Some Good Advice

By Mari Gayatri Stein

Through the years a few prize phrases stick with you. They may be the fruits of overcoming some difficulty, words overheard in passing or gems issued from the mouth of a wise elder. Often the best advice comes from our own lips—things we knew innately, but didn’t know we knew at the time. Here are a few words of advice that have served me well. They may be corny but they hold true, and the truth never goes out of fashion. Again and again they remind me to suspend my judgment, pay attention, be loving, and play a little more.

MOMS KNOW WHAT THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT

My mom was a one-off. She was excruciatingly bright. Often her intelligence stood between her and contentment, but she lived life authentically and in technicolor. Rhea was a role model for being oneself and making bold strokes. She had wit and a whimsical side, but when it came to surviving in the human jungle, she was a pragmatist.

“Is it eating bread?” she would ask me when I had a dilemma. This question is an antidote to procrastination and the clutter of being covert. It has helped me to embrace what matters and toss out the rest without reluctance. Imagining this ravenous metaphoric mouse nibbling away in my cupboard has motivated me to clean house before it’s overdue, override my insecurities and get to work when I am circling my desk, and cross off the ratbags in my life—even if they look good on paper. When I realize that the effort I am expending in avoidance is greater than that required by the performance of the task in question, or quantity has taken precedence over quality, I get into action. It is easier to say “I’m sorry” or “No” up front, than to screen your messages or come up with excuses. The truth is frugal. Economically and ecologically, it is always the better choice. So when Im in angst, I ask myself: ”Is it eating bread?” If the answer is “Yes,” I get a move on. If the answer is “No,” I make another cup of tea and schmooze with my dog, Muse.

Rhea also endorsed these three pearls: “Button your sweater from the bottom up. Stop and look for your hostess. Always call them sweetheart.” Being someone who is obsessively orderly in my environment, but abandoned and effusive in the presentation of my person, I have been known to walk out the door with my cardigan buttoned askew, my shirt inside out, and mismatched socks. Yes once I answered the acme of embarrassing roll calls. I was in Nassau at the time, and as I exited the bathroom of the Greycliff, a luxury colonial hotel, I realized I had toilet paper trailing from the heel of my left shoe. It could have been worse; the long white paper tail could have been hanging out from under my hem. Obvious to all would be its origination point—my underpants. I gave up wearing underwear shortly thereafter, but all the fuss could have been avoided, had I heeded Rhea’s good advice.

Looking for one’s hostess may sound like an anachronism in today’s world, but this mindfulness parlance of the 1950s is sound advice. Before tripping, spilling or committing a faux pas, I hear these words and find myself repeating out loud, “Wake up Mari!” This immediately slows me down and restores my sense of humor, equanimity and compassion. Fully living in the present is the minder of the future; it is the best of all time monitors.

That brings me to: “Always call them sweetheart.” In this case, Rhea was being literal. After all, who can be mindful in the throes of passion? This phrase is a good one to repeat until it becomes as automatic as “Please” and “Thank you.” My mom could be splendidly scandalous at times, but never indiscreet. Whether under the bedcovers or at a business meeting, everyone wants to feel special.

DAD CHIMES IN

“Finish what you start. Never sign anything without reading it first. Use what you like and leave the rest. Always keep an open mind.” Where my mom would encourage me to walk away if the going got tough, Lou would never flinch in the face of adversity. He considered it a wholesome challenge, to be met nose to nose. I followed his example and have a sense of responsibility, work ethic and attention to detail that is often painful but never regrettable. My husband may balance the checkbook, but when it comes to reading a contract, it’s down to Muggins here. Diligently I go over one word at a time, with the dictionary on my lap and if necessary, an attorney on the phone. I love the process, even if it brings with it the occasional stomach ache. Lou’s words have proven to be recipes for vital living.

FROM VANITY TO SANITY

Left over from my actress years is this advice: “Never wear a girdle.” When I became a yogi it seamlessly segued to: “Never wear tight clothes. Liberate your middle, relax and breathe.” If I catch myself trying to hold it all together I remember to let rigidity give way to spaciousness.

FEARLESS BUT NOT RECKLESS

When faced with daunting or intimidating situations, these three mantras never fail: “Please put the words in my mouth. Give me the right attitude, and let me be myself whatever that means.” Try floating these phrases whenever you are preparing to go into battle. I have repeated these words as I nervously entered a London publishing house with manuscript under arm. I have used them when meeting someone about whom I felt wary or to whom I intended to make amends. I wouldn’t think of putting pen to paper without first whispering these phrases to my muse, much less attempt to purport myself as an adult in a world that pretends we are in control. Whether in the dentist’s chair or going into surgery, these resolves remind me to put my faith in a power greater than myself and trust the spirit of mother nature that breathes through me.

A LITTLE NONSENSE GOES A LONG WAY

“Never be earnest” and “Don’t take yourself too seriously” are the dictates by which I breathe, love, eat, write, draw and don’t sleep much. “If not silly, what?” has held me aloft. Humor heals. I learned this from the master—my mom was a cynic who lived like an optimist. Macabre humor was her forté. I would say I imbibed it in her breast milk, except I was bottle reared. Genes won out again, and I’m glad.

LIVE OUR LOVE

Finally I pass along some words of wisdom that we all know to be true but might very well have forgotten. In 1987, my husband and I traveled to Calcutta and spent a sultry afternoon at an orphanage in the company of Mother Teresa. This no-nonsense, on the move, diminutive woman had the power of a volcano. Wrapped in her cornflower blue and white nun’s robes, she was an indomitable force moving from room to room and bed to bed, spreading her efficient and compassionate energy with the effortlessness and completeness of the sun lighting up the sky.

Abruptly she paused in the doorway and fixed us in her gaze. “Is anyone needy on your block?” she said to our eager and earnest group of young Americans. “Look to those around you, your family and your friends. See if they are lonely or in need of your comfort and help. That is what you must do. Go home and attend to your neighbors.”

Stabbed by the simplicity of her words, we were struck with a magnificent grasp of the obvious. All our seeking was pointing the way back home. Back home to our families, to our houses, to our own neighborhoods and fundamentally to the refuge of our own hearts.

Mari Gayatri Stein is the author and illustrator of The Buddha Smiles: A Collection of Dharmatoons and Unleashing Your Inner Dog: Your Best Friend’s Guide to Life. She lives with her husband in Medford, Oregon where they run a certified organic farm and nursery. Mari also continues to teach yoga and meditation locally and facilitates retreats in Oregon and Hawaii. www.marigayatri.com