Her name was Miriam Wabanga, though she was simply Ata – “grandmother” in her African language – to most of us.

Ata.  (Spoken with reverence.)

She was my closest friend during the two years I lived in her Central African village as a Peace Corps volunteer.  She was twice my age and different from me in so many ways.  I see now how much she has influenced the life I constructed for myself here in my world, and I’m quite sure she changed the lives of many youth in that small village, who in turn have had children changing the world around them.

This is grandmother power.

Innate activism

She didn’t lead any campaigns or stage any protests, at least not while I knew her.  She wasn’t saintly by a long stretch.  Her eccentricities were adorable and annoying all at once.

But Ata had found her voice.  She spoke out around the cooking fire, at church, and at community meetings – even when there weren’t other women stepping forward, and even when the men weren’t happy about it.  She often gave voice to the painful truths that would otherwise stay hidden, where they eventually fester and cause problems.

We all know how challenging it is to find and use our own voices.  We do so despite deep conditioning to stay quiet and make nice.  We also ask the voice to make itself heard through a deafening chorus of our own inner voices.  For Ata, speaking out within her overwhelmingly male-dominated village looked easy, but there were repercussions – lots of them.  She dealt with criticism, shaming and punishment.  She paved the way for the younger generation of girls to find — and use — their voices, whatever the cost.

Never mind that she was illiterate and poor.  She also had a scrupulous reputation, which she earned the hard way.  She got extra points for being a stranger who moved to her husband’s village and learned the local language as an adult.

Ata’s emotions were on public display, and she was as kind as she was fiery.  She generally had a gaggle of kids with her, from babies on up to teenagers – her grandkids as well as other village kids.  They wanted to bask in the magic of her smile, and when she turned it on them, they bloomed.  But she also shared openly her grief, her outrage and her pain.  (And yes, there was a lot of that to go around)  She moved through emotion, rather than getting lost within it.

Bringing grandmother power alive

I lost touch with Ata five years after I returned home; civil wars and a dysfunctional government prevented my letters from reaching her.  I imagine she has passed away by now.   And her photo is still on my desk, having traveled with me across the country, through my career and along the trajectory that is my marriage/divorce/rebuilding.

I look at her face and I’m reminded of how I want to be.  Fiercely truthful, yet kind.  Connected, yet sovereign.  Powerful, yet vulnerable.  A visible and potent integration of divine feminine and masculine energies.  Leading by example.  Being the change I want to see around me.

Ata’s friendship has helped shape who I am, and who I’m becoming.  Her lessons transcend culture, circumstances and socioeconomics.  I’m nearly the age now that she was while I knew her, and I’m beginning to embrace the role I see I can play here in my own community : that of passing along the torch, of igniting the flame and of planting the seeds that will grow into the next generation of leaders.

I wrote this post as part of my friend Tara Mohr’s blogging campaign. Please check out the incredible posts written by other bloggers between May 7 – 14.

(image courtesy of Pinterest, via Handmade Charlotte)

As women, we find ourselves signing up again and again. 

Sure, I’ll help out. OK, I’ll get it to you by Friday.  Absolutely, I can cover for you.  Of course – I’ll be right there.

We’re hardwired to support, to nurture, to hold the container.  We come together because we know that true success isn’t about the one, it’s about the whole.  At heart, we’re collaborators, not competitors.

This is perhaps our greatest strength, and the one that gives our world a fighting chance even in the face of distressing patterns and unsustainable practices.  (You probably heard that the Dalai Lama said in 2012, “The world will be saved by the Western woman”.  You, like me, most likely agree with him.)

But – and – we seem to have forgotten that our Yes’es to others can’t supersede our Yes’es to ourselves.  The prerequisite to showing up for others is showing up for ourselves.

And in order to show up for ourselves we need to find our deepest, most heartfelt Yes’es.  Sometimes those Yes’es are hard to hear, and harder to own.

The journey to yes

My client, let’s call her Isabelle, was in the sunset of her chosen career path.  She worked long and hard, for many years, and she earned herself a leadership position within a thriving healthcare company.  She said yes to many opportunities that enabled her to grow, to stretch, and to experience abundance.

But Isabelle repeatedly ignored a nagging and insistent voice asking her to step back from her work.  The company culture was not in sync with her values, and she felt she compromised her integrity on a regular basis.  She was depleted, overworked and unhappy.

She knew deep down that she wanted to work more closely with people whose ideas about wellness more closely resembled her own.  She knew that a different path would mean risk, potential hardship and uncertainty.  She struggled to make peace with giving up the security she’d worked long and hard for, in exchange for what was at the moment simply a dream.

She asked herself, Can I leave my career to pursue the path that feels true for me?

Isabelle sat with the question for a long time.  She allowed herself to be vulnerable and truthful.  She asked for help.  She weeded out what she received.  And eventually she summoned the courage to say yes.  She would tell you that the day she made her decision to quit her job, she never looked back.

These are the types of Yes’es that empower us to create lives of resonance and meaning.  The lives we’re truly here to live. 

What is rising in you that warrants a Yes?

When you question the status quo a whole chorus of opinions and advice will bombard you from within.  Your job is to discern whether they are the voices of wisdom or the voices of fear.

The voices of fear are screechy and insistent.  They may sound very much like your parents, your second grade teacher, or your colleagues who secretly long to do the same thing you’re proposing.  These messages will send you down a rabbit hole of doubt, where you’ll encounter many reasons why not.  You’re being selfish.  You’ll fail.  You’ll succeed, and then what?  You’re not ready.  You need more money, more time, more experience.  You don’t have what it takes.  You’re a fool – stay with what you’ve got; it’s safe and it’s enough.

You’ll need to be very quiet in order to hear the voices of wisdom.  Rather than overwhelming you with opinions, they’ll provide you with questions; questions which take you deeper into the Why behind your longings.  What are you called to do right now?  What keeps you awake at night?  What’s missing in your life?  How can you show up and share your gifts with the world?

As you respond to these questions, you find yourself saying Yes.  Yes to time alone.  Yes to building community.  Yes to honing skills or shifting gears or changing careers.  Yes to what’s true for you, even with the costs associated in making it happen. 

Yes to you and to showing up in your integrity.  Yes to shining that light only YOU are here to shine.  This is what the world wants for you.

Go on, say yes.  We’re waiting.

I’ve been through the conversation so many times it feels like the well-worn groove on my attic staircase.  We’ve walked it again, and again, and again.

It’s the one about being enough.  Or more precisely, the one where she’s doubting that she is good enough, smart enough, loved enough, experienced enough.  She’s stalled out on sending the proposal, starting the program, asking for the raise, renegotiating the parenting roles.

She’s waiting for something to convince her that she’s worthy.

Isn’t it sweet?  Don’t you want to hug her and tell she’s being silly?  The whole world can see she’s more than worthy – why can’t she???

I’m willing to bet you’ve been there too – I certainly have.  If you’re like my clients, you’re a high-achieving and compassionate woman.  You lead a purpose-driven career, or are determined to find your way to one.  You nurture your family and relationships with intentionality and sensitivity.  You practice mindfulness and self-care.  You’re in touch with what’s unfurling in you, and you’re hungry for more self-knowledge.

So what gives?  Why are we so stingy with permission to be what we are – e n o u g h?

Well, it requires a radical de-linking from conventional ways of measuring worth.  We were brought up being monitored by how well we scored on tests, whether we were selected by judges, how many friends we had, or which organizations granted us admission.  As adults we learned to gauge self-worth by the letters after our names, the numbers in our bank accounts, the composition of our families, and the reflection in the mirror.

These might reflect success, depending on how you define success.  And your success is absolutely linked to your notion of self-worth.  So getting sidetracked by the trappings of success is not only understandable, it’s predictable.  It’s part of that limited paradigm we adopted in order to measure our sense of worth.

Enough has nothing to do with any of this.

Enough is a mindset.  It’s the result of saying “yes, and …” rather than “yes, but …”.  It’s relinquishing the obsessive desire to compare ourselves to others and come up short.  It’s turning inward with curiosity and wonder, and rediscovering who we are.  It’s an act of radical self-acceptance.

It changes the game entirely.

When we give ourselves this essential permission – to be enough right now – we reset the clock.  We let ourselves off the hook for what we didn’t do, and start from where we are.  I have watched again and again as my clients find energy to write the proposal, make the phone call, schedule the meeting.  They send me notes that sound eerily alike … “I can’t believe how well that went!” and “I’m finally getting some traction” and “This is what living my life feels like”.

Yes.  This is the kickstart you’re looking for, the prerequisite to leaning in or signing up or moving forward.  Your full participation is needed in order to begin.  So say yes to yourself, and bring your enoughness to the table.  It’ll find itself quite comfortable there.

What about you?  How have you struggled to know you are enough?  What does enough feel like to you?

(this post was previously published on Roots of She, where I am guest-blogging as part of the Winter Tribe)

::        ::        ::

Although it’s mid-winter, I’m in the midst of a harvest.

The end of an era has me choosing what goes with me into the next round, and what stays behind. I’m harvesting the ripe fruit. Mining the terrain for treasures buried in the dirt. Noticing what never grew at all.

And composting a whole lot of dead branches.

This is a vital part of growth and change, but one we tend to avoid. It’s much more invigorating to charge forward in new directions, especially if we have bled and ached a good long while, and just want to be done with this chapter. Once the end has been declared, we want to nail it shut and move on. Finality is so satisfying.

But inventorying who we’ve become helps us see the untruths we can now leave behind.

Unlike shooting movie scenes, there’s no “cut!” prompting us to stop the last scene and “roll!” to start the next. Not in real life. We morph from one version of ourselves to another … we unfurl into who we are becoming. But if we aren’t careful, we allow old stories and limiting beliefs to come along with us, and these stories can derail us from stepping more fully into our true selves.

I’m taking the time now to lay to rest the stories that don’t serve me. It’s tricky work and I am oh-so-gentle as I go about my weeding; these stories are enmeshed in the most tender places of my heart. I’m looking especially for stories that might have once been true before, but aren’t any more. As I have grown, I’ve outgrown these stories.

Here’s a bit of what I find on my excavation. Do any of these sound like old stories you’re keeping around, even though they aren’t true?

Stories about not _________ enough. I’m not good enough, not smart enough, not strong enough, not thin enough, not creative enough. I haven’t completed my research, I don’t have real talent, I’m not ready to play in the big leagues, I lack what I see in others.

Stories about boxes I inhabit. I’m not good with numbers. I don’t know how to run a business. I’m a terrible artist. You can count on me to organize the fundraiser again. I’m shy.

Stories about not worthy. I’m not worthy of that job, not worthy of that expensive full-price gorgeous pair of boots, not worthy of her love. I’m not worthy of asking for what I truly want. Deep down I’m not worthy of my own approval.

Stories that prompt a shame response, rather than an honest answer. Saying Yes to a request because we’re friends. Saying No to a request because of all the above stories. Responding to criticism by shrinking and agreeing, rather than seeing it as helpful feedback that will enable me to change.

With love coursing through my veins I put on my detective hat and look real close. I demand facts to support these stories. I search for proof of how they might be true and how they are plain ole lies.

I take them out and hold them to the light. I allow old memories to rise to the surface, and consider them as well. I find a few examples of what seems to be support for these old stories … I DID have that negative review. I DID have that proposal rejection. I DID make a few bad investments. I DID hand over all things money-related to my husband. I DID have some unsavory reflections of myself handed back to me.

AND I see them in context of who I’ve become, who I’m becoming. Not proof of my limitations. Not a map of what’s ahead. They are stories that reflect my beautiful humanness. They hurt because I want to do better. The pain I endured because of these stories is pain that has healed me, guided me, made me stronger. I’m grateful for each one of them as I leave them behind, where they belong.

I wonder what old stories you might be carrying around with you, whatever chapter of life you’re in. I invite you to wrap yourself in love, and with the kindest of eyes, to go looking beneath the surface at the things you have told yourself are true. Test them. Release them if they’re ready. Use them as compost for your tender new growth.

I’m occupying my life in new ways, now that he’s gone. It’s like I’ve rediscovered a whole wing of abandoned rooms and hallways; entire areas I declared off-limits for reasons that made sense some time ago. Spaces I’m reclaiming and inhabiting. Skin I’m only just now growing into.

I’m seeping out into the edges of me, bumping against old limits and seeing where they’re ready to fall away. It’s a time of fresh curiosity about what’s true, and what’s no longer true – not in this new incarnation.

I’m allowing myself to be drawn toward what feels most alive, and seeing what happens when I am held in its orbit.

I’m exploring new roles, new ideas, new ventures. The sudden lack of familiar constraints has unleashed a willingness to experiment I don’t remember having had before. It’s dizzying at times, but I can’t get enough of it.

There’s a surprising and unexpected upside to the ending of my marriage: I’m tapping into something that was definitely NOT available to me from within my old relationship. It’s simple, and primal, and potent.

It’s my power.

My power has been lying in wait for me. It’s beautifully intact. Even while I was actively giving it away (to someone who didn’t even want it!), my power was available in endless supply. Now I’m retraining myself to use it wisely.

Personal power is rooted in self-love and strengthened by Spirit. I trace its source to the Divine Feminine: that well of nurturing, love, understanding, compassion, insight, intuition, creativity, forgiveness, healing, and wisdom.

There’s another aspect that people often associate with the word “power”. It encompasses the masculine traits of directionality, self-reliance, fierceness, pragmatism, focus. It’s about taking charge and making decisions and getting things done.

For me, the balance between these two sides, feminine and masculine, went wonky years ago. I’ve leaned heavily into the feminine aspects of power as I raised my kids, created community, built solid friendships and healed myself. Even in creating and growing my business, I have prioritized connection, collaboration and service over efficiency, drive and ingenuity.

I turned away from the seemingly linear, left-brain world of exerting power – at first consciously, then over time I seemed to have forgotten how to access this source of strength. Without going into details, I will tell you that this has NOT served me well.

I’m now welcoming this other side of power back in. I’m inviting it to show itself to me, and practicing how to embrace its sharper edges and sleek lines. I have some work to do, yes. But I’m ready for this work. I know it’s time because of the feeling in my body as I practice these new-old postures and attitudes : soft belly, eagerness in my eyes, quickened heart. Yes, it’s time.

Even as I declare myself ready, the Universe responds. There have been offers, inquiries, and totally unforeseen opportunities. It’s almost uncanny, the timing. Clearly my allies have been waiting for me. Thankfully I’m poised to say Yes.

There’s excitement at what might lie behind some of the still-closed doors. And of course, there’s some fear. These are good signs, healthy reminders that the journey is beginning and I’m on board for the ride. What I’ll be doing now is tapping in, listening deeply, practicing courage, laying claim to the full breadth and depth of my power.

Tell me about your relationship with power. What comes easily, and what not so much? How do you find balance between the feminine and masculine? Where are you growing yourself?å

(this post was previously published on Roots of She, where I am guest-blogging as part of the Winter Tribe)

::        ::        ::

I want answers. Answers that make sense to me, and ones I can use as a starting point for action. I want clarity, closure and the peace of knowing.

Sometimes the ache of wanting those answers brings me to my knees.

And I’ve learned I am learning that boldly demanding answers doesn’t produce them, not if they’re not yet available. I see that my choice (as Byron Katie would put it) is to argue with reality, and lose, or be with it, and find peace.

I’m making peace with living in the now-familiar land of not knowing.

Have you been here too? It’s not so hospitable, unless you can do what it takes to make yourself at home. It doesn’t have a guidebook. It’s not a place many choose as a travel destination; the roads leading here are rough and sometimes treacherous, and the weather here is mainly cold and grey. But here we are. And so it is.

Welcome. It’s nice to see you.

I have been living a set of open questions for a good long while now; big weighty questions like “I know I want to move our family, but where to?” and “Will my business be viable?” and “What do I do next?”

These questions could suck me in and take me away.

If I approach them with my analytical, rational mind I come up with formulas and schemes, bending the variables into complex equations. If this, then this. These numbers mean this result. Here’s the ROI for taking this path.

I can’t put my faith behind answers that come out of this type of reasoning. They just feel untrustworthy; they aren’t rooted in who I am. Much as I’m a realist, I am led by my heart and fed by my dreams. That’s where I place my faith.

But here’s the problem : when I lean into the questions from a heart-space, I come up blank. There are glimmers of possibility, but not a clear directive. There’s room within which to ponder, and an invitation to poke around looking for clues, but I’m not getting any “hell, no!”’s or “hell, yes!” ‘es.

So then what? What to do when answers are elusive?

Name it. All of it.

I settle in and make myself as comfortable as I can with not knowing. I name what is present: fear, desire for clarity, discomfort with the unsettledness of the situations as they are. I acknowledge these feelings for showing up, and don’t try to make them go away.

I also name what I DO know. I know that I’m safe. I know my kids are safe. I know I have gifts, and that these gifts are what I’m here to share with the world, and what will eventually enable me to find my way. I am incredibly blessed with an extensive system of support. My allies are ready to be called on.

Simply acknowledging that I’m in this place is an enormous relief. It takes me from a general sense of anxiety to the deeply felt sense that I am held – and beyond that that this entire chapter is held – in a container of love and care.

Work it.

Those yucky feelings I mentioned above? There’s something worth mining in them, some information that can be used to move through this phase. Is my fear tied to something I can work on now? Is my discomfort pointing me toward practices I can call on for extra support today, like meditation or yoga? Can I find clarity in degrees, rather than clarity on the whole overall picture?

I give my mind something useful to do, which stops me from future-tripping and (my favorite word right now) catastrophizing. If I’m engaged in activities like looking for real estate or learning a new facilitation technique, I stay with the present and add to what’s already here. I don’t spin out into what-if’s or paralysis.

Feel it.

And then I simply give myself over to feeling my feelings. I AM afraid of what might be next. Yes. I DO squirm when things are fuzzy and unclear. I HURT and that’s that. I’m SORRY that I am not treating myself with the level of care that would really serve me right now.

Through all this, I lead with mercy. Mercy for my pain, for my humanness, for my situation. Mercy for my struggle to do it right, even feeling my emotions.

Here’s where I’m most careful about tending to myself in a loving way. I tread a thin line between feeling and wallowing – being with the feelings is healthy and healing, while staying with the feelings too long and without awareness can be harmful. I’m vigilant about this; past experience has shown me how important it is to catch when one turns into the other.

Call off the search.

The gift I have most treasured these past few months has been the one of allowing this to be a rough patch, and not pretending otherwise. At some point I called “Uncle!” and drew myself in, gathered myself close and drew the boundaries around what would be on the inside and the outside of my circle. I declared a time of rest for myself; a period of fallow that looks like hibernation to the outside world, but is also like incubation for me. Ideas are slowly showing themselves to me, and the beginnings of answers are showing up. I’m not asking for more. Ease is settling into my bones. Peace is being made with uncertainty.

I’m reminded of that beautiful passage by the poet Rainer Maria Rilke:

I beg you…to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.

Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them.

And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now.

Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.

What about you? How do you live the questions in your life? What do you know about making peace with not knowing?

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love,  amy

What Calls You?

You take steps in one direction, originally uploaded by Whitney Justesen

It’s  e m b o d y.

As in, live into.  Know by be-ing.  Feel, rather than think.  Emanate from the depths of myself.

This word surprised me.  I set out to discover one in all the ways I know best.  I sat down with tea and music and a roaring fire.  I cracked open a brand new journal.  I meditated.

Nothing.

So I gave up on finding it, and went about my business.  That’s when the word landed with a thud in my heart.

I wrote about it in the post below, which went live on Roots of She earlier this week.  I’d love to hear YOUR words for 2013 in the comments below.

Happy new year, dear ones.

_____________________________________________

Feeling My Way – The Full Embrace of Embodiment

the water, originally uploaded by Annija Muižule

My word for 2013 is embody. Actually there are a cluster of words that surround this chosen one : shine, courage, emanate, radiate, trust, know, love, be.

And along with the words, there’s a felt sense that accompanies embody. I can best describe it as that pause after a deep exhale, the kind that empties your belly top to bottom.

Embodying something means knowing it in your bones. Feeling it in your cells. Living it from your center.

It’s dancing your life, rather than making a speech about it.

The Many Gifts of Introspection

Don’t get me wrong : I love words. I consider myself an artisan conversationalist whose gift is to invite fellow seekers to excavate what’s in their hearts and bring it out for discussion. This is what I do on the bus, in line at the bank, with my best friends, in my coaching practice.

And along with my appreciation for the language of inner journeying, I spend most of my time in my head. Many of us do – especially those of us who inhabit female bodies that have been treated with varying degrees of love and trust.

I’m part of the musing, thinking, analyzing tribe. Are you, too? I have filled bookshelves with journals; got my first one at age 8 and the latest one yesterday (Orange moleskine. Yum). When I’m heartsick the first place I go is to the page, where I suss out what I’m feeling as I puzzle out the words that give it shape.

There’s a beauty in the practice of deep thinking. I’m grateful for my ability to name, to reason and to invite emotion to flow through my thoughts. I am awed by what I learn about myself in the process of “processing”. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Concept vs. direct experience

I also see where language limits my experience of knowing.

(It’s ironic that I’m writing about this, isn’t it?)

When I go looking, I can find corners of myself that are murky and hard to access. Areas I’m unfamiliar with. Parts that are still cocooned, growing themselves in private and not yet ready for the world

My first instinct is to name these areas, to befriend them or at least offer them a landing place within my psyche. And some of them are unnamable, unformed, clumps of pain that don’t play nice with the other parts of me. They aren’t meant to be dealt with through words : when I ascribe them titles like hurt, or frustration, or unknowing, or anger, or shame I feel a hollow relief that only lasts a few moments.

This is where thinking/processing/understanding fails, and where direct experience – embodiment – is the only way to be with what is.

Trusting What I Find

There are reasons, I think, for my willingness to shut down embodiment.

Primarily it’s about trust. The body is an exquisite instrument, and unbelievably generous with its wisdom. It provides us with clues and information again and again, whether we say Yes to it or not. My body has delivered me lessons on survival (when I was starving myself as a teenager), shame (when my weight see-sawed in my twenties), flexibility and grace (through the gift of dance), superhuman strength (in birthing my babies at home) and, mercifully, self-love (in finally making peace with my physical form as a woman).

As Martha Graham wisely preaches, The body says what words cannot. When we absorb the teachings our bodies offer, we experience ourselves fully. We emanate the beauty that is uniquely ours. We show up.

Clarity + Courage

I’m cultivating embodiment right now in a way I haven’t been able before. It means giving up some of what I have finessed so long and so well – my facility with words and my knack for focusing only on the parts I can figure out. And it means being open to hearing the body’s wisdom, even if it’s hard to accept.

Embodiment is only possible when we are willing to seep into all the parts of ourselves, leaving nothing behind. I recognize this willingness here and now.

I’m in a fresh new place in my life, bright with pain. My marriage is ending, and I’m walking an unfamiliar path. The thinking me wants to put plans in place, journal through the dark bits, work out answers to open questions. But I see the limits of this approach, and am pulled by a deeper sense of how to navigate the terrain – to feel into it. To allow animal wails to work their way out of my womb, to follow my gut through movements on the dance floor, to stand in the wind and rain, feeling for clues.

Amazingly, what I notice most is the sense of clarity in my heart. It’s a clarity not related to specifics or thoughts or analyses … it’s the clarity of having closed out a chapter that was keeping me from fully inhabiting myself. With the certainty of divorce, I’m no longer feeling like a fraud. The incongruity that was crippling me is now gone, and in its place is calm knowing.

From here, I know what to do. I listen to my wise body for clues, and I follow the breadcrumbs. I practice courage, which doesn’t mean I’m a fear-slayer but rather an open-hearted and vulnerable explorer. I lean on my allies, seen and unseen. My feet are on the path. My breath is my guide.

My word is embody.

________________________________________________

What’s coming alive for you in this new year?  Are you longing for guidance and support as you step more powerfully into a fuller expression of who you are?

My virtual group coaching program called Unfurling – The Journey is now open for registration.  Join one of two small groups for twice-monthly sessions that are heavy on cross-pollination and truth-telling.  You’ll uncover what’s unfurling in you right now, and you’ll integrate your learning in powerful, life-changing ways.  Learn more and register here. 

So today I’m recognizing that this wonderful movement of which I’m a part has become a should.  The 30 Days of Imperfection creative adventure instigated by Jac McNeil and adopted by loads of amazing women across the interwebs is something I can’t do from a place of wholeness right now, due to some challenging issues that require my attention to be, well, elsewhere.  I’m postponing my 30 days until the new year, when I can come back with a whole heart and a clear head.   

To those of you who are blogging, I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines.  Keep going!  Find each other too; you’re in really good company.  I look forward to hearing your musings and explorations and learnings.  

And I am a firm believer in the divine wisdom of timing.  When it’s right, mountains move.  When it’s not, you sweat and strain and nothing much happens.  So now is the time to step gracefully back, and to watch for the wave I want to ride.  It’ll come.  It always does.

Love,

amy

No, I didn’t post anything the past three days.  

I can’t talk about the curveball that has occupied all of my waking (and most of my sleeping) moments just now.  Maybe soon, once I have processed the events a bit more, I’ll share what has me heartbroken and furious.  I imagine that at some point in the future, there will be a learning to share.

In the meantime, I’m back here today, and writing once again.  Imperfectly.

In this moment I’m pierced through with pain, and yet full.  Full of throat-closing love for my daughter, who turned eight yesterday and who floors me with her originality and radiance.  Grateful beyond measure for the friends and family who have rallied close to shower me with compassion.  Overflowing with respect for my eleven-year old boy, whose words at the Thanksgiving table blew us all away.

I’m full up with appreciation for you, Jac, Rachel, Tara and Randi, walking companions for my soul. 

And I’m grateful for you, dear reader.  As I wrote in this Love Letter to the World last week, my sometimes raw and messy truth is on offer for you to use as it serves you. And thank you thank you for doing the same.

My sweet girl, Lucia

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