It Is Well

My soul is tired tonight.

It’s not a bad thing, just a true thing.

Many near and dear to me are in the midst of loss, grief, pain, uncertainty, and unrelenting change, and their souls are weary too.

It’s not a bad thing, just a true thing.

There is no way around or over such times, there is only through. And while we can’t walk someone else’s trail for them, we can accompany them on their way. If we are called to do nothing else, we are called to this. To sidle up to one another, and stick together, come what may.

We listen, and listen, and then listen some more. We connect them with needed resources, and clear our calendars.. We show up without being asked, and pick up the phone and call. We get online and order something that will lift their spirits when they find it delivered to their porch. We cry with them, and laugh with them in that crazy-ass way that only dark humor can turn on a moment of light. We commiserate with them, and cook for them. Shake our fists heavenward with them, even as we offer up prayers of gratitude for the grace and strength to make it through another day.

As they do for me, I do for them. As I do for them, they do for me.

And so it goes.

It is nothing if not a maze of shared grace.

Weary though it may be, at the end of this day, it is well with my soul.

Wing-Walking

“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.”

~ Havelock Ellis

There’s something called the Wing-Walker principle.

Often featured stunts in airshows of the past, wing-walkers were those daredevil folk willing to crawl out of the cockpit of an airborne biplane, and walk on the wing. Those watching from the ground, as well as the walker on the wing, knew that imminent death was a possibility.

The wing-walker principle, as explained to me, is that you never let go of one handhold until you have another one to grab on to. Makes good sense to me.

This same principle holds true on more than an airplane wing.

Life often feels as precarious as being out on an airplane wing, high above the ground, and the wind ready to blow you to kingdom come. There are times when it feels like you won’t survive, and that death is a real possibility if you can’t find something to hold onto.

When big change is upon us, what we’ve held onto in the past may not be able to sustain us where we are going, and In order to make our way forward, we have to find the next handhold.

Not the next ten.

Not even the next two.

Just the next thing to grab onto that will help us to hold steady in the gale force winds that threaten to push us off into thin air. That handhold could be the next phone call, decision, step, action, or piece of new information that will allow us to let go of the old, and begin to take hold of the new.

One handhold at a time, until we are again on solid ground.

Prop The Door Open

“To realize one’s destiny is a person’s only obligation.”

~ from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

This morning as I was working out in the little gym in town, I opened the door to let in the  gorgeous view of the fall colors in the distance, some fresh autumn air, and a little more light. I was facing the door while lifting some weights, when a slight breeze picked up outside, and the door slowly and quietly began to shut. It stopped about two-thirds of the way, leaving only a third of the view, fresh air, and light.

I’d forgotten to prop it open with a rock.

It is safe to say that while I am squarely in the third-third of my life, there is still a lot out there that is mine to do. More words to write, more retreats to lead, more stages from which to speak, more clients to coach, more work on which to collaborate, more adventures with the love of my life, more time with the “littles” in our family, more time with those I love, and, more to discover every step of the way.

In order to make good on what is still mine to do, I have to keep the door to whatever that is open.

So do you.

An open door keeps our vision in front of us, breathes fresh air into our work, and shines light on our steps. But the door won’t stay open of its own accord. We have to prop it open with our rock-solid commitment to pursuing the good work to which we are called, the authentic, whole-hearted lives that we are here to live, and the people whose hearts we are here to love and to touch.

The door to the life that is ours can begin to close, ever so slowly and quietly, if we don’t remember to prop it open with a rock.

Great Question

“Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Lewis Howes, a NYT bestselling author, lifestyle entrepreneur, former pro athlete, and host of The School of Greatness Podcast, asks his guests the same question at the end of every interview. He calls it Three Truths, and he sets the table for the question like this. He asks his guests to imagine (paraphrasing loosely here) that they are at the end of their lives, and, when they are gone all of their work will go with them. Whatever body of work they have created will leave the planet when they do. With this in mind, he asks them to share three things that they know to be true, and would want their loved ones to know.

What a great question!

Since I may not be invited to be on his show, I decided to pretend that I was one of his guests. We were at the end of the interview, and I imagined that I was at the end of my life, and my body of work was packed up and ready to head out into the great beyond with me. 

So Molly, what are the Three Truths you would want your loved ones to know?

We are all created in the image of God. However you define that force, at our core, we have a spark of that from which we came.

 We are all called to live authentic, wholehearted lives.

We are all called to love, help, and heal the world that is within our reach.

My prayer is that when the end comes, I won’t have to answer that question, because I will have lived my answers out loud.

What are your Three Truths?

(Written with gratitude for Lewis Howes and his good work and great question.)

Faithful To The Work

“The shortest way to do many things is to do only one thing at a time.”

~ Mozart

When we were building our home, my husband took on the task of staining the upstairs floor. No small task.

The floor measured approximately 800 sq. ft.

Each board had to be stained.

Twice.

By hand.

With a 4” brush.

While on his hands and knees.

It’s the kind of job that makes me want to enter a witness protection program.

The work took multiple days to finish. Probably because I was feeling a little guilty for not helping, or even offering to, I would regularly wander upstairs with water, or coffee, or a beer. How are you ever going to get this all done? I wondered aloud. He thought for a moment. Just one board at a time.

That is called being faithful to the work.

The work was to stain the floor. The floor would become the solid foundation upon which we would live. He wasn’t all wrapped around the axle about how long it was going to take. Or how hard it was. Or how tedious it was. He was simply faithful to the work.

One brush stroke at a time. One board at a time

Dip the brush into the stain.

Brush it onto the board.

Repeat.

Until one day there was a beautiful, rustic wood floor upon which our life continues to unfold. And it is there because someone was faithful to the work of staining one board at a time.

Let’s be faithful to our work. All of it. Not get all wrapped around the axle about how long it is going to take. Or how hard it is. Or how tedious it can sometimes feel. Simply be faithful to the work that is ours to do, whatever that work may be.

We are all meant to contribute, in our own unique ways, to the solid foundation upon which we all live. Which is exactly what can happen when we are each faithful to the work that is ours to do.

Just take it one board at a time.

Your Real Art

 “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.“

~ Thomas Merton

A lot of years ago my best friend (and amazing artist) Kristine and I attended a creativity retreat led by Julia Cameron, author of the seminal book, The Artist’s Way. We were in Taos, New Mexico staying at the Mabel Dodge Luhan House, an inn with a history of creative types like Georgia O’Keefe, Willa Cather, D.H. Lawrence, and Ansel Adams gathering under its roof. Creativity practically ran down the walls, and seeped up through the floors. 

Joining us for the week were other creative types from around the country, and at the time, I didn’t consider myself to be one of them. I was a “creative wannabe”. My greatest hope for the retreat was that no one  would find me out.

Someone did.

I can remember exactly which doorway I was standing in, and the woman that I was talking to. Everything was going fine until she asked me the one question I had been dreading.

So, what is your art?

Busted. 

 Umm. I’m a writer.

Her eyes narrowed.

But what is your real art? 

She took aim, and fired.

You know, like do you paint? Or draw? Or sculpt? Or design? Your real art. 

Hers was a cheap shot, although I don’t think it was a malicious one. Maybe the same fears and insecurities that made me doubt my own artistic abilities made her uncertain of her own. Maybe she was a “writer wannabe”. 

Her words haunted me for the rest of the retreat and for years to come. But the more creative risks I took, the more I learned about myself. Her question, as it turned out, was a generative one, as I broke it apart and looked at the pieces one at a time.

What is MY real art? It is whatever I envision, create, and display, made visible in the world for all to see. 

What is my REAL art? It is whatever is a true, honest, authentic, and vulnerable  representation of who I am, made visible in the world for all to see. 

What is my real ART? It is whatever I make in my life and of my life, offered up to enrich and beautify the world, made visible for all to see.

The world is but a gallery for our life, and whatever we make out of our lives is made visible in the world for all to see. 

You are an artist.

I am an artist.

We are all artists.

Oh...and I’m a writer.

Viborg Cathedral: Stairs to the tower. Viborg, Denmark

Just. Do. It.

 “Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up.” 

~Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life 

One of the unexpected outcomes of writing BLUSH: Women & Wine, was that I fell in love with writing all over again. In the process of sitting down and putting words on the page, I remembered something I had forgotten; I love to write.

By showing up day after day at my desk, I rediscovered one of my passions; I love to write.

In honing my craft, I rekindled an important fire; I love to write.

After the book came out however, the flames that had fueled it went out. I was no longer stoking the fire.  

 40 days ago today I made the commitment to write every day. Not ready to begin working on another book (yet), I decided to just start writing. I decided to just do it.

As with any endeavor, some days are easier than others. There are days when the words can’t pour out on the page fast enough. I love those days.

Then there are other days.

Like today.  

And so...

Today it is enough to put words on the page, because when you love something, you just do it.

Today it is enough to show up again, because when you love something, you just do it.  

Today it is enough to continue to hone my craft, because when you love something, you just do it. 

What do you love? 

Just. 

Do.  

It. 

Music To Our Ears

“Don’t die with your music still inside you.”  ~ Wayne Dyer

Hiking in the forest up above a Bavarian village, I had the sense that at any moment Julie Andrews would burst upon the scene, singing her heart out. When it came to singing, she just couldn’t seem to help herself. She made music wherever she went.

Even though we never caught a glimpse of Fraulein Maria on our hike, the hills were alive with the sound of music, coming from the bells around the necks of the cows grazing all around us. The cows just couldn’t seem to help themselves. They made music wherever they went.

I think we are meant, like Maria, and like the Bavarian cows, to make our music wherever we go.

 Our music is just another word for our life.

The one we are meant to live.

The authentic one.

The wholehearted one.

When the music is ours, it isn’t a performance.

It is an offering.

When we find our music inside of us, we just can’t seem to help ourselves. We make it wherever we go.

Rise and Shine

Recently I was lucky enough to spend a week at Rancho La Puerta in Tecate, Baja California, Mexico as a presenter. I was there to talk about the importance of "Trusting Your Own Magnet" - how to sense where life is calling you, and how you might get there.  My youngest daughter  Lauren came with me, and every morning we were up early, sitting out on the veranda with our sacred first cups of French Press coffee and setting our intentions for the day. Not surprisingly, our days unfolded with a sense of ease, space and grace.  It. Was. Glorious.

But when someone is serving you beautiful, organic meals made from vegetables just harvested from the Ranch garden and prepared by people who pray over and bless the food before serving it, making your bed in the morning and turning it down at night, leading you in quiet meditations, massaging and herbal wrapping your body, and serving you just made smoothies... well... if my day didn't go well.... #suckstobeme.

One afternoon fellow presenter Lindsay Sherry, a certified nutritionist and holistic health coach, was sharing 8 Tips for Creating Your Best and Healthiest Life!. Tip number one, numero uno, at the top of the heap? Take time in the morning just for you. Her words rang true. The ones that resonated even more? If we're going to win the day, we have to win the first hour. Period. End of sentence. It's as simple as that, and as hard as it gets. Especially when you're not at a world-class health spa with gracious people attending to your every need.

Back home, in the midst of the magic and the mess that is my real life, with meals to cook and beds to make, laundry to do and bills to pay, relationships to tend to and emails to write, it's a little tricker. And yet those morning hours set the table for the rest of the day. They really do. And if I let the table get set for me (hello depressing news, toxic tweets, social media rabbit holes, hitting the snooze button - again, and fake food for breakfast) I shouldn't be surprised if my daily bread tastes stale. Thankfully I came home from the Ranch committed to becoming committed to winning my first hour. Currently, this is what that looks like:

• Up at 5:30ish, hopefully after at least 7 hours of sleep
• Out on the porch sipping Sleepy Monk French Press coffee out of my favorite  before 6:00
• 20 minutes of meditation (or at least pretending to meditate)
• A little inspirational reading (sometimes only time for a sentence or two)
• Off to the gym for a workout

I wish I could tell you that I got it right every day. But I don't. I wish I could tell you that I was up to an hour of meditation a day and have found inner peace unlike ever before. But I'm lucky to get in that 20 minutes, and inner peace is a total crap shoot. What I can tell you is that I am learning to trust the practice and just get up and do it. I am finding a tiny sliver  of inner calm that I can access a wee bit easier. Rather than react, I'm a tiny bit more able to take a deep breath and a step back. With more time in the gym my energy is increasing as is my muscle tone. My morning practice to win the day is a work in progress, and comparing mine to that of anyone else doesn't help. I seem to be in pretty good company about that. In The Book of Joy, Archbishop Desmond Tutu dismisses his own morning meditation practice when compared to His Holiness the Dalai Lama's of arising at 3:00am for five hours of prayer and meditation. The Archbishop doesn't haul his sorry ass out of bed until 4:00am and then only manages to squeeze in three or four hours of prayer and meditation. Like Teddy Roosevelt said, "Comparison is the Thief of Joy." 

I've been a morning person for as long as I can remember. Apparently I arrived on the planet wired to get up before the sun does. But being an early riser does not a good day make. What we do when our feet hit the floor does. 

Time For New Stories

As I reflect on this new year, I want to share a singular thought that keeps coming to me—2018: The Year of New Stories.

I’ve decided to consider what old stories are ready to be put to bed. Those stories that might have served me in the past, or maybe never did. The stories that I don't want to take with me into 2018. And, with more room in my heart, mind, and soul, what new stories might I be able to write? To tell? To create? To live? 

Our stories can keep us stuck in old patterns, and confine us to small dreams and fruitless actions. Or, they can open the doors to new ways of being in the world and in relationship with ourselves and with one another. New stories offer us a vision of how things could be, and invite us to take daring and necessary leaps of faith. Sometimes they even weave new patterns in our hearts that allow us to make peace for the first time with who we are in all of our glory and our brokenness. 

As 2018 begins, I find my heart overflowing with gratitude for you...for those of you who are near and dear, those with whom I have only recently crossed paths for the first time, and, for those of you I may never meet but who share this planet we all call home. You matter in so many ways, and my life is abundantly filled with love, deep joy, and meaning because of what each of you bring to the world.

As human beings we are storytellers at heart, and we see ourselves in one another's stories. May we be bold, and bring forth stories worthy of telling for years to come.

With abundant gratitude.

Molly

Photo: Tom Pierson