Elder + Connector + Writer
Some days I listen in to The Next Right Thing Podcast with Emily P. Freeman. She introduces it the same way every Tuesday by reminding her listeners that while it is a podcast about making decisions, it is also a podcast about making a life.
Those few words inspire me every time, and are a reminder that the decisions we make create the life we have.
We took the dogs and headed out to the Conboy Wildlife Refuge. It was cold, and sunny, and the contrast of the brilliant yellow-gold tamarack trees with their nearby neighbors, the lodgepole and ponderosa pines could not be more stark.
Once on the three-mile loop trail, we talked about things big and small as the dogs raced ahead, always coming back to check on us. From the viewing platform at the half-way point, it was obvious that fall was giving way to the coming winter, which in turn could only mean the eventual coming of spring and the appearance of new growth. New growth that is only made possible by the death and dropping away of this year’s growth.
Walking the refuge loop trail is always a reminder that life is a series of new beginnings, leading to eventual endings, only to come upon new beginnings once again. It is also a reminder of the need we have as human beings to find refuge from our personal storms with a select few sacred souls. Those who will walk with us as what has been drops away in order to make way for what can be.
Our yearly supply of firewood just got delivered. Two-and-a-half cords of beautiful dry wood landed on our driveway, ready to be stacked under cover for use in the coming winter months. One of my favorite chores every year is to work together with Tom to stack the wood. Piece by piece the pile that sits in chaotic disorder turns into neatly stacked rows, and we are ready for winter once again. While we are not dependent on it to heat our home, it is an integral part of how we live, and we count on it to fuel life under our roof.
This delivery and stacking of the firewood is an annual occurrence, and turning that jumbled pile into orderly rows is a reminder that our lives unfold in much the same way. Something gets dumped into our lives, and suddenly we find ourselves in disarray. Like the firewood, it is ours to figure out how to put into order what has landed on our doorstep.
As hard as it is to have the unexpected show up, if we treat it like a load of firewood, and piece by piece put it into order, It can become an integral part of who we are, and fuel the lives we are here to live.
“I have fifteen minutes, and I’d love to spend them with you.” The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to a close friend who was in the midst of his own busy day, and yet was able to find a small window of time for us to connect. A small window was all I needed.
What I was searching for in those fifteen precious minutes was a safe space to say exactly what I wanted to say, unfiltered. I was in need of a place to be heard and seen, and to be able to feel exactly what I was feeling with no attempt made to fix, mollify, or find a silver lining. In that moment there was none to find.
For fifteen minutes he listened, and listened, and listened some more. Safely within the emotional equivalent of a soundproof, padded room, I was able to hear myself speak, and express deep emotions that needed to come out. Those fifteen minutes made it possible to handle the next fifteen. And the next and the next and the next.
We are all in need of safe spaces in which we can show up live and uncensored. Places where we can say what is true in that moment even when what is true is messy, ugly, and broken. It is from there that that we can find our way forward to deal with the mess, discover beauty in our ability to handle what we’ve been handed, and catch a glimpse of how we might put our broken selves back together again. Not put back together as before, but in new ways. Better ways. Stronger, more authentic, and courageous ways. Ways that begin with the gift of fifteen minutes with someone who’d love to spend them with us.
In front of our home there is an expanse of open field that stretches out toward the mountain. Trees are scattered around the perimeter, and on any given day It is likely that you will find one of the many hawks that call our little valley home perched on the top of one of those trees. From that vantage point they are able to scan the entire field for possible prey. These sharp eyed birds don’t spend all of their time on a tree top, nor do they endlessly fly about in search of their next meal. They seem to know that in order to survive, it is necessary to get a good look at the bigger picture before heading out to do what hawks do.
When it comes to us humans, we could take a lesson from these birds of prey. It is easy to get so caught up in our daily rounds that we forget to take time to pull back and get the big picture view. We simply go and do. Go and do. And, go and do some more.
Any free space on our calendars gets filled by the next request, because rather than pause and head to a nearby treetop, we swoop in on the date and time, and if it’s open, we let the next commitment snatch it up. Simply doing something because we can isn’t necessarily a reason to do it.
If we want to spend our days and expend our energy on who and what we value, we have to learn to pull back and get a hawk’s-eye view of the field that is our life.
Photo by Harrison Haines from Pexels
“My goal” he said, “is come this fall, I want to want to invite you to our annual Halloween party”. At the time we were sitting with Bob, our potential builder, in his kitchen. Over cups of coffee, we poured over our plans and talked about the ins and outs of building the home we envisioned. By the end of our time around that kitchen table, we sensed that we’d found the guy for us.
We’d met with other builders to get estimates for our project, and to a person, they were first and foremost, all about the money. Don’t get me wrong. When it comes to building a home, money matters…to everyone. However, other things matter too. Like honesty, trust, respect, and a shared commitment to the end goal. In other words, in working together, we weren’t just building a home. We were building a relationship too.
Having talked to numerous people since embarking on this adventure, most people who have a home built for them don’t usually end up with the kind of friendship that we have with Bob. In fact, in the spirit of Halloween, I’ve heard far more horror stories than ones with a happy ending.
Sure there were snafus along the way, and sometimes writing those checks took my breath away. But there were no tricks, and plenty of treats along the way, and none of us ever lost sight of the end goal. A home we loved, and finding ourselves at the next Halloween party.
The first year we went as a homeless couple with signs around our neck that read Will work for house. The next year we simply turned the signs over to read Will work for mortgage. Which, by the way, has been worth every penny!
It’s been over 12 years since that first morning around Bob’s kitchen table, and tonight we are looking forward to another great Halloween party in their home. No costumes required. Kind of like our friendship.
Pixabay on Pexels.com
Most pilgrims who walk the Camino de Santiago end their journey at the Santiago de Compostela cathedral, often celebrating the mid-day Pilgrim Mass. Others however continue on to the fishing town of Finisterre. There it has been the custom for many to *burn their hiking shoes as a final act of their pilgrimage.
Those hiking shoes, probably well-worn, have served their purpose, having gotten them to “the end of the world”, and now they will need new shoes to take them wherever their road leads in the future.
Life is a continual act of letting go of what might have once served us, but no longer does. Of burning away the old in order to make way for the new. Of unpacking our bags and taking stock of what we carry, and repacking with the essentials necessary for the next leg of our trip. Of practicing new skills and putting old ones to rest. Of burning our old shoes and breaking in new ones.
Whatever it is that got us here will not get us where we are going.
(*this practice has attracted much criticism due to the obvious environmental impacts and safety implication.)
In my work I frequently, as in almost always, hear client’s frustrations with how things are. They talk about how things should be different. Could be different. Would be different if only…and it is the “if only'“ things that suck up all of their energy, leaving little to none to engage with how things actually are.
It boils down to this, the sooner we stop wishing things were different, the sooner we can get on with actually making a difference.
Photo by Engin Akyurt from Pexels
It was a cold, wet, dark, drizzly morning in our little neck of the woods. But rain or shine, Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle needs to get outside and get some exercise, and frankly, so do I.
Heading out it didn’t feel like there was much joy in the air, and to be sure, there are days when joy can be hard to come by. Part way down our road we came upon a downed branch from a nearby tree. It was almost twice as long as Gracie with smaller branches sticking out all over, and my thought was to toss it off to the side of the road out of the way of cars. Just throw it away, be done with it, and check the walk-the-dog-in-spite-of-the-cold-wet-dark-drizzly-joyless morning off of my list.
Gracie, however, had a different idea.
She grabbed that stick by one of the branches and took off at full tilt. She shook it this way, and then that way. Head held high, tail up in the air, she pranced up the road, raced in circles, lost her grip on the branch, and snatched it up again. Shaking a stick at the cold, wet, dark, drizzly morning, up and down the road she pranced, around and around the field she raced. She just simply wouldn’t, or more likely couldn’t, quit. She was brown, curly haired joy from tip to tail. Pretty soon, so was I—minus the curly brown hair and tail. Joy, it seems, is contagious.
Rather than shake our fist at a dark day, maybe we can try being like Gracie, and shake a joyful stick at it instead.
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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