What Have You Been Up To?

“What have you been up to lately, Molly?” a good friend asked me this morning. For the life of me, I couldn’t really come up with an answer. Or at least not one that felt worth giving. Which did not feel good. At all.

It’s been a fallow season. Already three months into the year, and not much to show for it. Not in the tangible sense anyway. No book outline, new website, Substack presence, or speaking possibilities on the horizon. All of which are humming along on my internal radar, but are not outwardly in the works. Yet.

So what have I been up to lately? I guess simply living, one ordinary day at a time. Which come to think of it, is kind of extraordinary, because to even be alive in the first place is a miracle in and of itself.

Like the earth, the humus in which our life grows needs seasons of quiet. Times of rest. Stretches of time during which the compost of what we’ve contributed up until now can enrich the soil in which the new seeds of our life can take root and grow.

If you are going through a time when you haven’t been up to much lately, take heart. All that we’ve done before is meant to be the fertile ground for what is still to come. Even when that is simply living, one ordinary day at a time.

One At A Time

Every time I’m out on the trail I am reminded that the life we have is directly under our feet. Not a mile down the road. Not a mile behind us. Not behind that tree or over that hill or under that rock or around that bend. It’s right here. There is nowhere else for it to be, because life only happens one step at a time.

Real life is a messy mixture of the good, the bad, and the seriously ugly. I’ve spent a lot of time and energy wishing that I could have those served up one at a time. Just a heaping helping of goodness without having to make room on my plate for the bad, the ugly, the painful, the frightening, and even the awful that will inevitably land on my plate too. So rather than digging into the delicious, yummy good right when it happens, I’m already stabbing my fork into whatever else might get dished up, but hasn’t yet. It’s like those times when I’ve eaten a delicious meal that was prepared with love and care, and before I knew it my plate was empty and I had no idea what the food even tasted like. I’d missed the meal set before me that would have given me the joy, resilience, and strength meant to sustain me when the going got tough.

Just like hiking on the trail, life only happens one bite at a time.

A Gathering Of Words

Life is nothing if not a maze of grace.

I’ve loved that gathering of words ever since it appeared on my page. Hanging together like good friends, they are at ease in one another’s company. Each word separate but intimately connected, the meaning greater than the sum of the its parts.

Life is the condition that distinguishes us as animate beings, it includes the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change, signifies our existence as a human being, and refers to our time here from birth until death.

In other words, life is kind of a big deal.

A maze is a complex, and sometimes confusing network of paths and hedges designed as a puzzle.

In other words, a maze challenges us to find our way through.

Grace is courteous goodwill, an extended period of time granted as a special favor, and unmerited or unearned favor.

In other words, grace is what helps us transcend our blunders.

Our time on the planet is our shot at becoming who we are meant to be and doing what we are here to do. There will be dead ends, unexpected detours, and wrong turns along the way. Treating ourselves and others with kindness and goodwill smooths the way for everyone.

In other words, life is nothing if not a maze of grace.

No wonder these words found their way to one another.

By A Thread

When my parents died within six months of each other back in 2000, I was sad that they were gone and ready for them to go all at the same time. People have asked me if I had any regrets when they were gone. Gratefully I don’t. Several years before they passed the three of us were sitting in their kitchen, and I found myself telling them that I would miss them when they were gone. That they had been good parents in so many ways. That I never doubted their love for me. That the memories we shared mattered. That they mattered, and that they would be missed.

Are there other conversations I wish we would have had, could have had? Probably. But I think it is rare that any of us leave the planet without a few loose ends. Ours is the task of leaving as few as possible.

My oldest brother, Peter, died suddenly on January 14th. I wasn’t ready for him to go and was grateful that he didn’t have to linger. He would have hated that. Again, no regrets. To say that he and I sat on opposite ends of the political spectrum would be an understatement, and we had more than our share of animated conversations over the years. To decompress I attempt to meditate. Pete would listen to Rush Limbaugh. He had a heart that was as deep as his political convictions, and would move heaven and earth to help someone in need. On the night of January 6th, after all hell broke loose at the capitol, he called me. “You kind of want to talk to the people you love on a night like this, don’t you?” I said. “That’s why I’m calling you.” he replied in his deep, gravely, cowboy voice. The day had deeply saddened both of us, and we found ourselves standing together on the holy ground of our shared hopes for what this country could be. Should be. It was our last phone call. A few more loose ends tied up.

Every morning, no matter what the weather, Tom and I sit outside in the early morning darkness with our first cup of coffee. Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle at our feet, we start our day together on the porch, sitting in old rocking chairs with red cushions on the seat and red and black plaid Woolrich blankets on our laps. One morning not long ago, Gracie and I were out there waiting for him to join us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his rocking chair. Empty. The red cushion and plaid blanket waiting for him. One of us will go on without the other someday.

We are always just hanging on by a thread. If we think it is otherwise, we are simply fooling ourselves. However, it is that thread that weaves our life together, one breath, one choice, and one moment at a time. And, when all is said and done, ours will be a tapestry of each and every one of those stitched together moments.

Ours is the task of leaving as few loose ends as possible.

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood from Pexels

Something Afoot Just Beyond Our Sight

This morning, Gracie-the-chocolate-labradoodle and I were out for our normal morning walk, but somehow it didn’t feel like a normal morning. Rather than wander about and explore as she usually does, she stayed close, stopping often to peer out into the woods as if sensing that something, or someone, was afoot, just beyond our sight.

Partway down the road I stopped and turned around, the sky above the hills behind our home ablaze with color. Gold, pink, orange, and crimson. Reaching for my phone to capture the image, probably for use in a blog, I was disappointed to realize that I had left it at home.

In that moment it was as if whatever it was, and it was something, that was afoot in the woods and just beyond our sight, invited us to stop observing the moment and actually be in the moment.

Time stopped. The mental chatter silenced, and the sounds of cars on the road faded away. It was just a girl and her dog on the road. Gracie quietly sat down and together we weren’t watching life, we were life. The calls of two ravens caused us both to turn around just in time to see them emerge from the pines, leisurely making their way to the grove of cottonwood trees just beyond the fence. Landing on the highest branch they talked to one another as ravens do, taking turns, not talking over one another as humans often do. Just beyond the cottonwoods the morning sun was hitting the flanks of Mt. Adams, the light beating back the darkness, as given time, the light will always do.

The ravens flew off, still deep in conversation. Gracie and I watched until they disappeared from sight beyond the pine trees. Turning to head back to the house, the sky that had just minutes before been bright with color was now just so many shades of gray.

The moment was over.

Walking back to the house I wondered how often whatever it was, and it was something, that was afoot in the woods and just beyond our sight, is beckoning us to stop observing the moment and actually be in the moment. To stop watching life and be life. My hunch is, whatever it is, and it is something, is there all the time.

(NO PHOTO FOR OBVIOUS REASONS)

The Pause

Last week someone left too soon, and another lingered too long. Both are gone now, and regardless of the timing, death has a way of giving one pause. Of inviting us to linger at the edge between death and life and be transformed by what we find there. Of encouraging us to begin to live ever more fully even as we move surely toward our own ending. There is no good, perfect, or right time for a life to end, but when it has, we who remain are offered another chance to consider what to do with the time we have.

Seize The Day

Some days I’m struck with the fragile nature of life. Today is one of those.

Lives hang in the balance. Medical treatments fail to turn the tide. Wounds that could have been healed are not. Relationships that could have been knit back together become unraveled. Forgiveness that could have been extended is withheld. Words that could have been spoken remain silent.

We never know for sure if tomorrow will come, much less what it will bring.

Life is here.

Life is now.

Carpe diem.

Lessons From The Field

Nobody thought they’d make it into the playoffs, but as they have been known to do, the Seattle Seahawks defied the odds and did. After a disappointing loss last night to the Dallas Cowboys, in which they mostly got in their own way, (although kudos to the Cowboys for doing what it took to come out victorious) it is time to reflect on the season, and what we can learn from this team that I love.

It isn’t other people’s opinion that matters.

The team started the year by losing all four of their pre-season games, the first two of the regular season, and entering week 10, found themselves with a 4-5 record. The football world pretty much wrote them off, casting this as a “re-building” year, not a year in which anything special could happen. Au contraire said those inside the locker room overlooking Lake Washington. That something special, as articulated by head coach Pete Carrol, one of the classiest in the NFL, is “Without question, it’s this connection our guys have. Their willingness to keep going the extra step, the extra mile, whatever it takes to keep adding.” They always believe that something good is about to happen, regardless of the odds, minutes left on the clock, or the media chatter, and more times than not, something good does, even if it doesn’t show up on the scoreboard.

There’s a difference between winning and being victorious.

In his post game press conference, WR Doug Baldwin admitted to being frustrated, sad, and disappointed. Who wouldn’t be? However, his message as one of the leaders in the locker room is that if the players, individually and collectively, can learn from this disappointing end to the season and use that to get better, closer, and more committed, while they might not be victorious, they still won in the bigger picture. “The challenges are hard, and it’s difficult, but you should never be afraid of failure. Failure is what helps you grow. If you’re not growing, you’re staying stagnant. If you’re staying stagnant, you’re done.”

While it’s about football, it’s not about football.

No doubt about it, life in the NFL has a relatively short shelf life. Career ending injuries, the end of a contract, or getting cut from the team, if it’s only about what happens on the field, that’s not a great return on the investment these players have to make to be able to play in a game open only to an elite few. If they don’t come out the other side of their career as better men, as better human beings, they’ve left way too much on the field. Again, WR Doug Baldwin - “I think the best thing we will do from this point on moving forward is that we will take these lessons and learn from them and grow and be better, not only as football players, but as men. That is vastly more important.”

Build on the past and move forward.

That about sums it up in a nutshell. On or off the football field, the past serves as the foundation for what will happen next. The past is out of their hands, leaving them free to grab hold of the future, believing that something good is about to happen. That sounds like a good way to live.

Onward and upward.

Go Hawks!

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.