We do things that demotivate us. We often don’t recognize how certain activities, behaviors, or thoughts prevent us from living the life we truly want. Have you ever gotten lost down the social media scrolling rabbit hole? Instead of being uplifted and raring to go, you end up feeling deflated or anxious. Do you spend so much time watching the news about the latest climate disasters, global health emergencies, wars, political unrest, mass shootings, and economic crises that you want to retreat and do nothing?

It can be challenging to access motivation when you’re constantly feeding your fear and stress responses. How can you find a healthy balance?

Recently, I read something my brother, Tod, posted on Facebook. He shared Jane Coaston’s The New York Times article, “Try to Resist the Call of the Doomers.” Before reading the piece, I hadn’t heard of Doomerism, which Coaston says “…is hotter right now than the street outside my apartment, and that street is pretty damn hot.”

Coaston describes Doomerism as “a new religion of profound pessimism...luxuriates in the awful…[and] everything is another harbinger of calamity.”

What effect does Doomerism have on your motivation? Coaston writes, “If you want people to do something, they need to be motivated- and impending doom doesn’t seem to do it.” So what can you do? Coaston’s proposition is surprising and hopeful. She believes “the best way to spur action is to begin from a place of optimism – a belief that the thing you want really is possible.”

How powerful is that? When you focus on optimism and possibilities, you have the energy and belief to move forward. It doesn’t mean you ignore everything going on in the world. However, you create a space where growth and positive outcomes are viable, and motivation thrives.

“... the best way to spur action is to begin from a place of optimism - a belief that the thing you want really is possible.”

— Jane Coaston

I’m reminded of my dad, the eternal optimist; even though he had a difficult childhood, he lived through the Depression and World War II. He always viewed the glass as half full, saw the best in people, and believed things would turn out OK. I frequently sought his guidance and advice. He’d listen, discuss when I was in doubt, and then send me off with three powerful words- “Go for it!” It didn’t get more hopeful than that. After our conversations, I had more belief in myself and agency in my ability to bring about positive change.

So on those days when the doomers’ noise is at full volume, turn up your optimism. Focus on what is possible. Surround yourself with images, stories, and people that will lift you up and cheer you on. Build a solid positive foundation to grow from. This will nourish your motivation and belief that what you seek can happen. Even in the darkness, life offers an abundance of light. Focus your lens in that direction.

Has your motivation been negatively influenced by Doomerism? What helps you restore your motivation? I’d love to hear your thoughts. I invite you to join the conversation.

The last few weeks have been flowing forcefully with a mixture of highs and lows. How have they been for you? I had the joy of speaking at the 3rd International Virtual Summit for Virtual Organisers and exchanging ideas with colleagues from around the globe. On the other end of the emotional spectrum, I experienced the profound loss of my brother-in-law, Larry, while simultaneously marking the first anniversary of my mom’s passing and the tenth anniversary of my dad’s.

When we lose our loved ones, a certain amount of letting go happens because their physical presence ceases to exist. However, they remain with us through our stories, memories, and dreams.

Last month, I read something inspiring that author Todd Henry wrote. He asked,

“What kind of harvest do you want to reap a year from now? And what seeds are you planting right now that will increase your chances of seeing those results?”

When we think about the “harvest” we want to reap, it’s as much about the seeds we nurture as it is about letting go of those things that hinder growth. I often see this with my clients. Their goal is to declutter, let go, and get organized. Clear, calm physical and mental space is the harvest they seek. Yet, it’s essential to let go of some belongings, unhelpful habits, and negative self-talk to get there. The goal is clear, but the journey can be challenging. Progress happens when we finally lean into letting go.

“Progress happens when we finally lean into letting go.”

— Linda Samuels, CPO-CD®, CVPO

Circling back to the highs and lows of these past weeks, I think about how they relate to reaping. When I pivoted my business to virtual organizing, I planted various seeds that led to beautiful harvests, including new clients, speaking engagements, and exciting business and media opportunities. I let go of how I used to work, stayed flexible, and reimagined my organizing business. I continue to plant and nurture new seeds as I navigate the changing landscape.

When Larry died on the heels of my mother and father’s anniversaries, I thought about the relationship seeds I planted for all of these decades. Those were nurtured and resulted in close, loving bonds. I wouldn’t trade them for anything, even though my heart aches as I let go. There will be no more phone conversations, hand-holding, or hugs. Instead, I will remember my loved ones in the scent of the pine needles, the laughter at silly jokes, and the road trip quests for homemade pies. 

We plant seeds and nurture them. We lean in and let go. What can you let go of to accomplish the goals you seek? I’d love to hear your thoughts. I invite you to join the conversation.

Loss is part of the human experience. It’s one of the things we have in common with each other. When we lose someone we love, we often want to hold onto their physical possessions to remind us of them. In most situations, keeping some meaningful treasures is comforting. But what happens when your deceased loved one’s stuff overwhelms you? Maybe you are the person who is responsible for deciding what to do with their possessions. Perhaps all of their things have landed in your home, and you don’t have space, time, or energy to edit them. Maybe you’re still grieving, and it feels impossible or too soon to choose. I get it. I’ve been there personally and have walked the road with clients as they’ve faced similar circumstances.

It’s been seven months since my mom passed away. I miss her so much. I completed the editing and dispossessing process. Her lifetime of things, including her home of almost 60 years, has been sold, given to family members, donated, or discarded. I kept some furniture, art, books, jewelry, photos, memorabilia, and documents. There are still a few things I need to decide about. But mostly, her possessions and life are settled.

Beyond her stuff and physical presence, she remains with me in other ways. She visits me in my dreams. When I hear the music of Bach, Mozart, or musicals like The Sound of Music, I think of her. More recently, I was reminded about the power of the olfactory sense, which can transport us to another time in an instant. I hope my story will help you as you journey on your letting go path.

The Pine Needles

I am obsessed with the smell of the pines when I trek down the block. It’s as if I’m a huntress, hunting the scent. Several months ago, when I walked, I only smelled the pine if the wind blew in a particular way. The smell was fleeting. It was there one step and gone the next. I would back step, trying to get “it” again, but the aroma was gone. 

Why am I so obsessed? 

I have a memory from age six or seven. My parents took my siblings and me to a nature preserve for the weekend. Our car was packed with sleeping bags, slabs of wax for the lanterns, coolers, cots, and our dog, Sandy. They rented a lean-to, a three-sided, roofed structure, for our stay.

As we entered the park and drove up the road, tall, gracious pine trees marked the path on either side. My mom had my dad stop the car. She insisted we all gaze at the trees, open our windows, and take in their beautiful fragrance. My mom loved the smell. As we stood, I could hear her inhale the scent as she breathed in deeply and smiled. For those few minutes, the five of us stared and smelled as we enjoyed the moment. Whenever I smell fresh pine, I think of her.

On my walks down my block, I try to get a whiff of the trees. And every so often, I catch it. Then a few weeks ago, I noticed the dried pine needles falling in bunches to the ground. With their release came a concentrated scent. I’d walk, and there was the smell. I felt transported back to the time I had that moment with my mom so many decades ago.

She’s gone now. She left this year in March at 92 years young. But as I wander down the block, kicking the pine needles as I walk, it makes their fragrance even more intense. Gratitude and calm fill my being as I activate the aroma and feel my mom’s presence, strong like the scent of the dried pine needles.

“Gently let go when you can.”

— Linda Samuels, CPO-CD®, CVPO™

For those of you that have lost a loved one, my heart goes out to you. If you are overwhelmed and struggling with letting go of physical possessions, I offer you this. Can you keep a few treasures and physical reminders? Can you allow the rest to move on? Your loved one’s memory will be with you in other ways through your stories, dreams, scents, sounds, and more. They wouldn’t want you to be overwhelmed or feel burdened by their stuff. Gently let go when you can.

Besides material possessions, what other ways keep you connected to your loved ones who have passed? I’d love to hear your thoughts. I invite you to join the conversation.

Letting go is never easy, even when it’s anticipated. On March 27th, my beautiful 92-year old mother, Wilma Simon Machover, died peacefully in the morning light while listening to Mozart. While her passing was expected as she had been fading these past few months, none of us thought it would happen on that day. But she was ready. As some of you may know, this has been a long goodbye. Mom was diagnosed with vascular dementia eight years ago, a year after my dad died. Her dementia presented many challenges but also learning opportunities and so much love.

In this time of grief, I am deeply moved by the outpouring of messages, support, and loving gestures from family and friends. Thank you so much for your kindness and the beautiful ways you have helped me and my family honor and celebrate my mom’s life.

It’s impossible to summarize her extraordinary life in a few words because there are so many stories and ways that she touched our lives. Instead, I’m sharing a few stories, and the legacy mom left us. 

Mom’s Legacy

When I think about the legacy mom left us, four words stand out:

• Love – which was visible in all things she touched

• Family – which was her everything

• Music – which was her passion

• Community – which she created wherever she was

Mom Stories

1. Love

Love was part of every conversation, decision, and choice mom made. It was present in her relationships and how she loved my dad, siblings, grandkids, family, friends, and me.

I remember after Allison was born and I was pregnant with baby #2, our beautiful Cassie. I was worried and scared, so I talked with my mom. Would I have enough love for another child? She assured me and said that love is an amazing thing. There is no limit on how much love we have. It keeps growing. And she was right. The more you love, the more love you have to give.

Always the teacher and role model, I watched mom. When each of her seven grandkids was born (Allison, Ryan, Cassie, Allegra, Hana, Halle, and Noa,) I saw mom’s heart expand as she welcomed them into the world with open arms and abundant love.

2. Gratitude

My mom was a grateful person. For years, maybe decades, I spoke with her at least once a day. Our calls were frequently about how grateful we were for the people we loved and the time spent together. She’d say, “That’s the good stuff!”

She always communicated a profound sense of gratitude for her family, friends, music, art, and the preciousness of time. Even as her dementia worsened and talking wasn’t always a viable way to communicate, she continued to express gratitude and appreciation in so many ways.

3. Mindfulness

For a brief period, when I was about 9 years old, I remember my mom told me that her friends, Jack and Erva Zuckerman, joined the Gurdjieff Society. The group encouraged a philosophy about life that fascinated her. One of the things my mom described was their belief in living mindfully, although I’m not sure they called it that. She gave an example- if you are making your bed, focus on just that one thing- smoothing the sheets, feeling the fabric, appreciating, and being in the moment.

Mom used to experiment with that idea and sometimes talked aloud to share it with me as she practiced mindfully washing the dishes, folding the laundry, or making the bed. I realized how in mom’s later years, she became my mindfulness guru in another way. Her dementia journey was long. Eventually, Mom lost her memory of the past and wasn’t aware of the future. With those changes, she modeled mindfulness and presence. She found joy in the present through playing piano, listening to music, singing, dancing, smiling, being with people who cared about her, exploring the garden, holding hands, feeling the sun on her face, or being playful.

When I was with her, I entered her world wherever she was, and we experienced the moments together. She helped me appreciate the now even more and savor the precious time I had with her.

4. Lifelong Bond

Mom loved telling me my birth story, which she shared often. She was fully awake when I was born, and the nurse handed me to her right away. She said, “You wrapped your tiny hand around my finger and squeezed it tightly.” Then she said, “I know we’ll be friends forever.” And she was right. We were always close.

Towards the end of her life, she hummed but barely talked. During one of my last visits with her before she died, I held her hand and sang her songs that she loved and used to sing to me. She swayed our hands gently to the rhythm of the music. Then suddenly, she squeezed my hand tightly and placed our hands together over her heart.

At the beginning of my life and the end of hers, there were no words. We shared touch, connection, and beautiful moments of love.

Letting go is never easy. Yet, in our letting go, the stories about those we love live on. Have you experienced letting go challenges or loss? I’d love to hear your thoughts. I invite you to join the conversation.