Last night, just before early bed, I read a friends caring bridge journal entry: making great strides on a recent-onset debilitating illness, she wrote of seeing what life she can build with what she can still do.  I was humbled; clearly her eye is on opportunity, not just on limitation.  She is facing, and embracing, the challenge of remaking her life.

This morning, waking in early light, lime green covers strewn about, an inner call stirred, demanding that I get up.  Not sure what or why, I sensed it was a moment to say yes.

Finding vertical, I was greeted by a golden ripple of cloud filling the eastern sky, bouncing dream light up off the awakening lake.  Sun radiated through the glowing mass of clouds and connected with rain clouds downstream, setting off rainbows lifting from the lake.

Snuggling in my host’s fleece jacket, wrapping a beach towel over my bare legs, I grabbed my camera and headed for the dock.

Standing there, surrounded by light, I listened. What else did the knowing that pulled me awake have to say?   “Do not be afraid.”

Writing now, wind lifts fresh curls off the waves as dawn flows into day, and the lightest shower eases in, giving moisture to this breath of air, this message feels like:  Learn to write with abandon once again.  This whole glorious cacophony of light and wonder is at your back.  Set yourself free.

What else could one long for, than this aliveness, this beauty, this now?

Yes to listening.  Yes to honoring that voice within that leads with precision, pulling from slumber of all kinds.  Yes to remaking our lives in this changing world, facing, and embracing, whatever challenges emerge along the way.

What helps us to be self-loving, self-gentle, and self-forgiving, so that we are able to offer the same to others from a deeply authentic place?

Years ago, one misty Minnesota morning, an older and wonderfully wise Outward Bound student, having completely missed the bar on his own expectations for himself on the ropes course the day before, greeted the rest of us with these words:

“Today is a new day.”

Simple words, yet inspiring to all of us.  Bob spoke gently and firmly, with bright eyes and open strength.

He was giving himself a fresh start, a chance to begin anew, better aligning his expectations for the future with the lessons of the past.  He was taking response-ability for doing and being his best, while also being gentle by leaving yesterday’s experience of failure  behind.

That chilly August dawn, these adult students were preparing themselves, both inwardly and outwardly, for the final challenge of the course: miles of paddling, portaging, and running that would eventually lead back to Homeplace, the base camp we were starting from.  They would begin paddling and portaging in teams, then would do the final running leg solo, each to the best of their ability.

My staff role that day was starter and finisher; to send them off with inspiration, and to help them celebrate their success when they crossed the finish line.

I smile as I type now, 20 years later, still remembering Bob’s radiant presence as he crossed the finish line, body weary, and spirit triumphant.  It was not that he was first, or even fast; it was that he had given his whole heart. He had run without the weight of “yesterday” on his shoulders; he had run freely, carrying only his hopes and aspirations for today.

Best of all, for the remainder of our time together, Bob was a bright light in our group; his self-love and self-forgiveness, and resulting self-triumph, radiated a warmth and love to the rest of our circle such that more was possible for all of us.

What of yesterday do you need to lay down in order to be fully free today?

Where in your life could you declare,  “Today is a new day”?

 

For me, today I begin immersion in 6 days of Nia white belt training.  My “new day” declaration is to let go from most all of my computer time and inflows so that I can fully immerse in my Nia practice, in “the body’s way,” in order to absorb all the learning and healing I can.  Like most of us, I spend too much time at the keyboard and not enough time being fully alive.  This is my way to let yesterday be in the past, so that today, and tomorrow, are free to unfold.

It is my way to be self-loving, self-gentle, and self-forgiving, so that I can offer the same to others from a deeply authentic place.

 

What is yours?

I often write about the importance of stepping back and reflecting in order to clarify what matters most.  Today, I learned a different step back move though: taking a step  back from an interface with another when more space is needed, and extending care at the same time.   It is the “and” that makes this new.  So many of us know how to create distance from another, but to be able to do this with care is a different matter. 

Here are two poems that, in combination, may express this better than I can – one is by Mary Oliver and one by William Strafford.  The first helps capture that evolution into realizing we need to make a new move for ourselves, in which distance may feel necessary to be able to find and keep our own ground: the second opens the possibility that in distance, there can still be care, extended, like current carried deep.

 

The Journey 

by Mary Oliver, from New and Selected Poems

 

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their advice—

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

“Mend my life!”

each voice cried.

But you didn’t stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

 It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do –

determined to save

the only life you could save.

 

 

 

 

ASK ME 

by William Stafford, Learning to Live in the World

 

Sometime when the river is ice ask me

Mistakes I have made.  Ask me whether

What I have done is my life.  Others

have come in their slow way into

my thought, and some have tried to help

or to hurt; ask me what difference

their strongest love or hate has made.

 

I will listen to what you say.

You and I can turn and look

at the silent river and wait. We know

the current is there, hidden; and there

are comings and goings from miles away

that hold the stillness exactly before us. 

What the river says, that is what I say.

 

Where in your life might more space in a relationship actually provide a better shape for care?

What are 20 things you love to do?

Make a list. Reach back into your childhood if need be. Gather back together any disconnected parts of yourself.

For all of us, regardless of our roles in the world, when we ‘grow up’ we can sometimes forget those things that help us feel most vitally alive. Ironically, the higher our level of leadership, the more important it is to remember these things that help us feel like a kid again. Typically, we carry greater responsibility and have less free time, so it becomes even more vital to use that time really, really well doing things we love.

What do you love to do?