Category Archives: Little Voice

With the Little Voice, All Things Matter

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That morning on February 5, I was going to Kalamazoo to meet with a writer friend for lunch where we’d talk about our writing projects, and then to my half-hour appointment at 4:45 p.m. Afterward, the drive home would be a 45-minute trip, on an already busy highway (I-94) during rush hour. There was a weather alert for 2-5 inches of snow to begin about 7 p.m.

Figuring I’d be home long before the snow began, I put on my shoes, the last thing I do before going out the door. My little voice said, “Put on your boots.”

“Boots? But there’s no snow on the ground,” I argued, “and I’ll be home before the first flake falls.”

“Take the boots.”

Usually, I listen to my Little Voice. This time I didn’t.

As I sat in my appointment chair later that afternoon, I looked out the window.

Snowflakes.

Not a lot. So light, I could barely see them.

By the time I left half an hour later, everything was covered with snow. As I walked to my car, my shoes slid on the icy, slicker-than-normal snow already an inch thick.

A mile down the four-lane divided road, a car on the opposite side turned to cross our side, crossing directly in front of two cars. We were all sliding, trying to stop.

BOOM! Two of the cars collided. Fortunately, my lane wasn’t blocked.

Another mile later, I entered the first highway. Thankfully the traffic was sparse despite it being rush hour. I say thankfully because I slid a bit into the other lane as I moved off the ramp onto the highway. I was only going 35 mph, but even that was too fast for the slick road.

My next highway—I-94—was traffic heavy. Seeing a gap in traffic, I scooted over to the lane next to the far-left lane to avoid all the cars coming onto the highway because of rush hour. I was in a safe place considering the slick roads and the massive amount of traffic.

Immediately, I saw spinning blue lights on the other side of the highway.

A major wreck had traffic at a standstill. For sixteen miles. And, miles and miles of more traffic would be adding to that length. Along those miles, there had been other additional accidents.

While I passed several single-car slide accidents on my side of the highway, where they had slid into the concrete wall, our side’s traffic wasn’t at a standstill or delayed. Yet.

My goal now was to keep a good distance between those cars in front of me and those behind me. As usual, it was the four-wheel trucks that were racing by. Everyone else, semis included, was going 35 mph or slower.

Finally getting home after an hour and a half that should have been a forty-minute drive, I kicked off my wet, snowy shoes.

My boots laughed at me. My Little Voice said, “Told ya.”

“Yeah, I know,” I told them. “I should have listened.”

That Little Voice really is all-knowing. It’s never been wrong. EVER

Big or small, I know better than to ignore that Little Voice. It knows. Always.

The Power of Visualization, Part II: The Power of Making It Happen

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When I was in my late 20s, I had fleeting visions of wanting educational degrees, in particular, a Ph.D. I say fleeting because I was raising a family and there was no way I could be on a college campus, let alone have a way to pay for it. This was the time period before affordable computers for individuals and before the Internet became public.

It was an idea so far out of my reach that it was an impossible dream. At that time, my education consisted of an executive secretarial certification from a business university—one where I would later in life find a career as a teacher. An irony not lost on me.

On June 29, 2013, at the age of 62, I walked across the stage and was hooded for a Ph.D. I was an English professor, overseeing two campuses at the time. In earlier years, I’d overseen three different locations, spending a lot of time traveling, in addition to teaching, and overseeing a dozen or so adjuncts at these locations.

It was my employer who had propelled me toward the degree and had paid for its tuition. How could I not want to achieve that goal with that kind of help? It was a win-win for me and for them. In exchange, I couldn’t leave their employment for five years, a price I was willing to pay.

Now that I had the Ph.D., along with my MFA, I felt secure in my career, and the university wanted me to publish. The problem was I wanted to focus on both creative writing and academic writing but I didn’t have time for both. I had to choose.

My gut told me to go with creative writing, and it was my first choice, but would the university agree? After a brief discussion, my supervisor agreed with me, saying the MFA and my previous publications created a more natural path for me. She supported me in that decision.

Life events kept getting in the way of doing that writing, however. After being involved in a 22-car pile up on the highway while traveling from one campus to another, I sent a request out into the Universe. My request was, I want writing time but where I’m allowed to live comfortably enough without horrific sacrifice.

It was late fall 2014 when I made that request.

As was happening with many colleges and universities, student enrollment was dropping and had been every year for several years. Fewer classes got offered. I watched as an organizational restructuring took place. I’d seen it happen a few times in my twelve-year employment with them and with every restructure, jobs would disappear.

The last big restructuring had taken place a few years earlier where they shut down several of the smallest campuses. We knew the Battle Creek campus would be next, and then our Kalamazoo campus after that.

Those campuses residing in community college environments were becoming partners with those community colleges. We could see the writing on the wall for Kalamazoo. By late spring 2015, we figured we had only a year left. As summer progressed, we were confident we’d be closed at the winter Christmas break. We were prepared.

Late June 2015, a meeting with all the senior administration occurred. Not usual for that time of year as we prepared for another year. A couple times a year such meetings would take place. We figured this would be the talk for the winter closing.

What some of us didn’t know is that day would be our last.

I was taken into a room with a senior human resource official. I was informed that I was being let go as they were shutting down our campus for all classes that fall. The core administrative staff was moving to another location and classes would be held on the community college campus. We were six weeks away from classes starting. When I left the room, I would have 10 minutes to gather my things and could arrange to come back later to collect anything else.

I sat there, in my usual stoic manner, thinking it all through.

I wasn’t stunned at all. Just merely surprised that we hadn’t guessed correctly.

And then I realized. I had asked for this. I said the words aloud. The HR official’s expression was one of surprise. Great surprise. “You’re not angry?”

“How can I be when I asked for this?” I told her of my fall request, saying this was the Universe answering that request. She was astonished and I could tell that she was also relieved that she wasn’t having to deal with anger, resentment, or frustration.

The good news was my Ph.D. was free and clear of any indebtedness. A big win for me.

As I collected my things, I wondered what I was going to do. Where I was going to live? How I would support myself until I could officially retire, something I didn’t want to do until I turned 66.

That’s when I heard my little voice say, Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be okay.

Having trusted that little voice in the past, I knew it spoke a truth that I couldn’t comprehend yet.

In the coming months, I was to find out.

Stay tuned for “The Power of Visualization, Part III.

Just Wait

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If there’s one big lesson I’ve been having to learn in this life, it’s the lesson of being patient. Sometimes, I just want to get things done now!

Take two weeks ago, for instance. In dealing with my step-dad’s estate as executor, I’d been filling out all kinds of forms. He had some American stock that had been sold to a Canadian company about six months before his death. At the time, there were forms I had to fill out just so I could get information.

Upon his death, I called the company and got instructions on what I needed to do. It took three weeks just to receive those forms. I filled them out, followed the instructions I had received to perfection, and mailed the package off that included special additional instructions in the way of a formal letter that the stock was to be sold.

Two weeks ago, first on a Thursday, I got a piece of mail that didn’t indicate his estate status. What the heck? It was mid-afternoon and I knew the phone lines would be busy. (I’ve learned that if you don’t want to be kept on hold forever, call first thing in the morning–you get right in.)

The next morning, I got sidetracked. The mail arrived and with it another piece of mail, this time indicating the estate status but asking me to fill out a form regarding his tax status. What the heck? Didn’t I cover that in the package I had sent them?  It was now 1:30 p.m. on a Friday afternoon. I called and was immediately put on hold and was told by the robot responder that I’d be put on hold for 20 minutes. I was prepared to sit it out.

Then my little voice said, Hang up. Just wait.

Having learned to listen to that little voice in the past, I immediately hung up.  Wait for what?

These are regular mailings. Automated. Wait for them to process your package.

For how long?

A couple weeks, that’s all.

I set the papers aside but in daily view, attaching a Post-It reminder on when to call.

A whole week passed.

And then the following Monday, I got a check in the mail from the company. The stock had been sold and the account closed.

Once again, the little voice had been right, saving me time and aggravation. All I had to do was wait.

And not doubt the little voice knew that I was being impatient.

Toying with me . . .

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The other night, about 11:30 p.m., after another long day of learning as I was working on a new major writing project, I came across a photo of a storyboard that was now missing.

Diana's plotting board

Seeing the picture of Post-Its on the storyboard, I hungered after those little squares, needing them for my newest project where I was stalled.  Those squares represented a night’s worth of plotting and planning from years ago, and they were needed for this new project that has an upcoming deadline.  I really didn’t want to have to reinvent this story again.

Looking at that picture, I began making promises with the Universe that if I could find this storyboard, I would do this and I would do that the following day.  This and that being items that had little to do with my writing, and which I’d been procrastinating about.

You have to realize that two weeks earlier, I had spent two entire days tearing this place part—more like re-organizing everything—trying to find this storyboard, or thinking I had taking the Post-Its off the board, the sheet(s) of paper where the Post-Its could now reside.

I even went through all my storyboards.

This particular storyboard was missing from the pile.  In fact, I pulled out all the storyboards from behind the always-opened utility room door where I kept them and stacked them in the living room where I could work with them later.

So here I was at midnight, having seen this photograph, wanting it back in my possession, and saying to all the entities that reside here with me but on a different vibrational level, “Give me back my storyboard and I’ll do nothing but taxes and cleaning the house tomorrow.  No learning, no playing on my iPad, no reading.  I want it back.  You’ve had your fun.  I want it back.”

Driven by a sudden urge to look behind that utility room door where all the other storyboards had been stashed and were now sitting in my living room, my steps took me to the utility room.

I stood there thinking, no way. 

I pulled on the door.  Resting up against the wall, where the other storyboards had stood, guess what I found.

Yup.

 

Lost

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There was a time when I was living in the Deep South where I was lost in countryside.  I was in unfamiliar territory, on my way to do a photo interview of Andersonville—a Civil War, outdoor Southern prison, located near Columbus, Georgia.

My getting lost had started with a detour.  I started meandering finding lots of new roads, places I wanted to return and visit later.

But now, I needed to get serious about getting back to the highway, I needed to be there while the sun was still high in the sky.

I came to a T in the road.  Decision time.

I sat there having no clue whether I should turn right or left.  That’s when the voices started.

My rational brain voice told me to turn left, and I was given all the rationalizations as to why I should turn left.  Every one of those rationalizations made sense.

But then, that little voice, that little intuitive voice I’d recently started hearing told me to turn right.  There was no rationalization of any kind.  When I questioned it, all I heard wwas, “Trust me.”

Against all rationalizations, I turned right.  Around the bend and half a mile down the road was the highway.  Had I turned left, I would have ended up in Alabama and hours away from where I needed to be.

That was the day I decided to always listen to the little voice.

Okay, so yes, there have been a few minor occasions where I haven’t listened, such as not eating the rest of that cake late last night, but which I did anyway, and which had disastrous results several hours later.  Truth be told, I was told not to buy the cake in the first place.

When it comes to my sweet tooth, that little voice and I battle, and while I might win in that moment of purchase, that little voice is always right.

Always.

“Take the job” My Little Voice Commanded

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The first true time I my little voice was tested in a big way that would definitively affect my future, my earning ability, and where I was cognizant of a true conflict between that little voice and my rational thoughts, or what I call my rational mind, was in 1988 when I was re-establishing myself after my second divorce.

I had just enough money start over: rent an apartment, put down deposits for the apartment and utilities, and buy groceries for about a month.  By the end of that month, I needed to have a full-time job.

The problem was I didn’t know what I wanted to do.  Previously, I worked in several fields, but mostly as a secretary or as a bookkeeper for a good portion of my adult life.  I had no degrees other than my Executive Secretarial certification obtained from a business school right after high school.  While I good at these two careers, I was bored by them and didn’t enjoy having my skills or expertise dismissed.

My real passion was in writing, but it failed to provide a stable income, plus I had no formal education in writing.  I was a self-taught writer—a successful one with various publications and genres, including three books published, but when it came to real jobs, I didn’t have the qualifications.  So, here I was needing a job but didn’t want to be someone’s secretary or bookkeeper again, and there was nothing I could do involving writing.

A friend suggested that I go to Hudson’s (now Macy’s) and apply.  Sales.  I can’t say that I had ever considered sales for myself, though I had sold Tupperware years earlier.  At the time, I didn’t like feeling I was being pushy, so I never considered myself to be sales material.  In fact, I disliked sales people immensely myself because so many were pushy.  Consequently, my interest wasn’t high.

For three weeks, I looked at ads, but the economy was tight and I had moved into a manufacturing community where jobs were being outsourced.  Jobs were few.

One day at the end of that third July week, I was in a sleeveless summer dress, sandals, and bare legs, my hair windblown from open car windows, approaching the mall.  I was running errands.  My little voice said, Go apply at Hudson’s.  Now.

“But I’m not prepared,” I argued.  “I’m not dressed properly.  I don’t have a résumé with me.”

Doesn’t matter.  Go anyway.

I knew better than to apply without looking professional.

The little voice pushed.  I argued, all in the matter of a couple blocks.  Approaching the last entrance, I found myself turning in despite my rational arguments.  Sheer gut instinct had turned the wheel of the car.

What’s the harm, I thought.  I can pick up an application and return it later when I was properly dressed.

I parked the car, grabbed my purse, sliding the strap on my shoulder, entering the closest door, which took me into the Men’s Department.  I approached the sales girl behind the register, asking for location of the main office.  Following her directions, I walked through several departments, noticing how many people were working, what they were doing, wondering what it would be like to work there, doing that type of work.

At the desk of the Customer Service desk, I asked for an application.  The gal behind that desk excused herself and came back with an older woman who was dressed in a business suit.

She introduced herself as the human resources director and gave me an application, asking me to fill it out right there.  I told her I didn’t have all the necessary information with me—all the addresses, reference information, etc., that I needed to fill out the application fully and correctly.

“That’s okay,” she said.  “You’d be doing me a favor by filling it out now.”

So, I did.  Prepared to hand it over and leave, I was surprised when she asked, “Are you able to do an interview right now?”

“But I’m not dressed properly.  I wasn’t prepared to do an interview.”

“That’s okay.”  Again, I was told I’d be doing her a favor.

We sat down and for the next ten or fifteen minutes, I answered the typical questions.  At the end of the interview, I expected her to tell me that she would get back to me.  Instead, she offered me a job on the spot, telling me that I would start in the Men’s Department.  I was surprised, to say the least.

Mentally, I knew what she was offering me wasn’t going to be money for me to pay my bills.  The pay was minimum wage and I needed a couple dollars more per hour in order to meet my minimum monthly expenses.  Minimum with no frills, no surprises.

I asked for the couple extra dollars.

I was told that no, that couldn’t happen.

My little voice spoke up.  Take it.

Mentally, I argued, saying But it isn’t enough.  I won’t be able to pay my bills.

It’s okay.  Take it.

But—

It’s okay.  Trust me.

While I had tested my little voice with smaller tasks before, this was the first big decision I’d be making based on its direction.  As usual, that little voice’s instruction conflicted with common reason and my rational mind.

As I sat there, looking at this woman who was waiting for my answer, I thought, what harm would it do?  I can always quit if I find another job or one I like better. 

“Okay,” I said, finally.

She asked me if I could start tomorrow.  I told her no, that I needed the weekend and that I could start the following week.  She then said, “Let me have you meet the manager you’ll be working for.”

Her name was Amy, but it would be several weeks before I learned what had happened.  Apparently, I already had the job, the minute I went up the clerk in the Men’s Department asking for a job application.  Amy had seen me come in.

As I strolled through the store, as I made my way to Customer Service (CS), Amy had taken a short cut, entering CS through a back door.  She told the director that if I was applying for a job, she wanted me in her department.

I took the job, working in the Men’s Department for a month, and received a raise that got me closer to my monthly minimum.  Half a year later, I moved to the Shoe Department, and a few months after that moved to Customer Service where my bookkeeping experience was put to use, as there were few employees who had that particular educated skill.  In the end, I became the department’s supervisor, which in time, would lead to other supervisory jobs, including working at Kellogg headquarters, where once again, my educational background, including my accounting background, was valued and appreciated.

That little voice had known far better than my rational mind.

Only later, as I looked back on my employment journey that would eventually lead me into education and the dream of working in the field of my passion—writing—did I understand how trusting that little voice had immense value.

The Winter Coat

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After the birth of our second daughter, money was tighter than ever.  It was September 19, 1978 and winter was coming.  I needed a new winter coat but I had only $35 to spend on it—tops.  And this was a time when coats started selling at $50-60 a piece.  While it felt early in the season, it was actually late.  Coats had been picked over and I’d been looking already for several weeks.

I remembered listening to some Norman Vincent Peale tapes where he stated that in order to draw to you what you need, you have to believe that you already own it.  That it’s already yours.  That it’s meant to be yours.  The secret was to speak and believe as if you already owned it, so the choice of verb tense was important.  Peale’s most famous work—now a true classic—is The Power of Positive Thinking, first published in 1952.  It can still be found on popular bookstore shelves today.

This positive-thinking philosophy would be repeated every decade by someone new.  In the 1970s, that person was Dr. Wayne Dyer, followed by Anthony Robbins in the 1980s.  By the twenty-first century, both would be talking about higher consciousness and our need to connect with our inner consciousness, that our power comes from within.

And then, a little tiny book authored by Rhonda Byrne would make headlines in 2006 unlike other books of self-fulfillment.  That book was The Secret and many of the philosophies that were being introduced to the public I was already practicing.  In fact, I had practiced it back on that day in 1978.

It was a typical shopping day for me where I was on a hunt for a specific item and coming up with nothing.  As I stood in the store, I visualized.  In my mind’s eye, I saw the coat that I desired—brown plaid fabric, a long coat that came down to my boots or knees, and with a hood.

At that very moment, my glaze fell upon the bin in front of me, which was full of mittens, gloves, and hats.  I wasn’t normally a hat wearer, but I noticed a rust-colored hat that I knew would match this desired coat perfectly.  I bought the hat.  I even began wearing it and carrying it, not caring that it didn’t go with the light-weight fall jacket or sweaters I was wearing while still on the hunt.

Two weeks later, I found the coat on sale for $32.  It was on a rack where it should not have been hanging.  It was almost as if it was there for me to find at that moment.  I happened to be wearing the hat.  When I put on the coat and looked in the mirror, the hat appeared as if it originally came with the coat.

Several days later, the winter’s first snow fell.  Every time thereafter, for the decade or more that I owned that coat, whenever I put it on, I was reminded that visualization works.  More importantly, I learned how my belief could not waver.  I had to see it, feel it, hear it, smell it, taste it.  All the senses had to be engaged.

This was not be the first time that I would draw to me that which I needed.  The future would hold far bigger needs, seemingly impossible goals, needs, or desires.  But what I did learn this day was not only did the secret work, but I learned how it worked.  Unbeknownst to me, the future was filled with opportunities for practice.