Connector + Writer + Speaker
Maturity is not a static arrived platform, where life is viewed from a calm, untouched oasis of wisdom, but a living elemental frontier between what has happened, what is happening now and the consequences of that past and present, first imagined and then lived into the waiting future.
~David Whyte: CONSOLATIONS
What does your past tell you that can help you live more fully into your waiting future?
It’s been in the works for awhile now. It all started with a phone call from a friend. We have a monthly video call where three of us connect to check in, go deep, and help one another become more of who we are called to be. He had booked a house on a beach overlooking the water for another gathering, but had the house for a full week, and wondered what it might be like to join him there, and for good measure, to bring our partners as well. Instantly we were all in. The dates went on our calendars, funds were contributed, and we all agreed to bring plenty of good food, good wine, and something meaningful to share with each other.
On our last phone call we talked about what we wanted the time to look like.
Did we have an agenda?
Were there topics to be covered?
Well. Yes and no.
The agenda? To show up as ourselves.
The topics to be covered? Whatever felt real, relevant, and revelatory.
It’s as simple as that and as hard as it gets. Kind of like life.
I almost forgot to cut the ferns back. It is a task that can be done in late winter or early spring, it doesn’t matter. It just matters that you do it.
Pruning away the old, brown fronds improves the appearance of the plant, increases the air flow to prevent mold, and allows new fronds to emerge. It only took about 30 minutes to complete the job, and the new fronds, now visible, were curled up tight as little fists. The very next day, those little fists began to uncurl into new vibrant green leaves.
Like a fern, for us to flourish the old needs to be trimmed away in order for new growth to emerge.
When it comes to cleaning, clearing, and organizing a garage, like many things in life, it’s different strokes for different folks. I’m a tosser, he’s a saver, and with those two facts in play, as you can imagine, this project could stir up a little emotional stuff for the two of us. However, if we’ve learned anything in our 25 years together, it is that while we couldn’t be much more different, our commitment to one another is the same. So this morning, before setting one foot in the garage, we sat down with our coffee, and along with my sister and her husband who are here to help, had a conversation about what we wanted to be true at the end of this daunting project. Yes, by the end of the week we want to have made major progress. Yes, by the end of the week we want to have hauled away as many truck loads as possible. Yes, by the end of the week we want to have created a much more organized and clean space in which to start using the garage for the purpose it was originally built. And, yes, and most importantly, by the end of the week the four of us want to have all laughed together, had fun together, and be even more grateful for one another.
When it comes to cleaning, clearing, and organizing a garage, like many things in life, the project isn’t the real project. What matters in the end is how we conducted ourselves in the midst of the project. What matters in the end is how we related to one another in the midst of the project. What matters in the end is whether or not we are better people, both individually and collectively, because of the project. That can only happen when we realize that the project isn’t the real project. It is just a vehicle to become even more of the authentic and wholehearted people we are called to be.
Stay tuned.
Sometimes there’s just nothing like family.
I’m spending a few days with one of our daughters and her family. Which turned out to mean that I have the chance to play with the grandboys, fold laundry, drink coffee, talk about life, and get ready for a birthday party on Saturday, complete with a homemade smash cake for the one year old to, well, smash his face into. Earlier this week, my brother drove a couple of hours to spend the day with us up at our cabin. Which turned out to mean that we had the chance to sit on the porch, drink coffee, talk about life, and of the cross country trip he and his wife will be making next month for their move into their new home. Which turned out to mean that we had the chance to talk about how sweet it is that they are moving closer to their son and his wife, and the bitterness of that sweet in moving away from lifelong friends and family. He had a little surgery yesterday to clean up a knee, and while his knee did fine, his heart acted up a bit and he had to stay overnight in the hospital. Which turned out to mean his son decided to change his travel plans at the last minute and fly into town for a couple of days. Which turned out to mean that my wonderful nephew showed up at my daughter’s house this afternoon. Which turned out to mean that over dinner those two cousins had the chance to reminisce about the weekly dinners they used to have together when they were both single and living in the same city. She would plan the menu, he’d show up with the groceries, and she would cook. Which turned out to mean that they learned their way around the kitchen together. Which turned out to mean that tonight, while she and her husband put little boys to bed, he cleaned up the kitchen before heading out. Which turned out to mean that at the end of the day, sometimes there’s just nothing like family.
The unexamined life is not worth living.
Socrates
Yesterday in church during a time when anyone in the congregation can share a prayer of concern or gratitude, I found my hand going up in the air almost without my consent. I hadn’t planned on sharing anything, but it seemed that something wanted to be shared and I was the one to share it. Taking the microphone that was passed down the pew to me, here was what wanted to be shared...
If our daughters were here today they would tell you that I was (still am) fond of saying that we all have our “stuff” (only I usually use a better and more descriptive word when not in church). It’s the stuff that we need to work out, usually with the help of a therapist, so that we can become our most authentic, healed, and wholehearted selves. When we don’t take our stuff on, we take it out on other people. The wounds and hurts that go untended go on to wound and hurt other people. Especially those we care the most about.
May we all have the courage to do our work.
There was a collective resonance in the sanctuary, the nodding of heads, and quiet murmurs of acknowledgement and understanding. I seem to be thinking, talking, and writing about this a lot right now, and if you are tired of reading about it here, I understand, but somehow it feels that if we don’t get this right, we don’t get anything right. Inner work is hard and uncomfortable. It requires courage and vulnerability. But it is the only way to an authentic, healed, and wholehearted life, which is why we arrived on the planet in the first place.
May we all have the courage to do our work.
Amen.
Last evening I met with a fellow coach for a glass of wine. We don’t know one another well, and while she is at the beginning of her coaching work and I am further down the trail, we share a commitment to helping and supporting others find their way forward. Wanting to know more about my experience, she asked me to describe the work I love to do. Here’s what I told her…
I love to help others step more fully into their own lives and find their way to a life that is authentic, wholehearted, and utilizes their gifts and strengths in service to others. Whether working with a coaching client, leading a retreat, or speaking to an audience, I share some form of the same message—we are all called to help, heal, and love the world that is within our reach in ways that are uniquely ours. Whether that is as a dog trainer, artist, school custodian, greeter at Costco, football coach, volunteer firefighter, campground host, restaurant manager, pastor, yoga teacher, musician, stay-at-home parent, gas station attendant, retiree, logger, brain surgeon, production line worker, or politician, when we truly connect who we meant to be at our core with how we live out in the world, we touch the world in ways that no one else can.
Her question gets to the heart of the matter. What is the work you love to do? Even if you aren’t currently doing it, or maybe never have, what is the contribution you want to make while still on the planet?
If you don’t do it, it won’t get done.
If I don’t do it, it won’t get done.
If we don’t do it, it won’t get done.
Let’s do it!
This morning I woke up in Albuquerque, NM. Sitting out in the courtyard of our little casita with my coffee, I started reading a new morning book. Part of my practice to live with intention, and to show up as fully as I can for the day before me, is to spend some time reading something nourishing, something that feeds and challenges my soul. Today I turned the first page of the book, Making Sense of Mindfulness by my new-old friend, Keith Macpherson. Soul food at its finest!
What we consume in the morning sets the table for our day.
Just about then my husband Tom joined me in the courtyard. Coffee and book in hand, he settled in with me under a brilliant blue morning sky. Looking up a few moments later, I noticed him reading something on his iPhone, and from the look on his face and the language of his body, knew that he was consuming something other than soul food. Some headline, about some less than soulful action, in some political arena, had whet his appetite and he was loading his plate from a buffet table of less than nourishing stories.
What we consume in the morning sets the table for our day.
Looking up a little sheepishly, he pushed that overflowing plate aside, and pulled up the blue plate special of the day by Richard Rohr, a Fransician priest, author, and founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation here in Albuquerque, and read it out loud. We do that most mornings, and it’s like splitting an order of soul food, both eating from the same plate. Together we’ve committed to this daily morning practice, but on any given morning either of us can get sidetracked, and are grateful when the other invites us back to the practice.
What we consume in the morning sets the table for our day.
Don’t get me wrong. I believe it’s important to stay informed, and there are terrible things going on in our world that need our attention. But in order to show up fully for playing our part in our shared human drama that is unfolding on our shared planet, we need first to nourish ourselves well. There is an abundance of research suggesting that a nutritious breakfast is essential to our health and wellbeing, and sets the tone for the day. What is good for the body is good for the soul. Let’s nourish ourselves well. The world is hungry for what we have to give.
What we consume in the morning sets the table for our day.
Every once in a while, it’s good to climb up onto the roof, get a glimpse down the road of what might be coming our way, and imagine the potential scenarios that could play out.
The trouble with most of our imaginations is that we tend to conjure up the worst possibilities, and then live as if they have already come true. What we see from the roof sends us scurrying for the basement to hunker down, and ride out a storm that may, or may not, blow in. When we are always preparing for the what ifs, it’s hard to be present for what is.
The problem with this approach, which all of us are prone to take at one time or another, is that we never get around to living in the house. To fully furnishing and inhabiting the home that is the wholehearted and authentic life we are called to live.
The roof invites us to consider a different point of view.
What if we turned our worst-case-scenario-what-if-thinking on its head, and used our imaginations to envision the best case scenarios? Began to visit the roof to conjure up our highest hopes and deepest desires, in order to get on with living our way into that vision. It is inside our home that life takes place. It is here that we live with the intention of answering our calling. It is here that we connect who we are with how we live. It is here that we find rest and renewal. It is here that we are nourished. It is here that we remember who we are, why we are, and where we are going.
Now, as my mitigating husband is good to remind me, using the roof as an effective vantage point from which to see potential dangers, challenges, and risks, is a good practice too. Look down the road, see what’s coming, or might come, and make our preparations. Once we’ve done what we can to get ready for whatever it is, it’s time to leave the roof.
A roof is meant to be over our heads, not under our feet.
(Click here to listen to the one and only James Taylor singing Up On The Roof.)
According to Wikipedia, a piton is a metal spike that is driven into a crack or seam in the climbing surface with a climbing hammer, and which acts as an anchor to either protect the climber against the consequences of a fall or to assist progress and aid climbing.
I’ve hiked some steep trails and summited a mountain, but never in conditions that required the use of pitons. I hope I never will, however, if I ever am in a situation where a piton will keep me from free falling down a steep rock face or over a precipice, I will be deeply grateful for those metal spikes driven deep into the crack.
A piton must hold fast, allowing the climber to fall only so far.
A piton becomes a marker for progress made.
A piton is the place from which further progress begins.
A mountain face is not the only place where we suddenly find ourselves in need of an anchor to keep us from falling. Every one of us can fall into old habits, and tumble into long-held stories that are no longer true, or perhaps never were. None of us can make it on our own, and we all need those who will serve as our pitons. Those trusted few with whom we scale the mountains and precipitous cliffs to become our most wholehearted and authentic selves.
Onward.
Upward.
Together.
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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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