On March 1st, I had the pleasure of speaking at Body Bliss Yoga Studio in Camus WA as part of the Ripple Wellness Sunday Meditation Series. I spoke about the importance of releasing fear, lessening our anxiety, and living with a heart-centered focus in times fraught with uncertainty and stress. Introducing an approach I call “vigilant presence” -- essentially awakening to the present moment through being responsive as opposed to being reactive. I shared supportive suggestions and techniques including creating a meditation practice that brings you to a safe place in your mind that you can access any time, of listening to music that shifts your energy, creating a life that you love ~ that you don’t need to escape from, and viewing every action as a prayer.

To close our time together, I led the group in a guided meditation I've posted here.
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​Relax, listen and enjoy.

                                                                                                                                                Photo by Dingzeyo Li

"I soon realized that no journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within.”  ~ Lillian Smith  

Travel saved my life. Or to be less dramatic, travel opened my eyes. Then I made changes to save my life.

My mother was an alcoholic. 12 years between me and my nearest older sibling, I was raised practically as an only child, with the burden of responsibility I felt for my mother and loads of fallout landing on my narrow shoulders. I felt trapped in my relationship with her.

Later, as an adult, mother of two, my world was still not my own.

The joys and responsibilities of raising my own ones were often overshadowed by daily phone check-ins or obligatory visits with mom. I was never certain how I’d find her, always on pins and needles, anxious as to what my next encounter with her would be. How it would end, how I would feel.

My responsibilities felt overwhelming most days, as did the anticipation of not measuring up with my mom, no matter how hard I tried.
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I Had Lost Myself in the Day-to-Day
In 1999, I felt called to join a retreat in Ireland. In my younger years, I had traveled a bit with my brother but traveling on my own was new to me.

With the help of a dear friend, I was able to arrange the logistics to allow everyone at home to be cared for – to allow me to step off a plane in Shannon on a soft April morning, rent a car, and find myself driving to a tiny village in Co. Clare.

There I settled into a surreal rhythm of gentle days – an ease that held me as I sank into re-discovering my long lost self. For 10 days, I was nothing to no one. For the first time in my life, I tended only to what I needed or wanted. My eyes opened to a new way of seeing things. I was on a pilgrimage.

The Journey from Head to Heart
A pilgrimage involves heeding or feeling a call, separating from the familiar, making a journey – often through hardships.

Upon arrival at our destination, through intention and contemplation, we can come face-to-face with our truth, our heart’s wisdom, the resolution we’ve longed for. A resolution that was, perhaps, right before us all the time, but was freshly brought to our attention through the journey.

This journey within – this pilgrimage toward self – is an opportunity to listen to what your heart wants to say. We’re so comfortable with, or distracted by, the daily rhythm of our lives, we don’t always know what our spirit wants us to hear.

Seeing new places, paying attention to the unfamiliar, sparks our imagination and creativity. We glean new insights and are able to shift our perspectives so as to see situations and experiences in a new way. A way that is aligned with our genuine selves.

Seeing the Moon on the Other Side of the World
I wasn’t prepared for how I felt, the contentment that came so easily as I walked the ancient Burren stone.
I felt the Moon above me as I walked the moonlike landscape, taking in all that surrounded me – the winding roads in the distance, a tender wildflower blooming at my feet against all odds. I saw myself in that flower.
Standing at the Atlantic’s shore, the horizon stretching forever, the wind began to clear the cobwebs from my mind and the inner voices of judgment and criticism that made me feel small were lifted away.

From a still point within, I began to hear the inner whispers of my own voice guide me into new territory. A voice I liked. I began to feel like me.

For two weeks, I stayed in this place of wonder and wisdom. I found myself unable to sleep at night, unable to stay within the cozy cottage walls. I needed to be outside. I sat on a stone bridge to feel the air, see the Moon, watch the dark shapes of the night. Every night I went there, wandering back to the cottage before dawn. I didn’t need sleep. I needed to be awake to this genuine self that had been buried by life.

I didn’t want to leave. I walked across the tarmac and up the stairs to board the plane. I stood at the top of the stairs breathing in and feeling the soft Irish air that I’d come to know so well – that had stirred so much inside me and held me in its embrace until the flight attendant closed the door.

I vowed to take home with me the friends I’d made, the wisdom gleaned, the clarity I needed to shape my next steps in becoming the daughter, mother, wife – woman – I longed to be.

Travel to Stay Present
Now, a couple decades later, I travel for many reasons – to satisfy my curiosity about places and the people who live differently than I do. To feel part of this beautiful world we live in, beyond the walls of my home and daily routine. To wake up. And to renew the journey from head to heart.

From the minute I wrestle my suitcase out from the deep recesses of my closet, I feel my heart quicken and my spirit is already at 35,000 feet.

Traveling demands our presence. We step into the unknown. We can’t operate on auto-pilot; we must pay attention. If we don’t, we miss our flight, make a wrong turn, or lose a passport. Even if we travel with another person, we are called to listen to ourselves. We are vulnerable and through that portal of vulnerability we are called to be present to ourselves in a very real way.

There is a quiet within us that holds an invitation to be who we genuinely are and take steps to do whatever is required to embrace the world within.

​Are you ready for your journey?

As posted in Sixty and Me

As a stay-at-home mom, I used to dread meeting new people at social events. After initial pleasantries, so often the exchange would come to an awkward, grinding halt when they asked me “...and what do you do?” Though I loved raising my children at home I found this occupation to be an immediate conversation stopper. I grew to anticipate the polite smiles, knowing nods, protracted sips of wine and eyes darting for the nearest exit. I became an expert at vanishing in situations where “what I did” was more important than who I was, what I thought, how I felt. I have never regretted the choice to stay home and raise my children ~ though, to be sure, I could have used the equivalent of Conversation Hints from Heloise for Moms. Yes, I was a Mom. And I knew I was so much more. 

In our culture ~ where we are often defined and identified by what we do ~ it’s easy to lose sight of who we are and how we want to be remembered.

Time to Redefine
As large swaths of our lives shrink further into the rearview mirror, each of us has an opportunity to define ~ or redefine ~ our lives and what we want to be remembered for. More than ever, in our sixties and beyond it’s important to feel relevant, to feel that we matter, to mine the gems of our brief history here so that the “who we are” comes before the “what we did”. This can be an exhilarating time of liberation from labels.

Often retirement and legacy are terms that go hand in hand. We take stock of where we’ve been and wonder what lies ahead. Many of my clients facing retirement come to me with an overwhelming sense of identity loss, having been defined by their jobs or professions or labels for decades. One of my clients put it this way, “Retirement is great and all, but when I was a teacher, I felt like I was somebody. Like I had a purpose. Now I feel like a nobody. Like I’m invisible.” She’s not alone.

The key is to recognize that you’ve been you all along. Your career accomplishments are an outward manifestation of the personal qualities you hold as an individual. A long list of achievements is admirable and certainly something to be proud of. Yet, it is how you achieved your success that people will remember ~ how your legacy is shaped.

​If you worked for a company, you were required to toe the policy line and, depending on what those rules were, you may have felt restricted in how much of “you” could show up in different situations. Often managers cannot interact in a personal way with those they are responsible for. I’ve discovered those in charge often feel the most isolated  ~ needing to hold boundaries while their employees are able to talk with each other freely.

Whether you were an employee, manager, or owner, each position held certain limitations. Stepping away from specific roles offers immense freedom to discover our essence and live from an unrestricted genuineness of spirit. Your personal qualities aren’t left behind at your desk, they follow you into creating your next steps beyond the workplace.

Legacy or Resume?
We remember people for their stories, for how we felt being with them, for their successes, their frailties, for the obstacles they overcame, for the very human qualities we relate to; we remember them for who they are. While we may be drawn to all aspects of a celebrity or a public figure’s life including the details of their resume, a person’s legacy is less about what they did than who they were. We can choose to bring the strengths that we brought to the workplace into how we live our lives each day.

How we choose to live our lives each and every day creates our legacy. 

Memoir as Legacy ~ A Tip to Get Here from There
A memoir can be viewed as a written account of an event in your life that had meaning for you--what’s important is how it made you feel, what lessons you may have taken away, how your life was shaped by the event. Author Abigail Thomas writes that, “Memoir is the story about how we got here from there.” Agreed. Compelling memoir is honest, relatable, a window into how you have embraced your life. As such, it can become a legacy for your children, siblings, family, friends, a glimpse into your humanness...and a way to recalibrate your sense of self. 

I urge my clients to write about times in their lives worthy of a second look. This time around with a sense of curiosity ~ as an observer. Thinking back without the charge of emotions surrounding an event can offer a renewed and more objective perspective that  opens the door to understanding, wisdom, empathy,  and--ultimately--healing. A re-awakening of what’s most important to you ~ to fully step into your power, your authentic self, and create a legacy worthy of you. A life well-lived. 
 
Questions for reflection:
How do you see framing your life...as a detailed resume of what you did, a rich tapestry of who you are, or a compelling memoir embracing both what you did and who you became as a result? How would you like to be remembered? What times in your life deserve a second look through the lens of memoir?

As posted in Sixty and Me   

“There must be always remaining in every life, some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathless and beautiful.”  ~ Howard Thurman  

If I chose one earthly thing that I’ve delighted in my entire life it would be window boxes filled with flowers. I hope they exist wherever I’m going next. Maybe there is a “flower dimension” in the afterlife. If there is, my father will be there.

Every spring, like magic, I would come home from school on a sunny day and find all our window boxes planted with pink and red geraniums. My winter-naked bedroom window was fully accessorized from May to October. He broke the rules, my father. Planting red and pink flowers together was a definite Cosmo “don’t” in the gardening world. In all other ways, my father played by the rules, yet when it came to flowers, all bets were off. He turned a blind eye to the norm. No one put pink and red together. But my father did. Unapologetically so. A small act of rebellion in a war he could not win.

My father lived a life that held only brief glimpses of happiness, a life that didn’t unfold in the way he’d hoped, despite his continuous efforts to appease. He had a gift of seeing life in an uncomplicated way ~ there was a great blessing in his way of being. He appreciated the little things in life and found happiness in the beauty of the natural world around him. The grace of an ordinary day was not lost on him.

It was not about seeing the glass half empty or half full. For my father, It was enough to believe there was a glass at all. When you come from a hard love home it’s tricky to know where to find the good things you’ve taken away that have shaped you as an adult. Sure, you’re a survivor having made it through the trauma, but what else? It’s easy to stay in the story of how hard it was and to list all the “bad” things that happened. To wear the armor of protection around our hearts forever. Grace and freedom come in discovering gifts that were also part of what was handed down.

They come in the shape of a heart.

When my father planted his window boxes it wasn’t an act of rebellion. The complete opposite in fact; it was one of the only times I saw him smile, not a “lips together slight turning up at the corners”, no, a full on teeth showing smile. Flowers were his heart’s delight, his passion, a touchstone of joy. No one else had a say or played any part in the planting...from flower choice to soil to tending to the care of these beautiful plants through the summer. They were all his in a world where very little else was.

He made the world more beautiful. In the simple act of planting flowers he made my life brighter and the neighborhood and those that lived there a little happier. He took pleasure in the neighbors slowing their hurried steps to look at the flowers and in the compliments that followed; the hours spent fertilizing, watering and fussing over tender new shoots, delighting in every leaf and bud. He took comfort there and made a difference in the world around him.

All from his heart.

From doing something that was his own, that meant something to him, that he did because he couldn’t not do it. I can imagine it as his way of trying to find something to feel good about, to take a bit of pleasure in being alive and affirm his faith in something greater. He did it for himself. He did it to save himself. And it was a blessing and gift to others in a meaningful way.

I’ve stared at my deck for most of the summer with a few fits and starts at trying to make it feel better. The air conditioning unit under the window and typical tight urban deck dimensions left me uninspired. I bought a rug for under the table and chairs and it was too small ~ it’s still too small. I didn’t return it. I planted a couple pots of flowers only to have them struggle in the hot sun. I did my best to let it go ~ saying I’ll try again next year.

Then last week happened.

I’d noticed the occasional window box on other apartment deck railings and thought about doing the same, but with no follow-through until finally putting it in the “next summer” mental file. But something kept niggling at me last week and I couldn’t shake the idea, even though it’s the end of summer and my mind swirling with the rational ~ what would I plant and it doesn’t make any sense to do window boxes in September...all the leaves are turning, everything would rot in the rain, and, and, and….these thoughts followed me all the way to the store where I bought half-price window boxes designed for deck railings. They still needed to be customized to fit, but my ready and willing other half was quick to step in and do his magic creating the sturdiest, most secure window boxes imaginable. All without bungee cords or duct tape, which would have been my go-to remedies.
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Boxes in place, we hauled home potting soil and plants that I hope will survive for at least a couple months. I spent the morning planting, feeling my fingers in the dirt, tapping, scooping and tucking the winter pansies, oregano and coral bells into their new home. Smudges of dirt on my cheeks and dirt under my fingernails I felt alive and happier than I have in a long time. Like, beside myself happy. I can’t take my eyes off these flowers. I can’t get enough of how I feel when I see them. I check on them first thing in the morning and watch them as the sun sets. I need them. I needed my father, too. And the truth is, there wasn’t much room for either of us to take root in each other.

Once the boxes were finished, I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, so we potted more plants outside our entryway and re-potted a lavender tree. Neighbors who we haven’t heard boo from in the nine months we’ve been here have asked where we purchased the window boxes and others have bought large pots of chrysanthemums, ornamental kale, and dusty miller. Autumn wreaths and corn stalks grace doors and porches. All since the window boxes happened on our deck. It’s been a bit of magic and it happened from my heart, from a place my father gave me.  

Today I feel like my father’s daughter. A place for the singing of angels.

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