Behind The Curtain: The Inspiration for BLUSH: Women & Wine

I am so happy to be able to share this lovely interview, and grateful to Hélène Tragos Stelian and  Next Act For Women for sharing my story.

Writing a Book about Women and Wine: Molly’s Story

Hélène

After a long career in Human Resources, Molly found the voice she’d quieted in her youth and began to write. Her book, Blush: Women & Wine, explores how so many of us turn to wine to soothe our discomfort and avoid painful feelings. 

Tell us a little about your background.

The youngest of four...

The youngest of four...

am a Pacific Northwest girl. Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, I was the youngest of four by a long shot. My siblings are 8, 12, and 13 years older than me. My mom tried hard to convince me that I wasn’t an “oops” baby. But seriously? My parents were wonderful, loving people with busy lives of their own. My dad was....

How It Works

"There’s no nonstop flight from order to reorder. You’ve got to go through the disorder." 

- Richard Rohr

Order

Order

 

Recently I listened to an episode of On Being, the Peabody Award winning public radio conversation and podcast, hosted by Krista Tippet. Her guest for the episode was Richard Rohr, the Franciscan priest, writer, teacher, and founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation in Albuquerque, New Mexico. In the midst of their rich and robust conversation, Fr. Rohr offered a simple metaphor for the path to spiritual transformation. He explained that he tells his students to imagine three boxes:

Order

Disorder

Reorder

That's how it works.

The only way to transformation is through each of the three boxes. And as much as most of us cling to the desire for order, often clawing and fighting to keep things neat, orderly, and all buttoned up, we can't leapfrog from order to reorder. That's not how it works. Disorder is part and parcel of the path to transformation. For a deeper dive into Fr. Rohr's wisdom on the subject, I highly recommend listening to the entire On Being episode, as well as reading his thought provoking Falling Upward: A Spirituality For The Two Halves of Life.

Reflecting on his three box metaphor, and juxtaposing it with life as I've come to understand it, his words ring true. It also dawns on me that we are presented with an abundance of opportunities, both grand and small, to practice walking the transformative path. As individuals, partners, families, communities, societies, and even as a species. Some of those opportunities are ours by choice. Most of them are not.

We recently had our great room and kitchen repainted. In the course of just one day, as we moved every single thing from the areas to be painted out onto the deck, we went from order to disorder. Anyone driving up to the house that day would have thought that whoever lived there must have died, and an estate sale was in progress. A week later, new paint on the walls and the painter paid, we began the process of reorder. It was sort of a fun-but-royal pain in the ass. It was also a subtle kick in the ass to arrange life differently. To take the time to put back only those things we love and that serve us well. A couple of  trips to the dump and the Goodwill later, our home is in the process of a beautiful transformation. A transformation made possible by the chaos that came before it. Prior to living amidst the disorder, we were unable to see the overcrowded forest for the familiar trees.

Disorder

Disorder

The good news is that disorder is always an invitation to put life together differently. When we chose to repaint our walls, we also chose to invite disorder into our lives.

The bad new is, that's not how it usually works. We don't choose disorder. Disorder is thrust upon us.   

The landlord informs us that she has decided to sell the house we're renting, and we have 30 days to move. 

We fall into bed, desperate for a good night of sleep, and then our baby throws up, spikes a fever, and we are on the phone with the advice nurse at 2am.

At a routine check up, our doctor finds a suspicious lump.

Headed to a crucial meeting, we miss our connecting flight.

We wake up one morning to find that our car has been stolen.

On an evening walk we get hit over the head with the fact that we have been using wine as a coping mechanism for years. 

A conversation we thought would turn left, takes a sharp turn to the right.

We suddenly lose a beloved member of our family.

The financial rug gets pulled out from beneath our feet.

We cast our vote on Election Day, and wake up the day after.

Order

Disorder

Reorder

That's how it works.  

Time to get to work.

Reorder

Reorder

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Giving Up Labels For Lent

Labels get us into trouble. Labels separate us one from another, and keep us swimming in our end of the pool, safely out of splashing range of "those" people who might rain on our political, religious, socio-economic, and world-view parade. 

Labeling others is the practice of quickly categorizing another person or group into a box of our own making, and of our usually limited understanding. Labeling others is the easy way out. I know, because I do it all the time. 

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Hide And Seek

Dear You,Come out, come out, wherever you are. Without you, I am nothing.Love,The World.
Dear You,
Come out, come out, wherever you are. Without you, I am nothing.
Love,
The World.

When I was a little girl, as I remember it, everyone came to our house for Thanksgiving dinner. Tables were put end-to-end to make room for our extended family, and while there was a "kids table" set up, my cousins and I preferred to hide under one of the other tables. Sure that the grown-ups couldn't see us, we sat under the table as life continued on around us, and the adults played along with our little game. What with our giggles and little feet poking out from beneath the linen table cloths, we were hiding in plain sight. Sometimes we hid for the thrill of it all,  but mostly it was a strategic ploy to avoid Uncle Blake's lumpy gravy and my aunt's famous creamed onions. But eventually we had to leave our little hidey hole, and would find, much to our dismay, our untouched plates still awaiting us, and the gravy was now not only lumpy, but cold. And the creamed onions were, well, still creamed onions.

When my daughters were little girls, they loved to play hide and seek. One of their favorite hiding places was under a blanket. Sure that I couldn't see them, they sat as life continued on around them, and I played along with their little game. "Now where could they be?" I would wonder aloud, well within their earshot. What with their giggles and little feet poking out from beneath the blanket, they were hiding in plain sight. Sometimes they hid for the thrill of it all, but mostly it was a strategic ploy to avoid any unwelcome chores, or to delay the inevitable bedtime. Eventually they had to leave their little hidey hole, and would find, much to their dismay, the chores still awaited them. And bedtime was, well, still bedtime. 

Hide and seek is not only a childhood game. Most of us play it for most of our lives. And like me, my cousins, and my young daughters, we hide smack dab in the middle of the room which is our life, hoping not to be found by whatever it is that we'd rather avoid. But unlike the unwanted lumpy gravy, creamed onions, childhood chores and the inevitable bedtime, now we hide from more serious things. Pain and discomfort, unresolved issues and challenging conversations, unanswered questions and unfamiliar territory, important decisions and necessary changes. These are the things from which I have often hidden. Still do sometimes. But when I do, the game always ends the same way. With lumpy gravy.

Every one of us does it. We play hide and seek from our own life, and, we hide under tables of our own choosing. My tables have included, but are not limited to:

One too many glasses of wine.

Taking care of everyone else.

Staying busy, no matter what.

Blaming others for the state of my life.

Binge watching my latest favorite series

We hide under the blankets of our own weaving, made up of the threads of our long held stories, fears, wounds and sorrows. My blanket has been made up of fabrics including, but not limited to: 

I am not enough.

I might fail.

It's too hard.

It will be too painful. 

I don't know how it will turn out.

But our tables don't keep us safe, they keep us small. Our blankets don't protect us, they prevent us from living the life that is ours. Hiding from our lives today only means running back into them again tomorrow. Over, and over, and over, and over, and over...

So come on. 

Come out, come out wherever you are.

It's time to come out from our hidey holes and get on with our messy, complex, beautiful, imperfect, creative, compassionate, flawed, and, one-of-a-kind miraculous lives. Our life is waiting for us, and so is the world.  And, no matter how long we crouch under our tables and huddle under our blankets, those creamed onions will be, well, still creamed onions. 

COVER-Women_and_Wine.jpg

 

 

 

Water-Ditching Survival Training

Posted earlier. 

Now more important than ever.

My husband Tom is a scientist. A volcanologist to be more exact, and his area of expertise is the lahar, a destructive mudflow on the slope of a volcano. Sometimes his research takes him out into the field, and sometimes that means flying in a helicopter. As an employe of the US Geological Survey, he is employed by you, the American taxpayer, which also means that you pay for him to receive Water Ditching Survival Training. Your tax dollars hard at work. Please know that you have my profound thanks!   

A short explanation of said training is that he and his fellow students are taken to a local pool where they spend several hours learning about and practicing what to do in the event of a water ditching. They take turns strapping themselves into the seat of a mock helicopter airframe, are then plunged into the water where the airframe is rolled over and over until they find themselves submerged under water. They are disoriented and expected to find their way back to the surface. Sound like fun? 

Imagine what that might feel like.  You are flying along, minding your own business and then something happens that sends you careening off your fight path and into the watery depths. It is dark and cold, you are confused and unsure which way is up... literally, and terrified and desperate to get out. My first instincts would be to 1. Panic. 2. Free myself from my seatbelt as fast as possible. 3. Get out of the aircraft. 4. Swim back up to the surface. 

Following those instincts, I'd probably drown. 

According to his training, Tom learned (and I'm loosely paraphrasing here) that as soon as you realize that you are headed for the water you should 1. Stay focused.  2. Grab ahold of something, anything - the door handle, steering wheel, armrest, and hold on until the helicopter settles.        3. Unstrap your seatbelt while STILL HANGING ON TO YOUR HANDHOLD.  4. Figure out which way the bubbles are rising  while STILL HANGING ON TO YOUR HANDHOLD.  The bubbles are rising to the surface, but you may be hanging upside down. That handhold is the only thing that will orient you to which way is actually up. Then, and only then, are you ready to let go, free yourself and swim to the surface.

I hope to God almighty that I never, ever, have to try that out in a real helicopter and a real body of water, and I hope you never do either. But. Water-ditching happens to us in life all the time. We are flying along, riding inside of our life, and suddenly we are plunged into deep water and have to find our way back to the surface. We lose our job and don't know what to do. We get a new job and don't know what to do. Our heart gets broken and it feels like we will never recover. We fall head-over-heels in love and it feels like we will never recover. We move to a new town and find ourselves alone and uncertain in the midst of the unknown. We don't move to a new town and find ourselves alone and uncertain in the midst of the familiar. We over-commit and pay the price. We under-commit and pay the price. We take a risk and fail. We play it safe and fail. 

These past few months have left me under water wondering which way is up. The handholds that are helping me find my way to the surface are the ones I've learned to grab, and include the practices and people that keep me grounded, spiritually, physically and emotionally....Meditation, prayer, exercise, sleep, good nutrition, French Press coffee (really!), time and connection with my inner-circle, (including myself).  The people who keep me both grounded and oriented are those who love me for who I am and who I am not, who show up no matter what, are willing to be vulnerable and real, and who have sworn (along with me) to tell one another the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help us God.

As the saying goes....Shit happens. So does water-ditching. 

  • What is your handhold?
  • Who is your handhold?
  • What is it that will steady you, and allow you to wait for things to settle?  
  • Who will help you orient yourself so that you can find your way to the surface?  

Time to get to the surface!  We've got work to do!

 

PublicDomainPhotos.net

PublicDomainPhotos.net

The Dash That Connects Our Dots

This was first posted on December 5, 2015. In light of the current state of our world, it seems that the dash that connects our dots is more important than ever. Time to connect our dots in ways that heal, restore, touch the world for the good of all. Because we are all in this together. 

We have a tradition at our church.  After the sermon, called a Reflection by our community (which I think is a totally better name for it), those of us in the pews have a chance to give our two-cents worth, which often is as valuable as the message itself.  Recently there was a reflection about the importance of a hyphen, that punctuation mark defined as “the sign that connects two words”.  We were challenged to think about the connection and meaning conveyed in that small little mark. Afterwards as a few of us reflected on the Reflection, one person shared that the first thing he thought about was a childhood memory of visiting a nearby cemetery.  He would wander through the headstones, most of which gave a birth year, followed by the year of death, connected by not a hyphen, but a dash.  To be more specific, it is the En dash, as opposed to the Em dash, that is used to indicate spans or differentiation. (To read more about the dash — https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dash) That dash served to represent all the years between the beginning and end of a life.  He commented that those two dates on the headstones were in many ways the least significant, as all of the living of the person buried there was to be found in that tiny dash. Made up of every step, every thought, every word, every pain, every relationship, every breath, every…. everything of that person’s life, the beginning and the ending are but dots on either side of the lifeline that connects the first breath to the last.  An entire life is contained in that dash. 

It’s all about the dash.

Over the years, I’ve reviewed more than my share of resumes. Potential candidates for hire or promotion list their experience, starting with the most recent, and identified with the starting and end dates of that position.  A long expanse of time does not automatically equate to depth of experience or expertise. What did you learn?  What did you contribute? How have you grown? Tell me about the dash.  Nor does a short experience suggest a lack of lasting impact.  During his short time in office, prior to his assassination, John F. Kennedy’s presidency was marked by history making events and issues including the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty, the establishment of the Peace Corps and the Cuban Missile Crisis.  Length of experience always counts for something.  That something is contained in the dash.  

 It’s all about the dash.

In the biblical story of creation contained between Genesis verse 1, which was the beginning of it all, and verse 31, when God saw that it was good, a lot happened in the time spanned between the those two verses.  From an endless void to a world teeming with life, whether you believe that took seven days or billions of years, that heavenly dash contains a hell of a lot.  The story is found in the dash. 

It’s all about the dash.

In the past three years we have planned as many weddings for our daughters.  The first two were beautiful, the one still in the planning stages will be so as well.  A wedding is an important event, and marks a deep commitment being made between two people.  The wedding is only the beginning.  The marriage is what happens from the moment vows are made to all of the rest of the moments when the vows are kept. Or not. The quality of the life built together by two people isn’t found in an evening of ritual and celebration, no matter how well planned, extravagant or beautiful.  A marriage is found in the dash.

It’s all about the dash.

Time is a gift.  One of our most valuable resources, it can be sliced and diced in so many ways.  Every day is a new choice, a multitude of choices about what will happen in the moments in front of us. Our life is found in our dash, as It is what connects our dots that tell the story of who we are, what we do and how we do it.  

I was born October 12, 1953.  So far, my dash, which measures about 1/16 of an inch in my favorite font, American Typewriter, contains 63 years, 3 months and 24 days.

Molly Davis

1953 - 

It’s all about the dash. 

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To The Mountaintop

Photo by Tom Pierson

Photo by Tom Pierson

"Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop." 

                                                                           - Martin Luther King

None of us knows what will happen now, and the days ahead will be difficult. And the promises of democracy are now ours to make real. 

None of us knows what will happen now, and the days ahead will be difficult. And the beloved community is now ours to make real.

None of us knows what will happen now, and the days ahead will be difficult. And the dream is now ours to make real

To the mountaintop. 

All of us.

Together.

 

Martin Luther King Jr. - I Have A Dream Speech

 

 

 

 

Snow Days

It's been snowing for days now.

We are, what you might call, snowed in.

Our road is half a mile long, and in order to get out to the highway, the road has to be plowed almost every day. Thankfully, we have wonderful neighbors who show up and plow the road, often without being asked. They might come as late as midnight or as early as 6AM. Without their help, we would be up a frozen creek without a (useless) paddle. To get out of our house at all requires constant shoveling. Thankfully, we have a couple of good snow shovels and the wherewithal to shovel. 

Blessed to have a roof over our heads, a warm house, plenty of wood to keep a fire blazing, and food in the pantry, we are safe, comfortable, and able to enjoy all the magic that comes with a snow day. We forgo the gym, and head out the back door on x-country skis for a killer workout. Shoveling snow replaces the need for free weights. Strapping on snow shoes, we track a small herd of elk, spot a squirrel popping up through the snow to grab a snack at the bird feeder, and watch wild turkeys march through the woods.  We nap in front of the fire, catch up on reading, play endless games of backgammon, and cook hearty comfort food. Tucked in front of the fire, conversations slow down and go deep. These are the treasures of being snowed in. 

But.

It isn't all snow globes and magic. Meetings and social gatherings get canceled, plans have to change, and eventually, in spite of the outdoor adventures and indoor coziness, cabin fever sets in. When the snow falls for days, so does the pace of life. Everything slows down, and when things slow down, our anxiety usually speeds up. We find that we suddenly have to sit with the discomfort of whatever it is we try to avoid by getting out and getting busy, or by distracting ourselves through binge watching our go-to series (again), or by losing ourselves in the blackhole of cyberspace. But that same discomfort is calling for our attention. It is the souls way of getting on our radar screen, inviting us to dig deeper, venture further and climb higher. It might be asking us to step fully into our untended pain, our unaddressed issues, or our unresolved inner and outer conflicts. It might  be urging us to step over our fears and out into the world. It could be imploring us to stop playing small and start imagining something larger. Finding ourselves snowbound is a summons to become free of whatever binds us up. It is a call to step onto the trail,and hike our way through whatever it is that blocks our way to living as fully and wholeheartedly as we can. And the trailhead is always, always, always, squarely beneath our feet, even if buried under three feet of snow. The next good step is there to be taken. 

Snow isn't required to get snowed in. We all know the feeling of finding ourselves stuck inside and unable to get out, with drifts so high that we can't see the sky. Who shows up to "plow our road" without being asked? Do they know we are snowed in? If not, time for us to ask for their help. (And as much as I hate to admit it, that almost always proves to be a next good step.)  What "shovel" do we reach for when our way is blocked? Don't have one? Time to go find one and learn how to use it. 

The next time we are snowed in, will it be a call to settle in and sit with whatever we find there?  Or, will it be an invitation to strap on our snow shoes and step out to discover the life that is waiting for us outside our door? Either way, answering the call is our next step. 

 

Go Forth and...Give Voice!

My good friend and colleague David Berry wrote an exquisite book about leadership. More specifically, A More Daring Life talks about the importance of finding our own voice of leadership at the crossroads of change. He presents this concept of voice through three distinctly different yet intricately connected lenses: The Voice of Understanding, The Voice of Connection, and, The Voice of Exploration. I'd tell you more, but then you might not do what I hope you'll do, which is to get your hands on your own copy and take a deliciously deep dive into his pages. I can't think of better fodder to kick off the year!

A few days ago, I wrote my first blog of the new year about my search for new marching orders for 2017.  Simply put, they are to Go Forth each and every day and bring all that I have to offer to a waiting world. The necklace with those two words, Go Forth, the one I wear every day and that is pictured in that blog, sits squarely between my head and my heart. And, as I learned from David's book, so does something else. My voice. He recounts an experience of discovering that on him, exactly midway between his cerebral cortex and the middle of his chest, sits his voice box. That discovery led him to the insight that it is our voice that connects our head and our heart, and that we need both in order to live and lead well. It is our voice that connects our cerebral gray matter with our blood-red hearts, conveying both what we know and how we feel, what we think and what we believe.

These are trying times. Uncertainty, strife, fear and divisive forces seem to be at work all around us. Strident voices shout from every possible outlet, and they seem to be either emotionally charged but without thoughtful substance, or a spewing of cold hard data without any heartfelt warmth. I probably can't change that tide. And neither can you. But I can bring a different kind of voice to my days, and a different kind of message to all whom I encounter. And so can you. If ever there was a need for intelligent, wholehearted communication it is now. Inside our homes and in our houses of worship, in our places of work and the gyms in which we work out, on the street and at the checkout counter, in the airport ticket line and in the evermore cramped seats on the plane, in our social media conversations and in our social circles. Everywhere life is hungry to hear thoughtful, heartfelt words meant to help and to heal, to inform and to inquire, to encourage and to empower, to challenge and to change. 

The power of our voice is immense. Our voice can change the world for good, but only when powered by both head and heart.

Go Forth and...Give Voice!

Go Forth and ...

It is a serious thing

just to be alive

on this fresh morning

in this broken world.

Mary Oliver

It's time to start writing again.
At our house, Christmas has been "put away" for another year, the Christmas decorations and nativity scene all (somewhat) carefully tucked away for a long winters nap. Family and friends have departed, and a new year has begun. I've been away from my desk for a month, and a new year always beckons me back to the page, and the need to put words down on the clean white space. I'm not much one for resolutions or goals, strategic plans or strict timelines. I am one, however, for marching orders, for a call to action that helps direct my steps in a meaningful way. We are all here, alive together, on this beautiful and broken planet, to make a difference for the good in the world that is within our reach. Making that difference is a serious thing indeed. 
What are my marching orders for 2017?
What are yours?
As I pondered what to write about, and how to connect my writing with my marching, I kept drawing a blank. I have a book coming out in February (BLUSH: Women & Wine), so I could write about that, expanding on the message in between the covers of the book. But that didn't seem to quite cut it. Last year, my marching orders were to finish that book and get its message out. But them's old marching orders. My business name is Trailhead Coaching and Consulting, so I could write about "adventures from the trail" and the importance of connecting who we are with what we do and how we do it. Nope. Not that either. One evening I decided to just get it done, and with lots of determination and a wee bit of aggravation, I sat down to brainstorm a list of themes for the year. It turned out to be a short list. As in, there was nothing on it. The harder I thought the bigger the blank I drew. So, I did what I usually do, when I can remember to do it. I quit thinking about it, and trusted that new insights and information would  rise to the surface in due time. And sure enough, it did.
The next morning, as I have every day since she gave it to me, I put on the necklace that my daughter Lauren gave me for Christmas. A small gold tag with two small words that pack a big punch. Go Forth. And just like that, those marching orders appeared. The necklace sits squarely between my head and my heart, reminding me to use both as I move through this new year, a day at a time, a moment at a time. Reminding me to be mindful and wholehearted in all that I do. 
This year, perhaps more than any in recent memory, needs our help. 2017 is a year in which we all have important work to do if we are ever to live side-by-side in the midst of our differences. This last year has taken a toll on everyone I know, and on people I will never meet. 2017 is beckoning us, it is begging us, to Go Forth, and bring all we've got to the new years party. What that means for each of us is particular. The need for it is universal. Whatever your calling, whatever your gifts, whatever your passions, whatever your deepest values, Go Forth and do. Go Forth and be. Go Forth and give. Go Forth and lead. Go Forth and serve. Go Forth and create. Go Forth and work. Go Forth and play. Go Forth and learn. Go Forth and speak up and speak out. Go Forth and listen. And no matter who you are, Go Forth and love. 
On your mark, get set...Go Forth and ...