Inspired Possibility Blog

I Can't____, but I CAN...

8/22/2023

This week feeds off of last week’s “Yes, and…” post because life is built upon those things we say “yes” to and the things we choose to do. I find myself reflecting on the things I can’t do, while opening to what I can. Where I choose to focus changes the energy I feel inside - whether it’s heavy and dark or lighter and expansive. And also, how I show up to life, how I feel in life, and how I move with life.

There’s much that I can’t do, and there is also much that I can. The key is to remember choice. I can sit on my deck or in my yard in the morning or night, appreciating, savoring that I get to live in this place of beauty, listening to my fellow critters…peepers, birds, cicadas, squirrels… letting them be a symphony to my ear and a balm to my soul.

I can’t control other people’s negative, aggressive behavior (or ever understand why an elderly man in our neighborhood feels a need to ride around on his scooter with a nasty flag flying), but I can choose how I want to show up to this life that is mine. I can build up my own strength and health. I can write, speak, and teach, getting messages of compassion and fresh perspective and possibility out to the world. I can do what I can to “leave behind the world a better way” as the Avett Brothers say in “Salvation Song.”

I can create, find, and choose joy and peace. I can cultivate gratitude, wonder, and awe. I can do what I can to show up with mindful presence. I can choose who I am and how I want to be with the life I have been gifted. If you’d like to consider what a gift this day is, please take a few moments to watch A Grateful Day with Br. David Steindl-Rast.

While I can’t help my own son any longer, I can serve others, people who are someone else’s child. So, this week, I have taken steps to put together care bags to hand out to people who are homeless, who stand on the corners with scrawled signs, asking for some morsel of kindness. Instead of looking the other way (which I can’t any more, since I know any one of those people could have been my son on any given day), I now look for opportunities to look these people in the eye, to offer at least my love and a smile if I have nothing else to give. But I also want to give more. To extend a hand of kindness to someone who too many look away from, thinking “you can’t save everyone” or “why don’t they go get a job?” or who knows what else.

And so, I am compiling care bags with snacks, personal supplies, and resource cards for #Neverusealone and local supports for harm reduction and housing. Since Nate died, I’ve wanted to create cards with his picture on them. Cards that say “in loving memory of Nate, forever 29” and “I see you. You matter. Please take care. You are not alone.” Cards that list local numbers which might actually offer help when and if a person reaches out.

This week I created and ordered those cards. You too can download and print the Never Use Alone resources here and have them handy when you offer a little money or your kindness to a person in need. I put together a wish list on Amazon so that others could easily and quickly buy items to help me fulfill this mission. If you’d like to be one of those angels, I welcome your support and you can find that list here, or email me if you’d like to send a check or online payment for this purpose.

As I look at the cards with my son’s loving gaze and I pull together the items that I hope will brighten someone’s day, my heart feels full and grateful that I can serve in this way.

I can choose to live, even though Nate and so many don’t. I can live for them, to honor their lives. I can focus on what I can do and be, which will keep me moving forward rather than staying stuck in the agony of what I can’t do. I can do it honestly, authentically, imperfectly, with integrity that allows all of the human experience as part of it. I can continue to look for, notice, pause, and savor the beauty that is here every single day, rather than dwelling on the ugly that is much louder and for some reason highlighted by the news and social media. It seems more prevalent, but I doubt it really is.

I can do what I can to brighten another person’s day, simply by offering a smile or holding a door, saying “thank you,” letting someone in in traffic. It doesn’t have to be costly. And, when able, I can donate time or money, buy someone’s drive-through order without them even knowing (that’s so much fun!). There are opportunities for kindness every day.

I can do what I can to help others - to be kind, compassionate, generous, and loving. And, I can only hope that it makes a difference. I can’t save my son’s or anyone’s life, but maybe I can make a difference to someone. It’s certainly worth a try. Kindness and compassion are in short supply. Let’s do what we can. Let us be loving forces of light in this world. That’s who my son was, and it’s who I hope to be as well. Out of pain rises purpose and passion to do what I can.

A lot of what we think we can’t do may be things we simply haven’t learned yet or trained for (more of a “I can’t yet…” or “I don’t know if I can because I’ve never tried.”) We may surprise ourselves if we open to the possibility that maybe we can. Don’t close the door too soon. And for the things you know you can’t do, I invite you to look at what you can do instead. If you can’t help someone you love, who can you serve? If you can’t do one activity you wish you could, what can you do as an alternative? If you don’t have the financial means to do something, what might be a nice, affordable substitute? Shifting our focus from what we can’t do, to what we might be able to or what we can, can make a world of difference.

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Yes, and... Life is One Big Improv

8/14/2023

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I got together with a friend/teacher/mentor/coach the other day and I’m so glad I did. As we sat outdoors, enjoying our coffee and lemonade, we talked for over 2 hours about life, death, struggle, and joy. We shared our truths and our hearts. So grateful for precious 1:1 time like this - real conversation, heartfelt connection and care for one another, true interest in what’s going on in each other’s worlds. This man and I do not shy away from the hard topics. We dive right in. But we don’t wallow in the misery, by any means. He also reminded me about joy and the ability to choose.

He reignited within me a desire for joy by sharing his commitment to only take on work that brings him joy. Even in important, life-altering work, joy is possible. Even with something as heavy as supporting people around substance use and recovery, joy is possible. I want to work with people who are open to wonder, awe, delight, even in the hardest and heaviest of times. No doubt watching a loved one struggle, fearing for their life, or losing them certainly are some of the hardest, scariest, heaviest times I’ve known.

And yet, even after Nate’s death, there are turkeys in wildly unexpected places, owls everywhere, feathers dropping out of nowhere, song lyrics, people appearing out of the blue to amaze and delight us, to touch our hearts, to wake us up to the mystery beyond what our little human minds understand. Even now he reminds me to be touched by the life we shared, the moments of joy and delight, the laughter, the not-so-serious times before things got so serious, and even the joy we found while they were very serious.

I don’t need to carry the yoke of his death around my neck forever because the delights of life are also still available to me. Wonder and awe are everywhere if my eyes are attuned to look for them. Joy dances in my heart, waiting to be set free. At a campfire, watching grown women blow bubbles, listening to heart-wrenching music with my sister while coyotes yip and yap in the nearby hedge, feeling both invigorated and a little terrified all at once. Dancing and singing at a P!nk concert, surrounded by glitter, boas, pink tie-dye, and neon landscapes, holding my breath while she soars overhead, praying that cable and harness hold. Taking in the early morning sun as it casts its light on the hills, on the lake. Appreciating moments of silence, the stillness of this day. The fact that I get another day. That I get to have time with friends who are delightful rays of sunshine. Getting to connect with one of Nate’s close friends, and being able to bake for her and get to know him through her heart and eyes. Time for yoga, time to clean if and when I feel like it. Making time to write and letting go of any rules I might have once held about what a blog should be. All these things carry their own kind of miraculous wonder and awe.

Yes, there is a lot of shit in the world. A lot of angry, scared, exasperated, and aggressive people out there. I see them every time I hit the highway - their energy shouts at me from their window stickers and their rapid pole-positioning. I see them online venting their frustrations and accusations. People who are afraid act out; they try to control because too much feels out of control. I get it. I’ve been there.

And yet… music is still being made, gorgeous cakes are being baked and decorated, birds still sing, butterflies dance unaware of this craziness, campfire flames leap and kiss marshmallows to golden perfection, stories are shared, memories held, poems melt hearts, dreams ignite, and beauty is everywhere.

If only we slow down enough to notice, even when our hearts are broken, love and wonder, awe and delight are everywhere, available, waiting. Each day, each moment offering a new beginning. We do not need to buy into the story that life must be a slog. We do not need to take on the “poor me” persona that comes when people know you’ve had a devastating loss, are facing a dire challenge, or are in treatment for a disease they’re calling fatal. Hope can remain. Miracles abound. Truly.

Sometimes it’s a game to catch Nate’s signs and to simply delight in them. I let him know I get it. I see him. I hear him. I feel it. I laugh. I thank him.

Life does not have to be a burden to bear. Couples do not have to play out the sitcom roles of annoying and being annoyed with one another. Workers do not have to surrender their joy for a job they hate, be available for it when they have nothing left to give or when they’re supposed to be done for the day. No one is obligated to be on call all the time. Turn off the damn phone and be present with the people right here, to this moment offering itself for your delight.

We can take back the joy. Even after the unimaginable has pierced our hearts. Our hearts still long for love, laughter, excitement, delight. They really, really do. Don’t worry. It doesn’t erase the pain or negate the loss. But, living in endless suffering honors no one. Living in constant fear serves no one. Pushing beyond the point of exhaustion is good for no one. So, bring on the joy. Show up to life and embrace it wildly.

Let life live through you. Yes, I am broken hearted at the loss of my son, and still I get up each day and engage with life. Yes, I wish he were still here and we had one more chance, and we don’t, so I choose how I will continue to live.

Where can you find ways to say, “Yes, this bad thing has happened or is happening, and… still I will ____ (have fun, find delight, rest, create peace, etc., whatever is true for you).” or “Yes, I do have this responsibility/commitment/obligation, and still I can_____________”

Where can you free yourself to live life a little less burdened and a little more playful? Where can you get curious? What opportunities might you give yourself? Because one thing I now know for sure is that life is one big improv. We don’t know what will be thrown our way, and so it’s up to us to choose, moment by moment how to respond. How to engage.

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Finding Stillness

4/11/2023

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Often, we move through the ocean of life as if we’re riding the surface - tossed around, bobbing and rocking with every wave. We may be floating safely enough, but in this constant churning, we’re also thrown about by life, by people, responsibilities, and demands that pull on us. We are tossed and turned - at the mercy of things outside of our control.

Yet, beneath the crashing waves, the dark depths of the ocean offer a place of profound stillness, some distance from the surface turbulence. Similarly, deep within each of us, at the core, there is stillness available. The trick is to find it. Once we’ve found it, we only need to return there, time and again.

In this space, receive and allow yourself to be nourished and fed. Life continues at its frenetic pace, but you can find your own agency within it. In this space, feel both your separateness and your connection with others - not splitting off, but coexisting, maintaining your own steadiness, even in the waves. We become fluid ourselves as we flow with life a bit more smoothly, grounded and solid in the knowing, the sensation of our own body.

In the Stillness
In the stillness
the answers come,
truths are unearthed,
promises remembered.

In the stillness
prayers are answered,
hearts are restored,
dreams fostered,
visions captured.

In the stillness
the oneness becomes clear,
connection to self deepens,
universal threads intertwine.

In the stillness
the magic lies
waiting for you to visit
and reside here,
for however many moments.

© Barb Klein, 2016, from 111 Invitations: Step into the Full Richness of Life

What do you think? What does stillness offer you? What might become possible or evident if you took the time to find some quiet, some space?

Lao Tzu asks, “Do you have the patience to wait
                            Till your mind settles and the water is clear?
                            Can you remain unmoving
                            Till the right action arises by itself?”

Such a great and powerful reminder to get out of the chaotic spin, the tendency to react and jump into action without even having fully formed thoughts or ideas about what would be wise, skillful, or helpful to you, to the other, or to the situation.

Patience - they say it’s a virtue, and I suppose that’s true. Yet when we’re confronted with urgency, it can be terribly hard to access. Taking a pause. Finding our place of internal stillness helps.

What helps us get to that rich place of stillness? Pausing. Gathering ourselves up in our own loving presence. Granting ourselves grace, stepping back, stepping away before needing to take any action at all. Remembering that rarely anything good comes from the instantaneous fight, flight, freeze, or facade response.

It’s far better to slow things down, find our bearings by finding ourselves in this moment - take stock through our senses. Notice what we see, hear, smell, taste, and feel in this space. Awareness anchors us into the present moment. In that moment we can find and claim the stillness, remembering that even in a hurricane, there is the center of the storm, the eye that is relatively untouched by the raging winds. When the storms of life are raging, take yourself to the eye. Find yourself standing firm in the strength of who you are… not rigid, but strong and supple, able to bend and flow as the willow does. Bending, but not breaking because you are allowing the storm to happen around you, choosing not to step into it or resist it.

In the stillness, close your eyes, touch your heart, and ask the most important question: What do I need in this moment? Allow yourself permission to ask, knowing that your needs matter. Allow the answers to come. Allow yourself to hear, even if it’s uncomfortable. And then, from this grounded stance, begin to get curious about the ways you might be able to tend to whatever needs arise. What could you try? Who could you ask for help? What can you let go of? Is there anything here that is not yours? What can you turn over to someone else or to God or the Universe? Are you trying to carry too much? What can you put down, dear one?

In the stillness, take stock again. What do you see, hear, feel, taste, and smell now? Have your senses opened? Perhaps now you hear the bird song that wasn’t there in the crashing waves of panic. Maybe your eyes have softened to notice the yellow wren swinging on the feeder or the warmth of your lamp or even the light within the mostly grey sky. Maybe your heart and breath have slowed a bit. Maybe. Maybe not. What’s true for you?

The stillness offers us, invites us, into intimacy with our heart and soul. The stillness washes over us, enveloping us like a warm bath. The stillness opens our hearts and minds to fresh possibility - to see what wasn’t there before. To try something maybe we’ve never done before. Stillness offers spacious room to breathe, to stretch, to grow.

Stillness reminds us we do not have to rush, and that when we let go of the rushing, we are far better equipped to face whatever challenges await. It doesn’t take long for this medicine to work its magic. For it’s not really magic at all. It is the natural way of being - the essence of who we are. All the outer busyness and craziness - that’s conditioning, learned behavior from our society. The sense that we must be on or available all the time, that we must respond in an instant - that’s nonsense. It makes no sense except when there is an immediate danger, which is fairly rare.

There’s almost always more time than we think, and if we allow ourselves even a few moments of pause, of quiet, of stillness, what will emerge is so much richer, wiser, skillful, effective, supportive, helpful. So much more likely to be grounded in who we are and what we believe in. So much more aligned with what really matters to us. So much more likely to lead to fewer mistake and fewer regrets.

Let’s dive beneath the surface to tap into this deep anchoring of still, quiet nourishment. Imagine what could be if we all did that a little more often. Imagine a world grounded in stillness before action.

Please enjoy Leah Kent's beautiful guided meditation, Anchored Stillness, as a support toward finding your own stillness in this moment.   Leah Kent is a book coach and author who helps wisdom keepers and visionaries write and publish transformational books about their work in the world. She’s the creator of the Wild Embodied Writing method, and the author of Awakening the Visionary Voice. To learn more, visit leahkent.net or connect with Leah on Instagram @leahkentco

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Carrying Pain

2/19/2023

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Pain. Fear. Worry. I’m noticing lots of us don’t know what to do with these very human, and very uncomfortable experiences. Many of us have been conditioned to push through pain. We don’t understand or don’t want to sit with it. After all, we live in a culture that says things like, “No pain, no gain!” (Which, by the way I call bullshit on!).

If we allow it, our pain informs us. It tells us when something is wrong. It lets us know we need some loving care. It begs us to rest and regroup - to nurture ourselves until we’re ready to consider what to do.

We all carry pain. One of the elements of mindful self-compassion is common humanity, reminding us all humans suffer. It’s part of our shared human experience, not a sign of weakness and not something that happens to you alone.

I have found myself living with some really heavy pain mixed with a lot of fear lately. At times I’ve found myself feeling flat and dull like a cardboard shirt liner. Some days it’s a slog to simply do the next thing. Other days I compartmentalize a bit and put the painful stuff aside to enjoy being with myself or with a friend. One thing I know for sure is the more I’m able to express or share my pain, the less burdened I feel.

When we try to carry it alone, giving it nowhere to go, no release, no expression, no tears or screams, it eats us up inside. It comes out - always - just maybe not in a healthy way. Sideways, misdirected, harmful.

What Helps

What helps me in these times is to talk about it with someone who simply listens without trying to fix or advise. It helps me to write about it. It helps me to cry, even if the tears come from an unrelated song or movie. It helps to get outdoors and look for beauty. Because what’s scaring me is so outside my control, it helps to find what I can control - picking one small task and seeing it through (I’m talking super small, like getting a load of laundry through the dryer or wiping down one kitchen counter).

I’m learning to be with my pain, and to not be with it alone. Give it space. Give it voice before its pressure builds up and blows, before I become so numb that I hide away and lose myself to the world.

Where did we learn to believe we have to be OK all the time? That it’s weak to admit we’re hurting or scared? Maybe from parents who held it all together as they went through hard times. Parents who did what they had to do to get through, who weren’t raised to talk about their sorrows or hardships and didn’t know how to care for themselves. Maybe from a world that feels hard and harsh - a world that instructs us to hide our tears and “get over” our grief.

Pain carried alone is like poison, slowly taking us down.

What if we faced pain together?

As we face our scary realities, I wonder what might happen if we can each let down our armor. Maybe we can be afraid together. Maybe in that fear, we can break through - maybe shared vulnerability will help us face what we need to in a realistic way. Maybe. Maybe if we trusted one another to be honest and open about what’s going on, we can face it together. Maybe if we stopped pretending we’re OK, maybe if we’d open our hearts to one another, take a breath, slow down long enough to be really real, maybe then we’d get somewhere. Stop pushing, stop running and let ourselves break down to break through.

Maybe we need to stop jumping too quickly to problem-solving and let ourselves admit just how scared we are first. Maybe we can admit we don’t know what’s coming or how things can change, and then uncover some fresh ideas. What if we could learn from each other’s fears as we share our own? Can we come together to find a way forward? It seems worth a shot.

Hurt people hurt people. Let’s be people who are healing to help others heal. It will take some time. We have time. It’s always better to slow things down than to try to operate from a place of reactivity. Our pain and our problems deserve our time, our attention, our love, and our full presence. Especially when things feel really dire. In those moments, may we open our hearts to one another, let our whole selves come through, and come together to find our way on.

To the One Who is Hurting
by Barb Klein

To you, Dear One,
                The one who’s not doing as well
                as you’d like the world to believe,
I see you
I feel for you
I know what it’s like -
                to armor up and soldier on
                to put on a smile when you feel empty inside
                to feel lost and alone, and oh, so scared
Where do you turn?
How do you let it out
                so you don’t carry this unbearable weight
                alone?
Please let yourself let down
                some way, somewhere…
Please…
Don’t carry this alone.
It will tear you up inside
And leave you as destroyed
                as the one you worry about.
Please, find someone -
                let someone walk by your side.
You don’t have to pretend to be OK.
Really.
In each of us there lies a secret pain -
                too big to let out, we fear,
                afraid it will take over the moment it’s revealed
You are not alone.
You are one of thousands of millions,
                pretending to be OK,
                shoving it down, this poisonous pain,
                burying it away,
                hurting and hurting and hurting some more.
Let it out.
Let someone in.
You do not have to carry this alone.
When pain is shared
                it becomes less heavy -
                perhaps.
Perhaps a new possibility might arise…
                if not, at least you can face it -
                together.
It’s too much for one person to bear, this poisonous pain.
I see you
I feel you
I’ve been there (just yesterday, in fact)
I wrap you in a love that reminds you -
                You do not suffer alone
Let’s carry this together
                as we step into this day,
Not pretending we’re OK
It’s OK
We’ll go on and find our way
Somehow
Some way
We will get through another day

Gentle yourself in whatever way you need. Rest when you need to. Know that pain doesn't have to be pushed through and that it's not weak to ask for help. Cry. Scream. Write. Whatever works for you to get out any pain you're holding. Let it out, get it out so that it doesn't tear you up inside. Please offer yourself tons of grace. Find your own version of what helps.

And if, in this moment, you're feeling peaceful, relaxed and full of joy! Great!! Soak that in - breathe it in to your bones so you remember you can find this feeling when you need it.

As always, please meet yourself with kindness, gentleness, tenderness, and compassion. And know that you are not alone.

I offer you this meditation, In Painful Times, as a practice to support you.

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Learning in the Tough Times

1/25/2023

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On a recent visit with my son in the hospital, taking in how serious things were, I did not hide my concern. It showed in the frown on my face and in the tears just waiting to be released. I held his hand and gazed at him…

He didn’t want to talk much about it, because he gets tired of so much focus on him and it. So, he asked me, “How are you?” “Concerned,” I answered, not wanting to dodge the seriousness of this time.

“But, how are YOU?” he pressed. OK, I'll play. How AM I?

It’s a great question, because of course how he is affects how I am, AND it’s not the whole of me. It’s not my only answer. At times (and these crises are some of those times), I am more consumed with him and his life than I’d like to be. It can overshadow my life and take up most of my energy. At times. But not all the time. This reminds me of a piece I wrote years ago, “Can You Be OK Even When “Things” Aren’t?”

So, I appreciated his invitation to reflect on myself. To check in… I don’t know. How am I? How’s my body, mind, heart and soul? It reminded me where I end and he begins. I don’t have to morph into his (or anyone else’s) reality. I get to have my own experience of life. In this moment, we’re both ok. That’s all I really know along with knowing I have no idea how long that will last.

Since then, I’ve noticed how quickly my answer to this question changes. Within any given 24 hours, my reality is vastly different from moment to moment. Life moves and shifts and morphs constantly, and it’s up to me whether I keep myself stuck in any given place for longer than I need. Sometimes when things come at us fast and furious, piling up one after the other, it doesn’t feel like a choice. And maybe it isn’t in those times. Maybe then all we can do is get through, somehow, to the other side.

This morning as I write and consider this simple yet complex question of how I am, I’ll say, I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well because I was too busy beating myself up for a good bit of the last 18 hours. My stomach feels queasy. My head aches because my brain has been way to busy mulling over, and over, and over the events I got myself caught up in yesterday. I’m pissed at myself for ignoring (no, steam-rollering over) my intuition and gut as they screamed at me, “This isn’t right. It makes no sense.” I did it anyway.

The “what” in this case has nothing to do with my son. What it is isn’t important - let’s just say it’s one of those things that causes me to feel so many things… all bundled up in a big old ball of shame, embarrassment (I definitely should have known better), and self-flagellation. Mired in the shitty shame spiral.

I’m working to move through it. What’s done is done. I’ve done what I can to clean up the mess and try to prevent any further problems. Turning toward what I did and taking responsibility was definitely step one. It’s still bugging me. I find I need to keep on talking myself through this. Reminding myself. That’s over. You’ve done what you can, and now you just need to wait and see how it plays out. There’s nothing more to do right now. You, as much as anyone else, deserves your kindness and forgiveness. Last night I offered myself a loving kindness blessing for peace, happiness, safety, health, and ease. Then I inhaled “breathe in sleep” and exhaled “breathe out stress…” I guess it worked, at least for awhile - until I woke up again too early and my mind kicked into its incessant spin.

This thing I did robbed me of too much time and energy yesterday. I really don’t want it to continue weighing me down and interfering with things I need to and want to do. I didn’t even do the dishes last night after being on a 100% roll for the past week. When things like that start to slip, I know I’m in too deep to some kind of something that I need to get out of. And I know that I’m the only one who can set me free.

Why is it so hard to be kind, compassionate, and forgiving with ourselves? Why do we latch onto these things that we’ve done wrong, tempted to have them forever define us as “a terrible person” or someone who never gets anything right? Why do I have these struggles? I don’t know if you do or not!

Today I get to choose. Do I keep spinning and swimming in the muck, or do I continue to notice the bad feeling when it rises back up and move forward anyway? I am choosing - to journal as a way to process all of this, to take a bath and try to imagine this ick washing down the drain, to sing some supportive songs, to go for a walk with my husband and talk about other things, to get on Zoom and write with my co-writing friends. I choose time to practice Tai Chi for Recovery with the amazing, Theresa Knorr - it's a great time to accept the things I cannot change and change the things I can! Also, Tai Chi always helps me move emotions and energy and helps me to get grounded! These choices are acts of self-kindness and self-compassion. They let me know that I am going to show up for myself even when I am really not happy with me. I don’t need to pile on punishment. It really doesn’t help in any way.

I choose to reassure my sister, who was deeper in the muck than I was, and encourage her to not let it steal any more of her joy either. We’re human. We make mistakes. It was a big one. But, no one died. It’s fixable. And, at the same time, as I talk it through with her trying to help clean up more of the mess, I'm shaking. The shock is still living inside my body. We've beeen shaken by this scam... and it's hard to trust anyone or anything right now. It feels like danger is lurking around every corner.

What I’ve learned from all of this:

#1 Do NOT override that inner knowing for anyone’s outside voice, no matter how much they plead. Do not.

#2 Slow things down and think it through before I act. Talk it through with someone I trust if I’m not sure.

#3 Do not get caught up in the seeming urgency of anything. Unless there’s blood, fire, or someone is turning blue, there are few things that require immediate action - especially if they don’t make sense.

#4 Do not act in a state of confusion. Pause. Walk away. Breathe (we need that oxygen for intelligent thinking!). Regroup. Reground. Come back and choose from a grounded place. Will I still make mistakes or get things wrong? Of course! But, probably not in things like this.

#5 When I F up, face it, deal with it, forgive myself (or at least consider forgiving myself), and move on. Don’t let it continue to burden me unnecessarily for longer than needed.

#6 Be kind to myself in all of this. What would I say to someone I love who’s in my shoes right now? Offer that same grace, gentleness, and compassion to me. Remember my messy humanness, my predictable imperfection.

#7 Let myself move through it, get over it. It’s just one (very problematic and annoying) moment in the grand scheme of this life. Look at all I’ve gotten through in the past. I can get through this too. In many ways, this is nothing! It will be ok. Somehow it will be ok.

#8 Remember how quickly things change. Internally and externally. This too will pass. It’s passing even now, if I let it.

#9 Call in Enchantment… ask her what more she has to offer me right now. Here’s what she had to say, “Oh, baby girl, you can bring in gentleness, kindness, and care - always. When you fall into beating yourself up, stop. Remember that. Don’t let it spiral into 1500 things you’ve done wrong or let it make you a globally terrible person. Just own the mistake, name the shame, regret, and anger you feel. Let it move through you. You don’t have to continue to carry it or let it darken one more moment. Let it go. Move on. I love you.

So, I ask you… How are YOU? How do you deal with these moments in your life? Or am I the only one who knows what I’m talking about? If so, thanks for indulging me! If not, I would love to hear how you get yourself through these tough times.

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Reflections and Intentions

1/7/2023

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Looking back and looking ahead. It’s that time of year. Though it’s really just the turning of a page on the calendar, there is a collective energy around the New Year that we might as well get on board with. For me it’s not about resolutions (they simply don’t work for most people). It’s not about goals, because despite being a coach, the language of goal-setting has never resonated for me. I am much more about reflection, vision, intention, mindful, thoughtfulness as well as opening to possibility, allowing what will come to be revealed.

To look back on 2022, I have to take out my calendar. I can barely remember what I did yesterday, so to think back to last January is a stretch. One thing I know for sure is that last January/February I was immersed in a grief so strong it swallowed me whole. On Christmas Eve 2021, one of my closest friends of all time, Mary Lally, died. The grief that rushed in was similar to what I felt after losing my mom. Except this time, I had the time and space to really let myself feel it… to be with it… to see how it moved me and moved through me. It was intense, and it’s not over. Grief doesn’t end. It just changes and surprises us from time to time with its energy. (read Good Grief, Gratitude, and Grace or Swimming in the Messy Stages of Grief if you want to see what was brewing in me then)

2022 was a year of Heart Evolution, Heart Revolution. My heart opened. My heart shut down. My heart exploded in many different ways. I am forever changed. (my second post about Heart Revolution is here)

What I intended to but didn’t do…
Recently I saw a post from Cheryl Strayed that shook me in a beautiful way. She had been transcribing her journals and came across a list from 10 years ago - a list of 10 things she had intended to do, but hadn’t in the prior year. What a fascinating reflection! In the midst of so much celebration and acknowledgment of “this year’s highlights,” I don’t know that I have ever seen anyone take the time to notice and call out what they didn’t do.

So, I decided to play with this in my own way, which includes a bit of what I did do instead… I didn’t do this, but I did do this… or an inquiry into what the not doing shows me about myself. What might I learn or discover as I look at these things without judgment, just seeing them as truthful observations.

So, I’d love to share a bit of this with you and invite you into your own reflection and inquiry.

I didn’t lose the 10 pounds that I sometimes say I need to. But I did gain 10. I went up a size or two, and have been grappling with whether this really matters to me or not (and if it does, why?)   What do these numbers represent to me? Why do I care? Does it matter that I added an X to my L? Does it change who I am or the value I bring to the world? Do I care or is that just part of the story I’ve bought into and told myself? How might I learn to love the body I have at this phase of life, appreciating what it has done for me over all these decades? I am learning to move with flesh I am not used to having, getting to know the body that is mine in this time of life. This isn’t an exploration I’m finished with or comfortable with by any means. I’m still in the thick of it (no pun intended) trying to figure out what’s really true for me. I wrote a bit about this during my April A to Z Blog challenge (my theme was Question (Almost) Everything - Bodies, Bumps, and Bulges, Oh My!)

I didn’t finish writing my second book, a companion for families in recovery from the effects of a loved one’s substance use. I wanted to have this done by Spring, before our lives would change in a significant way and I feared I’d lose the time, energy, or maybe even mindset to keep writing.

I did, however, decide to slow it down with the process so that I can write the best book I possibly can at this time. This feels really good and right. This book deserves that level of care. I have also taken moves to step all in to life as a writer, first and foremost. It’s scary and exciting and wonderful all at once. This book inspires me. My writing supports and fulfills me. It feels like the main way I want to serve right now.

I didn’t get to see Brandi Carlile at Red Rocks, even though I had put the dates on my planner as if that would somehow magically solidify that we could get tickets. We couldn’t. And, it’s ok. Maybe it’s better to hold on to the epic memories of our 2021 trip rather than trying to repeat it. Maybe I’m justifying not being able to get tickets (or at least not being willing to pay the resale price).

I DID add in a lot more live music and choose to add in more fun with friends as a priority. We went to see Dar Williams locally, we joined the Avett Brothers in Chautauqua for the rocking-est show I’ve ever seen them perform in a space that seemed to have them billed as folk. We did get to see Brandi at Woodstock and in Madison Square Garden. I cherish these special times with Tom and with the friends who join us for our road trips!! We even got a personalized Christmas video from BJ Barham from American Aquarium, thanks to our friends, Jenny and Bill! That was fun! I’m finding epic moments come in many shapes and sizes - not always what we have planned or think we would like, but there they are!

I did not continue on with Soul Care, a group I’ve been offering in some form or another for the past 8 years. This was a tough decision because I loved this program and the women who have gathered in it. In many ways, it got me through the toughest parts of the pandemic as we amped up to weekly calls just to have that extra space of authentic, open-hearted connection. But it was time for a change. This move taught me what it means to have an integral ending, to allow space for goodbyes and all the feelings they bring, to allow for sadness and disappointment and do it anyway, because it’s time.

I did not spend the summer boating on our lake, pausing often to rest on the waves and just hang out and read. In fact, what we did do was sell our boat right before the 4th of July holiday weekend… nothing I would have expected. As we often do, we got swept up in a spontaneous decision and let it go. It fell into the realm of several things this year: “If it’s more hassle than it’s worth, let it go.” The bi-annual maintenance, finding someone to help us launch and take out every year, finding someone to wrap it for the winter… and just not using it as often as we’d like, often feeling the burden of it looking up at us on a on a nice day, feeling like we “should” go out… that’s not the energy we are looking to hold onto. And so, we let it go. It was a surprise and a relief.

On our final spin around the lake, I cried, as I felt both the gratitude for having fulfilled this lifelong yearning of mine to own a ski boat and the longing to keep it, “just in case…,” and I let myself feel the sadness, the gratitude, the joy of that moment itself, and the relief of unburdening one more thing calling for our limited time and energy.

I didn’t bathe in grief all year long, I didn’t curl up into a ball and disappear, despite any number of reasons I could have. I did allow the grief to come (did I really have a choice?) and go as it did. I immersed in it and let it take me over. I worked with practices and practitioners to help me in moments of intensity. I wrote about it. I nurtured myself the best I could and I allowed others to support me. And I continue to meet these moments as gently as I can, accepting what is the best I can, bringing love and compassion with me.

Some other reflections to play with:
I surprised myself with
I learned ___ about myself
I noticed
I let go of
I welcomed in
I returned to
Fresh perspectives I’ve gained or considered
I fell in love with
I was supported by
I supported
I discovered (or it discovered me)
How do I want to feel in 2023?
What do I want to breathe life into this year? (Ooohhh, thank you, Abby Wambach for that one! You can hear the We Can Do Hard Things podcast on this theme of reflection here)
Is there a word that might support me, at least for the first quarter? (I’m considering the possibility of having multiple words this year… not entirely sure yet, but I know they will make themselves known to me in time!)
All of this leads me to step into 2023 with

Your turn… Pause. Lovingly, gently, with compassion, look back on this past year. Feel into the coming year. What do you notice as you reflect on your year? What you didn’t and did do? What you’ve learned and how you’d like to move forward into 2023 a little more intentionally?

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The Gift of Presence

12/29/2022

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This Christmas I had the opportunity to experience the gift that mere presence brings. What’s possible when I shut my mouth and just listen. Listen with an open heart and open mind, setting aside my own ideas and agendas.

Presence like this opens doors, builds trust and safety in a way that allows others to come forward - to open up and give me an idea of what life is like for them, what is going on inside of their experience.

When I stop nagging, badgering, interrogating, and lecturing (which, let’s be honest, NO ONE likes! It is never helps connection or makes anything truly positive happen), love enters in. Hearts open to one another. We can relax into being together and be a little more real…

It comes down to who I want to be and how I want to be. This is where I have agency and choice. I am not pre-programmed or unable to control my own behavior and words. Based on my values (what really matters most to me), based on my story of who I say I am, it’s up to me to do more than just pay lip service to what I say I’m all about.

It’s up to me to actually BE the way I aspire to be. I can also bring in lots of compassion and grace when I slip up (which I most certainly will!) - this is not about perfection. It is about generous compassion for all.

When I step back, silently, and allow myself to observe and see what’s going on, I might recognize the struggle someone is having. I realize that it’s not their fault or choice. They don’t choose to be in this struggle. I can have compassion. I can offer a calm presence for someone who’s feeling a little jangly to regulate with rather than adding to the angst or presenting something to fight against or feel bad about.

I can simply offer my truly loving presence. This allows me to hear how surprised someone is by how well they’re doing. I can hear the self-doubt that lives so close to the surface. I can hear how little they believe in or trust themselves. How they’re finding their way, tentatively beginning to form a new story. Inviting, allowing them to soften to me - to trust that I am a safe place to land. That I won’t use their admissions against them.

I can look for what’s going right, what there is to celebrate, rather than focus on what is missing or what could be. I can follow the rhythm and flow of this group I’m with in this time… not impose my idealized story of what “should” be.

Over the years I have ruined many special events for myself and others by letting my expectations or ideas of how things should be cloud the reality of what and who is here right now.

I’m the one who still feels the pang of guilt over how ungraciously I responded to my sister’s massively generous gift of a handcrafted framed Holly Hobbie needlework (50 years ago!). I was too young to appreciate what it meant for her to pour her heart, soul, and time into this beautiful piece just for me. It wasn’t a toy. I was a brat. And. I responded with the appropriate bratty pout for the rest of the day.

I am the one who hit my friend, Steven. when he gave me a beautiful Breyer horse for my birthday. The gift was more than I could bear. Pretty sure that was the same year - 8-year-old me had some issues…

I am the one who often feels let down after the holiday is over - the days and weeks of build-up falling hollow when everyone leaves. Wanting more. Wanting different. Regret at what wasn’t. Disappointment.

Not this year. This year I chose differently.

I reminded myself in my journaling and asked my husband to help me remember to appreciate what’s here. I stayed present to the miracle we were given in being able to all be together for 2 nights and 3 days, sharing one house, sharing meals, visiting, talking, laughing till bedtime. Wiggling through the tense moments but not blowing them up into more than they needed to be. Staying kind even when I had to have an uncomfortable conversation. Resting gradually in each other’s presence. Honoring the rhythm and flow of this family. Noticing when the “what should we DO now?” anxiety temporarily poked at me… allowing things to unfold organically rather than forcing a reading of The Grinch, a making of the gingerbread house (that is still waiting patiently in its box for when the right time), watching an old holiday show that no one but me enjoys. Let that go. Open to what they want. Invite everyone into something new. Just breathe. Just be. Play the kids’ Christmas music rather than my mom’s old playlist. Be playful, lighthearted, enjoy. Them. For who they are. As they are. As we are. In this moment.

That way of being opened up something in me that still touches my heart. I can almost cry as I soak in the deep appreciation for this precious time with my husband and grown sons. There wasn’t anything too profound in our being together except that it was all profound. To witness the initial discomfort and awkwardness melt away as we settled in to being together. To relax into noticing and allowing each of us to have our own unique ways and needs. To hug, smile, laugh… to really stay in a place of appreciating what was, what is, what’s here, what’s true, what’s real, what’s good and wonderful. Holding back judgment or inclination to offer unwelcome suggestions or unkind observations. Allowing others to find their own way in life in their own time.

Letting love guide the way, be the true foundation for our time together, for our life. The generosity of presence is the truest gift we can offer another being. It is the greatest gift we can offer ourselves. To listen deep within, to remember who we want to become in this next iteration, to show up to what we say we want to create with others, to be sincere in our efforts and digging in to show up in that way. Not expecting it to be easy, perfect, or even comfortable, but allowing the unfolding.

This Christmas I was given the gift of connection with my family, getting to know them in a way I had not before. Together we created the gift of presence. My heart remains full. ❤

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Out of the Darkness & Into the Light...

12/21/2022

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As I revisit and revise this post, originally written for MomPower in 2020 and then re-written for this blog last year, I am feeling into what's alive for me at this moment. I am grateful to re-read this message and take it into my own heart as I sit with myself with tears streaming down my face. I offer it to you again with love.

Today marks the winter solstice here in the Northern Hemisphere. On this darkest day of the year, the pivotal moment between dark and light, it is the perfect time to honor the darkness that has come into our lives. It is a time to honor those who have been lost and to remember them with love. It is a time to honor the struggle and the perseverance of those who are on a challenging journey and to honor ourselves and other loved ones who have also found a way through the darkness.

In honoring the darkness and in grieving the losses we have endured, we bring those moments into the light. When we bring them into the light, they are no longer hiding in the shadows, lurking in shame, or hidden in silence. We claim and name our experience. We see it for what it has been. We presence it.

When we do this, we are able to step forward into the light. Just as the days begin to get longer with a bit more light from tomorrow on, we too can begin to bring more light into our homes and our beings.

Addiction, cancer, mental illness (to name a few) are painful diseases, as you undoubtedly know. They affect everyone in their wake and can take down entire families with the weight of suffering.

However (and this is a big however), the journey into darkness does not have to take us out forever. It is possible to find hope, joy, peace, love, and to create a brighter tomorrow, even when we have been impacted by a loved one's disease.

If you are reading this, you are alive, and for that fact alone there is reason to celebrate. You have been given the opportunity to live one more day. What will you do with this one precious life you have been given? How will you set your soul free to express itself? What is uniquely yours to do?

Is there some way to honor your journey up to this very moment--the good, the bad, and the ugly, the full messiness of it all? The painful, the joyous, the fearfulness, and the hope? Whatever it’s looked like in the past, today marks a new day, albeit a short one. Tomorrow offers the light of fresh possibility, as each day does. How do you want to step into tomorrow?

If we are able to find a way to turn our pain (or darkness) into possibility (or light), we can transform these heavy experiences into something that serve and support us and others. We can show up for life more fully. We can become who we were born to be. With each loss I experience I also experience a fresh resolve to live this life even more fully.

Let’s face it, the past 3 years have carried a full load of darkness, collectively, along with anything that you might have experienced personally.

For many the holidays are emotionally-charged times and may bring in a healthy mix of emotions… sadness, joy, celebration, loneliness. I know I will be feeling both sadness for those who are not with us during this holiday season as well as joy and gratitude for those who are.

There is room for it all. When we allow ourselves to feel it all, to allow our hearts to carry this messy mix of what makes us human, we are able to move through it.

“Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.” ~ Brene Brown

So, let this pivotal day be a day that marks the honoring of both the dark and the light. Let us take a step back and look at the big picture of our lives and recognize that our experiences have not been all good or all bad, but rather a mix of both.

These diseases can entomb us with their heavy cloak of darkness if we let them, but we can choose to lift up the corner of that cloak and peek outside. We can lay down the heaviness and step into the light. We get to choose.

We may well prefer the moments of lightness, light-heartedness, and light in general, but there is also a gift to receive during the dark and challenging times. We must be willing to sit with this part of our reality if we are to truly enjoy the light.

I have found that it is in the dark where I have grown the most. I wonder if that might be true for you as well. I offer you this poem for consideration.

The Places We Grow
It’s in the dark,
in the shadows,
where we stretch and grow.

We face ourselves
and see a new or forgotten aspect,
a piece we’d rather ignore or deny.

But there it is…
staring us down,
daring us to change,
to find a new way,
or to simply come into acceptance.

Sometimes it’s about overcoming
or adjusting.
Finding a way to do this with
love, compassion,
and gentle communion.

Honoring the self…
who I am,
where I am,
what I need,
what my baggage is.

And stepping into a deeper layer,
excavating and shifting,
allowing new light in,
and new hope out.

These are the places we grow –
often watered
and nourished with tears.
© Barb Klein, 2016, “The Places We Grow,” from 111 Invitations: Step into the Full Richness of Life

Where and how can you nourish yourself today? How might you allow some new light in--to your being, to your life? How can you allow a little more hope to shine into the world?

Begin by greeting yourself exactly where you are--gently, with tenderness, care, and compassion. Offer yourself the space and grace to feel into what’s alive within your heart at this moment. Ask your heart what it needs at this moment to be truly nurtured and nourished. Then respond accordingly. You deserve your own loving care.

We are on the cusp of a new year and we can only hope that 2023 is bringing with it new possibility, hope, and fresh beginnings. Today let’s pause. Let’s look at our lives and our loved ones with reverence. Let’s honor this journey where we have walked, crawled, and stumbled while we look ahead to the light of new creativity. Let’s let this darkest day of the year—December 21-- be a personal pivotal moment for us to enter an illuminated future.

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Mind Your Business

11/30/2022

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I’ve heard this said a number of ways from the not very nice “Mind your own business!” to a gentler reminder to “stay in your lane, in your boat, or in your hula hoop.” I’ve come to take it as sage wisdom, not a harsh rebuke. A “prescription for peace” as my friend and colleague, Joanne Richards, calls it.

When we love someone with substance use disorder or other mental health issues, we can find ourselves in their business a lot. They aren’t doing well. Things don’t add up. The stories we’re getting or what we’re observing don’t compute with what we’re being told, so we’re going to get to the bottom of it. But, can we, really? We’re not in the other person’s head or life, so we won’t truly know what’s happening unless they share it with us. We can only make up our own stories. Stories which often lead to more wondering, more worrying, more distress.

We can do this with friends and other loved ones too - they haven’t called or replied to a text. What’s that mean? Are they mad? Did I do or say something wrong? Are they ok? What’s wrong? People are complex, so we never know what may or may not have upset someone. We don’t really know what’s going on for them unless we talk to them directly about it. Our mind masterfully, effortlessly, and unknowingly dreams up disaster scenarios in the blink of an eye.

How do we know when we’re out of our business?

Here are some of the common ways we might find ourselves out of our business and into someone else’s. Read through with gentleness and without self-judgment. Maybe some familiar to you too. Great! You’ve just raised your awareness! Now you get to choose what to do with that!

Finding ourselves wrapped up in fear, struggle, and resentment.
Spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about this other person. Checking the phone for calls or texts or checking in with them repeatedly. Monitoring their activity and whereabouts. Believing you need to know what’s going on with them. If you don’t hear from them, you worry if they’re all right.

Lying in bed, mind drifting into sleuth mode trying to piece together bits of stories or observations to figure out what’s really going on (at least in a way that makes sense to the mind). Looking for inconsistencies, trying to make sense of what’s unknown. When we don’t know the truth of what’s real, we make up all kinds of stories so our mind has something to hold onto.

Seeking answers to the unknown, forgetting that we can never really know the future.

Losing sleep grasping for control in any way we can because things feel so out of control.

Wandering throughout the day aimlessly during unscheduled times. Unsure what to do, nervous energy carrying us from one thing to the next… doing a little of this and a little of that, but lacking the focus to dive deeply into any one thing for any length of time.

Eating for comfort rather than for hunger or nourishment. “Stress eating” is a real thing… and I am very, very good at it! Eating our feelings… it happens!

Connecting our sense of peace and well-being directly to someone else’s. Unless they’re doing well, we can’t be either.

How do you know when you’re out of your business and into someone else’s? What are your clues?

Why does it matter?

This is particularly important for those of us with whom mental health is at play or substance use is in the field because chaos and frenzy can easily become the norm, and it can consume you.

Finding ourselves out of our business matters because in those moments we are not honoring our peace and well-being. We are sacrificing them to concerns that are out of our control. We may be adding on to the suffering by beating ourselves up for doing this because “we know better.” Knowing and doing are not the same thing, turns out!

Byron Katie talks about “your business, their business, and God’s business.” Much of what we worry about falls in the latter 2 categories, so when we can rein it in and come back home to this being, to our business, we can relax a bit. If we accept the reality of what we can control or even influence, we will see that it’s very little of our world. Maybe then we can give up trying… In a really healthy way.

When I find myself out of my own business and fretting about someone else I can actually say to myself, “OK, come back here… right here. This breath, this body, this being” and feel myself relax into the true moment I’m in.

What can you do differently?

Here are some ideas that have worked for me. YOU are the expert on you. See what resonates with you and what you might like to try. What do you know to do but have lost track of or gotten out of the practice of doing? (It happens to all of us!)

Begin by shifting the focus back from the other person to yourself. To your self-awareness, personal growth, to your peace, your joy, your desires, the core of who you are.

Shift your focus from what’s wrong to what’s right or good in your life. Recognize that this is not an either-or proposition. We live within the whole of it. There is always beauty and goodness to be found.

Find simple tasks that have a start and finish to them (or break larger tasks down into small chunks) - that sense of completion can be very satisfying.

It takes practice to come back to ground, back to center, when you live in never-ending chaos. To come home to yourself requires self-awareness in order to even know that you’ve left yourself. It takes a willingness to break the cycle of spin.

It takes a desire to honor your peace and well-being. We say we value these things over and over, yet how often do we de-prioritize them in favor of something else, consciously or unconsciously? How often do we push them away, choosing to swim in fear and despair instead? How often do we forget that we really do have choices about our own behavior? Where do we begin?

Begin with a PAUSE. You’ve likely heard me say this a million times, because this is the number one tool I know for getting grounded. Take a breath. Take a step back. Observe yourself - what are you doing? Where is your mind going? Get into your body and feel your breath moving in and out of you.

Rather than push away the worrisome thoughts and feelings, allow them to be there (they’re here anyway, and we really can’t stop them from coming). Meet them gently, with love, with understanding, with compassion and care. Feelings come whether they make sense or not. The thoughts you have probably do make sense, especially if past history has shown you what could happen. When we stop fighting with them or beating ourselves up for having them, they may just dissolve on their own. Likely they will at least soften. Put your hand on your heart or give yourself a gentle hug and just tend to your own precious being.

Also, get curious. Question your thoughts - are you certain that they’re true? What happens for you when you let go of or stop repeating a distressing story? When you stop spinning it over and over in your mind or telling it to others? Notice what you feel in your body, heart, and mind. What’s different in your energy and presence?

Once you catch yourself solidly in someone else’s business, find the practices that support you in disengaging and realigning with your true self, getting solid within your core.

How can you give yourself a break? How might you take some time and space away, for yourself? Putting the phone on Do Not Disturb, turning it off, or putting it away is one of the greatest things we can do for our own mental health these days. This little device can pull us out of the present more quickly than anything I know. It breaks connection with the person right in front of you (even having your silent phone out can do that - if it pings or chimes even more so). For more on that, check out Omega's article, "Put Down Your Device & Pick Up Your Life."

Also, if and when it makes sense, connect. Reach out. Listen to what’s up for the other person. You can share your concerns if there’s an opportunity to do so in a loving (non-lecturing) way, but it may be more valuable just to get together and listen, really listen.

Give yourself time for your own nourishment and nurturing. Are you eating in a way that truly feeds you, body, mind, and spirit? Are you getting the sleep you need? Drinking enough water? These are some of the basics, so start there.

Then, stretch a bit… when was the last time you just let yourself have fun? Played for no reason at all? Laughed out loud so hard you thought you’d pee your pants? Lazed around doing whatever you wanted for more than 5 minutes, without guilt or apology?

Nourishing our bodies, minds, hearts, and spirits is a worthwhile endeavor.   Unless and until we take care of ourselves, we’re going to keep showing up to life in a way we don’t like - frenzied, frantic, scared, angry, yelling…

Tune in to who you want to be and how you want to be, especially in this relationship. Do what you can to reconnect with that version of you.

Send out a prayer or light a candle for a person you love who you’re concerned about. Send love out through the airwaves - this fills you both up with this beautiful energy.

Send loving texts of support and don’t wait for or even expect a reply. Stop asking questions you don’t really want the answers to or won’t believe anyway.

Breathe and ease up. Consider that things might be ok (because maybe they really are). Let go of being the 911 operator, and maybe don’t be available for all the crises when they arrive. Stop being the one who thinks they have to connect all the dots.

Continue to learn and practice healthier, more effective, more intentional ways of being. Allow yourself to be imperfect and awkward as you try out things that might not come naturally. Discover the payoff for yourself.

What if?

What if things are working out in a way you can’t see or imagine? They might be. Isn’t it as possible as the disaster scenarios the mind so skillfully devises?

Permission to hope, to dream, and to remember that miracles happen all the time. You’ve heard the stories. Why couldn’t they be true for you or your loved one?

Remember to catch moments and appreciate the beauty that they offer. Lean into enchantment over fear. Rest into good enough and stop doing too much. Gentle yourself through the hard times. Remember, you are most worthy of your own love. And know that you are most certainly not alone in the struggles.

Thoughts?

How does this land with you? What are the ways you get back to your own business, your own center when life pulls you off? Please share in the comments. We learn together. We grow together. We find new ways when offered a fresh perspective.

And, if you would like to join Joanne Richards for her next (free program) Prescription for Peace on Saturday, December 10th, please register here. I find her offerings invaluable, and will be there! Maybe I'll see you! Who couldn't use a little more peace at this time of year?

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Catching Moments

11/25/2022

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It struck me recently how easy it is to miss the simple, little moments that make up most of life, waiting for some grand event - either a catastrophe or a wild victory. Which got me thinking how important it is to slow down, to pause much more regularly, in order to notice. To not miss what’s right here.

Fear... so adaptable...
I’ve also noticed how freaking adaptable fear is… it doesn’t go away. It just morphs from one thing to another. Once an issue feels pretty stable or secure, fear goes looking for what to worry about next.

And that’s why it’s important to pause from time to time and get some perspective. To say to yourself, “Self… would you have worried about this a year ago?” If the answer is “Hell no! This would have been better than anything I could have ever imagined…” well, then, we need to remind ourselves to notice what’s good and right in this moment. To appreciate it. To not miss it.

Will there always be things to be afraid of and worry about if you have that tendency? Sure! And, is it possible to keep the fear of what might be from getting in the way of the beauty of what’s right here? It is. With a lot of awareness and ability to take a step back.

That’s what I’ve been doing a lot lately. Finding myself getting caught up in a frenetic spin, checking myself with a sweet, “hey now, wait just a minute…” and reflecting. Seeking that perspective. Remembering how things have been much worse. Remembering that I have no idea what the future holds.

Coming into this moment and appreciating it for what it is.

Finding Beauty...
Cheryl Strayed shares her mother’s sage wisdom to “put yourself in beauty’s way.”   What does that mean to you? To me, it means looking for beauty each and every day. Beauty in the physical world and also beauty at the heart level - beautiful interactions, small, simple moments - a shared hug, a shared tear, a shared laugh, or a quiet moment alone. All beautiful in their own way.

And in Keep Moving: Notes on Loss, Creativity, and Change, Maggie Smith shares how she and her children regularly call out to one another for “beauty emergencies!” Come see the sunset before it’s gone. Catch the eagle in flight! Take in the beauty of the snow softly falling. Let everything else wait and come here right now. This is an emergency! I love it!!

To me all of these reminders call me back to my quest to live life while I’m here. To not miss the things that matter - saying yes to invitations and opportunities to be with people I love. Prioritizing the things and people who matter most to me and to my heart and soul. Finding gratitude - each and every day, no matter my mood, no matter the circumstances, it’s there waiting for me. Finding it helps to balance perspective even on dark, sad, scary days.

Finding One Good Thing...
This month my friend, Christine Callahan Oke proposed that for the month of November we share One Good Thing per day - #onegoodthing - and it’s been great. Knowing that every day I will find something to share that is it for me that day. Seeing what others are noticing and appreciating. I think I may just keep it going even beyond November. Why not? It’s these simple practices that help us build our resilience, our appreciation, and our presence in life.

Life is made of many moments. Sometimes the simplest are the sweetest. Let them be enough. Let go of waiting for the grand event or the grand finale. It really is the steps along the way that create the journey that is our life.

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