The Horse We Rode In On

We all have them. Decisions we wish we could revisit and choose another course. Words we’ve said in the heat of the moment, but are unable to take back. Relationships we started that turned out to be dead ends, and ones we ended too soon, missing out on the life to be found there. Times when we let fear hold us back, and others when we allowed our pride to push us ahead before we were ready. Some years feel like a total waste, as we lingered in our shame, fear, and disappointment. And then, there are those times when we made what can only be called terrible mistakes. Errors in judgement that cost us, and those we love great harm. Every experience up until now has made us who we are today, and we’ve all arrived to our present moment on the backs of our stories. All of them.

Looking back over my life, I have very few regrets. In fact, there’s really only one, and it cost me a lot. When I was in college, I had a conversation with my dad that changed the course of my history, and if I could have one do-over, it would be that one phone call. I allowed his patriarchal view of women and the world to color my own. Instead of speaking up and applying for graduate school, I stayed quiet and took a job to pay the bills. In listening to his, I silenced my own voice, and rather than owning my intelligence and strength, I turned them out to pasture. It took me a long time to find my way back to myself and take the reins into my own hands.

Slowly but surely I put a period on the end of that story, which was the only way I could begin to write a new one. It would have been easy to allow that many year detour to define me for the rest of my life, and there are still times, if I’m honest, that I indulge myself by replaying the shoulda-coulda-woulda song, but those times are short lived, and few and far between. It was that detour that led me to the work I have today. It is because of that experience that I am passionate about helping others step more fully into their own lives, access and trust their inner wisdom, and bring all they have to offer, in whatever form, to a world waiting for what they have to give.

Every choice and chapter will always be a part of our story, but they don’t have to define us forever. The only way they can is if we let them. In my better moments, I am even able to thank my dad for helping me to find an unconventional trail to wholeness, meaning, and purpose. Because that is that story that now defines my life.

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Principle Vs Practice

“Dallas Willard says we always live what we believe, we just don’t always live what we profess we believe.”

From The Next Right Thing by Emily P. Freeman

Authenticity matters to me, and I believe that being true to who we are and what we believe is our calling. We do that by connecting who we are with how we live. In my work as a speaker, writer, and coach, that is what I endeavor to help others do, and in my own life that is what I strive to do as well. It’s good work. It is also, however, hard work. Very hard work.

You would think that a dog wouldn’t be able to assist us in learning to be true to who we are and what we believe, but once again, Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle has proven her Yoda-like ability to uncover our blind spots and areas still in need of work. In helping her become her best and truest curly haired, four legged girl, we wanted to teach her good canine etiquette when walking across any kind of threshold. Bottom line? The human always goes first. Always. This isn’t just about teaching her good manners, it is also about keeping us two-legged types safe. Whether walking through a doorway or gate, getting out of a car or going down the stairs, if she bolts ahead, the human in the equation is at risk. Think broken hip, twisted ankle, sprained knee, dislocated shoulder, or concussion. We have concrete floors in our home, and just one fall could change the course of someone’s health history, so we committed to being consistent in how we approached any threshold. If she got ahead of us, back she would come, and we’d try it again.

We’ve decided that I’m the Alpha of the pack, which means that I do the majority of the training, and this particular issue has always been front and center on my radar screen. It didn’t, however, always seem to be front and center for Tom, as he would often not notice when she would barge ahead of him down the stairs or through a door. When I (less than gently) pointed this out to him, he replied that he agreed with the idea in principle, but didn’t always remember (aka choose) to put it into practice. The thing is, Gracie’s a dog, and as smart as she is, principles don’t matter to her. The only way she knows who we are (the ones in charge) and what we believe (the human always goes first) is by what we practice. 

I’ve promised Tom that I will only throw him under the bus if I am willing to crawl under there with him. Front and center on Tom’s radar screen is the commitment to the principle of not letting food spoil. In practice that means always putting ice in the cooler when bringing groceries home from the store, and always putting the food out on the counter back in the refrigerator promptly. He not only preaches it (gently), he practices it. Me? I think it’s a great idea, and I agree with it in principle, but don’t always remember (aka choose) to put it into practice, but like Gracie, the leftover pork loin or package of chicken thighs don’t care about the principle, only the practice.

In truth, we humans are no different. Whether as parents, partners, politicians, pastors, colleagues, managers,  or friends, people know who we are and what we believe not by what we profess, but only by what we practice.

One of the principles Tom and I share is that we are one another’s priorities, and so, he is being diligent to go ahead of Gracie, and I am being diligent to keep our food from spoiling. In other words, we’re practicing putting our money where our bark is.

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An Invitation To Integration

Recently on a getaway with friends, we spent several hours at the Earth Sanctuary on Whidbey Island, which by the way, is worth a ferry ride just to experience this sacred space. I’ve always been drawn to labyrinths, and the one at the Earth Sanctuary is beautiful in its simplicity, the path formed by vibrant vegetation on either side of the stones leading to the center.

Photo from Trip Advisor

Photo from Trip Advisor

Slowly making my way to the heart of the lush green maze, I lingered as I usually do, before making my way back out.  About to rejoin our little group, I realized that I was pulled to walk it again, this time taking something in to leave as had other pilgrims to this same path before me. Head down, I looked for something that struck the right chord, and found it in a small triad of leaves, all connected to a singular stem which nourished them all, life flowing from one to the other.

For a while now I’ve been trying to reconcile the three leaves of my own life — myself, my relationships, and my work. It often feels as if each is in competition for my time and energy and that tending to one means taking away from the other two. All three areas matter to me. Doing the internal work to become more whole, and caring well for myself matters. Connecting deeply with and supporting those I love matters. Touching the world within my reach with my work matters. How can I choose one over the other without feeling like I’m letting myself, other people, and my work down?

Looking at those three small leaves, a new thought began to emerge. What if they are all the same? What if tending to one informs and enlivens the other two? What if there is no difference? What if I trust that the stem that nourishes my triad of leaves will guide my choices, knowing that it is all one life?

There is something about the process of following a labyrinth path, knowing that the way in is also the way out, knowing that in truth, there is only one way, and it leads us to the center, and then invites us back out again. My three leaves, like the labyrinth, are an invitation to integration, and the realization that mine, like yours, is all one life.

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(Gratitude to DA for helping me see the invitation to integration.)





Crossing The Bridge

In my work I help people find their way forward, and always toward a more authentic and wholehearted life. This never happens without encountering some difficult terrain along the way. In order to become more of who we are meant to be, there are choices to make, challenges to overcome, courageous conversations to have, and new skills to practice.

Sometimes getting from where we are now to where we want to go seems so far away, that getting there feels next to impossible. The decisions to be made are too daunting, the unknown too scary, the obstacles too big, the conversations too intimidating, and the new skills so far outside our comfort zone that we can’t imagine ever mastering them.

When encountering this space with someone, whether that be a client, a friend, a family member, or myself for that matter, I always try to explore the reality of the perception that the distance to be covered is simply too great. There are times when the bridge from here to there is so long that it appears to drop off of the horizon. However, there are other times when the distance is very short, but the bridge to get there is over a canyon that is so deep and dark, that we can’t see the bottom. We can only hear the raging river far below. In my experience, these canyons have been eroded over long periods of time by the turbulent waters of our old stories, obsolete beliefs, and tightly held fears. If we never cross the bridge, we’ll never find out what life could be like on the other side.

Long distances and deep canyons are both daunting. But if we want to move toward wholeness, and the people we are meant to be, there is only one way to do that. Whether a bridge too far or a canyon too deep, our only choice is to keep going.

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The Good Stuff

The truth of the matter is that we want to share life with people who bring out the best in us. They are the ones who believe in us, encourage us to show up fully, shine lights into our blind spots, and see in us what we can’t see for ourselves.

Some further and rather inconvenient truth about the matter, is that the only people who bring out the best in us are also those who see the worst in us. When we fail—sometimes miserably—in front of each other, it is a chance to practice staying in when it would be easier to step out, moving toward each other rather than away, and staying in the conversation rather than shutting down. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

Some even further truth of the matter is that it’s hard stuff, this becoming our best selves, and we can’t do it alone. Find your people, stick together, call each other out, and cheer each other on, because while it may be the hard stuff, it’s all the good stuff.

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With deep gratitude to all who help me be my best self…you know who you are.

Leaving Our Mark

There is a tradition at the Glenwood Rodeo, and every year it gives me pause. At the beginning of the show and before the events get underway, time is taken to honor those in the community who are no longer with us. It may be a veteran who served, a longtime resident who passed away, or a community member that left us too soon. For each person being remembered, a cowboy rides around the arena leading a riderless horse as our beloved announcer pays tribute.

This year one of those who is no longer with us was a young man named Angel, and along with working on one of the original ranches in our area, he attended community college to learn the art of saddle making. His new craft gave him great pride and hope for his future, and while his future was cut short, his pride in his work will live on.

In listening to this tribute today, I learned that a maker leaves his or her own unique mark on every saddle they craft. It is a mark that says I believe in what I do enough to stamp it as my own. Those lucky enough to own a saddle that came from Angel’s hands will treasure it even more now that he is gone, his mark a reminder of what it looks like to believe in what we offer enough to stamp it with our own unique mark for all to see.

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In Need of a Dock

There are days when I am so in need of grace that I can hardly catch my breath. When it seems that try as I might, I am unable to find an inner dock on which to drag myself out of the murky waters in which I am drowning.

As you might suspect, today is one of those days.

Our family arrives tomorrow for our annual Father’s Day Glenwood Rodeo Weekend Gathering, which I love.  It is way too hot, which I hate. Projects are running behind, which should be expected, but somehow have caught me by surprise. Again. Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle picked now to have intestinal issues, which should evoke my compassion, the operative word being ‘should'.

I could continue, but you probably get the gist.

Searching madly for something to grab onto an hour ago, I remembered a poem by Carrie Newcomer that my spiritual director, Dane, shared with me after our last session together. I had every good intention of reading it the day he sent it to me, and, as we all know, the road-to-you-know-where is paved with good intentions.

Drinking in the words, I found a grace soaked dock on which to rest, and there is no doubt that the timing of finding it was heaven sent. If you are in need of a dock on which to rest, feel free to join me there, and we can sit with not knowing together.

I’m Learning to Sit With Not Knowing

Carrie Newcomer

 

I am learning to sit with not knowing.

Even when my restless mind begins jumping

from a worried

“what next”, 

to a frightened

“what if”, 

to a hard edged and impatient, 

“why aren’t you already there?”

 

I’m learning to sit and listen

to pat myself on the knee,

lay my hand on my heart,

take another deep breath, 

laugh at myself,

befriend my mistakes,

especially the ones,

that showed me how,

I most needed to change.

 

I’m learning to sit with whatever comes

even though I’m a planner,

because so much of this life

can’t be measured or predicted

or evenly portioned.

Because wonder and suffering visit

when we least expect 

and rarely in equal measure.

 

I’m learning to sit with what

I might never know

might never learn

might never heal

with what might waltz in and surprise me

might nudge me into the risky business of growing

might crash into my days

with unspeakable sorrow

or uncontainable delight.

 

I’m learning to sit 

with not knowing.

With deep gratitude yet again, for Dane Anthony for walking with me on my spiritual trail, for my one and only sister Margie for never leaving my side, for my niece Katie for always bringing a spirit of peace to the adventure, for Harper Joy for bringing us joy, for my geologist Tom for caring that I care not only about how things function but also for how they look, and for my hermano-in-law Bobby for always showing up no matter what.

Damn Straight

There is an important project underway at our home. A dog run for Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle. It has been on the to-do list for awhile now, but suddenly there is a critical reason for it to be done NOW. She is over 8 months old and could be going into heat for the first time any day now. This weekend a male dog will be joining us when our family gathers for the rodeo, and this handsome Brittany Spaniel is still fully capable of siring a litter. Now I’m sure he and lovely Gracie would make beautiful babies together, but (a) she is too young, and (b) we are too old, or at least wise enough to know better than to take on a litter of puppies. Thus, the construction of Gracie’s Space is in full swing.

It has taken Tom two days to align the fence posts perfectly. It’s been a slow process of measuring, adjusting, cutting, re-measuring, re-adjusting, re-cutting, re-re-measuring, re-re-adjusting, and re-re-cutting, until, as Tom proudly muttered today from beneath his cowboy hat covered sweaty brow, If you find f#%*ing straighter posts anywhere, you let me know.

And those suckers are straight, no doubt about it. With the temperatures soaring and the deadline for the weekend looming, it would have been easy for him to cut corners and do with straight that was good enough. But for this pen to embody that magical combination of form and function, straight posts are the corner stone on which it all hinges.

There are times to cut corners. Situations where good enough is well, good enough. Not every project or task is worth the effort. But some are.

Is Gracie worth the extra effort to do it right you might ask?

You’re damn straight she is!

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This Is It

Over an early morning cup of coffee, my dear friend and I were talking about how much time people (ourselves included) spend working on it. We talked about all the its in our lives. All the things we’ve worked on in order to get better, do better, be better. We’ve worked on ourselves, our relationships, our work, and everything in between, and we worked on whatever it was as if it were a destination. A place to arrive and finally be done with it.

And then we got it.

This is it.

This is it.

This is it.

This is it.

Always has been. Always will be.

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