Elder + Connector + Writer
Sunflowers know that light matters. They turn their face to the East to greet the dawn every morning. They don’t wonder if the sun will rise tomorrow, but eagerly seek the sunlight that is offered today.
We too are in need of the light. Of turning our face to greet the day. Tomorrow is only a possibility, but for now, the light is shining on this day, and it is ours to decide what we will do with the day we’ve been given. The world needs us to choose well.
Getting into a new rhythm can be challenging, and moving from the expansive days of summer that unfold a bit more organically, to the shortening days of fall where more structure can be called for, is one such time. Yesterday during a drive to the High Camp trailhead I could feel the many commitments, engagements, and responsibilities chasing behind me and I began to feel more than a little panicky. There were too many moving parts to keep track of and they all just began to swirl together into one big murky mess. Sharing my growing anxiety with Tom, he listened thoughtfully, and then after a few moments replied…
Think of it this way Mol. Today we are headed for a beautiful hike and we have everything we need in our packs. Those other things that feel like they are looming large right now aren’t what today is about. Today is about hiking up a trail through breathtaking country, and enjoying the day together. Those other things? They don’t need your attention today, and are waiting for you back at your desk, are scheduled on your calendar, or are jotted down on your list. When you are ready, you can take them on, one at a time.
Not right away, but gradually, his words sunk in, and I began to catch my breath. My pack was filled with what I needed for the day, and nothing more. The rest of the mental clutter was, as Tom said, waiting for me back home, and had not been invited to join me on the hike. Over time, it will all get done, but for now it was time to hit the trail.
As we descended from High Camp, a beautiful alpine meadow on the NW flanks of Mt. Adams, we passed by a large cairn, built rock-by-rock by hikers on that trail. It isn’t unusual for us to find cairns along the trail, but it isn’t often that I stop to contribute a rock of my own.
Today, I did.
It just seemed like the right cairn, on the right trail, on the right day. Picking up a squarish black rock, about the size of a book, I held it for a moment, considering what it represented. Setting it softly down on top we moved on down our trail, knowing that we had just left behind what is no longer ours to do.
As you continue on the trail that is yours to travel, what might you leave behind that is no longer yours to do?
Fall is my favorite time of the year. I love the quality of the light, the chill in the air, and the gradual shortening of the days. It is also a gentle reminder that we are not here forever. That our time on earth is limited, and that it is up to us to decide what we will sow in the service of what we hope to harvest.
While autumn doesn't officially begin until September 23rd, it feels like summer is over. School is back in session, summer vacations are a memory, and there are four months left before a new year begins. It seems to be a time of invitation to bring a little more structure to our days, and to consider what we hope to create and bring to life in what remains of the year. To reflect once again on what matters, and channel our energies in that direction.
As Annie Dillard says, How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. As summer once again gives way to autumn, let’s take time to consider how we want to spend our days.
Photo by Lisa Fotios from Pexels
Saturday, a day when projects of all kinds get started, worked on, scrapped, and maybe even completed, seems like a good day to re-visit some good advice. Whether building a house, a career, or a relationship, not to mention a garden shed, it helps to read the directions.
Any successful project is dependent in large part on a clear understanding of what it will take to end up with the outcome we want. Hence the need to read the directions. Granted, some directions are harder to read (ummm, IKEA) than others, (hello Apple), but taking the time to read them can make all the difference. There are things that come with instruction manuals, but others that have to do with building our life, where so much more is at stake, come with a blank page. That doesn’t mean however that there arent’ good instructions to follow. It simply means that it is up to us to go find them.
Rather than waiting for all else to fail, let’s read the directions before we even start. The wisdom and guidance we need to build the kind of life we want are ours for the taking if we have the courage and willingness to seek help when we need it. Even better still, to get it before we need it.
Recently I returned to a neighborhood from my childhood. Almost every week we used to drive up a hill past a little white church that I fantasized turning into a home one day. Even back then I had a longing to live in sacred space. To dwell where God dwells.
Today, more than fifty years after those childhood drives and dreams, I discovered that someone has indeed turned that church into their home. Looking up at the white spire and leaded glass windows, it hit me, it isn’t the building that makes a space sacred, it is the spirit that fills it. God, at least any understanding that I have of the Creator that, one way or another, started it all, dwells wherever invited.
Church as home. Home as church. It’s all sacred space. Or at least I think it is meant to be.
They may not be our favorite teachers, but they are some of our best teachers. The people who seem to be able to push our buttons, get under our skin, and rub us the wrong way, are the same people who offer us the chance to do it right even when it’s hard. They provide us with opportunities to practice being who we want to be even in the midst of challenging circumstances, and reveal the places in us that still need our attention. If we let them, they will stretch us and push us, and help us grow in ways that only a good teacher can. And before we get too carried away making a list of who all those people might be, it’s good to remember that we are showing up on a few other people’s list too.
August 27, 1994
Yesterday we celebrated our 25th anniversary. I never knew love could be this big, or life this good, which is not to say that it has been smooth sailing or easy going. Far from it. It has however been worth every single minute that we’ve spent learning to create the life we share. Like most things, we’ve learned as much by what we got wrong (plenty) as by what we got right (thankfully plenty here as well it seems), and in honor of each of those years, and in no particular order, here is what my geologist and I came up with…
Love by listening.
Assume good intent.
Do your work and expect them to do the same
Don’t do their work for them and don’t expect them to do yours for you.
Play together.
Learn to laugh at yourself and with one another.
Talk about it, no matter what.
Learn to speak one another’s love languages.
Get a therapist.
Create at least one daily ritual that connects you.
Be active together.
Own up to what’s yours in real time.
Go on adventures.
Stay curious.
Be authentic.
Tell the truth even when it’s hard…especially when it’s hard.
Be courageous enough to be vulnerable.
Make your relationship the priority and move out from there.
Have the conversations that you don’t want to have.
Cook together.
Create lives of your own that strengthen the one you share.
Set boundaries that protect your relationship.
Identify and learn about each other’s enneagram numbers - really!
Love generously.
And because it bears repeating…do your work and expect them to do theirs.
I can’t wait to discover what we’ll learn over the next 25…
Peace, the kind that passes all understanding and that flows like a river, is an inside job.
It isn’t there because of our circumstances, but in spite of them.
It doesn’t come in the absence of change and challenges, but is what steadies us in the midst of them
It can be carried with us wherever we go, and will carry us through whatever comes our way.
It is the kind of peace that no one else can give to us or take away from us.
Cultivating peace, the kind that passes all understanding and that flows like a river, is the lifelong process of returning to our true self. The person we were when we first arrived on the planet and before the world told us who we should be.
Peace is coming home to the place we never left.
Making big decisions is rarely easy. Even small ones can give us pause as we worry about getting it wrong, making a mistake, missing an opportunity or getting stuck. There is no doubt that some decisions have bigger consequences than others and have the potential to impact us, and those we love, for years to come. Developing the ability to choose well takes practice. We learn by getting it right, and, by getting it wrong, and while we can never know if things will turn out as we plan and hope, and in fact will rarely if ever work out as we envision, we can decide what matters to us. We can identify the boxes that need to be checked in order to feel good about our choices.
Making a good decision starts with deciding who we are, what kind of person we want to be, what we want to get out of life and what we want to give back to life. It’s the decision to make before making the decision.
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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