The Thrill of Camp
I never went to sleepover camp as a kid. The idea of being away from home and sharing a cabin with strangers was the furthest thing from my idea of fun. But when Patti Digh announced her Design Your Life Camp, complete with inspiring speakers, art-making and a talent show, I leaped at the opportunity.
Some of my favorite teachers and writers will be offering workshops and there’s even a full-day writing course the day before camp begins. This is a real gift to myself to indulge in so much creative fun. And I’ll finally get to meet many friends I’ve connected with on Facebook and spend time with other friends who I haven’t seen in a few years.
As if that all wasn’t enough.
Patti also invited campers to submit proposals to be a speaker on the topic of courage, and also to lead creative art sessions.
Of course I submitted proposals for both.
And both of my proposals were selected!
Can I tell you how excited I am?
One of my next big dreams is to speak to groups, encouraging folks to claim their own dreams and offering tangible, do-able action steps to make it happen.
My seven minute motivational camp presentation is entitled, “The Courage to Give Up a Good Life for a Great Life,” and it is the story of how I manifested my own dream to leave my life in Arizona to live and work at the ocean. During the speech I offer folks inspirations and strategies for beginning their own journey towards that thing that makes their whole being light up.
And my creative session is a direct follow-up to this speech, giving campers an opportunity to take action and make their own travel-size dream altar so that they have a touchstone to keep them focused on their dream.
Even though camp isn’t until Oct 2, I’ve got a lot of work to do before then. I have a speech to write and slides to create. (They’re going to be mostly beautiful pictures of the ocean and the beach.)
And I’ve got to get my art supplies to Atlanta so I don’t have to carry them on the plane with me.
I’m sure my excitement and my big WHY will keep me energized and working and I’ll be ready in no time.
And hey, if you want to join me at camp, there are still spaces left. Check out the website for all of the details.
[ssba]Looking Back to Move Forward
Exactly one year ago I pulled my RV into the Morro Strand RV Park with the intention of staying in the RV long enough to find a house to rent. Living here, I would connect with the local Apple stores and continue to provide one on one onsite training for Mac users.
My bigger why for choosing THIS area, this small beach town off the beaten path on the central coast of California, was so that I could be outside more, walk more, breathe deeper, write every day and explore how else I wanted to do my best work in the world.
Fast forward 365 days and I am, once again parked in the Morro Strand RV Park.
But nothing else from that day last year is the same.
I stopped looking for a house to rent when I realized how much I prefer living in my 24 foot motorhome. I have everything I need: bathroom, shower, microwave, bed, ample room for my printer and technology, unlimited wifi, and it’s relatively inexpensive, especially compared to renting a house with the same beach access.
And I don’t do any on-site training. I now work with clients all over the world through the magic of virtual technology, both one on one and in group classes.
I am walking much more than ever before and feeling more present and flexible in my body. And, until the summer began, I was writing every day.
If I had known how brave I’d have to be to move to a place where I didn’t know anyone, I’m not sure I would have been able to do it. But I’ve found ways to meet people and, once I realized it would take some time, I eased into the unfolding of it all.
Even though I have wheels underneath me, I have no desire to travel. For me, it’s more about settling in, connecting to the community here. And so I have joined a new yoga community where I sometimes co-teach a yoga and writing class. I am now a recognized regular at my favorite Taco Temple restaurant. And I’m the Hospitality Chairperson for the annual Morro Bay Winter Bird Festival.
There are days when I berate myself for not doing more. I still haven’t gone kayaking, or connected with the folks at the indie bookstore or explored options to lead more workshops.
Is it laziness or is my plate still pretty full with change? Have I fallen into such an easy rhythm of life on vacation that I’m slacking off on the growth?
Every time I think I am not doing enough, my friends remind me that I am brave and courageous and living my dream, one day at a time. They assure me that I am on the biggest adventure of my life and that I am doing exactly what I need to do, at the right pace.
And so, from this day forward, with curiosity and kindness and an open heart, I choose to focus on gratitude for what is now and what else I want to dream and where I might see myself 365 days from now.
[ssba]Listening In
It was a hard week last week. The stress of the weekend festival and sitting outside in the blowing winds really knocked me for a loop. Everything settled in my chest, of course, as a deep hacking cough. My body was sore, I had no appetite, my head was stuffy and I really couldn’t think clearly.
All I knew was that the vendor’s life was not for me.
And yet I felt an obligation to still participate in the Morro Bay Merchants Street Fair in August, since I’d already reserved a booth and told people I’d be there.
I felt that I should do it because it’s for a cause bigger than me. And couldn’t I, just once, think beyond my own comfort and needs?
I thought of people with jobs that are always this hard. Construction workers who haul heavy things all day long, nurses who work 12 hour shifts, lifting people twice their size, with no breaks for lunch or even the bathroom, and the road crews in Phoenix who stand outside in blazing hell heat, spreading hot tar on melting black asphalt, and roofers in attics when it’s 120 OUTSIDE… and farmers and crop pickers, and bakers who have to get up so early in the day to start the dough.
So why should I have it so easy?
But each time I envisioned setting up and taking down my booth for the one day event, my whole body reeled. And it wasn’t just the physical labor. It was some deeper knowing that, yes, more people would be at the fair, but was it really the best venue for the Prayer Flag Project?
But with the stuffiness in my head, I couldn’t tell what was the real truth. And the biggest surprise was how much I was torturing myself with it.
That’s when I got sick.
I called my dear friend Marika and cried and shared how I was really feeling. She supported my choice either way about doing the fair and suggested that I wait until I felt better to decide for sure.
But I knew, even in the haze of my head cold, that giving myself permission to cancel wasn’t enough. I had to decide and do it if I wanted to start feeling better.
So I emailed the organizer and cancelled my booth, even though I probably won’t get a refund.
Sure, I’m disappointed that I won’t experience the good stuff of the event: connecting with people, watching kids make their own flags, seeing people really feel the love of the project.
But I also know…I’ll find another way…
So I am not doing the street fair this weekend in Morro Bay. But I will attend as a spectator since it should be a fun afternoon outing.
As for the Prayer Flag Project, I am already making lists of who I can contact to co-create some special events that feature the project as a joint fundraising activity. Of course, I’ll keep you posted.
[ssba]Journal from the Prayer Flag Project
Friday evening:
The RV is parked and we are settling into our weekend home at the back end of the Vet’s hall parking lot in Cambria for our inaugural Community Prayer Flag festival event. My EZ-UP tent is set up, thanks to the help of one of the event coordinators, and Laddy and I are now relaxing as the sun goes down.
Highway 1 is loud behind me, the dinette window faces the parking lot where the fair be. Looking east, past the tents, past Main Street is Happy Hill, a very steep mountain with worn dirt roads that lead up to four story houses built into the side of the hill. Pine trees, thick and tall, tower twice as high as the houses.
Right now there are only a handful of booths set up. I can see my booth, the white canopy top flapping a little in the breeze, the concrete-weighted cylinders that are suspended alongside the canopy legs keeping everything stable. My chairs and tables are piled on the ground under the canopy for set up in the morning when I’ll also string the rope and then clothes pin the flags all around the booth. I can’t wait to see them all flying in the breeze. It’s going to be beautiful!
Saturday evening:
It turns out it’s a pretty small fair. Only half of the booth spots are filled. People trickled by all day, some walking right past my booth to the noisy wind chimes behind me. Others stopped to look, touch, ooh and aww at the beautiful flags. One woman shared that she was having heart surgery this coming week and that she could use all the prayers she could get, so I invited her to stand in the middle of the booth and feel the love.
A couple from LA was so touched by the project that they invited me to participate in an event at their synagogue in March. They bought a set of blank flags to show the committee.
And the folks from the campground with their twin teen grandsons came and it was fun to talk with the adults while the boys enjoyed drawing mandalas.
But it was a long day with very few actual sales. In the evening, Laddy and I walked around to stretch our legs but I was in bed by nine, to get ready for another day.
Sunday morning:
We slept well, and I took my time getting out to the booth for the 9 am opening. And this time Laddy joined me. He was happy to sit in the middle of the booth, watching people, sniffing, even letting people pet him. After an hour I took him back to the RV so he could relax.
More people came but still, there were very few buyers. In fact, most of the vendors were complaining about poor sales. And yet, I didn’t let it get me down. I focused on WHY I was doing this as I watched the wind blow the flags and carry all of the love and good wishes into the breeze. And I continued to invite folks to experience my booth of love.
Two young sisters sat down with their mom and grandmom and it was a delight to witness three generations of love at one table.
Two different people said I should contact the Art Museum and the Children’s Museum in San Luis Obispo. And one woman, a long time cancer survivor, encouraged me to contact the Hearst Cancer Center.
A teen girl approached the booth, her face beaming and she said, “You are so lucky. It’s all so beautiful!”
Some folks talked about how they were going to go home and do this with their kids, and others mused that they could even make a quilt with the squares.
I loved all of the connecting and sharing but, by three o’clock, I was ready to pack up and be home. At four thirty I started unpinning the flags and folding them up. One of the organizers helped me fold down the canopy and I took my time loading everything back into the RV before driving home. After sixteen hours of booth sitting, I made $60.00.
Sunday evening:
I was so exhausted when I pulled into the RV Park. I had to first move my car out of my spot, then back the RV in. The park ws surprisingly full and there was a very long trailer parked opposite my spot, making the turn to back in really tight. I was so tired that I just didn’t want to do it.
So I said to the man near where I had pulled up my car, “I’m so tired I wonder if you could…” and before I could finish the sentence he put down his bbq fork and said, “do you need help backing in?”
Yes, please.
Good thing, too, because I would not have been watching the top overhang of the RV as I made the precarious turn. But he was watching and we backed in on the first try.
I plugged in the electricity and recharged all of my technology but decided to save hooking up the sewage until I’m ready to dump again. I did reconnect to the main water supply so I’d have better water pressure in my morning shower..
As for the fair, it was not a monetarily profitable experience. But, as experiments go, I got a lot of bang for my buck.
I learned that I loved interacting with the kids who sat down to draw. encouraging them to draw whatever they felt, offering samples, checking to see if they needed more prompting or not. And how delighted they were with their creations.
I loved hearing what a great project this is, how people’s faces lit up as they touched the artist made flags hanging all around the booth.
And I’m convinced that the project is worthy of pursuing.
It manifests and generates love and well wishes in the world through something beautiful and accessible to everyone.
It offers people an opportunity to share love, blessings, prayers for themselves, someone they know, the whole world.
And the artist-made flags make the booth so beautiful and inviting and inspiring.
But this festival vendor life is not for me. It’s too physical-the heavy weights, the tables and chairs, and all of the sitting! I am so grateful for Laddy-he motivated me to get up and take walks. And I stretched. But I am stiff, and achy, and tired. To the bone tired.
In the next few days as I rest and recuperate, I’ll assess and re-assess what worked, what I liked, and what needs to change.
But for now, I’m just feeling the love.
I’m so grateful to the artists that created flags that made the booth so beautiful. I’m grateful to the folks who stopped and noticed and connected with the project. And I’m so grateful to you, dear reader, for cheering me on and being a part of this growing project.
Feel free to leave a comment below!
[ssba]Loving What Is
I’ve been at the new RV park for two weeks and even I am surprised at how easily I have settled in. I love being in the midst of all of the summer activity of campers coming and going, watching the families, talking with folks, even if it’s just to say good morning. There is more movement around me, a diverse mix of people and demographics, families and seniors and, this weekend, several gay male couples.
Last weekend my neighbors were vendors at the Art in the Park festival. I talked with them about their booth, the crowds, and, on Sunday, I even took the summer trolley into town to stroll through the park.
Morro Bay is a tourist town and, even though I’m on the north end of town, out of the direct crowds, I still like feeling like a part of the fun. And I love, when we ask each other hold long we’re staying, that I get to say, I’ll be here through Labor Day.
Knowing this is my home grounds me. I’m not searching for a house, lamenting where I am not, or focusing on what’s not perfect. I am completely here.
And I am loving what is.
I love the constant sounds of the gulls, calling from their perch on the lamp posts, crying as they fly, kow, kow, kow, not quite in sync with the flapping of their wings.
I love waking up to a cool gray sky, Morro Rock completely covered in marine layer fog, and being able to wear a sweatshirt in the early mornings and evenings.
Laddy and I take our long morning walk through a canopy of Monterey pines that parallels the tall dunes and the ocean. The ground is mulchy and soft, easy on our hips and joints and, when I stop to listen, even if I can’t see the water, I can hear the waves rolling. The trail is stick heaven for Laddy and I pick one up and throw it for him to bound after and immediately find another to throw.
One thing that has been a challenge is that the campsite is gravel. The large, jagged rocks are hard on Laddy’s feet, even with the outdoor carpeting. And the RV sits higher up and his ramp into the RV is much steeper.
Last week he jumped down as usual from the RV but, instead of using the steps he took the three foot leap and stubbed his toe in the gravel. He didn’t cry but he was definitely limping. We took a short walk then he went back into the RV. But later that afternoon, he refused to come down.
I started imagining the worst, that if he could no longer get in and out of the RV, I’d have to put him to sleep. And I was a basket case.
Friends suggested he just needed to rest, that perhaps I could set up the ramp for coming down too. He hesitated, but I lured him with some turkey pastrami and now he is using the ramp for getting in and out of the RV.
I am no longer spinning into the future with grief, but grateful that I found a solution that he is willing and able to work with it. He’s no longer limping and I even found a way to raise the ramp so it’s not quite so steep.
Sure, it’s a lot easier to love what is when Laddy isn’t limping, and my hormones aren’t raging. But this is a great way to practice, to find the small things in each day, each moment, to embrace and say thank you.
And when Laddy IS limping, it’s an opportunity for me to tune in deeper to his needs, to find new ways to support his tender joints, to appreciate just sitting with him and looking into his rich orange-brown eyes and feeling the love.
[ssba]Roadblocks and Detours
In celebration of FOUR YEARS of writing this weekly blog (!!!) I’m re-posting one of my very first articles, about how our thoughts often hold us back from our dreams.
Thank you for your support, your readership and for joining me on this amazing journey!
Imagine you are driving down a road, admiring the scenery, going at a steady, comfortable pace. You know you are on your path, headed in the right direction.
Suddenly, you have to stop because a giant, thick-trunked tree has fallen across the entire width of the road.
You get out of the car and assess the situation. Maybe you’re mad that you’ve been stopped when you were moving so smoothly. Maybe you try to figure out why the tree fell. Maybe you attempt to push it out of the way, see if you can drive over it or around it.
Maybe you just stand there, helpless, idealess, stuck.
It can be very tempting to get so consumed with what is stopping us, that we forget that there are other options. That we can turn the car around and find a new path.
I was working with a client who was so consumed with trying to figure out what was holding him back from growing his new business that the figuring out itself was holding him back.
We talked about ways to step aside from needing to figure it out and possibly just taking a step toward his new business.
I asked him what one thing he could do to feel movement forward. He said, “I have to write a blurb about the business.” Now, this man is articulate, loves to write, knows exactly what he wants to tell people about his business. And so I said, “Really, the blurb is holding you back?” and he laughed, “Yeah, I know.”
So I asked him what was he really afraid of, and, after some thought, he shared that, in his previous jobs, his work consumed his life. He was afraid of falling into that workaholic mentality again. Once he realized that, this time, he was his own boss, and that he could choose when to work and how much to work, that he could document his hours and see how much time he was devoting to his clients, he was able to see the control he really had.
He devised a schedule and a reasonable plan for contacting clients. And that night, he wrote his blurb.
What are your roadblocks?
How can you turn them around?
Please share by clicking on the Comments below.
UPDATE: Four years later, my client has maintained a beautiful balance between work and play. His business has expanded, he travels often and he’s lost 50+ pounds. And every picture he posts on Facebook reflects a content and confident man living the life of his dreams.
[ssba]
Leaving Paradise
I love where I live. I love my neighbors and the quirky community of retirees and working folks, weekend campers and full-time RVers. I love the laid back pace of the sleepy beach town. And, of course, I love having such easy access to one of the most beautiful beaches on the California coast.
When I pulled in last September, I was very aware that, come the summer, I’d probably have to leave to make room for people who have long-standing reservations. So I made my own reservations at the RV Park where I stayed when I first arrived on the coast last August.
Still, I was trying to stir up all kinds of mojo magic that there would be a last minute cancellation and I’d get to stay.
Several friends reminded me that I would end up exactly where I am meant to be. And I realized they were right. So I stopped hoping to stay and started opening to what I could look forward to at the other RV Park.
While the Morro Bay RV Park is more expensive than where I am now, the price does include cable TV and free wi-fi. And Morro Bay is ten degrees cooler and less sunny than here, which is actually a BONUS perk for Laddy and me because neither one of us is comfortable above 75°. It’s closer to town and shopping and yoga and there are lots of great walking opportunities. And there are no hills!
As the holiday weekend approaches, Paradise Park is filling with big families, loud boom boxes and kids riding their bikes up and down the hills, oblivious to the cars driving through. And the big Fourth of July fireworks show at the end of the pier would certainly freak Laddy out, even with his Thundershirt on.
The new park is quieter, smaller and not in a touristy part of town. I’m really going to appreciate that.
So this Thursday I’ll be headed five miles south to the no frills RV Park in Morro Bay. It’s a gravel parking lot with minimal privacy and no view. It’s right next to a spacious neighborhood park and it’s an easy two block walk to a spectacular view of the ocean. It’s a trek over the dunes and soft sand to get to the water, but Laddy and I have done it.
It would be so easy for me to lament having to leave this paradise. But if I focus on what I will be missing, I will be sad and stuck in a feeling of lack. So instead, I’m choosing to embrace what I will be gaining.
And I can always come back to Paradise to visit the neighbors, walk on the beach, even enjoy some fish and chips at a favorite restaurant near the pier.
I’m looking forward to the new experience, the new place, the change in the weather. And I’m sure I’ll also be glad when we come home, after the tourist season is over.
Learning to Fish
Me and my Dad in our matching senior glasses on a boat tour around Morro Bay
My father is visiting me in CA this week as part of our Father’s Day celebrating. This is the first time in my life that I’ve lived someplace further than 30 miles from him (not counting crazy summers in my 20’s), so this is a new experience for both of us.
My dad loves museums and science, and he wants us to see things that I haven’t yet explored on my own. So yesterday we went on a Sub-Sea boat tour in Morro Bay to learn about the marine life by actually seeing underwater through the big windows in the lower deck of the boat.
My dad has always been the fun guy to do things with. Throughout my childhood, we went places together while my mom stayed home. Everywhere from Goony Golf and the Burger Basket, where we always ordered the fried shrimp and french fries and an A&W root beer, to Robert Moses State Beach on the end of Long Island, where he taught me how to fish.
We’d walk up and down one pier and then the other, watching people cast their clear lines over the rail and into the water. I loved the sound of us walking on the wooden boards of the pier, clomp clomping past men and boys leaning against the wooden rails or sitting in webbed folding chairs, surrounded by buckets and fishing poles and tackle boxes.
My father and I would stop to look in their buckets and ask them what they had. Often we saw flounders and sometimes there was a gray blowfish, still filled with air, lying in the bottom of the bucket. Always there were screeching seagulls perched on the rails and circling overhead. While my father talked to the men I would lean through the rails and watch the colored balls bob on the wavy water.
I was usually the only girl on the pier. There were other kids my age, but only boys. It didn’t bother me and it didn’t seem to bother my father either. He always said that “whatever a man can do, a woman can do instead.”
After several trips to the pier my father said I was ready to fish. We picked a spot away from the other people and set our things down on the wooden planks. My father had his own tackle box. It was green plastic, about the size of a shoe box with a silver clasp to keep it closed. Inside were two removable trays with more than a dozen compartments.
My father showed me the hooks and the weights and the colored balls and then picked out a teardrop-shaped weight and slipped it onto the end of his fishing rod. “Now you need a bobber so you’ll be able to see where your line is.” I picked a red ball from the box and my father showed me how to slide it on near the weight.
I leaned against the railing and my father stood behind me and put his big hands on top of mine on the smooth cork handle of the rod. “Look behind you and make sure there’s no one near you,” he said. Then slowly, he guided the rod around and behind us, lifting it up and swinging it forward.
The reel made a spinning whirring sound and the bright red bob at the end of the pole flew through the air and landed in the water about thirty feet in front of us. “Now reel it in and we’ll do it again.” “But when are we going to start fishing?” I asked. “When you remember to look around before you swing your pole.”
I turned the spinner until the line was wound back in and we practiced casting together a few more times. Then my father stepped to the side so I could try it by myself. The first few times the weight barely made it over the rail. When I was able to hit the water four times in a row, my father said I was ready to bait my hook.
We had stopped at the bait stand at the pier where my father bought a cup of worms. They were slithering in the plastic container and I refused to touch them. “If you want to fish you’re going to have to get used to the squiggling.”
I watched him take a small sharp hook out of the tackle box and attach it to the end of my pole. Then he picked a worm out of the container and, as he started to hook it on the end, I had to close my eyes. He handed me the baited pole and I held it as far away from me as possible. I was afraid if I didn’t cast it right, the worm would rub against me.
I looked all around me, then held the pole out from my body and swung it around and up and out. The reel whirred and the red ball landed about twenty feet out in the water. I was fishing!
I stood there next to my father, watching my marker bob on the water. I looked through the slats beneath my sneakered feet, mesmerized by the waves sloshing against the wooden legs of the pier.
I asked my father what made the waves. He started to explain in big scientific words about tides and the moon. “Never mind,” I said. I felt a tug on the line. “Reel it in. Slowly.”
My heart raced as I wound the spinner. When my line finally surfaced I saw that it was just some seaweed. I brought the line in and my father carefully removed the green slime. The worm was gone.
“You need more bait.” I looked into the wormy container. “I can’t. Do it for me. Please.” He put another worm on the hook. “Next time we’ll buy plastic worms.”
I cast my line back in and waited. I kept my eyes on the bobber moving up and down in the slapping water and imagined a giant fish eating the worm. I held my hand on the spinner, ready to reel it in. But the seaweed was the only thing I caught that day.
My father and I never caught a fish. But a lot of times I hooked a starfish. I was always squeamish about touching it, but it was so pretty that I did anyway. The tops of the five arms were rough and there were rows of hair-like fibers on it’s belly. I’d put it down on the pier and watch to see if it moved. It never did. Then I’d throw it back in the water.
Once I caught one with only four arms. My father said that if a starfish loses an arm it grows a new one. I wanted to take it home so I could watch it grow back but my father said no, it would smell too much. So I threw it back into the water like I always did.
Tomorrow I’m taking my Dad to the Cayucos Pier where people fish for perch and sanddabs. We’ll clomp clomp along the wooden boards and peer into people’s buckets and maybe someone will even catch a starfish.
Feel free to share your favorite Dad stories by clicking on the Comments!
Speak Up, Sing Out, Share Your Authentic Voice
One of the many things I’ve learned these past few years is how important the voice is. When we add sound to our movements, to our thoughts, to our sentences, the energy expands.
And yet, so many people are not comfortable making sounds, speaking up, being heard.
Listen around you to how quietly some people speak, even and especially when they are talking about something important.
Growing up, so many of us were told to Be Quiet. Many of us were told we had bad singing voices, so we should just mouth the words. And we have accepted these statements as truth, settling back into shameful silence.
Until today.
If we want to be heard, we must be learn to be comfortable using our voice.
We must believe that our words, our ideas, our perspectives are valuable and worthy of sharing. And that we have a right to speak up, speak out, even sing out.
Several years ago, a client shared that she used to love to sing. But her 3rd grade music teacher told her she was off key so should just mouth the words. For all those years in between she kept quiet, not even singing in the shower.
And then one night, after a powerful Living Room Ladies gathering, she attended her granddaughter’s birthday party and got up and sang karaoke. And she loved it. She couldn’t believe how fun it was and how much she had missed all these years.
When we don’t use our voice, we lose our voice, both literally and figuratively. Maybe we are more prone to sore throats or coughing. Maybe we feel like we are never heard. Maybe we don’t tell our own truth, for fear that we won’t be accepted.
Recently, in a different Living Room Ladies group, I asked each woman to write an affirmation that would guide her toward the more joyful, more authentic life she desired. One woman wrote, “I am honest about who I am and not afraid to voice it.”
This single sentence suddenly gives her permission to speak up for herself. And with practice, she will even be comfortable doing it.
So how can you get more comfortable with your voice?
Perhaps you can begin with just sighing an audible sound when you exhale. Notice if your sound is quiet, or fully supported by your outgoing breath.
Making silly sounds with your voice also opens up the channels. Singing gibberish silliness is a great way to reconnect with your voice. Find a young child and sing with them–they will certainly not judge you.
EVEN IF YOU THINK YOU CAN’T SING, DO IT ANYWAY.
Creating the vibration in your throat will reverberate into your heart and your entire body. Try it. Feel it.
Add words to the sounds.
Sing your affirmation.
Raise the volume so you are really heard! Having the support of strong breathing will also help you sing more in tune.
Sing it loud. Sing it proud. Sing it long. Sing it strong.
Begin to claim your voice and all that you are here to share!
I’d love to hear how you play with your voice, how you practice being heard. Please share your story with me and my readers by clicking on the Comments below.
Also, I am starting to visualize a new Living Room Ladies group. This time we’ll meet virtually, because, from my experiences with my Wisdom Council Mastermind I now see that you CAN form deep, intimate, trusting relationships without meeting in person. If you’re interested in more information, email me. To find out what the Living Room Ladies is, click on the link above!
[ssba]What’s Now?
For those of you who are wondering, I did not get the cute cottage. And I’m OK with it.
Like John Steinbeck said, “If it is right, it happens. The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.”
And so I am re-focused on what is, what I need to be and do NOW to best support the work I do and the life I live.
***
Our lives are so full that most of us feel like we’re always catching up or trying to getting ahead, move forward.
Some days, the best thing we can do for ourselves is to pause. To completely stop rushing and doing and striving and simply BE exactly where we are.
This shift in rhythm can open us up to opportunities to notice our accomplishments and revel in how far we’ve come. Instead of pushing further, we have a chance to breathe into the present moment and check in with ourselves. What do I REALLY need right now? What do I REALLY want to do?
Maybe you need a nap. Maybe you need a cool glass of water. Maybe you want to call a friend just to tell them you’re thinking of them.
When we’re always focused on what’s next, what else, what more.…several things can happen:
- we don’t appreciate what we’ve already done
- we often don’t realize how tired we are
- we don’t honor what we really would rather be doing or not doing
So I invite you to try a new phrase. Instead of asking What’s Next, consider What’s Now.
Bring your conscious awareness to this moment, where are you Right Now. Breathe into your belly and follow your breathe in and out, noticing its pattern, its rhythm, its presence in your body.
And ask yourself, What’s Now?
In this moment, how can I best support myself and what I do and feel and need and dream? What’s Now?
Do this often enough and you will notice a shift within yourself. You may be less cranky, more patient, more compassionate with yourself and others. By slowing down and paying attention to the here and the now of life, you’ll even being to notice some magic. And I can’t wait to hear about it!
