End of an Era, Redux...

Sotogrande, Spain, January 19th, 2011

I went back to my past, today. At least... I tried.

My stepfather died, in mid-December, approximately 16 months after my mother passed. A few weeks ago, I wrote in my journal that it was “the end of an era.” I am not entirely sure what that means… but when I went back to look for the house where we lived when I was a teenager, I was not only trying to recover something “lost,” I was also leaving something no longer needed behind.

I lived my teenage years in the south of Spain, growing up in a huge enclave where retired Europeans would come to live out their lives with sun, sea and golf. No, it was not exactly a "normal" teenagehood. In some ways, it was the death of my chance to be a "normal" teenager.

Moving to Spain, back then, was the end of something. The end of my hope for having some semblance of a "normal" closure to my childhood. We had already done the "global nomad" thing when I was younger, but when my parents separated (when I was about 10) my mom and I started living a somewhat normal life, in a normal neighborhood, with normal kids as my friends while I went to a normal school. I felt a sense of... hope... that I might still experience the life it seemed to me most other kids were experiencing.

Moving to Spain killed that. I remember sitting in my window, in March, watching the snow melt... in suppose, in tune with my dreams of "normalcy" melting. I remember watching the last things getting loaded onto the moving truck in June... with an inner sigh at the sense that my 12-year old soul would never have a resting place.

When I look back on those moments with the benefit of almost 40 years of hindsight, I see now that I "stopped caring" about life at the tender age of 12. Nothing seemed to have meaning, anymore. Some part of me had resigned itself to the idea that life never turns out the way you want, so I started simply "marking time" till my death. Maybe that sounds overly dramatic... but it was really just a reflection of my belief that if anything good comes your way, it will just be taken away from you, so the only "reasonable" approach to life is "not caring." About people, places, activities, interests and whatever.

So a few days ago, Sarah and I drove up the old main road from Sotogrande to Nueva Andalucia—a stretch of some 40 miles along the Spanish Mediterranean coast, near Gibraltar. We traveled what used to be the main highway; these days it largely serves as a “local access” road for various coastal towns now bypassed by a major freeway.

As we went, I looked for signs. Signs of anything familiar; anything that would remind me of times of old… of times that might offer me a sense that—once upon a time—this was “home,” in a way. Part of me wanted to be able to say “Yes, I belonged here…” perhaps to somehow validate the 7+ years I spent in this foreign land where I "lost" my childhood. But almost nothing looked familiar.

A small stretch of beach, in a cove. I recognized it as a place I'd sometimes go fishing, although it is now ringed by endless rows of largely empty condominiums. Like the condos, the beach was empty. A row of tattered flags suggested... neglect; something forgotten.

Empty.

When I lived here, I felt empty.

35-odd years later, this place feels empty.

The economic crisis and the real estate decline has hit this part of Spain very hard. The unemployment rate hovers around the 20% mark… if you’re under 30, it’s closer to 40%. If you want to put a frame of reference around that, during the depths of the Great Depression, unemployment reached 25%.

Everywhere you look, there are blocks and blocks of condominiums; thousands of houses… and most of them stand empty. Either, they were never sold in the first place, are currently for sale, or they are owned by someone who only uses them only for a month a year. It leaves you with the impression that you are driving through a ghost town; a cemetery; necropolis.

As we drive along, I recognize so little. Where there once were views of the Mediterranean, there are now views of yet more developments. But there are no people there…

I point to a mountain, off to our left.

“I used to hike up there, from time to time,” I say, “It was as if the air up there was not as thick and oppressive.”

The air here does feel thick and oppressive… these days, it is laden with the scent of desperation and depression. Those who work are grateful they have a job. Luis-- the security guard at my parents' apartment complex-- has been the security guard there for 35 years. He shrugs and tells me that there used to be four of them, now there are only two, then adds "That's life." But there is something else about the air here… it just feels “heavy,” and it makes me feel slow. It did, back then, too.

As we enter the outskirts of the town of Estepona, I point to a hillock I barely recognize… “For a while we went to school here, in some apartments that weren’t being used.” I realize that I only know where I am because I am visualizing the curves in the road, without the buildings...

School was an odd experience, in this “Bubble Land.”

Although we were living in Spain, we really didn’t live IN Spain. A small group of some 100-odd non-Spanish kids gathered from the swank developments built for retired foreigners and were taught under the English school system. Sure, we learned Spanish, but we had little contact with Spain.

As we pass, the site that once was The English School in Estepona, I wonder at the way you no longer can see the sea. More empty apartment buildings. More luxury hotels that show the marks of decline; peeling stucco walls and tattered flags flying out front. And a mostly empty parking lot. Maybe seven guests are staying in the three hundred rooms.

The contours of the mountains look right. Or, at least, familiar.

The bus at a bus stop still has the word "Portillo" on the side... the same company that ran the public bus system, 35 years ago.

“That used to be a really good restaurant;” I point to a building at the side of the highway, trying to remember the rich flavor of their leg of lamb… but I can’t. I also can’t remember the name of the restaurant—just that the proprietors were a flamboyant Belgian chef and his French-Moroccan wife. I played golf with him, from time to time. Now the building is a sales office for yet another development.

It’s only because I am looking for it that I remember the familiar left-right bend in the road—the surroundings are so vastly different from how they looked, in 1975. The exception is a small stretch where the highway crosses the golf course, and the view to the left is much as it used to be, because the land there had already been fully used. Guadalmina was one of the very first large-scale developments on this part of the coast… and that’s where we lived.

Finding the turnoff presents a challenge—you can turn right, but there is no way to turn left. I find it amusing that they were working on the highway by-pass when I visited my parents more than 20 years ago, and certain parts look like they were just barricaded off, back then, and the project appears more or less left stagnant. The people who now live in our old neighborhood must simply put up with the fact that it’s almost impossible to make a left turn to the “mountain” side of the development… and have been putting up with it, for all these years.

Part of me reflects on the fact that this place is where I learned to "put up with" life. I feel sad at the recognition that "putting up with" reflects my primary philosophy for living since 1973.

Eventually, we manage to find the right series of turns…

As I walked to the school bus in the mornings, I would loop around the 4^th green of the local golf course and be able to see if anyone else was waiting for the bus. Usually, nobody was; on most days, I was the only person to be picked up from our development. As we drive the 4^th green loop 35 years later, all I can see are houses, apartments and a strip mall.

Our house was on the first fairway, facing the golf course. The huge old eucalyptus trees still grow by the first green. I can’t tell where the house is, exactly, but I can see the two palm trees that stood in our back yard. As we drive around towards what was once our driveway, I miss the house, however. It has been painted yellow (instead of the original white), and the current owners have built a tall wall around it. It is not until we back up and I find the number “495” on the wall that I realize where I am. The palm tree that once stood outside my room is now gone.

Nothing is the same. And yet… everything is.

The aging people passing by on the golf course are the same; the sense of quiet heaviness of a place where the houses are only occupied a few months of the year remains as it always was; the black iron burglar bars on the windows of every house remain the same.

This place was “too old” for me when I was 14; it remains “too old” for me, even at 50. For a moment I think to pause and yell at my mother: “What were you THINKING, to bring a teenager to this place to raise???”

We stop. We stand under the eucalyptus trees by the first green. I feel no echoes of the past reaching out to me. There’s a chain link fence at the edge of the golf course, now. A sign reads “Private Golf Club. No Admittance.”

I consider going back to the car to get my camera. To take a picture… but who would I show it to? The people I once knew here were my parents’ age, and they are long gone. So would the photo be for me? For what? What would it show? What would I be trying to record? What would I be trying to "keep," and why? I realize there is nothing here for me… except the chance to say goodbye to a part of my life I don’t have very many fond memories of.

We stand, for a while. I touch the trunk of one of the trees. It was here, when I lived here. But even it doesn’t feel familiar.

And so, we drive away.

35 years ago I had recurring dreams of walking back towards the house, while a group of people would walk away, in the opposite direction. I am not sure who they were—maybe they were my hopes and dreams of having an “ordinary” life, maybe they were merely imaginary friends created by my teenage soul to keep me company in this hauntingly desolate place. But I would always feel a great sense of loss and sadness, as they walked away, leaving me behind.

As we head back towards the highway, I grow aware that I have “retrieved myself,” and in the process left “something” behind that I clung to—for years and years—even though I no longer needed it. The people who "stole" my childhood are dead. The unrealistic possibility that they could somehow "bring it back" to me has gone... forever. The final threads tying me to a way I once believed my life might turn out have been cut.

This time it is finally I who get to walk away, and the “something” that gets to be left behind… and a long unfinished chapter in my personal Book of Life can be closed… and maybe I can find a way to start something new.

End of an Era

Soon, Sarah and I head off to the south of Spain.

Whereas that may sound like a lovely thing to do, here during a dark and damp northern winter... this will be-- sadly-- not a vacation or joy ride.

I lived in Spain, when I was a kid. Well, when I was a teenager. After my parents divorced (in Denmark), I moved with my mom to the small town of San Pedro de Alcantara on Spain's Costa del Sol, where we went to live with the new man in her life. In some ways, I'd have to say that I "grew up there," although my life from the time we left Denmark through age 20 involved quite a lot of moving around.

On December 16th, the man I came to know as my stepfather died, at age 92. In some ways, it was surprising that he outlived my mother (who passed in August 2009), but in other ways it seemed like a fitting tribute to his determination to "do his duty," which included taking care of my mom during her latter years.

He was a quiet and frugal man who-- as much as anything-- just wanted people and the world to just leave him alone. Mostly, I shall remember him sitting in his chair with the newspaper, or reading a book. Or eternally muttering at the orange and white cat he took care of, even while constantly complaining about what a "nuisance" it was, and how much he disliked cats.

In that strange way the Universe works, the (by then) ancient cat died just two days after my stepdad, almost as if it realized that its mission in this lifetime had been completed...

And so... I shall return to this strange place where I spent my formative years, this time not to "visit the parents," but to empty and close down the apartment in a place called Sotogrande, which he and my mother shared since the early 1980's, when they sold their large villa and started dividing their time between Spain and Phoenix, AZ.

Once upon a time, I lived in that same apartment complex... back in 1979, the apartments were "inexpensive housing," far away from everything, and it was my first place to live away from home. Back then, the development was new, and it was a little like living in a ghost town: only about 5-6 of the 100+ units were occupied. Somehow... it suited me; I sought solitude in a world I felt terribly out-of-step with... I could go for days and even weeks without seeing or talking to another person, aside from at the grocery or market.

Although I have been back for visits many times, I almost don't recognize the area, anymore. I can find little "pockets" here and there-- the beach I used to walk; a certain view of the rock of Gibraltar from a hillside; the sun on the mountains whose contours seem familiar-- but on the whole, the world seems to have become an increasingly homogenous cluster of strip malls and supermarkets. Perhaps it serves as a reminder that we can never "go back" in life, only forwards.

I expect it may be the last time I set foot in this part of the world... there is no reason to return, save for a few ghosts from times I'd rather forget. No relatives, no friends, no connections, nothing familiar or comforting. Maybe that sounds a bit "dark," but I have spent far too much of my life clinging to the pain of difficult times gone by. Sometimes we hang onto old things (memories, places, people, events) for no other reason than they are "familiar," and there's a measure of "comfort" to be found in sitting inside an uncomfortable and painful familiarity, rather than facing the uncertainty of walking through a doorway to an uncertain future and truly closing a chapter behind us.

Helen Keller once wrote (although this is sometimes attributed to Alexander Graham Bell):

“When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.”

An era has quietly come to a close. In a way, I am going to say my goodbyes to this place I have somehow been "part of." Then I shall quietly walk away and blend back into the crowd... leaving behind whatever ghosts may reside there; it's where they belong...

And if I ever return, it will be as a tourist... not as someone connected to the local scene.

And that's OK.
It's time...

Holes

Random memory:

When I was a kid, my father would occasionally ask me to dig a hole. He was an avid landscape gardener, and he used these holes for yard waste, weeds, leaves and other things he needed to get rid of.

Here's the thing: digging a hole was NOT punishment for me. It was simply something I was expected to do to help.

Here's the thing, parte deux: I liked digging holes.

In the morning, my dad would hand me a spade and a shovel, and we'd set off to some "back" area of the yard (in the belt of trees at the edge of the property) where he'd mark out where he wanted the hole dug. And I'd start digging.

Now, you might be thinking "yeah, but lots of kids dig holes."

True. But these were not just "holes." As a 9-year old, I put the fear of God into adult men who had made a career of ditch digging.

The holes were probably about 3-4 feet wide and 6-7 feet long. If I started on Saturday morning... I'd probably be about 6-7 feet down, by the end of Sunday... one end would be "staired" down in 2-foot increments, so I could get in and out. The big excitement for me was to get deep enough to where I was digging in the compacted golden sand that underlies much of coastal Denmark... and this was also what my dad was looking for, so he could spread it on the lawn to even out the bumps.

I have no idea why this appealed so much to me... conversations with my peers (at the time) and other people (since) points to the fact that most people would interpret spending a weekend (as a kid OR an adult) digging a large hole in the ground as a particularly heinous form of torture. For me, it never really was. There was something comforting about digging a deep hole... and being able to sit in a place where all I could see was the sky and clouds drifting by... no side view, at all. And I didn't mind being "in the Earth." And I felt none of the fear many (including my mother) shared: "Oh, but what if it collapsed in on you?"

The attendant conversations at school on Monday morning were a little bit awkward.... concerning the "what did YOU do this weekend?" issue...

Sven: "Oh, we went to the amusement park, I got a new air rifle and we hunted squirrels!"

Lars: "We went camping, and I caught 13 fish!"

Henrik: "We built a fort in the abandoned junkyard!"

Me: "I dug a hole in the ground!"

[Insert sound of needle scratching across the vinyl of a record]

"You what? What did you DO to get that kind of punishment?"

"No, I wanted to..."

"Dude... you are SO weird..."

Maybe we all have strange things we liked to do as kids... things nobody else "got" about us.

Random rambles about complaining... and growth

I talk to myself.

I have been talking to myself (especially while doing things) since I was a little kid. I suppose what I am really doing is processing thoughts outward, rather than keeping them inside my head. I just find that "thinking things through" in silence is far less conducive to "working them out" and "getting new ideas," than actually having an audible conversation with myself. Thinking inside my head feels like watching a YouTube video with "mute" on. So I talk to myself.

I'm not entirely sure whether this is a sign of insanity. Or, perhaps, a reflection of the fact that I was raised by wolves. Or maybe my honey is right-- I'm just crazy and ADD as fuck. OR... it's just perfectly normal behavior everywhere... but people are embarrassed to admit to it and label it "eccentric" rather than normal.

The point, however, is that I typically have my best ideas for articles and other writing when I am far from the computer. Or even a pen and notebook.

This is the odd paradox. When I am sitting in my office, trying to work, I don't so often talk to myself nor feel inclined to do so. On the other hand, when I am mowing the lawn, or going for a walk, or cooking, or folding laundry, I usually have a lot to say.

Which, I suppose, is just another way of saying that I do my best thinking when my brain is slack.

A while back, as a bold new experiment, I moved the laptop into the kitchen while I cooked... so I could basically write as I talked things through, in the three-minute pauses between flipping pork chops or whatever else was going on. Now, I'm well aware of the risks of grease on the screen and flour in the keyboard, but these are occupational hazards I'm willing to face... and this was-- as I said-- just an experiment.

Since the distinct possibility exists that my life may actually have assumed some semblance of normalcy (i.e. I may spend more days at home than in random motel rooms) in the foreseeable future, I have been toying with the idea of returning to writing. Ergo, I need ideas. As I talked this through with myself, I was considering some things that bug me about life might become good blog fodder, in a Dave Barry-ish sort of way, and even considered a sort of "Gripe of the Week" column.

As I looked at my various ideas, I realized that I am really incredibly intolerant... and I should probably scrap the whole "gripe" idea and just call the articles "Why I Am Not A Nice Person, part-whatever."

1. Why is it STILL a "surprise" to people that they have to pay at the grocery? Otherwise, why on earth would they not start looking for payment until the checker say "That will be $37.95?"

2. That little lever on the side of your steering column? Yeah, that one. It's called a turn signal. Especially handy at 4-way stop signs.

3. Many more, similar to the above.

I'm still considering that possibility...

After considering that my list of "things to write about" were basically a list of gripes... I got to thinking... why do we spend so much time focusing on the negative, while generally glossing over the positive? I mean, it runs the range of human experience, from the personal to the global. "War sells newspapers, peace does not."

Then I thought about what irritates me... and the why of things that irritate me. That was an interesting exercise in observation and self-inquiry.

Overwhelmingly, I get annoyed by situations where other people's lack of awareness and consciousness of their surroundings results in taking my time, and/or require my effort. I realized how this is often a big "trigger" for me, as far as getting annoyed and moody... especially when bad or no planning on someone else's behalf is the catalyst for my time/effort output.

Our irritants are often riddled with paradoxes, too. Going back to the grocery store example, above, I actually have endless patience with grocery store lines... I have little issue with being 47th in line, and if I subsequently realize that I forgot to buy butter, I have little issue with putting the groceries in the car and standing in line behind 41 people to go through a second time, with a single package of butter.

"They" say, of course, that the things that irritate us about other people are the things about ourselves that we really do not like. Indeed, I tend to be hypersensitive to/about wasting other people's time... and tend to overplan almost everything I do, lest my activity could somehow cause another to waste their time.

Most likely, there will NOT be a gripe of the week column...

The Giving of Thanks

I learned about Thanksgiving when I moved to Texas in 1981.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that Europeans aren't thankful. We just don't have an official "Thanks Giving" day.

In the course of the ensuing 30-odd years, I attended a lot of Thankgiving lunches, dinners and days with a variety of people. What I learned-- as much as anything-- was that most people weren't really very thankful, and they often spent the day with people they'd just as well not spend the day with... often doing things they would just as well not have been a part of. If anything, the atmosphere felt rather ThankLESS...

This year-- perhaps for the first time-- I felt truly and deeply thankful for where I was, whom I was with, and what I had. Whether this was merely a change in my own perspective, or a true change in life circumstance I'm not sure about. Maybe it was both.

Either way, it felt to me like giving thanks was in order. And that-- in and of itself-- is something to be thankful for.

Gratitude is important. Not just on Thanksgiving Day, but on every day of the year.

Examining Deeper Meanings of Life Lessons...

A dear friend wrote, this morning:

"When someone ruffles our feathers, it’s because we are seeing an aspect of this person that exists in us as well. We attract people who mirror our own negative traits. That’s why these people are in our lives – to offer us an opportunity to transform ourselves, and our anger."

This is a very wise old teaching... I have run across it in spiritual settings, as well as in the course of studying traditional psychology. Indeed, it can be very useful in understanding ourselves, because we tend to be more open to experiencing our own quirks and foibles when they are illustrated in the actions of another, rather than in ourselves.

On the surface, the lesson looks fairly simple. But it is actually one that can sometimes require a lot of insight and contemplation, in order for us to understand the true how of the "negative aspect" that actually lives in us. In my own years of contemplation, a large part of my lesson has been about understanding the deeper subtleties of this teaching. And if you don't, you'll often tend to reject what appears on the surface... and, I might add, rightfully so!

As I said, sometimes it's quite simple:

Our friend Bob annoys us because he's always in a hurry. And it feels like he "herds" us, every time we go somewhere. And we feel annoyed, because we deeply identify with being "laid back." Although not pleasant (because the truth seldom is, at least up front), we can pause and recognize that whereas we may not always be in a hurry, when we do have a lot that needs taking care of we'll tend to "herd people," and annoy them.

That's easy enough, right?

Most people could look at situations in their own lives and nod, and think "Yeah, I can recognize this-and-that tendency in me, embodied by 'Bob,' or my partner, or one of my friends."

But... it's not always that straightforward. Let's say that what ruffles our feathers is that our neighbor puts puppies in the microwave and defends his right to do so-- sorry, I know that's pretty graphic, but it's needed for the example, AND to stretch people's "reality threshold." When someone holds up the teaching of how we are "reacting to a negative aspect in ourselves," we may recoil in horror and utterly reject the idea that we latently embody that particular negative trait. And OF COURSE we would be entirely RIGHT... we have no latent desires whatsoever to put puppies in the microwave.

Right! So what's the problem, here?

H.H. The Dalai Lama once explained-- about Karma and reincarnation-- that people's lifelessons don't return as "obviously" in subsequent lives as one might think. Just because you were a thief in one lifetime doesn't mean you'll necessarily be stolen from in the next lifetime. You might be born without arms. Or even live a beautiful and compassionate life, but every attempt you make for gain fails. Or you simply live a life in which you always have to "go without." All of these, of course, a reflection of the (indirect) result of having been stolen from.

So what about us getting riled up about neighbor and his treatment of the puppies? Can we just throw away the teaching when it's as graphically ugly and seemingly inappropriate as this?

It pays to consider carefully, what the teaching might be, before we dismiss it.

Indeed, there may be nothing to be learned. But what IF the lesson at hand actually IS valid... we're just rejecting it because because what's in front of us is graphically literal and wrong? Could it be, for example, that on a greater scale of life we have latent tendencies to bully and terrorize the innocent and defenseless? And THAT's what we "don't like" and what "ruffles our feathers?" Maybe we lived a horrendously rough childhood in which something gentle and innocent ("a puppy") not only would be doomed to perish, but our caring for it would be a direct liability for us, because it reflected (perceived or real) "weakness" in us... and thus it would anger us... because such weakness put us at risk.

Now, I hasten to add that our anger at our neighbor is probably absolutely righteous and justified. My point here is that just because our anger is righteous and justified doesn't mean that I couldn't contain a valuable teaching, as well.

So... what inspired me to write (apart from my friend's words) was a desire to "expand" the lesson... and to remind myself (and others) to not reject an idea because it fills us with reactionary rage, but to pause and consider that even in the darkest and most horrific acts there may be a nugget of valuable enlightenment.

Attitude and the Law of Attraction... It's All About Energy

My beloved often says "People are exactly as happy as they choose to be."

As I sip my coffee this morning and watch the sun come up, I have been sitting here, contemplating the world and the power of how our perceptions and beliefs affect our surroundings and what goes on in them.

Is the world an "evil" place? Is the world a "benevolent" place? Or is the world merely an extension of what we believe it is... how we individually perceive it? Is the true bottom line merely that the world is filled with "is-ness," and we assign (for better or for worse) value judgments to essentially neutral experiences?

I am reminded of one of my friends from a distant past-- when I was living down in Texas-- who was constantly fearful and believed there were muggers, thieves, rip-off artists, rapists and sex offenders around every corner. Keeping in mind that we lived in the same neighborhood and pretty much did the same "rounds" about town in the course our daily lives, during the brief years we knew each other, she was mugged, her car was broken into, her house burglarized (twice), her identity stolen online and she was sexually harassed at work. Meanwhile, I never saw anything "threatening" in my surroundings... and nothing "bad" happened to me.

Now, before you go off on me about the situation being "different" because she was female, or I'm "too naive," or I'm "blaming the victim" or whatever... the preceding is just there for illustrative purposes. I am perfectly well aware there are dangers in the world. That's not my point, however.

My opening thought (above) was brought to mind because I came across a heated discussion in facebook comments about whether or not the oft-discussed pop culture phenomenon "The Law of Attraction" is actually a crock of shit. On one side, people arguing fervently that "it works;" on the other, people arguing that it's patent nonsense that you'll get a mini-mansion just because you sit around and focus on it.

Really?

Aren't both sides exactly right?
Aren't both sides exactly wrong?
And isn't it most likely that both sides get exactly what they believe in?

Consider this, for a moment:

We all act in support of what we believe to be real.

Think about it.
It's true, isn't it?
It might rain today.
If you take your umbrella with you, and it rains, you pat yourself on the back and believe you have "good foresight."
If you leave your umbrella at home, and it rains, you conclude that the weather sucks.
Perceptions. Beliefs.
"It might rain today."

Then consider this:

Everything-- and I mean EVERYthing-- is energy.

The rock on your window sill is held together by energy. The coffee in your cup is held together by energy. Even the "empty" space around you is a manifestation of energy. At its most basic (physics and quantum physics) level, I'd hazard a guess this is truly what is meant by those (even if they don't really understand it, consciously) who claim that "we are all one."

Indeed.
We are.

But I digress.

The point is... with everything we do, we manipulate and move energy.

Now, let's return to the Law of Attraction, "intentional manifesting" and similar ideas.

What do you BELIEVE to be true?

Here's what I believe... about these "systems" and beliefs, and how the Universe works:

Energy-- in whatever form-- will tend to flow along a path of least resistance. You pour water in a funnel, it's gonna go through the hole, not through the top edge. Air in a balloon will escape where it finds an opening. Energy is pretty real... even if we can't see it. Radio waves are invisible, but we can't deny that the radio plays. The magnetic force is real, even if we can't actually look at it. Energy (including at the quantum physics level) is also real... we can't "see" it, but we can see the effects of it. Everything-- even chaos-- is "organized" and "behaves" a certain way.

Now, let me return to the two statements about acting in support of our beliefs, and everything being energy. If I wake up in the morning and put my energy (voluntarily) into the idea that "my life sucks," I am setting something in motion... however subtle. "My life sucks" is a belief. However subtle and subconscious it may be, I am now going to start scanning my environment for "supporting evidence" that my life does, indeed, suck. How (and why) do I do that? Largely through the basic human survival instinct which leads us to attempt to organize disparate information into meaningful patterns.

The irony is-- I may even be giving myself a daily "pep talk" about having a good day, while I actively believe that it's part of my sucky life that it's raining. And that I'm out of creamer for my coffee. I notice the rain (negatively) and I notice the lack of creamer (negatively). I perceive these things as fitting the pattern "my life sucks," even if I'm sure I'm not actively looking for them. This is one of the reasons (sidebar note) that "affirmations" seldom work for people.

Meanwhile, my neighbor wakes up and believes her life is beautiful. And her "attention" is on supporting evidence of that. She sees the rain and goes "Yay! I don't have to water the lawn today!" Then she considers the peaceful sound of water dripping off leaves, and how calming it feels. When the absence of creamer manifests itself... she thinks "Yay! I get to have a Starbucks today!" Her rain, and her lack of creamer, are just as real as mine.

OK. I grant you that's pretty simplistic, but I expect you see the deeper point. Moreover, I expect you'd agree with me that there was no "New Age magic" involved in the business of one person perceiving a sucky life, and the other a happy life.

But how does this apply to manifesting a mini-mansion? Or the job of your dreams? Or the perfect relationship partner?

Same game, higher stakes.

Let's look at the "job" scenario, for a moment. Let's say you have a soul-sucking job, and you want your dream job.

Person A wakes up every day and focuses on identifying, finding and getting the job that pays them well and fills their life with meaning. That is their primary directive. Their "dominant belief" is that such a job does exist. And so, their energy goes into supporting that root belief. In a sense, they are looking for the "evidence" of their dream job... clues, ideas, whatever. They read articles, take seminars, scan web sites and job listings, take aptitude tests and so forth. Do they still have a soul-sucking at the moment? Hell, yes!

Person B wakes up every day and knows that they want a dream job... but their energetic focus is primarily on how awful their current situation is. The dream job is just that... a dream; an unreachable side show in a horrid existence. Most of person B's daily energetic output goes into various forms of self-protection against their environment... and because that is their focus, they will (just like my friend in Texas) "find" lots of supporting evidence of their soul-sucking job that's destroying their sense of well-being. And-- sadly-- have very little energy left at the end of the day to pursue their dream.

Who do you think is more likely to actually get their dream job?

Perhaps you're scratching your head and going "Bah! Humbug!" That's OK, really.

The most common protest I hear is this: "Yeah, but it's just not that SIMPLE or EASY!"

Let's talk about beliefs, again.

"Life is difficult" is just another belief that can trap you in a pervasively negative pattern. Indeed, you are right. For YOU, it is "not that simple or easy" because you have a deep seated belief that things like finding your dream job is "not easy." Your approach... no matter how "positive" it may feel to you... is tainted by your subtle attachment to "not easy" as a way of life.

It IS that simple and easy.
But not for the reasons you are thinking...

Let me share something that has probably happened to you-- it's a very common piece of documented human science.

Remember the last time you bought a car? You probably didn't notice any one car more than any one other, until you decided that what you wanted was a dark green SUV. Then-- as if by magic-- there were dark green SUVs everywhere. Remember going camping, and being warned that bears had been sighted in the campground? Suddenly, you noticed evidence of bears everywhere. Maybe you even saw a bear. Were there actually more green SUV's? Were there actually more bears? Or was this just about where your attention (energy) went?

In a sense, that's the "de-mystified" Law of Attraction. Things happen ("appear") because we focus on them; they become forefront in our awareness and we assign more energy resources to them. For some, this is easier to understand if it is wrapped in a pretty New Age package. Some call it "creating reality." Yet others simply call it determination and hard work.

Approaches to life are learned... and can also be unlearned, if the ones you're using are not working for you. I'll end with a case in point.

As I finished up these words, a voice inside me went: "Yanno... I bet someone has already written an explanation like this... and I'm just wasting people's time with what is probably old information-- I should scrap this article." And I seriously considered it. My childhood paradigm was one of being expected to provide perfection, and shutting up unless I felt sure what I had to offer was "near brilliant," and sure to help the vast majority. Hence, my natural tendency has been to follow a strategy of voicelessness centered around fears of not living up to other people's (unrealistic) expectations.

Then another voice inside me said "Yeah, but you know what? Even if 19 people say 'HEARD IT already!' (or just plain disagree), but ONE person gets something from this, then you have added something positive to the consciousness of the planet." That is the new voice of my "unlearning" years, centered around a changed set of beliefs-- a change in my approach to life, considering first how my contributions might add (positive energy) to life, rather than focusing on how they might subtract (negative energy).

Like most things in life, the process of getting what you desire is both stunningly simple and incredibly laborious.

For the hardcore skeptics out there (because I can hear you clearing your throats...), I will add that the large chunk of my life that sucked mightily also happened during years where I deeply believed that life and the world were nasty, hard and unfair. Subsequently, I also didn't find the stunning woman of my dreams, an amazing occupation, and a place I love to live until I actively believed I could have (and deserved) those things...

Did I use the Law of Attraction? Or some "magical" method? A silver bullet? Did I wander barefoot around India for thirteen years, eating nothing but grasshoppers?

Nope.

I just made a small shift in my thinking... and in where I put my energy. Every day, I "saw" these things in my life... and put my energy in getting what I wanted, rather than putting it into escaping from (or running from) what I didn't want... and I gave up my focus on what I didn't have in my life. You can, too.