff we don't want to deal with. She can pop up in some aches and pains that we brush off as stress and take some Tums to forget her. We're not paying attention to her, poor child, and she acts out all the more because of it. Sometimes she screams and shouts, throwing a temper tantrum just to be noticed. She infiltrates into the present moment and takes hold of it until we silence her again into a corner of ourselves. I have been thinking a lot lately about my inner child, especially since I heard a post cast with Dr. Don Wood, PhD. He developed the Inspired Performance Institute to deal with past events that are effecting our present lives. So, of course I asked myself: how is my past...

Slowly but Surely "Slowly but surely you'll get there," said an elderly man in a wheelchair waiting in a doorway. I wondered how he had gotten there because no one seemed to be around to help him. Maybe he had come out of his apartment just to see who passed by. I had the sensation he spent his time people watching. His comment wasn't directed at me, although I stopped pedalling so hard because I thought it would be rude to whiz by him.  Another elderly man who must have been his friend waved to him. He was an older gentleman as well, and was stubbornly limping along. There was no pain in his face, however–it was just his inconsistent gait that gave it away. "There's no hurry," the first gentleman added. And he was right. There was no hurry, although I felt like I needed to be in one to pedal home faster. And I thought, Would five or ten minutes really make a difference? The answer was no. Hurry exists inside of us. Sometimes others want us to feel it,...

What's in a name? Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?...What's in a name? That which you call a rose 🌹  by any other name would smell as sweet! This is how Juliet begins the famous balcony scene in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. I had the chance to re-read this scene recently and it got me a-thinking. What is in a name? Why is it so important? Very simply, I think most of us would agree that your name identifies you. In some way it defines who you are. When people say "Kristen", I turn around. Someone's calling me , I think. I hear my name and immediately identify it as "me". But is your name really be you? Some people may be called after their grandfather or grandmother, or a great personage such as Ghandi or Martin Luther (either the founder of Lutherism or the author of "I have a Dream"). Then people say: "You have to live up to your namesake," as if in the passing of the name some quality of the person passes on as wel...

Who am I? Who are you? Who is that person running through your veins, that itch under the skin that is your identity? It's kind of a scary question. You may be thinking: do I really want to go there? Do I really want to know who I am and have to own up to it? Will I even like who's down there? I was listening to a podcast yesterday in which the author and motivational speaker, Brendon Burchard, was explaining our drives–what motivates us to be our best selves. All of a sudden he said something that clicked: What is your identity? If you don't define it, then you can't be it . I had never thought of it that way before. I just figured you had a self whether you knew it or not that pushed you ahead in your "youness". And then it hit me: I don't really know who I am.  Do you? Burchard suggests choosing three words to define yourself, and then to be those things everyday. So, here it goes. 1. I am creative. I don't know if I always have the best ideas, b...

Ah, the everlasting conundrum of the beginning. Where to start? How do I begin? Where do I go for help? I believe the answer to all these questions lies in another question: why. Why am I doing this? Do I really want to start this? What do I really want? Why? If we answer that one question the path may become clearer. And if it doesn't, at least we're on the right track because we've narrowed down the tracks. It may be hidden behind a fanning tree, but after brushing away a branch the beginning might suddenly appear. You may find yourself saying, for example: "But I really do want to cut out sweets. I know that they're no good and that I should sever my relationship with them, or at least cut back..." But do you really want to cut out sweets? Do you want to deny yourself a piece of double decker chocolate cake (well, one bite won't hurt) or a stroll down the street while licking an ice cream? I didn't until recently. I have to admit, the example abov...

Relationships with a Dance What if instead of a handshake you reached out your hand to invite someone to dance? That is, as a greeting you lead someone in a step, or follow their lead? I've always liked to imagine the world breaking out into dance...while waiting for a bus, explaining something in the office or at school, or  jumping on the table like in the movie/musical "Hair" to grab someone's attention. I know a lot of people don't like musicals because they feel they're unrealistic, but what if they  were realistic–that you could express yourself through a song or a dance? Maybe it would be easier to get your point across in many cases... How different would relationships be if we had to move together? To smooth over that awkward start when you don't know what to say? What if you didn't have to say anything? I was thinking about this recently while norms were being swept away at swing night. Many people just put their hand out waiting for me to ac...

The Ghost Woman She used to stand there, leaning on one leg, the other ready to go. To go where? I always wondered. Where does she want to go? She would wait hours–maybe the whole afternoon, even into the evening. Was she waiting for someone to pick her up? Did a family member promise to pass by, but never came, so everyday she stood for hours expecting to see his car? I started calling her "The Ghost Woman". People passed by her–around her–as if she didn't exist. They never seemed to notice she was in the middle of the sidewalk, nor did they appear disturbed that she never moved. I began wondering if I was the only one who saw her, but my boyfriend confirmed that she was there. Everyday, without fail. Even when it snowed or rained. She would wait under a black umbrella with her thick, brown scarf wrapped around her neck. I wanted to say something to her, ask her if she was ok, or if she needed something.  But I never did. Something in her eyes didn't see me. They lo...