Treading Water
If all goes as planned, I will be back to the beach a week from today. Even though the RV is at the mechanic again. I had picked it up last Friday, all systems go. I drove city streets to the state’s emissions test center, then decided to take the freeway home. When I hit 65 mph I felt a slight hesitation, then the a/c stopped blowing cold. I didn’t hear any noises but I smelled something piney. I got home without incident and asked Marika to join me for a test drive. First we checked under the hood and that’s when we saw the belt on the ground, under the engine. I left a message at the mechanic and towed it back there on Monday morning.
He called Monday afternoon to tell me the a/c compressor had seized up, causing the belt to snap. He knows I am leaving town on Monday and I am at the top of the priority repair list.
Meanwhile, I’m not able to do any of the things I need to do to start getting ready because they are all inside the RV. Vacuuming. Cleaning the fridge. Checking the fridge to see why the shelf wasn’t draining. Fixing the loose screws. Washing my sheets. Gluing the table top back down. Tightening the swivel chair. Washing the windows. Packing my clothes, my food, my supplies.
And so it is a new practice (not a challenge, not a task, not a have to do) but a practice to stay right here right now, trusting that all will get done in time. And, Marika reminded me, I don’t have to do it all before I go. I can take care of some of these things once I am situated in my spot at the beach. She also pointed out that I can leave a day later and still be on schedule with my friend Sophie, who is driving my car up.
And so I am using the free afternoons to be quiet. To rest. To write. Because it is too hot to do anything else.
Yes, the weather is taking its toll. On Sunday morning I joined Marika and the dogs at the park. We were there by 6:45 and it was already 88 degrees and humid. And there was very little shade. The dogs tired fast, to the point of drooling and heavy panting. The air was so thick, and with my persisting cough, it was hard to breathe. Even the back of my t-shirt was wet from sweat.
The pool is the best blessing. Even when the water is bathtub hot, it is refreshing. I move slowly across the length of the pool, scissor-kicking or breast-stroking, or bicycle-pedaling. I float on my back and make water angels. And sometimes I tread water in the deep end.
I walk, suspended in the water, my arms turning circles at my sides so that I am standing but not moving. I shift my focus to my core, my legs, my body under the water line. Then I slow my movements so that I am still horizontal with my chin above the water, but I’m not exerting as much effort.
Treading water is not about being stuck. It is not the dictionary definition of “failure to advance or make progress.” Not at all. Treading water is a practice of maintaining balance and stability. Treading water is about building strength in stillness.
And that’s what I am doing as I wait to hear that the RV will be fixed and ready in time for me to leave on schedule. I know it will all work out as it is meant to. I continue to be grateful for the timing of everything and the people in my life who are helping me and supporting me on this journey.
How do you stay present? Please share in the comments below!
Following the Light: How to Make a 5-Year Plan
(Note: I wrote this in September, 2010, five years ago. Seeing the life I have created since then, I know it’s because I committed to a plan.)
I was never one for having a long-term plan. When people asked “what are your goals for 5 years, 10 years?” I’d look at them blankly. I had no idea.
I would tell myself, I live in the moment, I can’t possibly know what I’ll be doing in 10 years.
And yet, in the deep of my heart, I DID have a vision of what I wanted to be doing, where I wanted to be living. I just never shared it.
Not even with myself.
Because some voice inside of me said that, if I wasn’t doing it NOW, then I must be a failure.
I only knew how to have short term goals. I didn’t know how to create a long term plan.
And so I tucked my secret dreams deep and away and continued to believe that the only long term goal I needed was to just be happy doing whatever I was doing.
And then, a few months ago, I went to New Jersey and spent a week at the beach in Cape May. I was so happy in the ocean air, watching the waves and the gulls, eating fresh seafood right off the boats. My heart felt so full.
And I realized how much I had been denying that this is what I want for my future. That I DO want something more than just being happy in the present moment.
When I got back home I knew I was ready to untuck my dreams of living on the Central California Coast and start to make a plan.
And it occurred to me that, this is exactly what a five-year plan is all about.
It’s NOT about doing it NOW.
A plan is about knowing where you are and where you want to be and using the time in between to discover how to get from here to there.
My big first step was realizing that I DID have a vision.
My second big step was reclaiming the dream and bringing it into my daily awareness.
Several years ago I had loaned all of my lighthouse paintings to a friend so that I wouldn’t be reminded of the ocean. But now I was eager to hang them prominently in my house. They no longer taunted me with longing, but now served as a beautiful visual reminder of where I am going to be living.
My third big step was sharing my dream. I started telling my friends, “I’m on a five-year plan to live at the beach.”
By naming and claiming it, suddenly there is noticeable movement toward this thing I most desire.
In fact, now that my mom has passed away, I’ve adjusted the time frame and now I’m on the two-year plan to live at the beach.
It feels possible. It feels real. And I KNOW it’s going to happen.
I don’t know all the things that I have to do between now and moving to make this happen, but I know that, if I stay focused and clear, each step will be revealed in time.
Because I’m planning for it. I’m committed. And I’m doing it, one step at a time.
So what is YOUR dream for yourself one year from now, five years from now, ten years from now?
1. Do you hold that dream in your consciousness?
2. Do you imagine what it will be like, feel like, taste like to be living this dream?
3. Do you share you dream with people, give voice to your vision?
3. Have you considered what you need to do today to make it happen in that time frame?
4. Do you have your one next step clearly defined?
Are you ready to commit to creating a plan for your future? Join me in September for the new Spark Your Heart, Ignite Your Life virtual gathering. Details coming soon.
I’d love to hear your dreams, your long-term plans. Give them a VOICE by sharing in the Comments below.
How To Find The Work You Love, (Not Just a New Job)
Several of my clients are not happy at their jobs. They don’t feel appreciated. They don’t feel challenged. They don’t love the work.
They wish they were doing something more fulfilling, more exciting, more passionate.
And their first questions to me are, “Can you help me write my objective on my resume. Can you help me find a new job.”
And I ask them, are you looking for the same situation?
Because, unless we change the HOW and the WHY of what we are looking for, the WHAT will remain the same.
It’s so easy to just want a new job. To get out of here, to find a new, better there. But, unless you take the time to figure out what you’d really love to be doing, you’re going to end up in the same unsatisfying situation.
If you want a different outcome, you have to take a different approach.
I am not a career counselor. My job is not to help you find a job. My role is to help you get back in touch with your heart, your passion, to discover the work you are truly meant to do.
And it’s a process.
And it takes time.
One of the assignments I give my clients is to write a list of all the things they don’t like about their job. Then, on another piece of paper, they write everything they DO like about it.
It could be the actual work, the location, the hours, the people, what they wear, even the job title.
And then, on a third page, they begin to imagine their ideal work situation, incorporating what they don’t want, what they do want and what else they’ve secretly wished for.
By dissecting the “problem” they are able to see that there are aspects of the job that ARE working. This way, they have something positive to focus on as they begin the deeper work. It gives them small reasons to stay at this job that they hate while they are exploring what else might be possible.
And then the real work can begin.
I’ve been in business for myself, helping people love their Macs for 29 years. TWENTY NINE YEARS! Part of me is tired of the work, the chasing technology, the constant push to get new clients. And I thought I just wanted to be done with the whole business.
But when I made my lists, I learned that there are some things I LOVE about the work: the relationships with my clients, figuring out the odd problems, coming up with simple solutions so that they can work with more confidence and ease.
I also discovered the things I don’t like-the repetition of teaching the basics, sitting in one place for two hours, driving all over town. And so I am restructuring the services I offer so that I can still share my expertise and teach people the basics with my video trainings, and also enjoy the troubleshooting and personalized relationships through higher-level support options.
So where in your own life are you unhappy, dissatisfied, wishing for something more heart-centered? Are you so focused on these negative aspects that you aren’t able to see any good in the current situation?
I invite you to take out your own piece of paper and list everything about this situation that isn’t working for you. Then, on another paper, write everything that does bring you some sense of pleasure, satisfaction, pride.
And then, on a third page, give yourself permission to imagine your dream situation, where you feel fulfilled, appreciated, excited, thrilled to show up every day.
THIS is where you can begin to focus your attention.
THIS is how you begin to discover the work you are truly meant to be doing.
I’d love to hear your comments. Just click on Comments below to share.
A New Road Home
After a gloriously relaxing week in the White Mountains of Arizona, playing Mexican train dominoes with friends, lunching out and sleeping in, Marika and I headed back to Phoenix early Friday morning. I left at 8:30 and she and Mabel stayed an hour longer to watch the birds in the trees.
It’s been years since I’ve driven the route from the northeastern part of the state to Phoenix. They’ve widened it to two easy lanes in each direction, separated in many places by the changing Arizona landscape. It was like a new road, a new way home.
Driving west along the 260, the sky above the Mogollon Rim was filled with going-to-be-storm clouds, fat and greying on the edges. The elevation was still above 6000 feet and I chugged up the steepest mountain passes, barely reaching 35mph as SUVs passed me going 65. Still, I was going faster than the semi-truck behind me.
I drove through Payson, a small mountain town that is now a congestion of fast food and traffic lights and housing developments. But the Beeline Café, famous for it’s pie and homestyle diner food is still there, tucked between an America’s Best Value motel and a Big O Tire.
Past town I turned south onto Highway 87, and continued my descent from the mountains to the valley. Pine trees turned to scrub oaks, green grasses morphed into golden brush as the landscape shifted from forest to desert.
I was thrilled by the patches of red earth peeking out of the rocks that lined the road, and the way the rocks looked like they had been intentionally stacked by ancient people. And then I saw the saguaros. At first there were just a few, standing like sentinels among the desert rocks. And then both sides of the road were filled with the two-armed cacti.
There was very little traffic going south on a Friday mid-morning. The sky was blue with fat white clouds and I was making good time. I got on the 202 in Mesa, drove through Tempe and South Scottsdale, past the airport in swift but not-yet congested traffic. I switched the air conditioner to MAX and smelled some kind of chemically odor, so I put it back to normal.
And then, just as I rounded the curve after 52nd St, my speed dropped from 65 to 45 mph. Pushing on the accelerator did nothing. Out loud I panicked, Where are the hazards! Where are the hazards? They weren’t on the dash like on my RAV4. I remembered the button was on the steering column and I pulled it while moving into the right lane. My speed was quickly dropping. I got a few yards past the on-ramp from the 143 and lost the power steering too.
Somehow I maneuvered the RV to the side of the road where there was just a slice of shoulder. I was just far enough beyond the on-ramp so that the merging cars could pass me without stopping traffic. And I had just enough room to open the RV door without hitting the concrete barrier.
OK, I said to Cody. We’re OK.
I opened the dinette window and the one behind the barrel chair, hoping for any kind of cross breeze. It was already 90° in the RV and now, with no cab air-conditioning, it was going to get very hot, very fast and the little portable fan wasn’t going to help much.
I called my friend Judy, who had just returned from her own camping trip and was, miraculously, available to come pick Cody up. I thought it would be less stressful for both of us if he was safe and cool, somewhere else. Then I called AAA. They said it would be an hour at the most before the long bed tow truck could get to me.
Then I called Marika. She was about 45 minutes behind me. I told her what happened, that she didn’t need to stop if she saw me, but could she could pick Cody up on her way to the house.
Then I peed, had some yogurt and cried. I kept going over what had happened, what could have happened. I was so grateful that I was able to get to a safe place without an accident.
I started to freak about what could be wrong, how much it might cost to repair, and what if I needed to come up with that new living option sooner than later.
The RV shook with each passing car. It was close to 100° now inside, but I kept drinking water, distracting myself by sharing what had happened with my Facebook friends. Several said that my angels were really taking care of me. Call it what you call it – I agree that some power bigger than me helped me to safety.
The tow truck driver called about twenty minutes later and said he was on his way. A DPS officer arrived and put up some cones to divert traffic and the tow driver, Pops, cinched my RV up on the bed of his truck while I waited in his air-conditioned cab. He towed it to Marika’s house because my usual RV mechanic retired and the new owners don’t work on motorhomes.
So, instead of living in the RV in Marika’s driveway, I moved into the room that was my office when I lived in the house. I inflated my queen-sized Aerobed and put Cody’s bed under my work table. We carried everything out of the RV refrigerator into the house fridge, brought in my single-cup coffee maker, and then Marika and I got in the pool.
The sky was overcast and darkening quickly as the storm that had followed us from the mountains was moving in. My body felt so happy in the water; loose, relaxed, completely unstressed.
What had happened with the RV was in the past. What I might need to do was in the future. But right then, in that moment, I was moving in water, the air was cool, the sun was hidden and the sky was magnificent. And Mabel and Cody were outside with us, Cody dropping his ball into the pool so I could throw it in the grass. Over and over again.
We were watching the sky for lightning and I said to Marika, “This, this is just as weighted as what happened on the freeway. It’s not better, or worse, it’s the same. To just be fully in it and experience it. Yes, I was brave and calm, I did all the right things, I got us to safety. And now I am in this amazing pool, with you, with the dogs, under this sky and it’s not even hot out.”
Every moment we live is what matters. The hard ones, the delightful ones, the boring ones and the scary ones. By not getting attached to any one moment, allowing each moment to lead to the next, that is living in the present.
Being in the NOW moment allowed me to release the worry of what I might need to do with the RV, with my life. I would deal with it on Monday or Tuesday, when places were open for business. But in that moment, the only next big question was what to do for dinner.
I could have easily stayed home and grazed, but Marika wanted Chinese food and felt like taking a drive, even in Friday dinner hour traffic. I was happy to just be a passenger as we drove to her favorite eggroll place on the far west side of town.
The streets were wet the further west we drove, and the sky was ominous. We sat in a booth by the window but there was no rain. The eggrolls were better than average but not to drive for, but it was fun to feel like we were still on vacation.
It started to drizzle on the walk back to the car and we drove home in a cool, steady rain. We sat out back under the patio cover, watching the drops bounce on the surface of the pool. Both dogs were with us and it was the perfect coming home.
The next morning, the RV started up like a dream. But there was a new hard-clicking sound in the engine. And so this week I will find a new mechanic and see what needs to be done. I am praying that it is a minor repair, and that I will be able to continue with my plan to return to the beach in the RV on September 1st.
The practice is to not get too far ahead of myself with what if’s; to stay right here, right now, embracing what is, and recognizing that I am exactly where I need to be and that all will work out as it is meant to, with grace and ease for the benefit of all.
Last night I took my first after-dark swim. There was a random breeze, barely strong enough to move the wind chimes that Marika bought to honor her mom when she passed. I played with Cody for a while, throwing his ball from the pool onto the grass, then I eased onto my back to float. The sky was dark and clear with just a few shadows of clouds in the west. I couldn’t see any stars, but I knew they were there.
Breathing Space
Whenever I return from traveling, I give myself a day with nothing planned so that I can re-adjust to the time zone, take a nap if I need to, do laundry, and unpack my own self from the experience before jumping back into daily life.
And so I’m spending this last week of the Heart Sparks Road Tour in the mountains of Pinetop-Lakeside, AZ, just relaxing, before heading down into the summer-hot Phoenix valley to begin a month of Mac training.
I’ve been on the road for 110 days, passed through 3 time zones, 10 states and stayed in 26 different camping spots. After the last two weeks of hopscotching from Memphis, TN, to Alabama, then Tennessee again, through Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas and New Mexico, I am so glad to be in Arizona, knowing that I don’t have to drive anywhere for a whole week.
Even though I only drove 2-3 hours each day, it seemed like a long trip because it was too hot and muggy to venture out for anything more than a quick round of ball playing. I did eat some fried catfish in Oklahoma and almost took a limousine to the famous Big Texan steakhouse in Amarillo, but mostly I stayed inside watching Drop Dead Diva on Netflix.
Most places I only stayed one night, but in Toad Suck, Arkansas, we stayed for two because we were camped right on the Arkansas River in full shade, and we could walk in the early morning and evening without getting overheated or mosquito bitten.
But in Arkansas, the water heater stopped working. I thought it might be because of the high humidity, but in even after we arrived in the cool, high desert of Pie Town, New Mexico, the pilot still wouldn’t light. And then my worst fear happened. The air conditioner compressor stopped working. Thank God it was cool enough that I didn’t HAVE to have it on. But I’d need it in Phoenix and beyond.
I’m living in a 1989 motorhome. Marika and I bought it when it was 5 years old with only 9500 miles on it. Now it has 60,000 miles and the wall heater no longer works. The generator needs a new fuel line. And now no hot water OR air conditioning. Did it make any sense to keep putting money into it? But if I didn’t, where was I going to stay? I didn’t want to sleep on the air mattress in Marika’s house. And what about California? If I’m not at Paradise Park, where will I live? Would I be stuck in Phoenix, living at my father’s house? I had no cell reception and barely a wifi signal and I was the only camper in the five-space park. And the engine hook was stuck shut so I couldn’t even check the oil.
And I freaked out.
Suddenly, I felt like I was going to be forced backwards into something. I bawled and cried and then even laughed, because sometimes I guess I need big jolts to make changes in my life.
A Facebook friend reminded me that it would all work out, and I was able to believe it. I told myself that I didn’t have to make any new life decisions, I just needed to get gas, and drive two hours to Pinetop where I could at least get an estimate for the repairs. I was even able to sing without crying as I followed the wide open sky across the border into northeastern Arizona.
When I got to Pinetop, I called a mobile RV repair guy. After testing the circuit board and checking all of the connections, he determined it was a voltage problem. I told him about the trouble I had with the switch for the water pump back in April and indeed, the problem was just a loose monitor panel plug.
And the a/c was suddenly working again! Blowing a cool 55° according to the guy. I realized that the last RV Park had wonky electric hookups and the compressor just wasn’t getting enough juice to run. So all is working in my world again and I am happily settling into my wonderful-again home.
I don’t know yet what I want next, and that’s really OK. I need to spend some good time and energy honoring all that has transpired these last four months on the road. To take an inventory of what I loved most, what I might want to do again, what I’m most surprised by, and proud of. And in those questions I’m sure I’ll begin to vision and feel my way into what I might want next.
But for now, I am tuning my ears to the northern bird songs and adjusting my body to the dry mountain air and the sky that gets darker so much earlier in the evening.
And I am deep breathing. Not by practice, but because we are at 7400 feet in the Apache-Sitgraves National Forest, and my lungs are used to living at sea level.
I’m sure the enormity of what I have done, where I have been, and how I have grown more into myself will continue to reveal itself in these next weeks and months. But for now, I’m just grateful to be here, breathing clean air, walking in the forest and knowing that I am home.
How do you give yourself breathing room after a big event or vacation?
How do honor where you’ve been and what you’ve done before jumping back into the next thing?
I’d love to hear your stories. Please share in the comments below.
How to Find Balance Between Funk And Fire
A client, Joan, recently shared that she was having a rough week. She felt she wasn’t getting the “right things” done, and she felt alone in the work she had to do. Joan thought the roller coaster she was on was “normal” but she was hoping for a way to get off the ride.
Another client, Annie, shared how, one week she was feeling very motivated and productive and on fire, and then the next week she had fallen into a deep, unsettling funk. And she had lost all sight of the importance of the work she was doing.
Both women are involved in big projects. They are doing big work from their hearts. And yet, they had forgotten to acknowledge how hard they’d been working.
No wonder they landed in a funk.
We all move from high to low. It is as natural as the tides, ebbing and flowing. It is in this flux that we experience movement.
We couldn’t possibly sustain always feeling high and we couldn’t possibly survive if we were always feeling the lows.
The question is, does the fluctuation always have to be so extreme?
If we can practice actions and thoughts that keep us more balanced, then the shifts between ebb and flow might be less extreme, more manageable and healthier for our minds and bodies.
Sometimes the best thing you can do when you are roller coaster-ing between funk and on fire is to get into your BODY.
We find our true balance in our physical body.
Our thoughts tend to knock us off-kilter and then our ego takes us on a wild ride of insecurity and doubt.
Don’t listen!
Instead, tune inward and get in touch with your physical body and ask yourself “what do you really need right now?”
This is the first Heart Sparks practice: grounding – connecting with your body and the things that support you.
Maybe it’s taking a delicious nap in the middle of the day.
Maybe it’s going for a long walk in the woods, or riding your bike, or standing in tree pose, balanced on one leg and then the other.
Whatever your body is asking for, DO IT.
Then come back to your work. (I promise you that you will feel different!)
And try this:
If you were feeling unproductive and unmotivated, take out a piece of paper and write down EVERYTHING you’ve been doing these past few weeks.
Then read the list and acknowledge your accomplishments.
Choose a way to celebrate all that you have done.
If you were feeling overwhelmed with everything you have to do, then take out a piece of paper and write down EVERYTHING you need to do.
From big jobs to small tasks.
Spit it all out onto the page.
This creates some much needed space in your brain.
If you like index cards, it might help to put one thing on each card so that it visually breaks the BIG THING OF IT into smaller, more do-able actions.
Then you can put the cards in the order of importance/priority so that it feels more manageable and much less overwhelming.
These are just a few suggestions….
How else can you stay focused and balanced so that you remember how much you believe in this great work you are doing????
I’d love to hear how you maintain your balance. Please share your ideas by clicking the Comments below.
P.S. I am tickled and thrilled to share with you that my short story, Binoculars has been published in the online magazine The Blue Guitar.
You can click here to read it. The story begins on page 15.
What To Do When You Can’t Decide
Sometimes we get stuck making a decision, whether it’s saying yes or no, we just can’t choose. We swirl around in a circle of doubt and then we force a choice and it usually doesn’t work out.
Instead, consider this: if you are having trouble deciding, perhaps it’s because you aren’t ready to choose, or this may not really be what you want, or something else is in the way.
Instead of charging forward just to get it over with, I invite you to explore the resistance. Ask yourself “why am I having so much trouble deciding? And then step back again, breathe and listen in.
Maybe you don’t have everything you need to decide. Maybe it’s something you really don’t want to do, Maybe there’s something ELSE CALLING YOU, or a different way.
Or maybe you really want to say No instead of yes.
So many people don’t know how to say NO. So they say YES to everything. Because they don’t want to offend someone, or rock the boat, or make the wrong choice.
If you are just beginning to learn how to discern what you TRULY want, it can be overwhelming to have to make choices, to say Yes and No.
So I invite you to guage your answer with this single, simple statement:
IF IT’S NOT AN ABSOLUTE YES, THEN IT’S A NO.
With this single mantra, making the “right” choice becomes immediately easier. You can begin to say No to things with a clear and opened heart.
As you become more comfortable saying YES when you mean yes, and NO when you mean no, you can then take your decision making to the next level.
Instead of holding the choice up to absoluteness, ask a deeper question: Does this activity support my intention? Will it take me closer to my bigger vision of myself?
Often, that absolute Yes and No is crowded with our chattering voices, old beliefs…. I can’t afford it, it’s too far, I’ve never tried that before. And so it’s understandable to see how these beliefs make us think it is not an absolute YES.
But usually when we are presented with opportunities that scare the pants off of us, that are uncomfortable, foreign, unknown, they are exactly the things we need to do to take the next step.
So if you are trying to decide, instead of settling for the first easy, absolute answer, take some time to explore what the No’s are.
Maybe they are really Yes’es in disguise.
Is there something you are having trouble deciding? How might these techniques help you come to the true and clear answer from your heart?
Please share your thoughts by clicking on the Comments below.
The Hardest Freedom
This past week I’ve been reading and thinking about the meaning of freedom. Folks are talking about freedom of speech, of being able to live without working, freedom to do what they want, when they want.
Circumstances aside, it seems to me that, our biggest need for freedom is from our negative thoughts and limiting beliefs.
From the outside it may seem like I live the ultimate free life — I have wheels underneath me and can travel wherever I choose, I work for myself so I can set my own hours and rates, I don’t have children or elders who I need to take care of. It is just me and Laddy and what do I want to do with my life.
And yet, I sometimes find myself struggling with my own self-defeating thoughts. I fall into worry about finances, I stress about generating new business. I fret about what I want to eat for dinner.
And all of this negative mind chatter is anything but freedom.
Last week, after mucking around in a week of worry, I watched this video and was reminded how much power those negative thoughts have.
As soon as I realize how uncomfortable I was, how stressed I really felt, I reminded myself that the real freedom is in choosing a new thought, shifting to a different perspective, telling myself a different story.
I stood in the river and let the water carries my worries away. Then I sat down with my pen and paper and imagined life without struggle.
I remembered that changing my language about any given situation is the truest kind of freedom of speech. And I crafted a new affirmation that supports a life of ease and joy, effortlessness and abundance.
And it worked. The stress dissipated, I was breathing deeper. I found myself smiling and admiring a dragonfly hovering near me. I even knew what I wanted to eat for dinner.
And the next morning, passive income from one of my Mac video training programs appeared in my checking account, a beautiful reminder that I am financially, emotionally and spiritually supported so that I can continue to do my best work, and that the Universe is cheering me on.
Even if I don’t know what that work is, or where the money is coming from, I feel space open up for those answers to show up.
I remind myself that I don’t have to know the how’s, I simply have to hold the vision of me being my best self, happy, content, connected, and engaged in good work. And in that calming, I am paying more attention, noticing new opportunities and daring to dream even bigger.
It sounds hokey, maybe, but it works.
I invite you to watch the video interview with Marc Allen and try it for yourself.
How to Walk in the River
It is my last full week here in Asheville, NC. Next Wednesday I begin the journey westward. And so it is a balancing of staying present and planning forward, without getting too far ahead of myself.
I am consciously choosing to get my feet in the river every day, to connect with the energy of the moving water, to do my modified sun salutations and to practice my river walking skills.
Walking in the river is not like walking on pavement, or even sand. The bottom is uneven. There are hidden rocks, and they are slippery with slimy moss. And so you have to take a small, sturdy step and then pause, plant your foot and make sure you are stable. Then you can step your other foot to find another secure landing. River walking is slow. Purposeful. You have to be fully present.
I wear sturdy water shoes. I even bought a new pair, since I bought my old ones when I moved to the CA beach, almost 3 years ago. My new Keen sandals, are purple. They have great Velcro straps, a rubber toe and a ½” thick sole so I don’t have to worry about my tender-bottomed feet stepping on something sharp on uneven. And the rubber soles gives me a flat landing, no matter where I step.
The first few times I went into the river, I only walked in as far as I could see the bottom. Then I followed the dappled path of sunlight on the water, moving further into the current, up to my knees. I scooted my foot along the bottom, feeling for my next step, until I was in up to my thighs. I squatted to get my whole bathing suited body wet, and it felt amazing. The water was cool on my skin as it pushed against me. I had to stay strong and balanced so I wouldn’t fall over.
Last week I finally floated in the river. I was watching my neighbor play in a 30 foot section of water in front of the beach and it looked so easy and so fun that I put on my bathing suit and joined her. She said she preferred going on her back, facing forward so she can see where she’s going. She said to aim for the rocks, two black triangular boulders that formed a seven-foot-wide breaker in the river.
I sat in the water and my body was immediately lifted by the current. I was moving and floating and it was marvelous. We floated together twice more and then she left. I was only going to float once more by myself, and then I decided it was safe enough to stay alone.
I did the float a few more times, then found a place against the big rocks where I could lie on my back in the water, my feet barely touching the rock, and I could float without get swept into the current. But if I moved slightly to the right or left, I had to quickly grab hold of the rock to keep from drifting away.
And then I found a spot, right in between. I held onto two rocks in the water below me as the current moved around me. My shoulders were back and relaxed, my heart lifted and open. I loosened my hands on the rocks beneath me until it was just my index fingers holding me, and then I let go altogether, and I was the tip of the current and the water was swirling around me, diverging around my head and my shoulders and my legs and the rock, and I was the river, and the sky was blue above me through the bright green leaves and there was a cloud, heart-shaped, I swear, drifting right across my sightline.
I closed my eyes and floated, untethered, so aware that I was not floating in the safety of Marika’s swimming pool, but here, with myself, on the wild French Broad River.
It is moments like these when I am so acutely aware of being part of something so much bigger than myself. Something I need to remember when I fall into feeling lonely.
Last night Cody and I took a much-later-than-usual evening walk around the campground. The sun was setting pinkish-red behind the mountains to the northwest and a little bit of color seeped into the sky above the river. In all this time, it was my first sunset. On the walk back home, a firefly flew right up to the bright green shape on the front of my t-shirt, hovered, lit up, then flew away.
Even though I have been here since the middle of May, every day I notice something new. The patterns in the thick moss on the stone cottage roof. The way the river curves at both ends of the campground, so that I can only see this much. How the fuzzy yellow baby Canadian geese have grow into juveniles in their black and white summer plumage.
I have moments that I think I haven’t done ENOUGH while I’ve been here, that I SHOULD HAVE been getting in the water all along and watching the sun set every night.
And then I breathe, and look at the river and wonder how I can motivate myself to just get my feet wet. As if on cue, Cody gets up from his bed, jaws his ball, then drops it down the steps in front of the door. I put on my purple water shoes and we head down to the water for our favorite game.
He stands on the beachy bank of the river next to a tree stump and drops the ball onto the exposed roots that lead to the river. The ball bounces and rolls into the slow moving water and he watches as the ball floats in the current towards where I am standing, ankle-deep in the river. I retrieve it, rinse it off and throw it onto the sandy beach. He runs, grabs it out of the sand, squishes it between his teeth a few times, then drops it back on the tree roots. It bounces and floats. He watches. I pick it up, swish it in the water, then throw it for him to retrieve again.
Between throws I practice my forward bends, my hands planted in the rocky river bed, my legs long and stretching, the back of my heart open to the sky. But I can’t stay in the pose too long or I will miss the ball floating past me.
We play like this, again and again, at his pace, both of us totally present and engaged, until he lies down with the ball in the sand. Then I sit on my sitting rock, my feet still in the moving water, and I say thank you.
What a gift I have given myself, all of this time here in this beautiful place. I am so grateful for the people I know and love here, who have made this time so rich and rewarding. I am grateful for the work I am able to do while I am here, and for the new paths that are opening up for me.
I only have the first week of my western route planned and, so far, that feels OK. I’m going to journey west as if I’m walking in the river, one sure step at a time, as far as I can feel, following the sun and the sky.
The View From Here
I am still in Asheville, North Carolina, camped along the glorious French Broad River. I am so grateful that this stretch of river is wide, and that I can see so much sky.
I’ve been renting a car so it’s easier to run errands, meet people, and explore some places around Asheville without having to worry about Cody and parking.
It’s been great. So great that I rented the car for a second week and will probably do a third. Because it’s freedom. There have even been a few days that I didn’t even go anywhere. But knowing that I can if I want to, has been so stress relieving.
One by one, I’ve been eliminating all stressors and distractions, settling into being in this beautiful place to make space for what is coming. And of course, with all of that letting go, things got uncomfortable.
Last week, two of my friends were out of town and it was a quiet work week, so I had a lot of time to be with myself and my thoughts. Yes, I had a car, but I didn’t have the desire to go exploring alone. And besides, driving on those curving mountain roads in a subcompact rental car was not very fun, and I still had no sense of direction because everything, all around, looks the same.
I’m a western gal, accustomed to five lanes on a city street and even more on the freeways. You can see for miles and know exactly where you are, based on certain landmarks. Here, in this southern mountain town, I was beginning to feel a little closed in. Especially when the only way to see the sky is to look directly up.
People suggested I drive up to the Blue Ridge Parkway so I could experience the magnificent vista of mountains and sky as far as I could see.
But I have an aversion to high altitude overlooks. The vastness makes me queasy and un-easy. Looking down makes me feel like I am falling. So a mountaintop vista was not was I was looking for.
Instead, I drove south of Asheville to visit the Carl Sandburg Historical Site. It was beautiful and interesting, but mostly I cried. I was still in the forest of trees and mountains, and, even though there are a hundred shades of green, it is all green, only green, and hardly any sky.
I’m sure it was also hormones and loneliness and not knowing what is next on this journey.
When I got home I started spinning into the future. Should start planning my trip west? What was I doing after my big training job in Phoenix? Am I heading back to CA? Should I continue up the coast to finally visit the San Juan Islands? Should I apply to be a camp host/tour guide at a lighthouse in Oregon in October? Was I going to have to stay parked in Marika’s driveway until I had a plan?
I had this need to know where I was headed, but, as much as I tried to plan something, nothing was jelling.
So I stepped back, and returned to being here.
I asked myself, what am I doing more of now that I didn’t do before. And what am I NOT doing now that I WAS doing before. And I realized I’d been sitting and watching more TV, and I hadn’t been stretching or doing my simple yoga poses. With all of the rain, we were walking less, and it had been three days since I had stood in the river.
So I put on my bathing suit and purple water shoes and walked into the water. I practiced my forward bends, planting my hands in the rocky river bed, feeling myself supported and stable, even with the rush of water passing over me. And I breathed.
And something released inside of me. I don’t have to know what I’ll be doing in September and October. I only need to plan as far as I can feel, trusting that each step will lead to the next.
And of course, as soon as I relaxed into this thought, new opportunities presented themselves. I booked two internet radio show interviews and a paid speaking gig appeared in Memphis, Tennessee.
Often, we think we need to keep pushing through to figure things out, that we have to be tenacious and stick with it to make something happen. Or else we have failed.
But usually, when we are in that place of stuckness, the best next action step is to simply pause and breathe. Step back for some perspective and reconnect with the basics: what do you really want, and how do you want to feel.
I wanted to feel spacious, open, ready for this next big thing. I wanted to feel the thrill of doing something that was new and exciting. I wanted the momentum of doing something in my physical body to propel the rest of my being into this amazing state of Yes.
In the past few weeks I’ve had several opportunities to go to that kind of thrill edge – riding my bike on a narrow winding mountain road without a bike lane, kayaking down the fast-moving, rock-strewn French Broad River. Someone even asked if I wanted to go zip-lining in the trees. And while each of these activities would have challenged my physical body, they felt extreme. Dangerous. Too edgy.
But I had to do something because the experience of being in the thick trees, unable to see anything beyond what was right in front of me was getting too uncomfortable, literally and figuratively.
And then I had to laugh. Of course I had to challenge my fear of big, wide vistas. I had to go to the top of the mountain.
While I was quietly contemplating where and when to do this, a friend suggested we have lunch at the Pisgah Inn, near the top of Mt. Pisgah, a 5700-foot peak along the Blue Ridge Parkway.
I even drove. The road wasn’t nearly as tight and windy as the mountain roads that I’m used to in Arizona. And because I was driving, I had my eyes on the road, not the sides of the two-lane highway, lined on both sides by towering green trees.
There was a series of short, un-illuminated tunnels that cut through the mountain. The sign said to turn your headlights on. Still, the first tunnel was a surprise. It was total darkness except for my own car’s headlights. It was a little scary, not being able to see very far in front of me, but by the third one, I was actually enjoying the thrill of driving in the dark.
The view from the Mt. Pisgah Inn was incredible. Even with the clouds, I could see so many layers of mountain ranges stretched across the horizon line. I stepped up to the railing and looked out. Nothing in my body was freaking out. Instead it felt like a big, deep breath of open space, and beauty, and possibility.
Listen to some recent interviews:
Ruth talks with Erica Harey-Butcher about getting un-stuck and taking action on Catch Good health blogtalkradio.
Ruth joins Janice Plado Dalager and Kim Pottle Hancock on the Middle of Nowhere podcast.
Read an interview with Vicky White of The Spacious Life about my life on the road.
