What Others See Can Help Us See
I was talking with a client about her new coaching practice and the strengths she brings to her work. She shared that she had been sitting at table with several colleagues at a recent training and one woman told her that she could accomplish anything she wanted to, that she has a way of moving in the world that attracts people to her. My client was stunned to hear this about herself.
“Isn’t it funny that others see us so differently than we see ourselves?” she said to me.
I suggested that she post this colleague’s words on the mirror in her bathroom so that she could begin to believe it for herself.
She loved the idea. And she took it a step further. She looked at all of the recommendations she had received on Linked In and posted those too. And then she sent me a photo, with a simple : ) smiley face as the subject of the email.
It can be so enlightening and empowering to hear what others see in us.
We usually only see our flaws, our bumps, our shortcomings. But our friends, our co-workers, our coaches, see our strengths, our gifts, the bigger picture of us.
So here’s your challenge:
Choose five people in your life and ask them:
What do you think are my strengths, my gifts? What am I good at?
After you get past the initial discomfort of asking someone to praise you, to say something nice about you, you’ll probably be thrilled and surprised by the responses.
You may choose to write them on big post it notes and stick them on the mirror in your bathroom.
And you may realize that, if someone else sees those amazing qualities in you, then maybe, just maybe, they might actually be true.
I’d love to hear how it goes!
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Detach and Connect: How To Come Back to Now
Every morning after walking the dogs, I fill the birdfeeder and sit out on my back patio with my coffee and a bowl of bran cereal, no milk, sprinkled with dried cranberries and sometimes a sliced banana, and the birds and I share breakfast.
This regular morning time is my opening time, my quieting time, my daily meditation.
It is the space where I am not in my thoughts, my ideas, my to-dos, but instead, focused on the world outside of me: the sky colors, the array of birds at the feeder, how the pecking order changes from sparrow to mourning dove to pigeon.
But for the past two weeks it has been too cold to sit outside in the mornings and instead, I’ve been having my coffee with my email. Today, it caught up with me.
My head was spinning with too many thoughts: preparations for tomorrow’s workshop, remembering to treat the stain on my brown shirt before doing the laundry, the things I will teach 28 lingerie salespeople about their new iPads, what I will have for lunch, how to structure the next Mac training videos, and on and on.
And I knew I needed to get out of my head or I would spin myself dizzy.
I pulled on my sweatshirt and took my coffee outside. I filled the bird feeder and waited. More thoughts dizzied my head and there was no flurry of flapping at the feeder to distract me. There were no birds at all. I guess they come later when it is this chilly.
So I focused instead on listening.
I heard the cars on 7th Street, a trash truck raising and lowering several blocks away, a string of short, high pitched chirpings in the neighbor’s tree. Then I caught a flash of movement in the mulberry tree. I scanned the bare gray branches and spotted a single towhee perched in stillness, his body puffed up against the cold. I kept my eyes on him but he wasn’t moving, and soon the litany of thoughts started up again.
Several minutes passed before I realized I was no longer watching the bird.
I took a deep breath, consciously following it in and then out, slowly bringing my awareness out of my head and back into my body: me, sitting in my chair, in my yard watching a towhee on a bright winter morning.
I scanned the tree again, looking for the bird. He had moved to a branch closer to the feeder, but he still wasn’t moving much. It took so much concentration to stay with him. I traced the outline of his body with my eyes, discerning the short beak, the flash of brown on his underbelly.
I tuned into the rustling and noticed a second towhee on the ground, pushing the mulch with his feet. His body looked browner in the light, his eye a beady red circle.
The bird in the tree jumped onto the feeder and poked his beak into the filled tube, flinging seeds onto the ground.
I watched them for a while longer, then took my coffee inside to gather my calmer but still swirling thoughts, vowing to sit outside the next morning, and the next again, to begin the practice of quieting.
I don‘t often have this kind of mind chatter. And I’m sure it’s because I have a regular practice of quieting. But, like any practice, if you don’t do it for a while, even a little while, it loses its effect and takes time to get back to it.
It’s the same with a person who goes to the gym regularly. Each time the workout gets easier as you build stamina, endurance. But if you take a month off, you may be surprised that you’ve lost some of your strength.
And so you begin again. Where you are. Without judgment, without impatience or frustration or beating yourself up.
This is the practice.
The more you do it, the more you do it.
And if you find yourself disconnected, pause.
Connect with your breath.
Find something to watch.
To observe.
Without judgment or thought.
Just detach and connect.
Keep coming back.
[ssba]Keeping the Dream Alive
This past weekend several women gathered and created their own Dream Altars, beautiful physical manifestations of what they want to happen in their lives this year.
I know from my own experiences that naming and claiming our dreams is only the beginning.
To bring our deepest dreams forth into reality we have to nurture them, honor them, keep them in our daily awareness.
Maybe we do this with a daily affirmation, an altar, a poster on our bathroom wall that we see every morning and remember.
Yet, at the same time, it cannot become an obsession.
We need to maintain a balance between asking and receiving, between action and waiting, between knowing and letting go.
After all, it’s not for us to figure out the HOW of our dreams. Our job is to stay focused on the WHY, the WHAT, the essence of what we desire. WHY do we want this? How will it feel? How will living this dream serve others?
As you may know, I am in the midst of manifesting my own big dream. For years I have wanted to live at the ocean where the air is cool and clean. I am making plans, setting dates, shifting my work life to support this dream.
There are moments, days, even, where I have a very clear picture of how I am living my life there, how my whole world will open up, and how much more deeply I will do my work.
And I share my excitement and plans with my friends.
And then I get stuck in the financials, the logistics, the details. And I change my mind about HOW I’m going to do this. My heart fills with doubt and regret that I have changed my mind, yet again, and I wonder, what will my friends think.
But you know what? They think I’m human. They think I’m creative for coming up with so many ways to do this. They think I’m brave and inspring for taking this giant leap into my dream.
A friend recently reminded me that dreams are fluid. They are not frozen in time exactly as we originally imagine them. Our dreams are always shifting, changing, seeking their own level, like water.
Remembering this brings me so much peace and comfort. Of course I’m going to change my mind several times as new information comes to me. Of course I will waver between excited and fearful. Of course I won’t know how it all unfolds until it happens.
And so I keep flowing with the energy of the dream, keep bobbing in the waves of change and always, my dream on the horizon, getting closer and closer.
How do stay connected to your dreams? Please share by clicking on the Comments below.
[ssba]How To Make Any Decision
image by dreamtime.com
We’ve all been there. You have to make a choice whether to do something or not and you just can’t decide.
You make your list of pros and cons, only to find just as many reasons on each side of the list.
So how do you decide?
A client recently struggled with a decision she had to make. Several months before, she had volunteered to take on a big project for a group she had recently joined. At the time, she was excited, motivated, committed.
Now, almost 12 months later, the committee was finally ready to move forward with the project but my client’s enthusiasm was gone. She wasn’t even sure she still wanted to be a part of the organization. But at the top of her pros list, she felt an obligation to follow through.
I asked her–do you want to do it? Her first response was, I don’t know.
I asked her to move out of her head, where she was still going back and forth between the pros and cons, and to breathe deep into her belly.
After several quiet minutes I asked her again. Do you WANT to do this?
She looked me straight in the eye and shook her head, NO.
Her heart was no longer in it.
Still, she wrestled with the idea of backing out, of not following through. We talked about the option of doing the work, even if it was purely out of obligation. She said that wouldn’t feel right either. That she wouldn’t be being authentic.
I asked her WHY she said YES in the first place.
She shared that this was the first independent thing she had done after her divorce. That it felt great to belong to a new group, to feel she had value, something to offer. But now, she has a new job, new friends, a full schedule. She didn’t feel the same connection to this organization.
I asked her if she could find a way to honor what the experience had given her, to celebrate how she was able to step up and now, to stand in how very clear she was about being authentic.
Her shoulders relaxed. She sat back in her chair and started composing, out loud, the letter she would write to graciously say no.
How do YOU make a decision? Do you stay in your head or are you able to move into your heart, your gut, to hear your deeper knowing?
Click on the Comments below to share.
[ssba]This. Here. Now.
This past holiday weekend Marika and I took the motorhome and the dogs to southeastern AZ to see the migrating sandhill cranes. We camped at the Whitewater Draw Wildlife Refuge in the middle of desert brush, agricultural fields and man-made ponds created to attract migrating birds.
The refuge is surrounded by the Dragoon Mountains to the west and the Chiracahuas to the east, with Mexico just a short 25 miles to the south. And all around, a big wide eye sky of blue and birds.
We walked along the burms of the ponds as the sun set, the sky darkening against the crescendo of thousands of red winged blackbirds roosting in the reeds. Marika, an avid birder, pointed out a Harris Hawk circling above the field. She counted unnamed sparrows flitting in the brush and we heard a Great Horned Owl in the nearby trees. A sky full of sandhill cranes circled the farthest ponds, grawking and honking as if they were conversing, where do you want to land?
Later, back in the RV, after dinner, my mind began to wander. No longer captivated by the sounds of the birds and the color changing sky, I started thinking about my annual New Year’s Day party. “I’ll ask everyone to bring an hors d’ oeuvre,” I said. “And maybe this year we’ll play croquet again.” I started making a checklist in my head of where I’d position the furniture and how many chairs I’d set up outside. Since January first is less than a month away, this seemed like a reasonable planning activity.
But then I jumped to my birthday party in March and a possible going away party in April. Suddenly I was all teary-eyed and feeling very, very sad.
And then Marika gently said, “You know, you’re not here anymore.”
What a great gift to have someone right there to bring me back to the present moment.
Just like that, I realized that all of those emotions were NOT part of the present moment. That, when I came back to the present moment I was truly content, happy, comfortable, so glad to be camping, in nature, belly full with dogs at my feet.
We spent the rest of the evening playing cards and Rummikubs to stay connected to the here, the now. What is.
The next morning, Marika went on a day long birding adventure with a hired guide. As the dogs and I sat around camp, I started to feel that same sadness coming over me. I realized that my thoughts had been wandering again and I needed to bring myself back to the here and now.
I leashed up the dogs and we walked out into the desert where, now, leash-free, they ran and sniffed, digging into rabbit holes, finding stray sticks for fetching. The sky was clear and blue and wide and I breathed in the cool air and stood in the courage of warrior pose, facing the morning sun.
When we got back to camp we sat outside as the cranes began to fly in after their early feeding in the nearby agricultural fields. I heard their sounds first, the invisible but raucous chorus of trilled grawking and honking. Then a string of fast moving dots appeared in the sky. As they got closer the dots became v-shaped patterns ribboning toward me, getting even louder.
I could make out the silhouettes of their 72″ wingspans, fast-flapping in the air. They circled the shallow ponds in a noisy display, flying low, then around in a circle then low again to land.
And then, just as the sounds seemed to settle over the water, another burst of honking filled the air to the east. The line of dots appeared, fast and close and the honking from the air sparked the honking of the birds below that had already landed. Even from my vantage point a quarter of a mile away, the sounds were almost deafening.
More cranes appeared, as if the noise from the ground had called them and soon my inexact counting reached one thousand cranes, and still, more were coming. Honking, flapping, trilling their calls as the surface of the ponds became a field of solid gray.
Being in nature, paying attention to sounds and colors, the wind and the sky are the best ways that I know to stay connected in the present moment.
How do you bring yourself back to the here, the now, what is?
I’d love to hear from you. Please share by clicking on the Comments below
[ssba]Giving Thanks
image by Spirit Juice Studios
It’s that time of year when it’s easy to remember to be thankful. All of the turkey and ham commercials on television remind us to be grateful for what we have and for the people in our lives.
But gratitude is an act for every day living, even without the festive meal. Click here to read all about gratitude.
Still, this is a wonderful opportunity for me to say thank you to YOU, my loyal reader, for your enthusiasm, your support, and your open heart.
May this season bring you more ways to rest in your own heart and share your special gifts with those around you.
Hand in hand with being grateful is the self-less act of giving, of doing something simply to better someone else’s situation.
We can give money, time, our talents. We can donate our used items to an needy organization.
We can also give with simple acts of kindness.
- Open the door for a stranger
- Let someone go in front of you in line at the supermarket
- Check on an elderly neighbor
- Smile at every single person you pass, even the person asking for money
- Say thank you and mean it
- Give your partner or your child or your friend your full attention
- Pick up the litter on your neighbor’s lawn
- Wave someone into your lane in busy traffic
- Give someone a genuine compliment
- Call someone you haven’t talked with in a long time
I’d love to hear your ideas for giving. You can post them below by clicking on the Comments.
[ssba]Simple Joys
It is a simple joy
every morning
to choose my breakfast plate:
lime
forest green
raspberry
black
orange
gray
white
turquoise
all Colorflyte by Branchell, from the 50’s
collected over the years
from thrift stores, yard sales, on eBay
because food is more delicious when served on the perfect color
Too often we are so focused on the giant billboard kind of happiness that we neglect to notice the small and ordinary moments that bring us real joy. I invite you to slow down, to notice the small things, the simple joys.
Let’s compile a list of our Simple Joys–Click on the Comments below and share something that makes you smile and lifts your heart.
[ssba]Excuses, Excuses: How Passion Won’t Take No For An Answer
When it comes to creative expression, our tendency is toward all or nothing. We wait for that perfect opportunity to begin living into our true creativity.
We tell ourselves we need a designated space, a big chunk of scheduled time and all of the materials at hand before we can begin.
Unfortunately, this isn’t how life happens.
And so we have to improvise the space, embrace the tiny pockets of time, and incorporate our creativity into our daily living.
Or we may be waiting forever.
Several years ago I discovered the joys of paper mache. I loved the freedom and simpleness of the materials: recycled newspaper and sticky, white glue that I shaped into bowls and clocks and found object sculptures.
I absolutely loved the organic process, how easy it was to wash the glue off my hands, how the pieces dried quickly in the desert heat. I worked outside on a thrift store wicker table on my back patio, close enough to the kitchen sink, and still, I could be as messy as I wanted to be.
When I moved to my current home three years ago, priorities shifted and I stopped making art.
For the past year I’ve been imagining my hands in the gluey gooiness again. I’ve been envisioning hearts of many sizes, all smaller than my palm, free-formed by my hands and then strung with beads and other found items.
But whenever I’d think about starting, I’d hear the voices in my head:
I have no room to work.
With all of my business things, I have no time.
With all of the creative energy I put into my businesses, I have no creativity left.
Several weeks ago, I gave my Living Room Ladies a hugely creative assignment: To create a self-portrait expressing all that they had discovered about themselves in our work together.
As I described the project to them, I heard my own creative self speaking loudly, that all of this writing and business creating is one thing, but I wanted to start making things again.
I considered how I could make space for this kind of creative expression, both literally and figuratively.
Did I want to cut back on how often I write these blogs?
Should I rearrange my office to create more work space?
Should I just put it off like I have been for the last three years?
I asked the questions and waited for some definitive answers.
And then, one Saturday morning, I cleared the small counter next to my kitchen sink and put on my paint smeared smock. I found an old metal roasting pan among my art supplies and poured in some glue, mixed in some water to thin it and started tearing strips of newspaper that I had been saving for months.
It was delicious, my hands all wet and sticky as I slid the paper through my fingers to wipe off the excess glue. I shaped it and formed it, layering the wet paper and dabbing the edges with my finger.
I made three hearts that first day, all different sizes and shapes, all smaller than my palm.
They looked different than I’d been imagining them, but in many ways, they looked even better than the pristine and perfect hearts I’d envisioned.
And I couldn’t wait to try a new technique the next day.
The Nike slogan says it all. You have to just step away from the excuses and reconnect with the deeper passion, the drive, the inspiration for what you are dreaming.
And then, Just Do It!
So what excuses are holding you back?
Can you let go of those voices and reconnect with the energy of your true passion?
I’d love to hear your stories! Please share them by clicking the Comments below.
[ssba]When The Only Way Out Is Through: A Paddler’s Story
It was advertised as a great family trip, a leisurely four hour, 15 mile kayak on the Manistique River through a wildlife refuge. I had watched the video on youtube of a father and son, all smiles as they paddled past trees and the chirping of birds.
Marika and I love nature, love being on the water. We’ve kayaked many times together, in bays, along sloughs, we even paddled across a stretch of the Pacific Ocean to get to a great birding spot. So we thought, what better outing than to kayak through the wildlife refuge.
“You’ll pass under the Ten Curves Bridge, then in another 2 miles you’ll go under the M-77 bridge.” The woman at the kayak rental pointed to a spot on the map. “That’s your last chance to get off the water. After that you’re on your own until the put out, 15 miles down.”
We eased down the muddy bank and got in the two seater kayak with Marika in the front for unobstructed bird viewing. We pushed off and started paddling. It was so nice to be on the water, in the quiet, surrounded by the forest of tall, green trees.
We found a rhythm of paddle left, paddle right, gliding, almost effortlessly in the water. We hadn’t kayaked together in more than four years but it was coming back so naturally.
The river was quiet and slow as we approached the Ten Curves bridge. The kayak floated, barely moving, as we stopped to take pictures.
We followed the lazy turns in the river, steering left, then right, then straight ahead. Marika spotted a kingfisher so we stopped to watch him hover, then dive into the water. Further down a great blue heron fished along the shallow bank, then took flight, his wings spread wide, as we got closer.
We approached the M-77 bridge a few minutes later. The air was cool, the sky clear and open and, after two miles, neither one of us was at all ready to call it quits.
We passed the sign welcoming us into the Seney Wildlife Refuge and paddled alongside a pair of wood ducks near the river bank. We followed the curve of the bank, scanning the trees for birds. Suddenly the river narrowed. The low hanging branches of the trees that had barely been touching the water now reached halfway across our path.
We steered the kayak sharply to avoid the branches, then had to quickly turn in the opposite direction to avoid a submerged log. The clear calm water had become an obstacle course of low hanging branches, sunken logs and jagged rocks.
A canoe with two men and a woman appeared with fishing rods. We watched as they guided their boat ahead of us, the man in the back of the boat nearly losing his fishing hat as he limbo-ed under a very low hanging tree.
We followed their path, Marika calling out directions – rudder right, hard left – as we maneuvered around the low tree, We turned a sharp right to avoid another branch and got caught on top of a fat log. We were balanced along the length of the log, but our kayak was completely out of the water.
Before we had a chance to consider our predicament, the canoers paddled over and pulled us off and into the water. After many thank yous, they paddled ahead and disappeared around the next curve.
Marika continued to navigate, avoiding the obvious ripples in the water that indicated there was something underneath the surface. We got stuck on a sandbar but easily pushed ourselves off with the oars.At one point we got caught against a big log. We couldn’t paddle left or right so we let the current turn us around, then we paddled hard against the water to get back on course.
We passed the sign marking the first five miles. Marika looked at her watch–we’d been on the water almost two hours and we were getting hungry. I took two apples out of the dry bag that I was using as a foot rest to give me more leverage as I paddled. We floated and ate, keeping a keen eye out for the path of least obstacles.
We took turns paddling and resting. Marika’s shoulders were sore. My hands were cramping. I dragged them through the cold river water, fingers spread, to relieve the tightness.
The map indicated a wide sandy beach just before the half way point where we planned to stop for lunch. We passed several small patches of sand, then saw a wider stretch of beach and paddled to it. With the front of the kayak solidly on the beach, I got out and pulled Marika and the boat out of the water.
We sat in the sand and opened up the dry bag, preparing for a feast. But Marika’s ham and cheese sandwich was now a squishy mayonnaisey mess from me stepping on it. She managed to pull one thick slice of ham from the wet mess. We shared some carrots, my leftover chicken tenders, some lettuce, a package of peanut butter crackers and an orange.
Back in the water we found our rhythm, still navigating the fallen trees, the submerged logs, the hidden rocks. The sun was lowering, casting its own shadows on the water so that now we couldn’t tell which way the river turned, much less, what was in our way.
We paddled slower, with more precision, ready to act quickly when we came upon a hazard. I traced the curves in the river on the map, calculating how far we’d paddled, scanning the banks for the sign that would indicate we only had 15 more minutes before we’d see the place to pull out.
“I see the sign,” I said, ecstatic that we had made it. But as we got closer to the sign, I realized that it wasn’t the sign that we were almost done. It was the sign for the halfway point.
Words cannot express our shock, our disbelief, our incredulous realization that we still had 8 more miles and at least 3 more hours to paddle.
We were tired. We were sore. We were spent. And yet we had no choice. There was no rescue boat to call. No bank to pull out on. There was no way out except to keep going.
“Oh my god, you ‘re kidding me,” was all I could say, while Marika kept repeating, “We just have to do it.”
We laughed at how ridiculous our situation was. We imagined scenarios where a motor boat would come speeding down the river and tow us to safety. We joked how the rental place never asked us about our kayaking experience or our endurance.
“I have to cry,” I said. I needed to release the frustration, to get past the wall I’d hit. The tears helped and after a few minutes I had a second wind.
We paddled steadily for what seemed like hours. We wondered if we would make it to the pick up point before dark. We hoped someone would still be there to pick us up.
And then we saw our canoe friends. It was such a relief to know we weren’t alone. They had snagged several of their lures on the logs but had caught two good sized pike, but they were also tired and ready to get off the water.
They stayed close behind us, following our trail around the debris in the water, encouraging us, saying we were looking good, that we were, indeed, gonna make it.
And then we saw the sign marking the 15 minutes to the pullout. We all cheered, keeping our eyes on the banks for the concrete marker. “We’re almost there!” I said, as we turned a curve and saw our kayak outfitter guy standing on the shore.
We paddled close enough for him to pull us up the steep bank. We were too sore and too stiff to say much as he pulled Marika and then me, up and out of the boat.
But we did it! We paddled fifteen miles in six hours on a twisted curvy natural river with fallen trees and submerged logs. We didn’t give up. Because we couldn’t. We had to keep going.
Life is like this, too.
You hit a patch of pain, or grief or uncomfortableness.
It hurts so much that all you want to do is stop.
Or turn around.
But you can’t.
The only way out of it is to go through it.
If you’re lucky, you have someone to help, to get you unstuck, to cheer you on. Maybe you even have someone who paddles along with you.
But ultimately you have to have the strength and determination within yourself to keep going if you’re going to make it through. Because it’s the only way.
[ssba]What Happens When You Say YES To A Stranger
I didn’t know Yvonne. But she knew me. She was the vice-president of the local Mac users group and had been reading my Mac Tips newsletter for years. Several months ago she had invited me to give a presentation to the club and that’s when I first met her.
She was so thrilled with the presentation that, afterwards, she said,” You know, I’d love for you and your friend to come up to visit us at our cabin in Michigan this summer.”
I graciously said thank you, that I’d think about it.
But I had no intention of following through.
I didn’t know Yvonne. I couldn’t even begin to fathom staying with people I didn’t know and I had no plans to vacation in Michigan again.
And so I forgot about the invitation completely.
And then mid-summer, Yvonne emailed me from her cabin and repeated the invitation, reminding me that her friend Mery, who lived next door, was also one of my subscribers and they’d love to show us around their little part of the world.”
When someone invites you once, it may be a courtesy. But when they ask again they mean it.
And so I asked Marika if she was up for the adventure. And she said YES!
We decided that a whole week with strangers might be too much, so we planned a wonderful exploration of the western coast of Lake Michigan, up to Lake Superior and then down to the ladies in Land O’ Lakes.
It was a great time. We climbed up lighthouses, tasted those famous Upper Peninsula pasties (the compact meat and veggie pastry that the miners eat for lunch) and got to wear layers and jackets in the middle of September.
We kayaked 15 miles through the Seney Wildlife Refuge, toured the Marquette Maritime Museum and learned all about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
We saw eagles and deer, loons and elk and a wonderful junkyard art sculpture garden.
But some of the best times were with Yvonne and Mery. The moment we pulled into Mery’s driveway, we felt like like old friends. There was no uncomfortableness, no hesitation, no wishing we hadn’t come.
They took us on a day trip along thickly treed roads up to the Porcupine Mountains and on a night adventure to the mysterious Paulding Light.
We sat around Mery’s table playing new card games and laughing, already recounting the stories of our adventures, how we lost the car at the falls parking lot and how they were out of everything except french fries at the Friday night fish fry.
We are already old friends. And we have plans to get together in Arizona this winter, once Yvonne and her husband return for the season.
And none of this would have happened if I had been too fearful, too inflexible, too wary to say yes to a genuine invitation.
So consider this, the next time someone asks you to do something that feels uncomfortable, out of the norm, even a little adventurous, take some time and think about what great gifts you might reap if you said YES!
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