Learning to Fish
Me and my Dad in our matching senior glasses on a boat tour around Morro Bay
My father is visiting me in CA this week as part of our Father’s Day celebrating. This is the first time in my life that I’ve lived someplace further than 30 miles from him (not counting crazy summers in my 20’s), so this is a new experience for both of us.
My dad loves museums and science, and he wants us to see things that I haven’t yet explored on my own. So yesterday we went on a Sub-Sea boat tour in Morro Bay to learn about the marine life by actually seeing underwater through the big windows in the lower deck of the boat.
My dad has always been the fun guy to do things with. Throughout my childhood, we went places together while my mom stayed home. Everywhere from Goony Golf and the Burger Basket, where we always ordered the fried shrimp and french fries and an A&W root beer, to Robert Moses State Beach on the end of Long Island, where he taught me how to fish.
We’d walk up and down one pier and then the other, watching people cast their clear lines over the rail and into the water. I loved the sound of us walking on the wooden boards of the pier, clomp clomping past men and boys leaning against the wooden rails or sitting in webbed folding chairs, surrounded by buckets and fishing poles and tackle boxes.
My father and I would stop to look in their buckets and ask them what they had. Often we saw flounders and sometimes there was a gray blowfish, still filled with air, lying in the bottom of the bucket. Always there were screeching seagulls perched on the rails and circling overhead. While my father talked to the men I would lean through the rails and watch the colored balls bob on the wavy water.
I was usually the only girl on the pier. There were other kids my age, but only boys. It didn’t bother me and it didn’t seem to bother my father either. He always said that “whatever a man can do, a woman can do instead.”
After several trips to the pier my father said I was ready to fish. We picked a spot away from the other people and set our things down on the wooden planks. My father had his own tackle box. It was green plastic, about the size of a shoe box with a silver clasp to keep it closed. Inside were two removable trays with more than a dozen compartments.
My father showed me the hooks and the weights and the colored balls and then picked out a teardrop-shaped weight and slipped it onto the end of his fishing rod. “Now you need a bobber so you’ll be able to see where your line is.” I picked a red ball from the box and my father showed me how to slide it on near the weight.
I leaned against the railing and my father stood behind me and put his big hands on top of mine on the smooth cork handle of the rod. “Look behind you and make sure there’s no one near you,” he said. Then slowly, he guided the rod around and behind us, lifting it up and swinging it forward.
The reel made a spinning whirring sound and the bright red bob at the end of the pole flew through the air and landed in the water about thirty feet in front of us. “Now reel it in and we’ll do it again.” “But when are we going to start fishing?” I asked. “When you remember to look around before you swing your pole.”
I turned the spinner until the line was wound back in and we practiced casting together a few more times. Then my father stepped to the side so I could try it by myself. The first few times the weight barely made it over the rail. When I was able to hit the water four times in a row, my father said I was ready to bait my hook.
We had stopped at the bait stand at the pier where my father bought a cup of worms. They were slithering in the plastic container and I refused to touch them. “If you want to fish you’re going to have to get used to the squiggling.”
I watched him take a small sharp hook out of the tackle box and attach it to the end of my pole. Then he picked a worm out of the container and, as he started to hook it on the end, I had to close my eyes. He handed me the baited pole and I held it as far away from me as possible. I was afraid if I didn’t cast it right, the worm would rub against me.
I looked all around me, then held the pole out from my body and swung it around and up and out. The reel whirred and the red ball landed about twenty feet out in the water. I was fishing!
I stood there next to my father, watching my marker bob on the water. I looked through the slats beneath my sneakered feet, mesmerized by the waves sloshing against the wooden legs of the pier.
I asked my father what made the waves. He started to explain in big scientific words about tides and the moon. “Never mind,” I said. I felt a tug on the line. “Reel it in. Slowly.”
My heart raced as I wound the spinner. When my line finally surfaced I saw that it was just some seaweed. I brought the line in and my father carefully removed the green slime. The worm was gone.
“You need more bait.” I looked into the wormy container. “I can’t. Do it for me. Please.” He put another worm on the hook. “Next time we’ll buy plastic worms.”
I cast my line back in and waited. I kept my eyes on the bobber moving up and down in the slapping water and imagined a giant fish eating the worm. I held my hand on the spinner, ready to reel it in. But the seaweed was the only thing I caught that day.
My father and I never caught a fish. But a lot of times I hooked a starfish. I was always squeamish about touching it, but it was so pretty that I did anyway. The tops of the five arms were rough and there were rows of hair-like fibers on it’s belly. I’d put it down on the pier and watch to see if it moved. It never did. Then I’d throw it back in the water.
Once I caught one with only four arms. My father said that if a starfish loses an arm it grows a new one. I wanted to take it home so I could watch it grow back but my father said no, it would smell too much. So I threw it back into the water like I always did.
Tomorrow I’m taking my Dad to the Cayucos Pier where people fish for perch and sanddabs. We’ll clomp clomp along the wooden boards and peer into people’s buckets and maybe someone will even catch a starfish.
Feel free to share your favorite Dad stories by clicking on the Comments!
Speak Up, Sing Out, Share Your Authentic Voice
One of the many things I’ve learned these past few years is how important the voice is. When we add sound to our movements, to our thoughts, to our sentences, the energy expands.
And yet, so many people are not comfortable making sounds, speaking up, being heard.
Listen around you to how quietly some people speak, even and especially when they are talking about something important.
Growing up, so many of us were told to Be Quiet. Many of us were told we had bad singing voices, so we should just mouth the words. And we have accepted these statements as truth, settling back into shameful silence.
Until today.
If we want to be heard, we must be learn to be comfortable using our voice.
We must believe that our words, our ideas, our perspectives are valuable and worthy of sharing. And that we have a right to speak up, speak out, even sing out.
Several years ago, a client shared that she used to love to sing. But her 3rd grade music teacher told her she was off key so should just mouth the words. For all those years in between she kept quiet, not even singing in the shower.
And then one night, after a powerful Living Room Ladies gathering, she attended her granddaughter’s birthday party and got up and sang karaoke. And she loved it. She couldn’t believe how fun it was and how much she had missed all these years.
When we don’t use our voice, we lose our voice, both literally and figuratively. Maybe we are more prone to sore throats or coughing. Maybe we feel like we are never heard. Maybe we don’t tell our own truth, for fear that we won’t be accepted.
Recently, in a different Living Room Ladies group, I asked each woman to write an affirmation that would guide her toward the more joyful, more authentic life she desired. One woman wrote, “I am honest about who I am and not afraid to voice it.”
This single sentence suddenly gives her permission to speak up for herself. And with practice, she will even be comfortable doing it.
So how can you get more comfortable with your voice?
Perhaps you can begin with just sighing an audible sound when you exhale. Notice if your sound is quiet, or fully supported by your outgoing breath.
Making silly sounds with your voice also opens up the channels. Singing gibberish silliness is a great way to reconnect with your voice. Find a young child and sing with them–they will certainly not judge you.
EVEN IF YOU THINK YOU CAN’T SING, DO IT ANYWAY.
Creating the vibration in your throat will reverberate into your heart and your entire body. Try it. Feel it.
Add words to the sounds.
Sing your affirmation.
Raise the volume so you are really heard! Having the support of strong breathing will also help you sing more in tune.
Sing it loud. Sing it proud. Sing it long. Sing it strong.
Begin to claim your voice and all that you are here to share!
I’d love to hear how you play with your voice, how you practice being heard. Please share your story with me and my readers by clicking on the Comments below.
Also, I am starting to visualize a new Living Room Ladies group. This time we’ll meet virtually, because, from my experiences with my Wisdom Council Mastermind I now see that you CAN form deep, intimate, trusting relationships without meeting in person. If you’re interested in more information, email me. To find out what the Living Room Ladies is, click on the link above!
What’s Now?
For those of you who are wondering, I did not get the cute cottage. And I’m OK with it.
Like John Steinbeck said, “If it is right, it happens. The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.”
And so I am re-focused on what is, what I need to be and do NOW to best support the work I do and the life I live.
***
Our lives are so full that most of us feel like we’re always catching up or trying to getting ahead, move forward.
Some days, the best thing we can do for ourselves is to pause. To completely stop rushing and doing and striving and simply BE exactly where we are.
This shift in rhythm can open us up to opportunities to notice our accomplishments and revel in how far we’ve come. Instead of pushing further, we have a chance to breathe into the present moment and check in with ourselves. What do I REALLY need right now? What do I REALLY want to do?
Maybe you need a nap. Maybe you need a cool glass of water. Maybe you want to call a friend just to tell them you’re thinking of them.
When we’re always focused on what’s next, what else, what more.…several things can happen:
- we don’t appreciate what we’ve already done
- we often don’t realize how tired we are
- we don’t honor what we really would rather be doing or not doing
So I invite you to try a new phrase. Instead of asking What’s Next, consider What’s Now.
Bring your conscious awareness to this moment, where are you Right Now. Breathe into your belly and follow your breathe in and out, noticing its pattern, its rhythm, its presence in your body.
And ask yourself, What’s Now?
In this moment, how can I best support myself and what I do and feel and need and dream? What’s Now?
Do this often enough and you will notice a shift within yourself. You may be less cranky, more patient, more compassionate with yourself and others. By slowing down and paying attention to the here and the now of life, you’ll even being to notice some magic. And I can’t wait to hear about it!
Is Life a Circle or a Spiral?
A year ago I had a going away party, even though I no longer had a moving date. I had found and lost a rental property on the central coast, and had no idea what my next step was. I scoured Craigslist every day, several times a day, but looking for a place to live from 600 miles away is nearly impossible.
Fast forward to today, where I have been living for the past ten months in my 24 foot RV across the street from the beach, 20 miles north of where I thought I’d be living, in a small beach town I didn’t even know existed.
And I am very content here. LIving small helps me focus inward and connect with what really matters.
But yesterday, out of nowhere, I looked at Craigslist again and found a most perfect, quirky, cozy cottage for rent in my original dream neighborhood along the back bay. I hadn’t even been thinking I was ready to move into a house. But when you follow the energy, things open and your heart beats really fast and you know, you just KNOW that the universe is calling you to show up bigger.
And I have to stop and wonder, is this a repeat of a circle or is life really a spiral?
The original vision of my move to California was that I would rent a house, connect with the Apple Store in San Luis Obispo and simply move my training business here. Same same same.
But the moment I got here, I knew I didn’t want to live that same life, do the same work in the same way.
And so these past ten months have been a time for me to let go of the old and open up to new possibilities. To spend more time writing, tapping into my creativity, connecting with the rhythm of the tides and my own true heart.
I am a very different person than I was ten months ago. I am more flexible, more centered, much more present and aware. Daily morning beach walks will do that for a person.
I have been writing every day and learning to lean in when things get really uncomfortable. I am on the board of the Morro Bay Winter Bird Festival and I am creating the Community Prayer Flag Project.
And in these past months I’ve restructured my Mac training business so that I work with all of my clients virtually. Most of my clients now come from online connections, and, like with any business, I realize I need to keep growing my contacts if the business is going to continue to support.
And so, with the encouragement of my business coach, I agreed to finally contact the Apple Store to see how we could work together. And they were thrilled to hear from me. They are eager to refer me to their business clients for system setups and training. And they’re even open to me offering specialized presentations for entrepreneurs.
On the surface it might seem like this is the exact scenario from ten months ago. Rental house, Apple Store. On-site training.
But it’s not.
I’m seeing it from a different perspective. This on-site Mac training is no longer my sole livelihood-it’s an extension of the other work I do. And moving to Los Osos would cut the travel time to San Luis Obispo in half, making it more enticing to take on this on-site training work.
Could it be that, the moment I said YES to connecting with the Apple Store and being open to do some in-person training, the Universe opened up for me, offering me a home to spread out into?
Just like ten months ago, I am waiting to hear from the landlady whether or not she picks me to be her tenant. While the cottage seems absolutely perfect for me, I also know that, if I don’t get it, something else bigger and better is waiting for me. I know this because that’s what happened ten months ago.
Yes, life really is a spiral.
I’d love to hear how you you notice this spiral in your own life. Please share your story with me and my readers by clicking on the Comments below.
Adventure to the Edge
group hug, including one member who joined us via Skype
Last weekend I drove the RV up to the Bay area for a retreat with my Wisdom Council Mastermind. We are seven women solo-preneurs who have been having video meetings online every other week since July, 2012. In addition to supporting each other in our businesses, we offer compassion, inspiration and a place to share our biggest fears. And we have become deep and true friends.
To further deepen our connections, we all decided to meet in person, in Emeryville, just outside of San Francisco, where one of the women has her art studio. Instead of dealing with hotels that accept dogs, I decided it would be easier and less stressful to drive the RV up so that Laddy would be comfortable while I was in my meeting. And, even paying $4.00/gal for gas, it would be less expensive than driving my car and staying in a hotel for three nights.
It was a long, five hour drive from Cayucos, with a stop for lunch and gas and ripe cherries from a highway fruit stand. When Marika and I used to travel together, we’d change drivers every two hours to avoid overdrive, and so that, when we entered a big city, one of us would be fresh and ready for the traffic.
On the trip up, the last hour of driving was pretty stressful with narrow lanes, fast trucks and big city interchanges. I did so much conscious belly breathing as the cars zipped in and out of my lane, grateful for BOB, my GPS, for guiding me from one five lane highway to the next.
By the time I got into Emeryville I was exhausted. I pulled over onto the first tree lined street to rest and breathe and I missed hitting an overhanging branch by mere inches.
Emeryville is a cute, up and coming neighborhood where most people park on the street in front of their house. The streets closest to my friend’s studio had NO PARKING and 2 Hour Parking signs posted. I kept circling the neighborhood and finally found a space long enough for the RV on a street about a half a mile from the studio where we’d be meeting. This meant that Laddy would have to come with me the whole time because I didn’t want to leave him in the RV so far away.
And, since it had been so hard to find a spot to park, I didn’t want to drive anywhere, for fear of losing it. I was so cranky and tired that I was ready to stay one night and turn around and head home. I cried for a few minutes, in frustration, in tiredness, just wishing I were back in my cozy little beach town.
A friend called, after reading my cranky post on Facebook and I cried a little more. Then I took Laddy for a walk in the neighborhood, both of us distracted by the fragrant spring flowers and the cool breeze and the invisible trail of dogs.
When we got back to the RV I turned on the generator, heated up some chili in the microwave and fed Laddy. Finally, I could feel my body begin to relax.
And I started a gratitude list to counter the cranky grumpies:
- we have a fairly level place to park
- we can take walks in the nice neighborhood (and no hills!)
- Laddy is a laid back, easy, adjusting kind of dog
- being in this huge urban area gives me 4G on my unlimited wifi so I can watch hulu without buffering
- I’m going to see my mastermind loves IN PERSON
- and I didn’t hit the tree
Between enjoying my chili and my fruit stand cherries, and finding things to be thankful for, my mood shifted.
Laddy and I took another walk, this time I was able to admire the architecture and the gardens while Laddy sniffed between the slats in fences and around the thick trunks of the trees, nosing after cats and squirrels and the random food wrappers.
I remembered why I was there, that this was a choice, that, in the morning, I’d be hugging the group of women who have been so much a part of my life and growth this past year.
And the meetings were great. Huge trusts had been created over the many months of our online gatherings and so it was easy to show up, ready to really open up and be vulnerable. We laughed, we cried (me more than anyone), we painted and made prayer flags. We shared our visions and where we felt blocked and offered each other strategies and new perspectives. And Laddy laid down right in the middle of our circle and took it all in.
In the company of my friends, I felt their excitement, their passion, their clarity about the work they are here to do. But in the evenings, back in the RV, I was a complete bucket of crying. Alone, I felt flat, uninspired, passionless, so not myself. I cried for fear that I would never feel that spark in myself again.
One of the women reminded me how much change I’ve gone through in the last year, that it makes sense that everything is stirred up and unsettled. From that perspective, yes, I understand why I feel so lost within myself. But it doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable, especially when it is my passion and drive that supports and sustains me, financially and spiritually and emotionally. Without it, I began to question this whole path I am on and gigantic doubts crept in.
But I knew this is temporary, like all things. Deep in my heart of hearts, I knew that, once I got back home, returned to my daily beach walking, and gave myself time and space to settle back into myself, that I would find my center again, that something would spark my passion and I would be ready to take the next step.
But until then, I could just lean into the company of these very special women and be as gentle with myself as possible.
In our closing circle, we each asked the group to hold a vision of our best selves as we return to our lives and our work. Even if I couldn’t see it for myself, knowing that these six women had the faith and confidence that I would re-connect with my center was the best gift of the weekend.
The drive home was easy and uneventful and I sang most of the way. No tears, no fears, just a wonderful feeling of being held and guided.
In the morning, Laddy and I took our walk on the beach. He was prancing and barking and chasing his stick and I was breathing deep, watching pelicans dive in the waves, and crying, but this time from a calm and opened heart.
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Community Prayer Flags
There is a rhythm to sewing Prayer Flags: measure, cut, tear, sew sew sew, measure, cut, tear…repeat…. measure, cut, tear, sew sew sew, measure, cut, tear…pause.
This morning I sat outside at my picnic table, the sun warming my neck and a slight breeze fluttering the piles of finished flags. I sewed for an hour, pulling stray threads off the torn lengths of muslin, then folding the edges over to sew the seam so that a string can be pushed through to hang them.
It is easy work, meditative, even, as long as the machine stays threaded.
Prayer flags are an ancient pre-Buddhist custom used to promote peace, compassion, strength, and wisdom. According to Wikipedia, “…the flags do not carry prayers to gods, which is a common misconception; rather, the Tibetans believe the prayers and mantras will be blown by the wind to spread the good will and compassion into all pervading space. Therefore, prayer flags are thought to bring benefit to all…
…The prayers of a flag become a permanent part of the universe as the images fade from exposure to the elements. Just as life moves on and is replaced by new life, Tibetans renew their hopes for the world by continually mounting new flags alongside the old. This act symbolizes a welcoming of life’s changes and an acknowledgment that all beings are part of a greater ongoing cycle…”
Several years ago I invited artists from all over the country to make flags for a Community Prayer Flag event in downtown Phoenix. During the event, attendees were encouraged to draw and write their wishes and dreams on flags and contribute them to the project.
This time I’m doing things a little differently.
People will be still invited to sit down and create their own flags, but this time they can take them home with them or contribute them to the project. In addition, they will be able purchase beautiful, one-of-a-kind flags made by artists from all over the country.
This kind of community gathering offers people an opportunity to creatively express something from their heart.
And this knocks my socks off like nothing else I do.
And to give artists a chance to sell their work is icing on the apple pie.
This is the work that I love.
And I even get to make some flags, too.
Yesterday I took time out from sewing the half-inch hems on the muslin to actually work on my own artist’s flag.
I am used to working with paper and glue, or fabric and glue. Once I even added hand stitching. But since I had the sewing machine out, I decided to try something a little more complex than just sewing a straight seam.
I cut swatches of fabrics from a box of remnants that I got at a yard sale and pinned them in place. I lined up longer strips to create a border on each panel. And I started to sew them in place.
But sewing with a machine is tedious. There are pins and creases and threads. There is threading the machine and replacing the bobbin and remembering to raise the arm to the highest position when I start another first stitch. And there is accidentally sewing two flags together, and having to take out all of your stitches.
But I stuck with it and sewed six individual panels that are far from perfection, and I’m really OK with that, especially because of the nature of Prayer Flags.
Prayer Flags are expected to fade and disintegrate from time and weather. And so I’m OK with the uneven stitching, the crooked lines, the already fraying edges. It’s a reminder that everything in life is impermanent.
If you’re interested in making flags for the event, you can get all of the information when you sign up at www.sparktheheart.com/flags
If you’d like to bring this event to your town, send me an email and we’ll talk!
The Other Side of Envy
“When we compare ourselves to others, we will always feel better than or less than our true selves.”
That said, it’s also important to surround ourselves with people who challenge us to run faster, think bigger, walk longer. But not because THEY do, but because that is what we want and need for ourselves.
With all of the people that I meet, it is no surprise that many are living big and powerful lives. They inspire me, motivate me, and serve as a beacon for how full and rich I want my life to be.
But sometimes, I meet someone who seems to be doing everything that I envision for myself. They are clearly doing their heart work. They are financially very successful and they seem to have a beautiful balance of mind, body and spirit. They are leaping and bounding with such joy and authenticity and effortlessness.
While I am excited and happy for their successes, I sometimes fall into that place of comparing myself, my progress, my life, with theirs.
And it is not a pretty place.
It is tight. It is withholding. It is that dark, green place of envy.
And in that place of envy, I can actually FEEL the ugliness ball up inside of my heart, for feeling anything but joyful for them finding their way.
Several weeks ago, as I was reading about a coaching program that a colleague was launching, I could feel myself falling into that space of envy. Because she and I are, in many ways, so similar, I felt a resentment that she was experiencing so much success so quickly.
For days, I was grumpy, unmotivated, feeling like I was never going to experience the same level of success that she was.
And I knew that, if I continued to stay stuck in this place of envy, I really WOULDN’T move forward in my life.
Because, by comparing myself to her, I was completely NOT respecting who I am, the pace that I do things, what MY unique path is.
But how to move out of envy?
1. First, it helps to identify WHAT it is, exactly, that you are envious of. What is it that you wish you had for yourself?
2. Step back and see if you do, in fact, already have some semblance of that in your life. Often, what we see in others is simply a reflection of something in ourselves.
3. Ask yourself, how do I or how can I benefit from what this person is doing/being? How can I turn this around to something that feels good?
4. Ask yourself, how can you release the envy and find a place of grace?
I wrote my colleague a note, congratulating her on her success, thanking her for being such a role model and inspiration. I wished her continued success and love. And I meant it.
I found a way to be grateful for who she is and what she is doing.
And the ugly ball of envy disappeared.
So how do you stand in grace between envy and gratitude?
Feel free to share your story by clicking on the Comments below.
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Seeding/Receding
I have been very busy these past few weeks, seeding. Seeding is an entrepreneurial business terms that means spreading an idea around. Seeding happens after all of the behind the scenes work is in place, but before the actual event or program takes place. Seeding is how you get people interested in your idea.
And so for the past month I’ve been getting everything in place for a new Mac training course. I gave a free tips webinar and shared some great content, I invited folks to register for a full six week class to learn even more ways to work smarter. I’ve been posting on Facebook, sending reminder emails to my peeps and talking with the Universe about serving my clients.
And so far, only six people have signed up for the course.
Seeding in business, like planting real seeds, does not a guarantee that anything will grow. Yes, you can tend the seeds, water them, protect them from the wind and the birds, but you cannot force the seeds to sprout.
And so, when only six people sign up for the course, my knee jerk reaction is to plant MORE seeds, to re-seed. To over water, poke around in the soil, thinking I’m helping but really, I’m disturbing the quiet growth.
But what would better serve me and the seeds, is to recede. To be patient. To wait. To trust. To step back and stop fussing so much, to move out of their sunlight and let nature do its thing.
Maybe more people will register. Maybe not. Either way, it is no fault of the seeds. Or me. It is just how things turned out this time.
All I can do teach those six wonderful people with the best course I can imagine. And continue to tend the seeds I’ve planted, and see what else might bloom.
What happens when you plant something and it doesn’t immediately bloom? Please share by clicking on the comments below.
Back to Basics
I’ve been home for just a couple of days and I’m still adjusting to being here. It’s like coming back from any vacation: I need to re-ground, re-group and remember what’s important and why I’m here.
A part of me thinks I should rush back into things and focus on work. But my wiser self says to move slowly, to pay attention to my breath, to reconnect with the rhythm of the tides. And to notice the things around me and and the feelings within me.
The landscape has changed in the month that I was gone. The rolling hills are now covered in golf course green and the bright yellows and oranges and lavenders of wildflowers gather across the hills like giant throw rugs. Low tide seems lower and the sun comes up further from the east, causing less glare during my morning writing. The whole coast is blooming with color and life and once again, I can’t believe that this is my home.
Inside, I feel a bit of loneliness. Not surprising since I got pretty used to the comforts of sharing space with Marika and Mabel, and the opportunities to be social with friends and clients.
Coming home, I am reminded that this is important to me and that meeting people needs to be a daily practice, even if it’s just having a short conversation with a fellow beach walker or the cashier at Spencer’s.
If life is a spiral then this coming home is the same, yet different than all of the other times. And so I settle in, quietly, slowly, returning to the basics: breathing, being, and saying thank you.
Saying No to the Bucket List
Being a camp host has been on my Bucket List for as many years as I’ve been RV camping. The idea of staying in the same campground for a three month stint, greeting campers, talking with people from all over the world, putting in 20 hours a week in exchange for free rent and full hookups was a dream for me. And the bonus of driving around the campground in a golf cart took the dream over the edge.
And so, in January I thought hey, this would be a perfect time in my life to apply for a host position for the summer. I perused the listings on the California State Parks website and narrowed my choices to two parks, one just 20 miles north of Cayucos at San Simeon State Beach, and the other, three hours south at McGrath State Beach in Ventura where I’ve camped many times.
I met a Park Ranger when I was volunteering at the Morro Bay Bird Festival and asked if she would put in a good word for me with the selection committee at San Simeon. She told me to send her my application and she’d forward it to the person in charge. Meanwhile, I drove up to the campground to scope out the area.
Dogs weren’t allowed on any of the trails. And it would be a 40 mile round trip into Morro Bay if I wanted to continue with my yoga classes, go to a big supermarket, do laundry. And because the campground is under a canopy of trees, cell phone reception was non-existent.
When the ranger contacted me about my application I asked about the reception and wifi and he said camp hosts get free wifi, but still, there was no phone reception. So I said no thank you and focused my attention on the park in Ventura.
A ranger from Ventura called and told me that the person who does the hiring would be on vacation until March, but they had my application. So I put a prayer up and let it go. Two weeks later I got a call. If I could start in April, I could be one of the three hosts at McGrath. But April was too soon. I have some commitments in Morro Bay in April and May and it’s for the months of July and August that I need to leave the RV Park in Cayucos to make room for folks who have previous reservations..
She suggested a second option-being the camp host at the day use beach, San Beunaventura State Beach, also in Ventura. My job would be to work either the morning or afternoon shift in the kiosk, collecting parking fees and answering questions. The park closes at dusk, so I’d have my evenings free.
I asked about security and safety and other hosts nearby. It all sounded great. Until I realized that much of my life would be on hold. I’d have to arrange my Mac training and writing around my shifting work hours. I wouldn’t be socializing with campers. I’d merely be an information person in a booth for five hours a day.
As much as the dream of camp hosting lures me, now just isn’t the right time for it. Because what I really want right now is to continue creating my life in Cayucos, to build on the friendships I’m forming, to practice yoga with my new community, to lead more workshops and connect with more peeps. What I really want is to settle in.
And so I wrote to the Ventura ranger and said no thank you. And I made a reservation for July and August at the same RV Park that I stayed in when I first came to Morro Bay last August. Yes, it’s more expensive than free rent, but I will be in town where I can continue to put down roots, make connections and do my work without having to plan my life around someone else’s schedule.
The decision feels right. And of course, I laugh at myself for all of the planning and effort I put into making the hosting position work out. But that’s how I seem to do things-I research, act, push and get so close to making a choice, and then I breathe and let go, realizing the universe has a better plan for me.
I’m sure that someday I will be a camp host, and the location will be ideal and the job will involve my people person skills and I’ll even get to drive that golf cart around the campground. But for now, I’m staying on the Central Coast, creating the life I love to live.
What dreams are on your Bucket List that you’ve put on hold? Please share with me and my readers by clicking on the Comments below.
