Right On The Money

Sometimes there is someone, and something, too good not to share.

Please meet my dear friend Jill Schlesinger. CBS News Business Analyst, host of the nationally syndicated radio show Jill on Money, she is also the author of the new book, The Dumb Things Smart People Do With Their Money.

I met Jill about 10 years ago as we were both about to head out for an early morning hike at Rancho La Puerta, a wellness resort and spa in Tecate, Baja California, Mexico. I noticed her across the room, knew that she was someone I needed to meet, and walked right up and told her so. For the next seven days as we climbed the mountain trails together, I found her to be a safe place to talk about my long time issues with money. She didn’t gasp when I told her about my financial fears and failures. Instead, she helped me make sense of them.

Since those early morning hikes, not only have we become dear friends, but whenever I have a money question, concern, or harebrained idea, she is my first call. Hers is a no-nonsense approach, sprinkled with a hefty dose of heart and humor, and she can make even the most complex topics accessible for those of us who still count using our fingers.

Threshold Moments

There are such things as Threshold Moments. Those times when we are invited to step over fear and uncertainty, cross over the border of the familiar and the comfortable, and venture into the unknown. Marking both the ending of what has been, and the beginning of what could be, it is the threshold that bridges the gap.

Sometimes that threshold sits beneath a door that opens inward, summoning us deeper into self-knowledge and awareness. This usually requires that we find the courage to look into our shadows, those parts of ourselves that we prefer to ignore or keep hidden, or those issues and relationships that call for our attention, but are painful, or scary to look at.

At other times we are invited to venture further out, beyond the boundaries we’ve come to count on. Taking risks, embarking on new work, making important changes, and practicing new ways of being in the world.

Threshold moments are game changers, and the choice is always ours to step over the threshold.

Or not.

Either way the game changes.

Steering

Yesterday I spent a few wonderful hours with my 2 1/2 year old grand boy. We headed to the park with his stroller, him riding, me pushing. Once there we had the park to ourselves, which meant that all of the play structures were his for the taking. He couldn’t have cared less. He was all about the stroller. Not riding in it. Pushing it. 

“Mimi, I want to push it.” he said in his sweet, quiet voice, with ample space between each word.

Determined and sure of himself, off we set. Him steering, me following. For the next hour I walked behind him, mesmerized as he navigated each and every obstacle in his path. When the stroller got stuck in a muddy patch, or the pitch of the path got a little too steep, he would stop, step to the side, peer ahead, assess the problem, and then make the course correction necessary to keep moving ahead. With every passing step his confidence grew, and watching him find his own way, I could look ahead and imagine those same hands steering a tricycle. A bicycle. A car. 

It was one of the most delightful and insightful hours I’ve spent in a long time. One step at a time, we learn what we need to learn in order to be prepared for that which lies ahead. What we learn today equips us for what we encounter tomorrow. Who knows where his journey will take him, but one thing I know for sure; he has already figured out that in order to steer his own ship, he first has to master steering his own stroller.

What a smart boy.  

Pilgrim’s Progress

Being a Pilgrim 

To journey without being changed

is to be a nomad. 

To change without journeying  

is to be a chameleon. 

To journey and to be transformed

by the journey

is to be a pilgrim. 

~ Mark Nepo 

What We Seek

con·tent·ment

to be at peace with the contents of one’s life

Quote courtesy of Matters That Matter®

What Goes Around

We all have old stories and toxic messages that keep circling around, appearing on our landscapes yet again. When they do, we have the choice of grabbing hold or taking a step back. In grasping a familiar message, we deepen our connection to the past, and continue to carry it with us into the future. In stepping back, we have the opportunity to evaluate its relevance in the present, and decide whether it is worth the weight it adds to our load. Each time our stuff takes another lap around our block,  we have the choice is to latch on or let go. 

Begetting

This morning I woke up to messages from two dear friends, each of whom had done something  incredibly courageous.

As a result, I am inspired to be more courageous.

Courage begets courage

Yesterday I had the sacred privilege of witnessing, up close and personal, two acts of vulnerability.

As a result, I am inspired to be more vulnerable.

Vulnerability begets vulnerability.

This past weekend I was able to provide a safe space for a group of women, many of whom did not know one another, to risk connection and truth telling.

As a result, I am inspired to seek more connection, and speak more truth.

Connection and truth beget connection and truth.

This morning I had the opportunity to see what grace under fire looks like as someone moves forward with love and integrity, in spite of the odds.

As a result, I am inspired to act with more grace, love, and integrity, no matter the odds.

Grace, love, and integrity beget grace, love ,and integrity.

Onward.

Together.

I'll Show You Mine

“Every person has a story with the power to crack you wide open.”

Oprah

We are story tellers at heart, and we see ourselves in one another’s stories.

Why is it then, that we are so reluctant to actually tell our stories? The real ones. The messy ones. The ones that don’t have happy endings. The ones where we still haven’t figured it all out yet. I’m not talking about blurting everything out behind the cyber curtain on some social media platform, but in real life conversations, with real people, in appropriate settings.

When I was writing BLUSH: Women & Wine, it took me a long time to talk openly about my love, and my misuse, of wine. This was partly because I knew that I had my own hard work to do to figure it all out. But it was also because there was some shame connected to the reliance I had on my nightly wine to cope with the stress and painful parts of my life, and fear of what others would think if they knew. Shame and fear keep our stories under our carefully crafted wraps.

One day, in the midst of a catch-up phone conversation with a friend, she asked me what I’d been up to. Without thinking, I blurted out my story of the book I was writing about my relationship with wine, and my use of it as a very classy looking coping mechanism. There was a long, awkward silence on the other end of the phone, and I immediately regretted my impulsive vulnerability. But then she said, “You’re talking about me. But I would have been too embarrassed to talk about it if you hadn’t said something first.”

When it comes to our very human stories that connect us with all the other human stories, why wait?

Let’s be the ones to go first.

Knowing Now What We Knew Then

I’ve written exactly two poems in my life, the first in 1973 when I was 20 years old. I know this because I came across it the other day in a manilla envelope with old photos and letters. It was fascinating to look back at what my twenty-year-old self already knew, and while it is clear to me why I haven’t, and never will, make my living as a poet, it is startlingly clear that even back then I had an inner developing wisdom about things I now know for sure.

The words of this young woman were often an inconvenient truth, as I stumbled in and out of love, but in the long run, it is a truth that has served me well.  What did you know when you were twenty that you now know for sure?

Pain and love go hand in hand

one often leading the other.

But the led need not struggle against the leader,

for they both travel to the same place;

They go to the clear, bittersweet pool

of human experience, where each

may drink freely and deeply of one cup.

The water is such that all who look in it

Can see themselves perfectly.

When two people gaze into its depths

They see themselves as they truly are.

Having once gazed into such a pool

One will never again desire to look into the cloudy, shallow pools of comfort,

which do not reflect, but merely swallow the reflection.

When you seek love, look also for pain, and welcome it,

That you too may drink deeply.

Molly Davis, December 6, 1973

Crossing The Ditch

Today Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle and I wandered over to the irrigation ditch behind our house. We are working to expose her to new experiences, while also trusting her sense of timing in exploring each new encounter that is just beyond her comfort zone. Rather than push or rush her, or try to solve her problems for her, we simply invite her to explore the wilderness on the other side of her confidence threshold.

It was a gorgeous sunny day, and once at the ditch, I gave her plenty of leeway on her leash, but not so much that she could turn tail and run from the challenge before her. The bank is grass covered and a bit steep, so I went first. Stepping into the water, I simply stood there and let her get her bearings. She was clearly cautious and curious all at the same time, but curiosity eventually won out. Offering her a treat that coaxed her a few inches closer, she nervously snatched it up, dipped one foot into the water, didn’t like the feeling, and retreated. But not quite as far away as before.

Climbing up the other bank, I continued to leave enough slack in the leash for her to explore her surroundings but not escape. The distance between us was still a bit too far for her, so I returned back into the water, this time holding the treat a bit farther away. Grabbing it, she made a mad dash back up the bank, but by then I was standing on the other side again, with a firm hold on the leash.

Making her way down the bank one more time, she was obviously gauging the distance across the ditch. Clearly, she wanted to get to the other side, she just didn’t want to get her oversized puppy feet wet. Suddenly, with a daring leap, she cleared it, her feet never touching the water.

Go Gracie!

We strolled along the path heading back to the house, still on the far side of the ditch, which meant she had another little stretch of water to negotiate. Finding a new place to cross, we repeated the same basic process, only much quicker as a result of her growing confidence. Wanting to see if she had it in her to stretch herself even further, I continued to step from one side to the other, inviting her to follow. By the end, of our outing, she was splashing her way right through that water to the other side of the ditch.

Go Gracie!

Anytime we challenge ourselves to “cross the ditch”, to stretch the boundaries that have become comfortable and familiar, we are a lot like Gracie.

We don’t like being pushed or rushed as we explore the wilderness on the other side of our confidence threshold.

We need enough room to navigate but not run away from a new challenge.

We need time to get our bearings.

We will probably feel cautious and curious all at once, but given a little time, curiosity has a chance to win out.

We might not like the feeling when we first dip our toe into new water.

We may find ourselves taking a sudden daring leap to the other side, but still not get our feet wet.

And, if we stretch ourselves just a little further, we will eventually find ourselves splashing our way straight through the water to the other side of the ditch.

Go us!