The following is a favorite poem by Dawna Markova, a perfect inspiration for spring…

I will not die an unlived life. 20160323_123902

I will not live in fear 

of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days,

to allow my living to open me,

to make me less afraid,

more accessible,

to loosen my heart

until it becomes a wing,

a torch, a promise.

I choose to risk my significance,

to live so that which came to me as seed

goes to the next as blossom,

and that which came to me as blossom,

goes on as fruit.

Markova penned these words the night her father died. She wrote so movingly in her book, I Will Not Die An Unlived Life, My tears had turned to ink. The words were a bridge across an abyss my father could not cross.

So often we wait for a significant life event – a death, a diagnosis, a devastating emotional experience – to take a risk and change our lives. Something beyond our control rocks our world and cracks us wide open. I know it did for me. I was 32-years-old. My father died in March. My marriage imploded in April. I lost my job in May. It was the worst spring of my life.

Until that time, I thought I was happy. I was going about my life in the way I thought I should. I told myself, I should get married. I’m 32-years-old. It didn’t matter that the red flags were everywhere. I should drive hard and work 12-hour days. I need to make a lot of money. It didn’t matter that my work wasn’t meaningful. I should act like I have my shit together. What would others think if they really knew how insecure I was?

Day in and day out, I defined myself by a set of unrealistic expectations, working diligently to craft an image of what I thought my life should look like. But “shoulding” on myself wasn’t working; it only kept me stuck and strengthened my facade. If only I’d realized this sooner. But I didn’t until crisis came along.

You may have heard that the word crisis in the Chinese language – wēijī – means “opportunity disguised as danger.” But this is incorrect. The wēi symbol in Chinese does convey the notion of danger, but jī doesn’t mean opportunity. Instead, it means an “incipient moment; a crucial point when something begins or changes”.

My father’s death, along with the death of happily ever after, was an incipient moment for me. Up until then, I ignored a deeper inner voice powered by my emotions and intuition. But after enduring such painful losses, my feelings could no longer be denied; the voice of intuition, no longer masked.

Fast forward 10 years later when I’m 42-years-old. No longer deathly afraid of change, I quit my job in March (despite my lucrative salary), sold my home in April, and boarded a plane in May to circumnavigate the globe. It was the best spring of my life.

Now I’m not suggesting you do the same, unless of course you want to. I’m simply encouraging you to listen to your intuition and pay attention to your feelings instead of waiting for a crisis to force you to change.

It’s hard to change without help, so I encourage you to reach out to a caring therapist or trusted friend who won’t should all over you. And as the seeds of spring go to blossom this year, why not risk your significance and leap into the unknown. For as Anais Nin writes, and the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Happy spring!

Milestones & Moms

By now, you’ve likely seen the movie, Boyhood, the award-winning film that captures a boy’s evolution from age 6 to 18. Brutally honest and exquisitely filmed, I’m intrigued by Mason’s transitions from one stage of development to the next, but not as much as that of his mother’s. Her milestones are less predictable, more clearly defined by choice and circumstance, aclker-clipart1nd as she ages, endings appear to be more predominant than beginnings.

The end feels unbearable as Mason packs up for college. She laments through her tears, My life is just going to go like that…the milestones…getting married, having kids, the time we thought you were dyslexic, getting divorced, teaching you to ride a bike, getting my masters, getting divorced again, sending Samantha off to college. And then comes the roaring crescendo, You know what’s next. It’s my f***ing funeral!

I laugh through my tears as Mason retorts, Aren’t you jumping ahead by about 40 years or something? Mason, despite his youthful wisdom, can’t feel the depth of his mother’s loss. He’s at the beginning, alive with possibilities. Death is all she sees.

I know this feeling well and so do my clients. Endings leave us hopeless, uncertain, and confused. We have no sense of the future. We only see the void. The ending doesn’t have to be a specific, external change such as death, divorce, or a child leaving the nest. It could be letting go of a hope or dream, or relinquishing a well-worn identity.

The WayIn the film, Mason’s mom isn’t merely saying goodbye to her child. Certainly, that’s hard enough. But at a deeper level, she’s relinquishing a way of life and her primary role as mother. William Bridges, author of The Way of Transition, describes this shift as a “developmental transition”, an inner unfolding of those aspects of ourselves that are built right into who we are and how we are made. Developmental transitions most often occur when we move from one stage of life to the next (adolescence, mid-life), but they also arise when the life we are living no longer makes sense or doesn’t fulfill us anymore.

No matter the catalyst, external change or internal rumblings, transitions have the power to transform us, that is, if we live for a time in limbo instead of latching onto someone or something to avoid feeling disoriented, fearful, frustrated, lonely, or lost. Bridges dissuades us, as do I, from creating a “replacement reality” before we’ve experienced the “neutral zone,a confusing state in which we feel as though our life has broken apart or gone dead; a period where nothing feels solid and everything feels up for grabs. Sure, it’s an uncomfortable place of uncertainty, but I know without a doubt, it’s a place where beginnings take root.

I know because I’ve been “there” many times throughout my life, and despite my impatience, I’ve lingered awhile rather than latching on. My most significant transition occurred when I was 41-years old. An internal rumbling was driving me mad. I hated my job in corporate and no longer liked where I lived. But despite my unhappiness, I knew that changing jobs or moving wasn’t the answer — not yet. My soul needed a change. So I waited. I watched for signs. I prayed and listened to my intuition. Then one day, after a year in limbo, I picked up a book titled Gutsy Women: Travel Tips & Wisdom for the Road. From that day forward, my life would never be the same.

A new chapter was about to begin. It was titled, “World Traveler.” Now I had a purpose that needed fulfilling. Now the time was right to quit my job and sell my condo. Of course I saw my therapist before I made major changes. I wanted her assurance that I wasn’t going crazy, but deep down inside I knew what she’d say. GO!

On May 14, 1998, I left the life I’d been living behind and ventured into a brand new reality, traveling to 19 countries in 4 months with only a backpack and a good pair of walking shoes. The memories still fill my soul. I was transformed by my experience in ways I never could have imagined. Not only was I brought back to life, I was empowered to write the next chapter of my life once returning home. That chapter was titled, “Entrepreneur.”

My experience of saying goodbye was unlike Mason’s mom; it was much more like Mason’s. Minutes before I was ready to leave for the airport, my mother called me into the kitchen. There was something in her hand, but I couldn’t see what it was. She pulled me close and draped a St. Christopher medal around my neck. Her voice cracked as she spoke these words, “A memento of your father to keep you safe.” When she broke from our embrace, the light caught her eyes. She was fighting back tears. I’m sure the dam broke as soon as I walked out the door. Thankfully, I left something behind to comfort her in her sadness–my dog, Brandie. Surprisingly, my mother offered to take care of her despite never having a dog of her own. Title Mom’s new chapter, “Dog Sitter.”

A mother’s role will change throughout her life, but her significance will never fade. On Mother’s Day 2015, let’s acknowledge all the milestones our mothers helped us achieve, but in addition, let’s encourage our moms to create new milestones solely for themselves. After all, they’ve earned it!

I Am Worthy, No Matter What

self-love1I’ve been on the hunt for days, poking around the internet to find an intelligent article on how to strengthen our self-worth. I struck gold today, discovering a powerful speech delivered by comedian Amy Schumer  at a Ms. Foundation gala. She cut to the core of the issue, illustrating how regrettable decisions made in youth can diminish our self-worth, but reversely, how courage and self-compassion will set us free from the belief of “never good enough.”

The root cause of low self-worth varies greatly, just as the image it projects. It can result from blatant neglect, abuse or abandonment, but also from subtler experiences that cause us to doubt or diminish ourselves. It’s inflicted on mass through cultural condemnation — by racism, sexism, or ageism.  It’s fueled when society proclaims, “You gotta be a rock star, a billionaire, a stud, or a stunner” to be valued in our time. “You gotta work yourself to death to make yourself ‘big’ or starve yourself to death to make yourself small.”

The reality of “never good enough” drives us hard on the outside as it drives us crazy within. We want to fit in, be loved, and feel valued. When we don’t, especially as youth, we develop strategies to hide our flaws or compensate for feeling insecure. As we grow into adulthood, many learn to numb the pain of unworthiness with alcohol, drugs, sex, food or other addictions. Some of us start putting others down in an attempt to build ourselves up. We approval-seek, strive for perfection, or jump from one self-improvement project to the next. Like Amy, some of us fall into bed with men we want to want us, only to discover that we feel worth-less after the dirty deed is done.

Buddhist psychologist, Tara Brach, Ph.D., illuminates the “trance of unworthiness” in her book, Radical Acceptance: Embracing Your Life With the Heart of the Buddha.

Perhaps the biggest tragedy of our lives is that freedom is possible, yet we can pass our years away trapped in the same old patterns. Entangled in the trance of unworthiness, we grow accustomed to caging ourselves in with self-judgment and anxiety, with restlessness or dissatisfaction…the behaviors we use to keep us from feeling the pain only fuel our suffering. Not only do our escape strategies amplify the feeling that something is wrong with us, they stop us from attending to the very parts of ourselves that most need our attention to heal.

Recently I found myself, like Amy, reliving an experience that happened during my freshman year. I sensed some danger going “there”, but I also knew that if I paid attention to my thoughts, feelings, and actions, without judging myself, I could rewrite my story of unworthiness into a story of abiding self-love. I decided to go for it, carefully. With each step forward, I remained mindful of my choices. I didn’t escape into old patterns; instead, I watched them play out with a curious eye. In the process, I garnered the courage to face what I feared most as a child — rejection. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t resist. I knew I had to feel what I’d buried long ago.

Now don’t get me wrong. There’s still a kid inside of me who doesn’t want to feel rejected. Who does! But I’ll never succumb to a strategy designed to mask my childhood pain. The pain is gone. The pattern’s been replaced by a belief that proclaims, I am worthy, no matter what you do or say.

I must conclude with Amy’s words, because her thoughts are definitely worthy of your time. She writes with power and humor…

I can be reduced to that lost college freshman so quickly sometimes. I want to quit. Not performing, but being a woman altogether. I want to throw my hands in the air, after reading a mean Twitter comment, and say, ‘All right! You got it. You figured me out. I’m not pretty. I’m not thin. I do not deserve to use my voice. I’ll start wearing a burqa and start waiting tables at pancake house. All my self-worth is based on what you can see.’ But then I think, f**k that. I am not laying in that freshman bed anymore ever again. I am a woman with thoughts and questions and shit to say. I say if I’m beautiful. I say if I’m strong. You will not determine my story — I will. I am not who I sleep with. I am not my weight. I am not my mother. I am myself. And I am all of you, and I thank you.

Shhh! Quiet Your Inner Critic

Last year at this time I wrote a post titled, A Sensational Summer Ending. I used the game of baseball as an analogy for overcoming adversity, and since it’s that time of year, I’d like to do it again. I was reminded of the parallels when I watched the movie Moneyball last week and discovered that Oakland won their division yet again. If you’ve never seen the movie, you should. It’s really good! Based on a true story, the A’s General Manager, Billy Beane, builds a winning team despite a meager budget, the loss of his three most prominent (and expensive) players, and the constant barrage of criticism from just about everyone except his new Assistant GM, a Yale Economics graduate, whom Billy recruits to prove a theory that will revolutionize the game.

At a crucial juncture in the story, the naysayers’ voices rise to a soaring crescendo as the A’s fall to last place. Beane’s confidence wanes, his conviction withers, not only because of what’s happening at present, but more importantly, because of what happened in his past. Maybe they’re right? What the hell am I doing? I’m striking out now like I struck out then. Louder and deeper, the voices weaken his resolve, You can’t win, you won’t win, it’s impossible to win in the majors, you failure! You never made it as a player, so what makes you think you’ll win as GM?

NO! he screams under his breath as he spins his car around. I watch the movie entranced. Something inside the character has shifted. The critical voice that’s weighed on his psyche is no longer in play.

Like most of us, Billy has an Inner Critic, a voice within that tells us we’re not good enough, smart enough, talented enough, pretty enough–or whatever enough. It dwells on our failures and reminds us of our mistakes. It develops early in life and grows ever stronger as we absorb the judgments of people around us and the expectations of the society in which we live.

In the film, Billy recalls his failures as a rookie while the A’s struggle to dig out of last place. The scouts said he was destined for greatness, but to his dismay, he never made it big. The critics hammered away then as they hammer away now. It feels all too familiar to Billy, the past playing out in the present. As I watch, I imagine his inner dialogue, I chose wrongly in my youth. Have I made a grave error again? Are the critics right? Am I doomed for failure?  In addition to Billy’s thoughts, I imagine his feelings–worry, anxiety, desperation, fear. Negative thoughts fuel negative feelings, that is, until Billy confronts his fear of failure and faces his demons head on.

In an instant, Billy changes. Prior to that time, he kept his distance from his players. It’s easier that way, he coaches his Yalie, if you ever have to cut them. It’s apparent that his rationale has been devised for self-protection; the haunting hurt of being cut is a hurt he doesn’t want to relive. So he buries it behind a wall that is now derailing his efforts. AHA! Insight strikes. It all becomes clear. He realizes that he can’t win with just a theory; he’s got to stop distancing himself and get closer to his players. He has to teach them what he’s learning, encourage them to play to their strengths, and most importantly,  show them that he believes in more than a theory, he believes wholeheartedly in each of them, no matter how they’ve been “valued” by the league.

No longer listening to the critics, inner or outer, the A’s dramatically change course. I’m on the edge of my seat, albeit in my living room. I know it’s just a movie, but what can I say, I’m a sucker for feel good stories, especially when people beat the odds and accomplish great things. The A’s did just that. They beat the record for most consecutive wins in the American League—20 in a row–and prove the critics wrong.

This week Billy’s winning again. His team is unexpectedly in the playoffs as American League West champs. Interestingly, he’s also in the press for a different reason. A San Francisco columnist is suggesting Beane run for mayor of Oakland given the downtrodden state of that city by the bay.  Nice that Billy’s being recognized for his talents, don’t you think? Nicer still if everyone, especially the undervalued, could receive much more of the same.

We all deserve encouragement. We all deserve to win. To learn how you can beat the odds by quieting your inner critic, read an excerpt from the book, Embracing Your Inner Critic: Turning Self-Criticism into a Creative Asset or call me to schedule a Voice Dialogue session. It’s an amazing process that will accelerate your growth.

P.S. This Atlanta girl who grew up in Pittsburgh hopes to see one of those two teams play the A’s in the World Series. Go Billy!!!

Step to the Right?

If you’ve never heard of Jill Bolte Taylor, let me introduce you to her. If you’ve read her book, My Stroke of Insight, or listened to her TEDTalk, you already know what an incredible gift she is to the world. A stroke victim, she found herself inside her brain as the boundaries of her body disintegrated into space. Wow! she writes. This is so cool! How many brain scientists have the opportunity to study their own brains from the inside out?”

I write this post, not only to honor Jill Bolte Taylor, but to honor every man and woman who has ever suffered a stroke, including my dear friend, Lya Sorano. It’s impossible for me to imagine what it’s like to experience this trauma–but man! Jill Bolte Taylor does a superb job of helping us know. If you’ll excuse me now, I need to stop writing so you can start listening. Please listen to Jill. Her words are some of the most inspirational I’ve ever heard.

Over the next few months I’ll share more about the brain, most especially, the power we all possess to “step to the right” of our left hemisphere and experience what Jill did during her stroke–a deep inner-peace—where stress disappeared and her spirit soared. No matter our affliction, whether physical or psychological, the power of the right brain can help us heal, change, and grow.

If you’d like to learn more and receive notification of future posts, then enter your email in the upper right and click “Follow.” I’d appreciate the opportunity to stay connected.

A Sensational Summer Ending

Why in the hell did we leave the game at the top of the 9th?  Damn it!  I shook my head in disbelief, staring at the TV as Chipper Jones knocked one out of the park to win it, 8-7. What a sensational ending. And we missed it!  I whined to my friend. Despite being down 5-0, then 7-2, the Braves never gave up. They weathered some bad breaks, but in the end, they overcame a miserable start.

I could definitely relate. My summer started out miserably. I committed an error in May, taking a part time job at a psychiatric hospital for fear I couldn’t pay my bills. The unit was located in a dreary basement. No windows. Drab walls. Florescent lighting. Ugh! How in the hell could patients heal in this god-awful place. Working there literally made me sick. I had to quit. I tendered my resignation before I even finished training. Score a run for me.

In an attempt to make the best of a bad situation, I decided to use my paycheck to fund a vacation to Tybee Island in June. I imagined a glorious time on a sun-drenched beach, nurturing myself in a charming historic hotel. But I struck out in early innings. It rained the whole time. My cold got worse. Damn it!  There’s got to be brighter days ahead, I told myself. After all, it is summer! The sun IS supposed to shine.

Quit whining, a voice within me uttered. Vacation isn’t over. This was true. I still had two days left, so I decided to make the best of things and head down the coast to visit a beautiful barrier island. Maybe the sun will be shining there?  And, it was. Fantastic! I cheered. I felt like I hit a triple when I discovered a dockside restaurant with a cool vibe, fresh seafood, and an excellent band. I was happy again.

As I gathered my things to head toward the pier, I realized that my cell phone was missing. What the f***!  I desperately retraced my steps, searching frantically to find it, but despite my best efforts, I failed. Stranded on base, miserable again, I played the part well, the pitiful one, all weepy—eyed , convincing myself that the best thing to do was to call it quits, head back up the coast, and check into a dive motel  before driving home in the morning.

Dive motel or divine night on the docks? my wise voice whispered. Vacation isn’t over! What good will it do to wallow in self-pity? It’s only a phone, and you wanted a new phone anyway.  

In that moment, something shifted inside of me. Self-pity climbed into the back seat to make room for a woman who had the confidence to hit it out of the park. Quit and go home. No way! I thought. The game wasn’t over. Right then and there, in a parking lot on Jekyll Island, my sensational summer began. I got out of my car and strutted toward the pier. I ordered a great meal, danced to soul-satisfying music, and laughed and joked with wonderful new friends. Phone, what phone? Who needs a phone when you’re on vacation?

After filling up on life that night, I drove back up the coast, the sun melting into the horizon, magenta and turquoise sky. A spectacular ending to what started out as a miserable day. I checked into a “nice” motel, dialed up wireless, and chuckled to myself after discovering an email from my emergency contact friend. It read…”Phone found. At entry gate at Jekyll.”  Too late, I smiled a wicked smile. The game was over. I won.

My summer just kept getting better. July was fantastic. I was invited to stay with friends in Montana, all expenses paid. We hiked Glacier National Park, spied a grizzly near the path, mountain goat and long horn sheep at the continental divide. The 4th of July was stellar! Cheered on my 70-year old, “never-say-quit” friend as she finished the Peachtree Road Race; ate one of the best burgers ever at an iconic Atlanta pub before concluding the day with a grand fireworks display.  Mid-month I started dating again—and oh boy! I forgot how much fun it is to kiss under a blanket of stars on a sultry summer night.

Summer’s come and gone, baseball season nearly over. But wait. The Boys of Summer know that a sensational ending is NOT out of reach. The playoffs are right around the corner. To win in the game of baseball, just like in life, you’ve got to keep moving ahead in the face of adversity. And you’ve got to stick around ‘till the very end. This, I will never forget.

I turned to my friend after gawking at the TV, “We will never again leave a baseball game before the final out. Never ever again!”

Forget Work, Regret Less

This past Sunday I decided to work on my blog post for this week. A bit ironic, since I was continuing the series “The Top Five Regrets of the Dying,” and the second regret identified by a former palliative care worker was, “I wish I didn’t work so hard.” Oh my, do I ever know this one!

I finally stopped surfing the web at 11:00 p.m. Thankfully, a gem appeared on my screen not long after my quest began. “Voila! No need to hunt and peck for updated research,” I thought. I found the perfect article in the day’s Washington Times –“A Nation Overworked: Abandoning Happiness & Health for Paychecks.” Bingo!

Now you’ve got me trapped. Since I put in extra hours on Sunday, I’d say it’s time to call it a day. No need for me to put my spin on this well written article. After all, I need to be a role model and put my happiness and health first. Time to take a walk.

Come on! It’s quitting time;)

Dying to Live

What if you found out today that you only had a few years to live? I don’t mean to be morbid, and I’m definitely not writing to say goodbye. I’m good, really. I’m very healthy. But what if? Do you ever stop to ask yourself this important question? I do.

More importantly, I have clients who have good reason to ask. They’ve survived cancer, heart disease, or substance related disorders, and now more than ever, they’re determined to live life fully and die with little or no regrets.

I recently read an article titled, “The Top Five Regrets of the Dying: A Life Transformed by the Dearly Departing.” The author, Bronnie Ware, worked in palliative care for many years. She discovered five common themes expressed by her patients—things they would do differently if they had the chance to turn back time.

Over the course of the next five weeks, I’ll share her patients’ top five regrets and invite you to reconsider some of your life choices. I’ll incorporate passages from a few of my favorite books that may inspire you to make a change before it’s too late. Here goes.

Regret #1: I wish I had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected me to live.  

Why is it that we can’t let go of others’ expectations? What drives us away from our dreams and keeps us stuck in unsatisfying jobs, unhealthy relationships, unfulfilling past times, or behavioral ruts? One of my favorite authors, Dawna Markova, hits the nail on the head in her book, I Will Not Die an Unlived Life. She writes…

To explore what it would mean to live fully, sensually alive and passionately on purpose, I have to drop my preconceived ideas of who and what I am. It is as if the salt of years is running free from me. Like so many of us, my head has been stuffed full of knowledge, but something in me is still starving. So here, I seek to empty it of the stories, explanations, and interpretations I am clutching in the fist of my mind. When did it get so tightly closed that it became numb? And what was it holding onto anyway? I want it free. I want my heart and soul free. Free of and free from. Free of struggle, free from doubt in the canyons of my bones, free from running from the truth of knowing that something has been missing.

It’s hard to follow such a beautifully written passage, so let me build on a phrase that is the essence of what I help people do as a psychotherapist and life coach. I seek to empty the stories, explanations, and interpretations I am clutching in the fist of my mind.  So many of us cling to the stories handed down by our families. We adopt definitions of societal success, thinking we should live up to these standards, instead of authoring our own. We cling to professional titles; we clutch onto secure, yet unsatisfying relationships. We close our mind and resist our heart’s desire. We ignore a haunting voice inside that whispers, something’s just not right.

It takes a great deal of courage to respond to that voice. It takes even more courage to say, It’s time to change my life.  If familiar old stories continue to hold you hostage, simply ask yourself the question I started with today, What if I only had a few years to live?

See where it takes you. Give this voice a chance. Maybe it will free your mind from preconceived ideas of who and what you should be.

Beginning with Ease

“And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.” T.S. Eliot I recently made an end. I quit my job at a government-run treatment center. I was drowning in a sea of red tape, overwhelmed by minutia that held me hostage from my clients. The stress was killing me. Headaches, stomach aches, emotional exhaustion. I had to make a choice. I could go on and on with the pain, or I could set myself free.

Could I make it financially without this job? I fretted. How could I pay my bills with only one part-time  job? I’d been making ends meet, working two jobs–the county job and a contractual position at a private treatment center. I loved working as a private contractor, as my focus was on counseling, not administration. I wondered if my boss would give me more hours so I could turn in my notice at the county.  It’d be great if she did, for then I’d be able to pursue my dream of setting up private practice, a vision I’d been contemplating for a year.

Are you sure you’re ready to commit to your vision? my “doubting self” dared. I’d been waiting patiently for a sign to move me forward in my desired direction. I knew I couldn’t begin without some financial security. I needed more income so I wouldn’t feel pressured to make something happen before it was time. I needed to act on my desire, asking for more hours, simple as that. If the timing was right, my dream would unfold easily, like a new bloom on a Morning Glory vine. If it wasn’t, another lesson would appear to prepare the ground for a new beginning.

Ok, I’ll commit. I’ll ask for my needs to be met. Interestingly, I didn’t even need to ask, for on the day I had planned to approach my boss, she instead approached me.“Can we increase your hours, Phyllis? We could really use your help.” Definitely, I laughed, letting her in on my little secret. A feeling of gratitude washed over me as I remembered a quote by W.H. Murray that I had cited in my April post…

“The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too.”

It was definitely time. I had made my beginning when I had made my ending. Apparently, the unfolding would be easier than I thought. Within a few days, another sign appeared. I was perusing an online resource for professional counselors when an ad caught my attention: Furnished lakeside office available for sublet one or two days a week. I scrolled down the page to discover a recognizable name, a lovely woman I had met through a mutual friend after deciding to return to graduate school. Ironically, her office was in the exact place I had imagined my office, a beautiful, central location in Atlanta where I had personally received the gift of therapy.

Looking back on my blog posts, I now realize that I’ve “eased into” this beginning. There’s been no need to exert a great amount of effort. Effort, according to Webster’s, is defined as “something produced by exertion or trying,” a word that stems from the root word “esforcier,” which means to force. Ease, on the other hand, is defined as “freedom from labor or difficulty.”

Now I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t experienced any “labor pains” in my process. (If you haven’t read my Dec 22 blog post, you might want to check it out. I WAS in pain.) Change of any magnitude requires that we endure uncomfortable feelings and live with the tension between our current reality and desired future state. That said, I now know that the creative process does unfold gracefully when we get clear about what we truly want, begin with an end, and take committed action–with ease.

My Sister’s Bold Vision

“Most people are not really free. They are confined by the niche in the world they carve out for themselves. They limit themselves to fewer possibilities by the narrowness of their vision,” writes V.S. Naipaul, Nobel Laureate.

But not my sister. Not now anyway. For years, she felt confined in a place that no longer fulfilled her despite the healthy income that helped ease her day-to-day grind.  Real estate had been her niche, and she was a master at her craft. Yet still, meaning was missing, so when the market crashed she decided it was time to carve out a new life for herself. Acting courageously, she let go of the stuff that once defined her existence, a beautiful home in the suburbs and all the trappings that went along with it.

It was time for journey, but to where, she wasn’t certain. The one thing she knew for sure was that travel had a place in her plan. Like all good creators, my sister began with a single idea—a road trip across the U.S.A.—a dream in itself that opened her to new people and places, vistas unseen. After 3 months of traveling, she landed in a California, temporarily settling into a casita in a place called Shell Beach. There, her body relaxed and her mind opened to new possibilities. But there too, her pocket change dwindled after months without income. She could have let fear stop her from enrolling in travel school. But she knew what she wanted now. She felt compelled to invest in her dream, to feed it with time, money, and action, so it could manifest into reality.

Energized, she started the New Year with her first travel assignment, directing a few tours for the Tournament of Roses. She was jazzed! A few weeks later, she flew back to Atlanta to attend a travel conference to meet potential employers, and then afterward, flew to NYC to sit for a tour guide exam. She was on her way to creating what she wanted–a tour director job with a reputable travel company.

Her vision was clear. That was the good news. The bad news, however, was that her money was running out. Fear was creeping in; doubt taking hold. After sixteen months of envisioning her dream, my sister was questioning her choices. No one was replying to her emails or resume blasts, not even the world-renowned travel group who she had interviewed with several times. Was her dream about to die? Would she have to return to a real estate, a career she no longer wanted, or worse yet, drain her retirement savings and end up living in her car?

I prayed she’d hang in there. I knew in my heart she had done what was necessary, feeding her dream with concrete action. She was so close to the precipice, it made no sense to turn back. As I reflected on her sojourn, I recalled a famous quotation from The Scottish Himalayan Expedition, written by W.H. Murray in the year of my sister’s birth. It exemplified her commitment…

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sort of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred.  A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man [or woman] could have dreamed would have come his [or her] way. I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets: whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

Something magical was about to happen. I got a call from my sister the first week in March. “I got it!” she cheered. “I’m heading to Alaska to start my new job as a Tour Director for Holland America. “Of course you are,” I acknowledged her with pride. “You know how to create what you want,” I affirmed. “You did it!”

Like all masterful creators, my sister started with a concept, and idea of what she wanted. She experimented and explored until a vision came to mind. She never forced an end result, but instead, kept moving in the direction of her dream, allowing it to unfold and become clearer each day. She took steady action, consistently seizing opportunities and gaining knowledge as she went along. Each step led to greater insight; every insight led to a more certain plan. In the midst of it all, she never buckled under pressure. She didn’t allow fear to stop her. At the same time, she didn’t ignore reality either. She tightened her budget and relinquished a life style that had once been comfortable, yet incomplete.

My sister, whom I deeply admire, is no longer confined by a “niche” that doesn’t fulfill her.  She’s heading to Alaska next week to begin a new career in the “Land of Promise.” Free and unencumbered, her bold vision has come alive. Bon Voyage, dear sister. I love you!