My Mother’s Things
With less than 30 days till Moving Day, I have started to pack and sort through my stuff. I have boxes filled with what to keep, what to give away. I recently went through some of my mother’s things, asking the same questions.
There is a lot of energy in things. Taking time to sort through them can bring us clarity, space and memories, of course.
There was no urgency. My father wasn’t moving out of the house. And he has his own closet so it wasn’t even a matter of needing the space. Still, I knew we needed to remove my mother’s clothes from the closet, empty her dresser drawers, clear out everything that was hers that wasn’t hers anymore.
I had put it off for so long that, almost two years after she had died, my father finally did it without me. He quick-folded everything into four large black trash bags and brought them over to my house one afternoon before we went out for burgers. He wanted me to go through the bags before donating them to Goodwill. I live in a very small house so there was no place to stash the bags and avoid the task any longer.
That evening I untwisted the bag tie on the biggest bag. The top item was my mother’s velour bathrobe, magenta with embroidered pink flowers, that zipped from her neck to her calves. She wore it all of the time around the house over a turtleneck and nightgown because the house was always too cold for her.
Tears rushed, no surprise, but it was too much for that moment. I wasn’t ready. I folded it back into the bag and took Laddy for a dog walk.
When I got back I tried again, this time with the intention of just seeing what there was, what might be donate-able, what might fit me or a friend. And I started with a different bag.
It was easier to sort through her pants and skirts. Somehow they were just things that she had mail-ordered and there was less emotion attached to them.
The bag of her tops was a little harder since I had picked many of them out for her on our various shopping trips. The pink with green floral scoop neck from Macy’s that lit up her face, the denim, short-sleeved checkered button up, the light blue cotton long sleeved shirt with the snaps down the front for easy chemo access.
I put the snap shirt in the save-for-me pile next to a long sleeved brown LL Bean t-shirt and a black mock turtleneck, smiling that my mom was providing me with warm clothes for my pending beach life.
I put the six pairs of her brand new, not yet worn white briefs in the donation pile along with the powder blue knee-highs from the hospital with the rubber-like traction lines on the bottom and several pairs of beige nylon peds, the only socks my mother ever wore.
I paused at the two matching brown corduroy jackets. When we bought them, I wore the 16 and she wore the 18. A year later both of our weights had changed and we had swapped sizes. Now neither one fit me. I checked the pockets, then put both of them in the pile for my friend to try on.
I didn’t linger on the three pairs of Andrew Green slippers marked with the indentations of my mother’s slender toes. I didn’t stop to reminisce about the yellow t-shirt with the birdhouse on it that she bought because it reminded her of Marika’s love for birds. I didn’t even pause to hug the softness of her nightgowns to my face. I worked fast, detached, focused on the task.
I had sorted through my mother’s clothes with her several months before she passed. She’d sat on her bed in her magenta robe as I pulled her largest sized clothing from the closet. They were from eight years ago, fifty pounds ago, before she was originally diagnosed.
Together, we pared down her wardrobe to the few things that really fit so that she could buy new clothes. It was always a fun outing for us, even though neither one of us enjoyed shopping.
I’d push her wheelchair through the narrow aisles of the Macy’s Women’s department, the racks of sleeves sometimes brushing her arms as we passed. Some days we found nothing. Other times she’d end up with a stack of possibilities on her lap and then I’d wheel her into the handicapped dressing room to begin the fashion show. Sometimes I’d find something too and try it on and she’d happily add it to her purchases.
And always, after shopping, we’d go out for lunch. We’d sit across from each other in a booth so she could prop her back against the softness of the cushions and her traveling pillow. She’d tell me about her recent get together with a friend or what she wrote about in her class at the senior center. I’d tell her about our last camping trip, or the next creativity class I was leading or ask for her input on a particular situation.
She was happy to offer a suggestion, a solution to the problem. But she phrased it as a possibility, as something I might want to consider, not with the words “you should” or, “what you need to do.”
She said she learned that from me, from our many conversations when she vented about my father. Instead of telling her what to do, I’d sit back and listen, asking her what she needed from me, from my dad, from the situation. Often, it was enough that she could just talk about it and be heard.
Some days we’d have those same conversations at the kitchen table when my father was out food shopping or watching the Leher News Hour in the family room. She’d be wearing her magenta robe if she was cold, or a turtleneck with no bra, whichever was more comfortable.
Remembering this, I reopened the bag with her robe in it, and it was easier somehow, to move it to the donation pile. I sorted through the rest and, as I folded the last turtleneck into the pile for my friend, I was delighted with the size of the stacks of things I had saved for her and me.
A few days later, after I had delivered the bags to Goodwill, I found a single beige nylon peds sock on my living room floor. It was camouflaged on the earth toned carpet and I almost didn’t see it.
I remembered when my mother went through her first round of chemo and was too weak to put on her own socks and shoes. She had sat propped against three pillows in her bed, her robe tucked around her while I slid the socks over her feet and toes.
I have no use for a single beige ped sock. I certainly don’t need a canoe shaped piece of nylon to remember my mother. But I had already dropped off the donation bags and I just couldn’t throw it away. So I kept it. At least until I have another bag of donations to fill.
[ssba]Finding Home, Part 2
“When you set out on the path, the path begins to materialize, but not before.”
– Susan Piver
Any adventure is a path. It meanders, it gets bumpy. It might even dead end. But if you keep moving forward, one step at a time, it will lead you where you need to go.
If you’ve been following my moving adventures to live on the Central Coast of California, the last you heard, I didn’t get my “dream house” and I was waiting to hear about the back up man’s house. (If you missed Part 1 you can click to read it here.)
Still, I had my going away gathering as planned and it was so lovely to have my friends and family all together, talking, eating, creating prayer flags for me to hang in my new home. There were no tears or sad goodbyes since I still didn’t have a place or a moving date.
An hour before the party I saw a listing on Craig’s list-not for a house like the “dream house” but for a furnished studio on the ground floor of a solar home a block from the bay.
It was not at all what I had been looking for.
But the idea of living in a small, temporary space that was furnished and in the prime-est of prime locations intrigued me. It could be a transition space, and I would just take the bare essentials for living and running my businesses.
I wouldn’t have the pressure of paying a huge rent, I wouldn’t have to hire a moving company to bring all of my belongings. I wouldn’t even have to rush to connect with new clients.
I would use the space and time and my savings to ease into my new surroundings and explore how and what I want to create in my new world.
I shared the photos at the party and everyone was excited about this new option. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t a full kitchen since I rarely cook.
The space was big enough, full of light and the best part was how close it is to so many dog-friendly trails along the bay.
I replied to the ad with several questions and got a brief but incomplete answer. The next day the listing was gone.
Was this just another stone along the path, just to get me to consider this new option of a transition space?
I checked the listings for other studios and one bedrooms but found nothing as big or as close to the water as the no-longer-listed solar studio.
And then, finally, Mr. Back-Up House Man called to say no, he wasn’t interested in renting his house right now.
BAM! It was official. I had no plan and no place to live. After three weeks of being comfortable with the not knowing, suddenly I was stressing and wondering if I was ever going to move.
I kept reminding myself that yes, I am meant to live there, that everything would unfold as it needed to and that I just needed to stay clear and focused on my WHY.
I envisioned how I would spend my days if I lived this simple life. I calculated how much I’d need to work and what kind of work I wanted to do in the first three months. I imagined walking with Laddy along the bay trails, breathing deeply and easily, the clean bay air healing my lungs and opening my heart.
Out of nowhere, I got an email from a realtor in San Luis Obispo, a colleague of a client’s daughter, who wanted to connect even though she didn’t do property management anymore. It was a wonderful reminder that things were working on my behalf, even without my knowledge.
And the next day I got an email from the furnished solar studio woman with updated information and a reposting of her ad. Seems she is in the middle of some big project and medical issues and can’t deal with the rental until mid June, but, if I was “very very serious” I could call her.
Could I commit without seeing the space? Was I really ready to let go of all of my “stuff” and begin my new life small and simple and in a studio apartment?
I made lists of what I would need to bring: clothing, technology, inflatable bed, a few office supplies, linens, dog food, service for four. I imagined the fun of thrift-storing and yard sale-ing for the rest as needed.
I made more lists of what I could donate and what things I would box up and store at my dad’s house.
I even pieced together the floorplan of the studio using the different pictures to figure out how the room was really laid out.
I called the woman the following morning. She lives in the upstairs part of the house with her Bichon Frise and calico cat. She is dealing with some health issues so the studio is not yet ready to see. But after her June 12 project, she’ll hire some people to clear out everything that’s currently being stored in the space and I’ll move in on July 1st. Sight unseen, trusting that it will be clean and bright and furnished somewhat like the online photos indicate. I sent a small deposit with a note attached, outlining those expectations exactly.
It’s a leap, for sure.
But it’s grounded in a lot of faith and love. I know this is where I am meant to be. I feel so supported by my friends and family and clients. There is caution. And common sense. And getting everything in writing. But there is no fear. Really. Just a whole lot of open-hearted possibility.
click here to continue reading the story.
“This unique home is located on the central coast of California–one of the last unspoiled areas in the state. It is a beautiful one-of-a-kind elegant home–professionally remodeled, in a great location, quiet area one half block to Morro Bay–off the Pacific. The Efficiency/”Studio” covers most of the downstairs, with windows on three sides and will be for rent in late June. I am a retired, and disabled professional who lives upstairs and is very quiet. A sweet little Bichon Frise dog and beautiful small calico join the family and are not a bother.
If not familiar with the area, a stunning “little” Big Sur is only a 7 mile drive with many, many trails. The home area is perfect for wildlifers, walkers, bikers and canoe/kayakers, (park boats permanently along the shoreline). There are actually three completely separate nature areas around; one is 1/2 block to the Bay and the blackberry patch, another is a block and 1/2 to Sweet Springs Preserve, a tranquil bird estuary, wooden bridges and benches, huge trees, and walking trials alongside the Bay. The third area one block away is 180 degree many acred walking and sand inlet for kayak/boat mooring and playing with your dog!
One must see inside the very large Studio to truly appreciate it. The Efficiency is a segmented room that has a small kitchen. Access to laundry provided. This architecturally special home (it’s triangular!) has a 2.7 K full solar system on the roof, which supplies much of the electricity needs! Floors are bamboo, or fabulous cork that makes it one of the “greenest houses” in Los Osos. The Studio has high end Berber carpet and bamboo flooring in the full bath and two (one walk in) closets. It can be totally furnished and you may make choices in some cases, includes computer table, etc. The kitchen is easily partitioned off if desired. Refrigerator is 3/4. Lots of space and storage.
Available end of June, with minimum six to twelve month lease, renewable for responsible non-smoking, quiet person. References, pay for credit check to stay. $795/mo rent includes most utilities and furnishings (not necessarily what you see in photos). Two months deposit. Please make arrangements to see after June 15 and occupy shortly thereafter! Owner is occupied until that time and illness dictates not being disturbed until after June 15. Please e-mail after that time if interested.
Don’t Call It Dancing
One of my favorite tools I use with coaching clients is re-framing. I ask them to consider a thought, idea, problem, word, from a different perspective.
When we get locked into a single way of looking at something, we aren’t open to what else it might be.
I’ve been practicing this a lot lately, as my moving plans keep changing and shifting. The day after I sent in my deposit for my “dream house,” I found out the current tenants had decided not to move. After my initial disappointment, I accepted that it just wasn’t meant to be.
I called the man with the the backup house but he hasn’t returned my calls. So I’m taking that as a no. Last weekend I saw a furnished studio listed on Craig’s List. It was completely not what I was originally looking for, but I realized that it would give me the time and space and flexibility to more easily make the transition from here to there. I contacted them but they didn’t respond to my emails and then the listing was gone.
So I still don’t have a concrete where or when. But all of this has opened me up to new ways of contemplating exactly what I need right now: more of a transition house to ease into creating my new life.
I’m sure the universe is working very hard on my behalf to bring me exactly what I need. And I am breathing, allowing, and finding some fun in how it is all unfolding.
You can apply this re-framing to everything. Including dancing.
But don’t call it dancing. Because that will immediately make you self-conscious, like you have to know the steps, and look good, and be graceful.
Call it moving your body to music, instead.
And get yourself some tulle. You know, that fine, netted material that ballerinas wear as a tutu. It’s light, it’s pretty and it’s unpredictable.
It’s how I learned to move in my own body.
A friend had long ago given me a book called Juggling for Dummies. It came with three small pieces of white tulle, each about six inches long. The book instructed me to toss them up and catch them. Unlike plastic balls or bowling pins, the tulle was light and I could toss them high into the air, like scarves, and have plenty of time to position my hands and body to catch them before they hit the floor.
When I added music, my whole world changed. I wasn’t dancing, I was moving my body with the music. I’d toss a scarf high above me, extending my arms out through my fingertips to catch it. There was a lightness, a silliness in the movements that took away all self-consciousness.
I added my torso and legs into each stretch, reaching with my whole body. If I missed the scarf, I’d follow it toward the floor, bending and tucking, graceful as the scarves themselves floating in the air.
Always, I was following the scarf, not leading with my body.
Different music inspired different movements. I moved with classical and jazz and african drumming. I especially loved the slower music because it made me more aware of every turn and stretch of my arms and legs and torso. I played with stop motion, pausing with one foot up in the air, like I was in mid-step. Without even trying, I was building strength in my legs and improving my balance.
I added a second scarf, tossing them independently, moving my body left, then right to catch them both before they hit the floor. Sometimes I tossed them up together, rushing to catch both. Sometimes I let them intentionally float to the floor where I met them, my body curled like a ball, waiting.
I discovered that moving to a particular sad piece of music helped me grieve a recent breakup. My body could feel the sadness and the pain and the loss and release it without getting caught up in the story of it all.
Moving to music became a daily ritual, an afternoon act of creative expression. It was a wonderful interlude between my work day and my personal life.
These days, I move in the morning, after the dog walking and before I sit down to write. It gets me out of my head and reconnects me with my breath, my body and my heart.
I recently shared this movement practice at the Living Room Ladies Weekend Retreat. It was magical, watching them play with their scarves, moving freely and expansively in their bodies. They were smiling, laughing, completely present with each toss of the tulle.
And they have continued the practice at home, experimenting with different kinds of music and movements.
I invite you to get yourself some tulle, put on some music and move your body, following the scarves. (If you live in the Phoenix area, SAS Fabrics sells all colors of tulle, even with glitter, for less than $2.99/yd.)
[ssba]Making Your Wishes Known
On my birthday back in March, I was thrilled to start my day with my Rhythm of Being movement classmates. Before class, I stood in the doorway of another classroom, listening to the senior men of the Phoenix Men’s Choir rehearsing.
I so wanted to ask them to sing Happy Birthday to me. But they were deep in the practicing of E flats and A’s, and I didn’t want to interrupt.
I told my own teacher my wish and the next thing I knew, our class was walking down to the music room and yes, those fifteen men sang to me.
I stood in front of them, beaming, my eyes tearing, feeling so joyous as their strong song, their three part harmonies, their booming voices filled the room, filled my heart.
I was so glad that I hadn’t keep my wish to myself. That someone else was able to make it happen for me. It was one of the best happy birthday songs I’ve ever experienced.
So often we think we have to do everything for ourselves.
We don’t even think to ask someone else to help us make something happen. And yet, sometimes, we need the assistance of others to accomplish what we really want.
How can you ask for help to bring your deepest wishes and dreams to reality?
I’d love to hear your responses!
[ssba]Within a Quarter Mile
I’m participating in Patti Digh’s online writing class, VERBTRIBE:MASTER CLASS. Since February 1 when the first class began, I’ve been writing every day. Not a novel or short stories. Just writing. Every day.
Patti gives us prompts, and then more prompts that take us deeper. We only have two days to write and polish and post a piece. This has been the best part for me: writing and letting go of the need to edit it to perfection. Just posting it as it is in that finished moment.
Lately we’ve been focusing our attention and our writing on the world within a quarter mile of where we live. As I am packing and finalizing my moving to California plans, the writing has been an opportunity for me to honor and reflect on my time here in this house.
Here’s one of the pieces I wrote:
Like African Daises
I’ve walked this sidewalk every day for three and a half years.
Not counting
days off when I didn’t have the dogs.
Or I put my back out.
Or it was too hot.
Or I just didn’t feel like it.
I know the pine trees and the creosote and where
to stand to see the best angle of Squaw Peak.
I know which Jews are going to Young Israel across the street and
which ones are going to the Russian synagogue around the corner.
I know when the white winged doves will return for the summer.
I can tell you stories about how the Chihuahuas on the corner
held up traffic one morning.
And how the wild peach faced lovebirds stand their ground against the pigeons at my feeder.
I know the rhythm of the cars on Maryland Ave
and the daisies
that look like weeds at first
but wait a bit then
look closer and
you start to see the stems
unfold orange and yellow
and purple, if you’re lucky.
And one day
without expectation, the whole of the sidewalk
is lined with colors
full open to the sun
And every day I pass
I too, feel vivid and alive.
I have gotten used to this place –
the smells, the neighbors, the variety of birds
and how the light moves across the stretch of grass
in front of my writing table window.
The daisies are beginning to curl
into themselves
shriveling and drying
into bare round seed balls with paper thin sacks of seeds that drop
at the slightest touch of a hand or breeze
until only a dried, beige starburst remains,
proof that there ever was a flower.
Remember the Magic Eight Ball?
One of my favorite toys as a kid was the Magic Eight Ball. It was a black plastic ball that looked like an eight ball pool cue. You asked it a YES or NO question, gave it a good shake while you concentrated on the question and magically, an answer appeared in the glass window on the bottom.
Sometimes the answer was Yes, Definitely. Sometimes it said My Sources Say No. Sometimes it answered Ask Again Later.
Of course, I always re-asked and re-shook the ball until I got the answer I wanted.
We use many kinds of oracle-like tools for guidance. We throw the I-Ching coins, pick Runes, read Tarot cards. We are looking for answers, confirmation, proof that we are on the right path. And yet, often when we get an answer, we keep asking again, just to be sure.
In a recent coaching group, we were using Deborah Koff-Chapin’s Soul Cards to tap into our subconscious insights. One woman chose a card and laughed out loud. “This is just so perfect,” she said. It was an image of a spirit woman looking over a human woman. “This is exactly what I’ve been saying–I need to trust the higher wisdom that is in me.”
And then she asked if she could pick another card.
This time I laughed.
I suggested that, no matter how many cards she picked, the same message would appear. Because that’s the answer she is needing to hear right now. Then I asked her if she still wanted to pick another card.
She did. And it was, of course, a very similar image.
Another woman in the group also completely connected with the image on her first card. She too, drew a second card and the image and the message were almost identical to her first card.
So what question are you asking, over and over, because you want a different answer?
What if you accepted the answer you keep getting?
Try it with the online Magic Eight Ball.
Ask a Yes/No question. Concentrate on the question and “shake” the ball.
Are you willing to accept the first answer it gives you?
[ssba]How to Shine Your Light
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we’re powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you NOT to be?
Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
~Marianne Williamson
Spring is a time of birth and renewal. Things that were dormant all winter are budding and blooming and, with each day, there is more light. On the surface, this means longer, brighter days. Deeper, it can be an opportunity for our own selves to shine brighter.
Does that idea scare you?
Does the thought of standing in the light push you further into your own shadows?
As children we may or may not have been encouraged to shine. And so as adults, we may have to learn some new behaviors–to brag a little, to declare our talents, to claim our own light and then shine it into the world.
So, how do you begin to even see your own light?
Everyone has a unique set of talents and interests. We all have capabilities that we are passionate about and that can be used to create value in the world.
Many of us have been taught not to brag about what we’re good at, or what we love.
So here’s a chance to try it.
Take out a blank piece of paper, take a deep breathe and answer these questions about yourself.
Then be brave and ask your friends for their input, too. Getting another person’s perspective is so helpful to get a clearer picture of who you really are and how others see you shine.
What are your talents and abilities? What are you good at?
This could be playing with your kids, adding numbers in your head, cooking delicious meals, pitching a tent, diffusing a tense situation. List EVERYTHING that comes to mind, even the little things.
What words describe you?
Are you funny, honest, compassionate, patient, smart, intuitive, feisty, creative, determined, reliable, helpful? List EVERYTHING you can think of.
What do people count on you for?
Companionship, nurturing, support, honesty, a good laugh? List EVERYTHING you can come up with.
What other distinguishing features do you see about who you are?
Are you organized, a collector, inventive, good with older people, a leader, a planner, spontaneous, an adventurer?
Now read through your answers. Add more things as you think of them.
Now imagine yourself, standing in the light of your talents and abilities.
How does it feel? Do you feel the slightest bit proud and in awe of yourself?
How can you be more of this amazing person?
How can you share your unique gifts with others to spread the light?
How might it feel if you dared to shine?
[ssba]
Allowing the Unfolding
I absolutely LOVE teaching art classes for kids. The kids are so open. Willing. They are happy to dive into whatever we are making, often without even knowing what the final product will look like.
Sometimes I show the kids samples so they can see different interpretations of the process. But not always. Because often the kids will think theirs has to look exactly like the sample.
I recently taught a Changing Story book making class. I intentionally didn’t show them what the finished book would look like. Instead, we began by brainstorming nouns and verbs and adjectives. The dry erase board was filled with words like hot dogs, zebra, flowers, puppies and run, play, sweat, dance and smelly, tall, fat, purple. Together, we combined some of the words into silly sentences. Then the kids wrote their own sentences.
Once the kids had their content we began on the construction of the actual book. One twelve year old girl kept asking why are we doing this step? What are the lines for? Why do I have to measure this?
Instead of explaining the process, I asked her if she’d be willing to NOT know, and maybe feel excited when she figured it out. I asked her if she could just trust the process.
She thought about it for a minute and then said yes.
She seemed to relax as she drew the lines across her pages, then wrote her word phrases in the boxes she had created. When we finally got to the step of cutting the lines between the phrases, her face lit up. “OH!” she said, “I get it now!”
All around the room the kids were discovering that, by cutting the pages in thirds, the story would change, depending on which part of the page they turned.
After class I asked the twelve year old how it was to just follow the steps without knowing why. She smiled and said she was really glad I didn’t give it all away.
Sure, sometimes we need to know why we are doing something. We need to know what’s next, so we can be ready. But NOT knowing can be equally valuable. Not knowing gives us a chance to be surprised, delighted, and present in what we are doing in the moment.
Several years ago a friend and I were having lunch and I was bemoaning that I couldn’t see how I was going to do some big thing with my life. She said, “How about if it’s ok that you don’t know? How would it be if you just let it unfold?”
Her words struck me so deeply. “I would LOVE that!” I said. “But how do I do that?” Of course she laughed, because it was all about NOT doing.
For the past few years, I’ve been practicing this letting go, allowing things to unfold. Being OK with not knowing.
And it’s been amazing. Just taking one step at a time and then, just like the girl in my class, experiencing such delight when suddenly I see how it all comes together.
Where in your own life can you let go and not know?
How can you embrace this idea of allowing the process to unfold?
Please share your thoughts by clicking the Comments below.
[ssba]Leap and the Net Will Appear
It’s leap year, leap month and, today, February 29th is Leap Day. And so it seems so fitting to talk about leaping. Taking the plunge. Taking a deep breath and just going for it.
It’s such a wonderful concept, this leaping.
It’s all about risk and faith and letting go and pushing aside all of the monkey voices in your head that talk you out of doing some big, scary thing and just going for what you really want.
Although the phrase “Leap and the net will appear” is sometimes attributed to an unknown Zen source, it is, in fact, a quote by American naturalist John Burroughs.
I first heard the phrase in the song, “Right Outta Nowhere” by Christine Kane.
“Right outta nowhere
You open your heart
And let go of everything
You’re going somewhere
And all you need to know
Is that you’re free to go
Dream and the way will be clear
Pray and the angels will hear
Leap and the net will appear”
The song encourages us that all we have to do is open our hearts, let go of any expectations, and trust that the wide open space will hold us, guide us, support us.
Leap and the net will appear reminds us that, if we want to do something beyond our comfort zone, we have to take that first, unknown, scary as hell step. We have to leap with the faith that we are on our true path. And that some net, some larger force, some divine energy will keep us from falling, from failing.
Leap and the net will appear is not about knowing how it will turn out. It’s not about having all your ducks lined up, with more than enough funds in your IRA, just in case. It’s about trusting that this thing that calls you, that your heart is guiding you toward, will support you and teach you and bring you to a richer, fuller more authentic way of being you.
Sometimes leaping is the only possible next step.
What does leaping look like for you?
taking a cooking class?
submitting your artwork to a gallery?
applying for a new job?
training for a marathon?
joining Toastmasters?
saying YES to your first women’s retreat?
painting your bedroom lavender?
moving to Morro Bay, CA?
And what can you do TODAY to get this leaping in motion?
Not sure how to begin the leaping process?
Join me for a fun and inspiring Leap and the Net Will Appear workshop that will help you identify your leap desire, release and move past the things and voices that keep you from doing it, and offer some definitive steps you can take to get you moving forward, building momentum, so you will be ready to take the big leap before the end of this awesome leap year.
[ssba]Stepping to the Edge
Have you ever been called to do something that pushed you to the edge of your comfort zone?
This soft edge is where we can learn so much about ourselves.
We can observe how we respond to the challenge. We can hear the stories we tell ourselves.
At this uncomfortable edge we can choose to step back from the fear and stay safe and small.
Or we can choose to move toward the discomfort and uncertainty and say YES to this thing that excites us and scares us, knowing that something big and beautiful is bound to happen when we do.
I had never considered going on a retreat. In fact, I really didn’t even know what it entailed.
At this uncomfortable edge we can choose to step back from the fear and stay safe and small. Or we can choose to move toward the discomfort and uncertainty and say YES to this thing that excites us and scares us, knowing that something big and beautiful is bound to happen when we do.
I had never considered going on a retreat. In fact, I really didn’t even know what it entailed. I hated sleepover camp and I prefer small groups and my own bed.
But I been reading Christine Kane’s blog for several months, connecting with her words, resonating with the themes and ideas she shared. So when she announced that she was leading a women’s retreat in Asheville, North Carolina, something deep and strong inside of me said, hmmmm.
But then all of the other louder, more familiar voices chimed in. North Carolina?? That is all the way across the country. In NORTH CAROLINA! It was certainly NOT a state I ever intended to visit.
And it was expensive. PLUS the cost of the travel to get there. And I had never been to a retreat before.
I was overwhelmed with the unknown.
What would it be like to spend a weekend with myself? With people I didn’t know? I never went to sleep away camp as a kid and, in high school, when I did go to a week long summer camp, I cried the first few days because I was homesick.
And what if I didn’t like my roommate. Or the food. Or. Or. Or.
But that deep strong voice that said hmmmm, was saying YES! GO! FIND A WAY. THIS IS SOMETHING YOU NEED TO DO.
I asked my friend who lived in Chicago if she might want to go with me. She said she’d think about it. Meanwhile, I imagined what it might be like to do this thing that excited me and scared me at the same time. And, as scary as it was, I knew I wanted to do it.
I looked at airfares and car rentals and even considered driving from Arizona to the east coast.
And then my friend called and said yes, she would go. So we made a plan to both fly into Nashville and drive together on a three hour mini road trip to Asheville.
Just saying YES changed so much in my life. I knew I was stepping bigger, stepping deeper into knowing myself and taking care of myself.
This was the first time I was doing something just for me.
Of course, the entire experience was magical. From the traveling and the road-tripping to the actual retreat weekend.
My body rejoiced being in the lush mountains, so different from the Arizona desert. I loved the quiet time, the deep questions, being nourished with delicious food and intimate conversation.
And even though my friend and I shared a room, we actually spent very little time together during the retreat. Each of us focused on connecting with ourselves, and with different women. So we had lots to talk about on the drive back to Nashville.
I returned for the fall retreat, this time by myself. It was the same place, the same basic agenda, but I was different, the season was different and it was a completely new experience for me. I met women there that I’m still friends with, almost a decade later. And I’ve been to several other retreats since then.
Retreats immediately take you out of the comfort and predictability of your regular life. You are usually in a beautiful place, surrounded by nature, and fed incredible food. There is space and time and your whole body breathes. And even the tightest places in our heart peek open to the light.
If the idea of a retreat scares you and excites you at the same time, maybe it’s time to try it. The Women, Wonder & Waves retreat at the ocean with me could be just the place to try on a new brave.
Have you had a similar experience, being called to do something that pushed you to the edge of your comfort zone?
I’d love to hear your story. Please share by clicking on the Comments below.
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