Elder + Connector + Writer
That was then, this is now.
What worked last week doesn’t necessarily work this week.
What was true yesterday, may no longer be the reality today.
What support looked like earlier may look different now.
What we needed to hear in a previous stage may need a new message in the new one.
What shape love took in the past may no longer fit.
The only way to know if whatever it is is still working is to find out. Ask the question, have the conversation, be observant, and stay open.
Fear slinks in like a cat. So quiet, she goes undetected, and before we know it she is rubbing up against our leg, and just like that, we are under her spell. If you are like me, fear is rooted in the past, and left unchecked, will sow the seeds of the future. Here’s the thing about fear. We are usually afraid of what might happen, or could happen, but the truth of the matter is, it hasn’t happened yet. Rather than believe our scary story and act as if it is true, maybe we can find our way to curiosity. Take a deep breath and simply take the next step, see where it takes us, and trust that since we’ve made it this far, we have no reason to doubt that we will find our way further down our road.
I am no stranger to fear, and have to continually learn that it almost never leads to the next wise choice or the next right step. It only digs my hole a little deeper. Curiosity, however, always seems to lead me to the next rung of the ladder. And the next, and the next, and the next.
Curiosity may not kill the scaredy cat, but it can tame her just a little bit.
Photo: Gijs Coolen on Pexels.com
Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle has mastered the art of going crazy in the presence of other dogs and humans. It’s not her fault, it’s ours. Left to her own devices, whenever she is around her four-legged peers, or is introduced to new people, she will whip herself into a hot, uncontrollable frenzy. Ufortunately we left her to her own devices too often when she was a young pup.
What she hasn’t mastered is the art of being calm in the presence of other dogs and humans. It’s not her fault, it’s ours. As a result, we are helping her conquer this new and necessary skill. Whenever encountering other dogs or people, with the help of a few training tools, she is learning to calm herself and is developing good doggie social skills. If we had started this earlier, she wouldn’t have to work as hard as she is to overcome her fallback behaviors and develop new ones. Thankfully she is a smart girl and wants to please us, so she is steadily making her way to mastering these new skills.
Whether we walk on two legs or four, we master what we practice, and it’s never too late to develop new skills.
There is a voice deep within that is ready to speak to us. It usually doesn’t try to talk over other voices, but waits in the wings until there is enough quiet space for it to speak up. When working with clients or in conversation with friends and family, it never ceases to amaze me how much internal guidance people can access when given the time, space, and a bit of prompting.
One good question can open up the flood gates. This is one of the greatest gifts we can cultivate and offer to one another. The gift of asking the nuanced question, and then being still.
It is so tempting, when silence hangs in the air, to fill in the space with a suggestion, further explanation, or sharing an example from our own life, and as well intentioned as we may be, in filling in the silence we may very well silence the inner voice of the other just when it was ready to come forth.
Photo by Magda Ehlers from Pexels
Taking a hike can teach us about life and how to make our way in the world.
Pack light, pack smart.
Pack what you need, leave behind what you don’t.
The steeper the trail, the smaller the steps.
When the going gets steep, don’t stop. Just take smaller steps.
Choose traveling companions wisely.
Head out with those who will stick with you no matter how challenging the trail.
The hikers return from the top of Little Huckleberry
There is something called the Whole30. An eating program designed to reprogram the way we eat, and the ways in which we think about food. I’m a fan. It has worked for me in the past, and when I am in need of a reset, I will return to it again.
Loosely, it goes something like this. For thirty days, cut out all dairy, added sugars, legumes, grains, and alcohol, choosing instead to consume real food including good protein, plenty of vegetables, fruits, and ample amounts of natural fats. By the grace of God, you can still have coffee.
There were days when this it felt like an impossible assignment. I did it anyway.
There were days, when I felt like a total fraud. I did it anyway.
There were days when I wanted to give in and give up. I did it anyway.
Every time I have completed the Whole30 (and occasionally, the Whole60 or 90) I have felt better. Lots better. More energy, better sleep, increased clarity, and a more positive outlook (after the initial crankiness wears off).
I’m not jumping back on the Whole30 bandwagon just yet, but the program has me thinking about how these same principles—cutting out things that can have a detrimental impact on our health and wellbeing, and consuming instead what will nourish and fuel our lives more effectively—might transfer to other areas of our lives.
Welcome to the Whole Thirty-One: Soul Food Style
Loosely, it goes something like this. For the next 31 days, cut out all negative self-talk, fear-based language, and scarcity thinking, choosing instead to begin each day with a positive mindset, language seasoned with gratitude and grace, and the faith that what is needed will be provided. By the grace of God, you can still have coffee.
There will be days when this will feel like an impossible assignment. I will do it anyway.
There will be days, when I will feel like a total fraud. I will do it anyway.
There will be days when I will want to give in and give up. I will do it anyway.
This sounds like good food for thought to me. Maybe it does to you too.
Welcome to Day 1
Stark contrasts are visible in our little valley this summer. Out in front of our home, the once green field is quickly being devoured by the massive infestation of grasshoppers. Our lawn is barely a memory, and there is no sign that the grasshoppers are leaving anytime soon. They weren’t here last year, and they may not be here next year, but one thing is for certain, they are here now. But drive down our road and hang a left on Mt. Adams Hwy, and there are fields of daisies on either side of the road. A riot of color, it’s hard to miss them, and there is no sign that they are leaving anytime soon. They weren’t here last year, and they may not be here next year, but one thing is for certain, they are here now.
We encounter both of these vastly different views every single day, and it is tempting to only focus on one or the other. Pretend the grasshoppers don’t exist and fix our gaze on the daisies, or fixate on the dead and dying grass and forget to take in the white petals and yellow-as-the-sun centers. We can choose one or the other, but as in most things, there is a third way, and that is to choose both.
Like the dying field out our window, and the vibrant meadow down the road, there are times when life presents us with stark contrasts that invite us to encounter them together. Grace and grief, love and loss, beginnings and endings, beauty and brokenness, healing and heartache. We can choose one or the other, but as in most things, there is a third way, and that is to choose both.
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.
“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.
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
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.
(Gratitude to DA for helping me see the invitation to integration.)
MOLLY DAVIS is the founder of Trailhead Coaching & Consulting. She writes about lessons and adventures from the trail, and knows from firsthand experience that sometimes the only way to discover where you want to be, is to get lost where you don't. If you enjoyed this post, please feel free to pass it along.
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