Sharing Our Imperfection
I am teaching an online Mac Training class and, in addition to the live group classes, we have a private Facebook page where students can ask questions, share successes and post photos of their progress.
After the first module about organizing files and folders, each student was asked to post a before and after photo of their Desktop on the Facebook page. One student wanted to be sure the photos wouldn’t post on her personal page for all of her friends to see, because she didn’t want them to see the before photo.
It made me realize how, so often, we only want to show people our successes. And yet, when we reveal our struggles, our imperfections, our own vulnerability, people are able to connect, be vulnerable themselves, and see the possibility of growth.
A very talented artist friend is taking her first oil painting class. She posts her works in progress on her Facebook page, even though she struggles with the curve of a neck or getting the eyes just right. By sharing her imperfect work, we are able to connect with her on a more vulnerable level than if she only posted her finished masterpieces.
If we only saw the cleaned off desktops, we might think we’re a failure because ours is so messy. But, by seeing the before and after, we’re offered a path, a light of hope, a feeling of, well, she did it, maybe I can too.
By sharing where we’ve been, what we’ve come from, what struggles we are moving through, we become a model, a mentor, a cheerleader for those who are ready to follow their own path.
How can you show up imperfectly and be OK with it?
Thoughts? Comments? Please share by clicking on the comments below.
Shifting Perspectives
I’m spending the month of March in Phoenix. The impetus for the trip was to take care of a few clients that I didn’t get to finish with when I was in town in November. I was originally only going to stay for two weeks, but then I thought, hey, I’ll stay for my birthday, and then I can work with more clients.
A few days before I was scheduled to leave Cayucos, I was regretting the whole thing. I was dreading the traffic of the big city and all of the driving I had committed to, visiting clients all over town. The weather reports showed the temperatures slowly rising and I remembered that one year on my birthday it was over 100°. I was getting cranky about the two day drive to Phoenix, and the jam-packed work schedule I had created and I was starting to resent the whole trip.
The night before my departure, Laddy and I took our evening walk to the beach and I could feel tears welling up, thinking how much I was going to miss my life.
And then I remembered that life is where you are, not where you’re going, not where you’ve been, but right here in the present moment.
And it suddenly occurred to me that I am so incredibly blessed to have the opportunity to go to Phoenix for a month and have clients who want to work with me. That I am so graciously welcomed at Marika’s house where she will cook delicious, homey meals and I even have my own room. And Laddy and Mabel get to have a month of dog companionship and I will get together with my friends and my Dad and enjoy some favorite eateries and even try new ones.
I am so grateful that I have the flexibility and the means and the support to do this and, at the end of the month, I’m able to go back to living at the beach where my spot is waiting for me at the RV Park.
This shift in perspective actually had me looking forward to my time in Phoenix. Suddenly, the traffic and the two day drive and the full working days became a gift instead of a burden. I was even excited to try a new back roads driving route to avoid all of the LA freeway traffic and stress.
By the time I had my car packed and Laddy and I were on the road, we were excited about the month of adventures ahead of us. And I didn’t even cry when we turned inland and the ocean disappeared from view.
A Part of the Landscape
Laddy and I haven’t walked on the beach in three days. When the tide is high, most of the hard-packed, easy-walking sand is under the rolling surf and so, instead, we walk along the street just above the beach, where million dollar homes with million dollar views line one side of the road and a sloping hill with utility poles lines the other.
I call this the hawk walk or pole stroll, because we usually spot a hawk sitting on top of one of the poles. Sometimes we meet other dogs and their walkers, some mornings we wave to people on their way to work. Laddy has lots of grass and gopher holes to smell and I can see the ocean rolling below us all the way out to the horizon.
Today, two hours before high tide, Laddy and I returned for a morning beach walk. Even though I’ve seen the ocean every day, standing inches from the surf with a 180° view of water and waves opened me up as if for the first time.
My lungs felt expansive. My legs were strong walking on the sand. And I was smiling easy and wide. I tossed a thin stick for Laddy to retrieve as I watched the waves rise and curl into themselves, changing from algae green to cobalt blue, then rushing toward the shore like galloping white-maned horses. They rolled closer and softer, wave over water, until they flattened into bubbling lines of sea foam converging on the sand. And I stood there, joyful, grateful, completely a part of the landscape.
And I realized that this is how I feel everywhere here, not just when I stand on the beach.
In the past three months, things have shifted. I no longer feel like a tourist, just passing through. I live here. This is home. I have favorite restaurants and secret walking places. I am a regular at my yoga studio.
Laddy and I have been walking at different times of the day and meeting more neighbors. I’m getting together with these new friends for lunches and thrift store explorings. And I no longer force myself to go to events that I think I should attend even though I don’t enjoy them.
And the most surprising part is that I’m no longer feeling desperate to date, or worried that I’ll always be alone. I am genuinely content with my own company.
And I love being with Laddy on the beach. As I stood there noticing the subtle rhythms of the waves inside and around me, he nudged me with his nose and we started to walk toward the pier. The waves were steady and calm, rolling over and around the big dark rocks that were now nearly submerged by the tide. A seagull stood on one of the bigger rocks and another hovered in the air above him.
Laddy had sand on his snout from pouncing on his stick. I brushed it off, bending over him in a modified down dog so that I could hug him around his belly. The morning sun highlighted the the rusty reds and browns of his coat as I combed my hands through.
We walked a little further then I stopped again to pause and take in the view. Laddy chewed on another stick as I stood there watching and listening to the roll of the tide, slowly rising.
When I’m in Phoenix next month, I hope I find ways to be still and present and connected to nature. I hope I am able to appreciate all that is there, even though I live here.
How do you connect with the peace of the present moment? Please share with me and my readers by clicking on the Comments below.
Exploring Your Passionate Heart
You’d think that, as heart-centered as I am, I’d love the idea of Valentine’s Day. But actually, it’s never been a favorite for me. Maybe because it’s so Hallmark-y. Maybe because, if you’re not in the throes of a passionate, romantic relationship, you feel somehow less than, like you’re missing out.
Maybe it goes back to when I was in fifth grade and someone left a dead goldfish in my desk next to all of the other Valentine’s cards.
On the surface, Valentine’s Day is all about hearts and flowers, chocolates and stuffed animals. But if we look deeper, the real heart of Valentine’s Day is about love.
And so this year, I’m proclaiming this as a day to honor the love in our hearts, not just the loves in our lives.
When we look inward, into our own hearts, love becomes an opportunity for self-awareness, self-care, self-inquiry.
When we look into our hearts, we are inviting personal reflection. We begin to ask deeper questions, like, what is really important to us? What are we passionate about? What sparks our heart?
Oprah Winfrey says this about passion:
“Passion. I love to say the word out loud just to hear the sound of it.
It resonates with me, causing me to think of all the experiences that fuel me, give me my juice: my work, speaking in front of 50 people or 5,000 and seeing someone have an aha moment, my great friendships, my dogs, the trees in my front yard, my wondrous, amazing unfolding life.”
When I first read Oprah’s quote I cried. Because I had no idea what I was passionate about. I was so out of touch with my heart that I didn’t even know what passion meant, or even felt like.
And so I started asking myself deeper questions.
1. What does the word passion mean to me?
2. How does passion feel?
3. Do I know people who I consider to be passionate?
4. What about them makes me think this?
5. What qualities define passion?
6. If I think about passion in terms of what fuels me and what gives me my juice, what else is passion for me?
Often, when we ask ourselves big questions, we answer with our heads. So it’s no wonder that we get the same answers, Or, “I don’t know.”
But if we get quiet, and go deeper, we can hear the truer answers from in heart.
I invite you to take some time and get quiet and really ask yourself these questions about your own heart’s passion. Write down your answers, and pay attention to any new questions that arise.
And if at first, you only hear silence, listen deeply to that. Trust that your heart is there, waiting to sing.
I’d love to hear your answers. Please share them below by clicking on the comments.
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Seeing What Is Unseen
A thick layer of fog fills the folds in the hills behind me, like blankets rolled up to keep out the draft. Morro Rock is gone from my view, though I know it is standing somewhere behind the stretch of gray that rises higher than the Los Osos hills. Across the creek, the fog settles over the buildings on Ocean Avenue like the puffy white clouds you see out of an airplane window and I can barely make out the shops and the cars parked on the street.
Sounds are louder, while, at the same time, everything seems more still.
I remember a time in my life when I felt like my whole world was engulfed in this kind of thick unseeing fog. It was unsettling, disorienting, anxiety producing.
Because I was trying to move through it.
I was desperately wanting to not to be in the uncomfortableness that I was feeling, the sense of being lost, the place of not knowing.
But the more I tried to push through, the harder it was to see.
Until I stopped trying and was able to be with the discomfort, sit with the feeling of not knowing, relax my whole being into the gray that was all around me.
We’ve all experienced a time in our lives when we have felt lost. Undirected. Uncomfortable not knowing what’s next. Our tendency is to run, make a plan, rush toward something, anything that is more comfortable than sitting still.
But often, staying, sitting, being with the not knowing is the only way to discover what’s next.
These days I love the fog because it is a visual call to be still. The fog reminds me that this is not a time to navigate a new path, but to look inside, to see the things that are unseen.
One of my favorite children’s books, which I didn’t read until I was an adult, is Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle In Time. It is a story of time travel and good versus evil and it is filled with wisdom and life lessons. One of the themes is to look for the unseen, like music, joy, and love.
These same wise words come from Antoine de Saint Exupéry’s The Little Prince, when he tells his friend, “”One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.”
When we are in this hazy, foggy space of not seeing our paths clearly, we tend to panic. We think we are lost because we cannot see our way through.
But if we allow ourselves to relax into the stillness, it becomes a gift, a quieting where we can hear our heart beat, where we can turn our attention to the things unseen.
By sitting still, looking and listening inward, we may realize we aren’t lost at all. In this quiet haze of seeing the unseen, we are, in fact, just coming home.
I’d love to hear how you see the unseen, how you find ways to be with the fog. Please share by clicking on the Comments below.
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We Always Get to Choose
Even the simplest life can offer up obstacles. Things break. Propane leaks. It is always our choice HOW we deal with these challenges.
Marika and Mabel came for a ten day visit this month and one of the first things Marika said when she stepped into the RV was that she smelled propane. I was surprised since I’d only gotten a whiff every once in a while and chalked it up to my imagination.
But she immediately took action. She made me get my nose up close to the stove burner where, indeed, I smelled it very strong. We turned off the propane at the tank and scheduled a repair. We called a mobile repair company so that we wouldn’t have to drive into Morro Bay and wait around. The convenience was worth the $95.00 trip charge.
The company came, did a check around the stove but found no leak. They recommended we remove the solenoid, a device between the propane tank and the system that shuts down all propane flow if there’s a leak, since it didn’t function. But they assured me that the alarm part of the system was still working.
We also got a new regulator for the tank since they recommended that it needs to be replaced every 8-10 years. They left, all was fine. And the next morning the smell of propane was even stronger.
They returned and again, checked around the stove and yes, she did find a leak. But she said that, because our RV is so old, there are no replacement parts so we opted to have them cap off the affected burner. There was no smell, no bubbling of soapy water around the capped valve so we were good to go.
Until the next morning and again, the smell of propane permeated the air, this time not at the capped burner but in the drawer underneath the stove.
Instead of calling them a third time we made an appointment at the repair place in town.
We dropped the RV off and headed into town, awaiting their phone call. After three hours of testing every fitting and appliance in the RV, they discovered a small leak around the stove that was fixed with a little tightening of a fitting. They changed out the cap to a more substantial piece of hardware and informed us that we no longer had a working alarm, which was against the law, so we had them install one.
As we drove over to pick up the RV I could feel myself getting upset, angry, pissed off and cranky about the whole business. I was already composing a nasty letter in my head to the first company about their incompetence and the inconvenience of everything.
But by the time I was driving the RV back home, I was so grateful that no one had gotten sick from the leaking propane and that there hadn’t been an explosion. And there really was no inconvenience.
We were able to leave the RV to get repaired while Marika and I took the dogs for a lovely day of outings. We enjoyed a delicious breakfast outdoors with a view of Morro Rock, then took the dogs for a great walk out to the rock where they had the best time sniffing all kinds of new smells.
I was able to relax in the back of the car with the dogs while Marika studied the soaring peregrines with her spotting scope. And then we drove to some nearby ponds where Marika caught glimpses of widgeons and shovelers and the dogs got to check out even more smells.
It was a lovely day. We were able to be out in nature while someone fixed our problem. There is no more propane leak, and we have a working propane alarm. With so many things to be great-full for that there is just no room for cranky!
What would you choose? How do find the gratitude in challenging situations? Please share by clicking on the Comments below.
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Our Real Work
So often we hear people asking, What is my real purpose? What is my true work? Sometimes our most important work has nothing to do with a paycheck.
Back in November, a client scheduled a four week Mac training series to begin in early January. She emailed me the day before our first session, saying that she was just so overwhelmed and felt terrible, but could we postpone until the following week.
I could feel her anxiety and stress and so I wrote back:
Breathe…
And honor the fact that you are recognizing that adding one more thing to your life right now isn’t going to work.
Breathe again.
Let’s cancel tomorrow and hold off on next week too.
I’m about to roll out a group training program that will address all of your needs.
And breathe again.
She wrote back that she was crying in gratitude, because I knew she just needed to breathe.
Interactions like this remind me how much I love my work, especially when it has nothing to do with making money!
Because often, the best thing that we can offer our friends, our colleagues, our clients, is to hear them, to honor what they truly need, not what we want to offer them.
Last week she wrote again, sharing that our interaction “has already paid itself forward many times since. Your kindness helped me handle a client of mine in the same understanding way because I remembered how wonderful it felt to not be judged or feel shame for letting someone down.”
Listening, supporting, holding space for others, that is sometimes our real work in this world.
I’d love to hear about your real work. Please share you stories with me and my readers on the blog at www.sparktheheart.com
Thank You For Breaking My Heart
“Broken hearted often leads to broken open. And broken open is the perfect environment for finding out who you are and why you’re here. Break and grow.” - Michele Woodward
The last time the moon was full, so was my heart. I had just met a new friend and the connection was electric. I hadn’t laughed so much or felt so alive in a really long time. And, as much as I tried to convince myself that it was just an exciting new friendship, my heart was beginning to tell me otherwise. And I thought hers was too.
Turns out she was not being completely honest with me and, when I found out she was interested in dating someone else, well, I was too all-in to just be friends. And so I had to let it go.
I felt betrayed. Taken advantage of. Even a little heart broken. I missed the hour-long phone conversations and the back and forth of daily emails. I missed laughing. I missed bouncing ideas off of each other and talking about painting and writing and new creative endeavors. I felt lonely all over again.
Often, when we experience this kind disappointment, like not getting the job we wanted, or the house we thought was perfect or grieving the one who got away, we focus on what we’ve lost.
But by shifting our thoughts to what we’ve gained from the experience, what new pathways may have been created, what we learned about ourselves, we can find some sweetness in the experience. We can find things to be grateful for.
First, I wrote myself the apology letter that she never sent. I needed to hear that she was sorry, that she took responsibility for misleading me, and that she would miss my insights, my thoughtfulness, our inspiring conversations. It mattered less that it was from her and more that a part of me just needed to hear it.
And each day, as I moved through the feelings of loss, I was able to shift my focus to what the brief encounter brought me. I remembered things I love. I remembered things I love about myself. I remembered how much fun I am. And I realized how ready I am to be in a relationship that makes me feel that alive.
So, thank you, Patty, for showing up in my life. If you hadn’t come along, I might still not know these things about myself. Thank you for awakening love in me, even if you couldn’t stay, even if you were more like a hit and run driver.
You broke my heart, open, and I thank you.
How do you find gratitude in a difficult situation? Please share by clicking on the comments below…
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Dreams of the Heart
“One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.”
– Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
We all have dreams. A picture perfect vision of what we want our life to look like. Maybe you envision a beautiful home and you have walked through the rooms a hundred times in your mind, running your hands across the furniture, choosing the colors of the walls, even imagining who is standing around in the kitchen, sharing a delicious meal with you.
Maybe you have a vision of your ideal partner. You know what they look like, smell like, if they speak with an accent. You imagine how their skin feels and how you feel when you are with them.
On one hand, it’s important to engage in these fantasies. They awaken the imagination which sparks an opening in our heart. The danger comes when we start looking for this exact manifestation of what we’ve envisioned and we close our heart to any other option.
Our dreams are there to guide us in the direction of our heart. But as we get closer to manifesting something, our perspective changes, and we must be willing to let that original vision become something else, something that will better serve us, even if it’s not at all what we, in our feeble little minds, have imagined.
If we continue to open to the new vision, we may realize that, even if the house or the person isn’t what we imagined, the heart-felt feelings we have when we remember our original vision ARE still there.
Every time I imagined living at the beach, I connected with how I would feel living there. My body would feel alive, I’d be breathing deeply and fully, walking a lot, and loving being in nature.
When the option of moving into that beach bungalow came to me, I realized that, even though, in the original plan, the house and my life there looked exactly like I had imagined, with a yard and a laundry room and a view of the ocean, it didn’t resonate with those strong heart feelings of freedom and aliveness.
If I hadn’t allowed my vision to shift, I’d be living a very different life right now. I’d probably be feeling the pressure to work a lot to afford the rent. And I’d be so busy working that I wouldn’t have the luxury of my many daily walks at the beach. Or the time every morning to write. Or the space to let go of all that, to begin to dream new dreams.
So what are you dreaming? And how insistent are you that it should manifest exactly how you’ve imagined it?
How can you let go of all of that and allow your heart to lead you to what you really love?
Please share in the comments below!
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Full Heart, Full Moon
Life continues to offer me opportunities to push against the uncomfortable and follow the energy that makes me feel alive. And each time I say yes, I find deeper joy, deeper meaning and deeper love. Each time I say yes, I find more of myself.
I met Patty more than 25 years ago when she was a singer/songwriter in Phoenix. We had a few friends in common, but we never dated, though I do remember having a little crush. Then she moved to Texas, got married, had kids and we all lost touch.
Her kids are now in their twenties, she’s no longer married and last year she sold her house and packed up her life in Texas to follow her creativity into the high desert of Arizona.
A few weeks ago when I was in Arizona, she had come down to Phoenix to pick up a friend at the airport and she invited me to dinner so we could talk about our mutual experiences of following our passions. The funny part was, she contacted me because one of our mutual friends had suggested it. She had no memory of us ever meeting before.
But within five minutes we both felt like old friends. The energy was palpable, how we mirrored each other’s language and ideas and focus on living awake and alive and present. It had been so long since I’d felt that kind of magnetic attraction.
We had such a fun time at dinner, laughing, yes-ing each other’s sentences, spilling our dreams onto the table with glorious abandon. She told me that she’s been painting for years – landscapes and portraits and still lifes- but in all of that time raising her family, she hadn’t written songs or played any music.
Then she came to the high desert in Arizona to visit the woman she used to sing and write music with, and they started playing her old songs together. They gave an informal concert and everyone there knew all of the words. She cried. Her heart opened. She said she remembered who she was.
I told her about my own adventures to the coast, how surprised I was to be enjoying the freedom and simpleness of RV living and how new and exciting it is to not know what’s next.
My whole heart was glowing with excitement and energy and possibility. And, more than all that, I realized how much I missed that feeling of connecting with and being met with such an open heart.
It thrilled me and scared me at the same time. What WAS this? What if this was love? What did that mean in terms of my relationship with Marika?
But instead of thinking my way through and getting caught in the stories that were swirling in my head, I focused on the energy. I was giddy. I was excited. I was smiling a lot. Marika even joked that Patty was my new girlfriend.
After a week of emails and phone calls, Patty invited me to come for a visit to her house on the hill on my way back to California.
My knee jerk response was No Way. It’s not on my itinerary. I don’t “like” the desert, I need to get back to the ocean.
But I knew the real reason I was saying No was because I was afraid of what this was and where it might lead.
And then I breathed and reconsidered and realized that I didn’t have to stick to a schedule. I have the freedom to change my plans. And it would be great to spend more time together.
I reminded myself that if I just stayed in the present moment with it all, I could actually allow myself to enjoy it, whatever it was. And so I listened to my new mantra, to follow the energy, and I said Yes.
The drive from Phoenix ambled through unobstructed Sonoran desert. Saguaros and cholla cactus dotted the flat earth, and the sky, wide and blue, stretched ahead of me. I passed through little towns that had a single diner or a convenience store and a small RV park, often marked with a handmade sign welcoming visitors.
Past Wickenburg, the highway wound up the side of a steep mountain and I drove slower than the speed limit, hugging the inside lane lines and avoiding looking out at the view over the edge.
I followed Patty’s directions through the town of Yarnell to the Mountain Aire convenience store in Peeple’s Valley. I turned left and then left again, onto a gated dirt road that dipped and curved and crossed a dry creek bed before ascending to the top of the hill.
When I pulled up to the house, Patty was out on the porch with Zig, her eleven year old black and white rat terrier. She was prepping a canvas with gesso. We hugged like old friends and I marveled at the view.
Patty’s house sits high on a hill above Peeple’s Valley, a community of cattle and artists and retirees. This area between Prescott and Wickenburg is surrounded by mountains, the earth is brown dust dotted with rocks and rounded boulders, low desert brush and a scattering of wintering trees. The nearest neighbors are a mile away and the only sounds are the wind chimes, the constant rushing water in the goldfish pond and your own breathing.
I unpacked my things from the car and Patty made us lunch. She showed me where the javalina come though at dusk and we watched a scrub jay knock birdseed from the feeder onto the ground for the quail to eat.
Laddy and Zig wandered, sniffing, peeing, exploring together, but always with several yards between them.
Patty talked and I talked and we laughed. A lot. She told me about donkeys and how she found this house. She talked about her relationships with her family and played me some of her new music. She remembered the names of people she wants to invite back into the recording studio early next year. She shared that her biggest dream is painting really big paintings that hang and sell in a New York gallery.
She asked me about my own art-making, which I’ve tucked away for so long. I told her about my story boxes and the series of paper shoes and the novel I started writing years ago in Marika’s garage. And then I remembered the first vision I had of the book I’m writing now and suddenly, I knew exactly the direction I wanted to take it.
We drove down the hill with the dogs and hiked around big boulders, exploring an abandoned rock castle that I’d heard about so many years before. In the evening, wrapped in sweaters, we tracked the light spreading over the valley, climbing up the mountains in a parade of color. She traced the curves of the landscape and we watched the almost full moon poke a hole in the sky.
Even with all of the easy hugging and touching, it became clear that this connection is not about a relationship with each other. It is all about our relationships with our own selves and that we are each true and unconditional mirrors for the other to be our biggest and best selves, truly alive, truly awake.
What a gift to have a friend who encourages the endless ways we can keep coming back to yes and ease and effortlessness and this present moment. It was like being on a retreat with a reflection of my best self. The shiny parts glowed and even the dark spots were beautiful in all of that light.
The next morning I sat at the kitchen table eating my breakfast, preparing to leave, but my heart ached from all that had been laid open and bared. I was full of tears, not ready to pack it all up into the back of my car. I wanted more time in this wide open space to really claim what I was remembering about myself. I wanted to let it all seep out and in, flow from me and back to me so that it wouldn’t get lost again.
Sure, I had a hotel reservation and a meeting scheduled, but I knew it would be so easy to change them. And so I asked Patty if I could stay another day and she loved the idea.
I embraced the whole extra day to explore all that was cracked open about my creative self. Patty went off to work and I wrote. I walked the land with Laddy. I took a nap and wrote some more.
That night the moon came up full and fast. It was huge and bright with beautiful rings circling it, almost touching nearby Jupiter. We marveled how the moon has no light of its own, that all of its brightness is reflected from the stars that surround it.
A far off town on the side of the mountain glittered in holiday lights and a chorus of coyotes howled down in the valley. Stars popped in the night sky and Patty named them, drawing the outlines of the constellations with her finger against the sky. I stood behind her, my arms wrapping hers, my heart nestled between her shoulder blades and my hands, tender and still, catching the beat of her heart.
The next morning we drank our coffee on the porch and watched the sunlight slowly rise over the dark mountains in a glare of light and color. We walked around the back to find the moon, still full and bright, hanging high in the western sky, big and ready, calling me home.
How does your full heart feel? Please share by clicking the comments below.
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