A few days back I had the honor and privilege of being a guest on Amy Kessel’s site. She’s creating a gorgeous series named Unfurling. You can read my responses by clicking here. And today, she’s visiting me!

Tell the truth:  What’s Unfurling in You?

It’s a question I’m asking of others a lot lately, both online and in my coaching practice.  And one I ask myself quite often.  It’s a question that invites a pause, a deep breath, a brief closing of the eyes and a reckoning with the heart.

What’s unfurling in you?

The question is inspired by ferns, which surround my northwest home and blanket my green island.  I am obsessed with ferns.  I have come to see them as mirrors for my life and reminders of the inner wisdom that guides me in becoming more and more myself.

The fern requires a cocooning phase.  This is non-negotiable.  It won’t begin to unfurl before it’s ready, regardless of what’s happening among its neighbors.  Once the unfurling begins, some of its fronds push past the others, bold and impatient.  Others linger long beyond what seems necessary, refusing to budge from their tightly coiled spirals.

Over here in the human realm, we are also unfurling.

We need the warmth and safety of the cocoon to grow our desires and nourish our motivation.  Then we absorb the empowerment that leads to our restlessness with that same safety and closeness.  Once the restlessness sets in, it’s only a matter of time before we kick off the constraints and begin to rise up and out.

Unfurling involves reaching toward our own particular form of sunshine.  We orient ourselves toward whatever it is that brings us alive, and we find ourselves taking on a new shape.  Unfurling is the delicious, unavoidable process of transformation.

Truth-telling is central to unfurling.

Sometimes what wants to grow is not yet sanctioned and won’t be easy for others to welcome.  No matter. Speaking our truth is what brings an unfurling alive, and it’s also a core component of the ongoing work.  Unfurling and “should” don’t co-exist; what wants to unfurl in you is way beyond “should”.

Of course, none of this transformation happens passively.  There is a dance that occurs, sparked by an alliance of self and spirit, that puts the wheels in motion.  The work of unfurling can be arduous, though there are times when it is sublime.  Our job is to stay awake and to participate fully, whatever that means.

Love your unfurling into action

To notice what wants to unfurl, and to give it loving attention in order to do so, is pure self-kindness.  Our lives are so full that it’s entirely possible to miss an unfurling and to recognize it only in hindsight.   This is an unfortunate missed opportunity.  Instead, pay attention to subtle shifts in energy, interest and what evokes delight in you.  Follow the clues to see what has begun to take shape, and perhaps what is already beginning to unwind from its tightly coiled birthplace.

Celebrate the unfurling by calling it by its name.  Make it feel welcome.  Encourage its growth by loving it into its upright form.

What’s unfurling in you?  What no longer serves you, and is being replaced by something more authentic, empowered, truthful?  Where are you bursting forth?  What will you do with this unfurling?

________________________________

Amy Kessel is a life coach, writer and facilitator who is dedicated to helping women unfurl.

Her six-week Burst Into Bloom group tele-coaching program begins in January 2012.  This small group program is for those who want inspiration, support and resources to move from idea to inspired action.  Sign up here for more information.

You sit on the brink of a new year.  You want closure on what has gone before. And you want to step boldly, aggressively, and take-no-prisoners-like into what’s ahead. But to make such happen you know, intuitively and deeply, that something’s gotta give.

• Things feel disjointed and disconnected. The good that’s happening in one aspect of life isn’t carrying through to the others. Or worse, the struggles and strains are bleeding into everything. You long for consistency; for an experience of self that feels connected. But something keeps you from being able to grasp the bigger picture, to capture the larger themes, to see your life as an integrated whole.

• Something is missing. An ache. An unanswered question. A gap or hole or darkness. You read books. You take courses. You listen to experts. But something prevents you from figuring it out; the shift, change, or breakthrough you’re hoping for just doesn’t come.

• There are conversations you need to have. But something persists in holding you back. You weigh the risk. You measure the cost. But then you sit still – immobilized – and deeply aware that all is not well; that change has to come or else.

What are you going to do to get past something’s gotta give and into I’m gonna make this happen? I’ll tell you.

You’re going to do what matters.

• You’re going to acknowledge and accept that you need a larger story in which to live; one that will companion you in the midst of your own questions, doubts, and anxieties; one that will make sense of your own.
• You’re going to do whatever it takes to discover a spirituality that allows for questions that never cease and answers that are found within; that affirms you as the expert you seek; that enables a wise and connected sense of self.
• You’re going to have those hard conversations, ones that dive far beneath the skim-across-the-surface stuff that tempts. You’re going to tell your truth.

How do I know? Because I know that you know this stuff matters.

How do I know? Because I know that you matter.

How do I know? Because these are the things by which I am uniquely, powerfully compelled, that keep me up at night, that drive me to write and speak, that matter more than nearly all else!

• I see and connect others to a larger story that brings the disjointed into an integrated whole.
• I believe in and hunt down the spiritual as satisfaction to one’s deepest hungers.
• And I instigate powerful conversations that are smart, passionate, and full-o-truth.

What matters? That I do and say what matters to me.

What matters? That you do whatever it takes to enable the same for yourself.

And if there’s a way for me to do that with you? That matters too. Email me. I’ll tell you how.

I have felt the pressure to get a post written and published for at least a couple of days now. It’s not that I haven’t had ideas. They are legion – spinning in my brain, attempting to formulate themselves in ways that move from thought to keyboard to published text. But that movement requires intention, effort, and time. It requires that I sit down and craft words, sentences, and paragraphs. It requires that I settle into countless rounds of editing. It requires work.

Lots of times I want it easier. Yes, in writing. And in life.

In an effort to avoid the work, I go to my “drafts” folder, relatively convinced something is there that can be quickly pieced together; something that doesn’t require all that much of me.

“Something that doesn’t require all that much of me.” Who am I kidding? It doesn’t work in writing. It doesn’t work in life. The things that matter – relationships, meaningful work, parenting, health, integrity, belief, and yes, writing – require everything of me!

Still, I continue to wish, as do you, for a magic pill, a genie in a lamp, The Secret, or a folder full of no-editing-required perfection.

• Relationships that ooze meaning, passion, laughter, and ease without the struggle, effort, renewed commitment, hard conversations, and pain.
• Meaningful work that offers financial freedom and instantaneous success without the questions of internal consistency, value alignment, and hour-upon-hour of endless, tedious, labor.
• Parenting that translates to perfect kids without arguments, disappointments, cleaning, or cost (financial and in every other way imagined).
• Health that comes naturally: perfect weight, ripped abs, and unlimited food choices without the acknowledgement that our bodies require and deserve our time and respect.
• Integrity that functions like a plug-in on our website; something browsed-for and downloaded without thought of inevitable incompatibility and ongoing maintenance.
• Belief that overcomes all challenges, doubts, and struggles without disconcerting evidence decrying our hope that all works out, makes sense, and falls into place.

We want perfect first drafts. We want writing and life that is edit-free.

But if such existed, why bother?

If our drafts-folder held everything from great blog posts and bestselling manuscripts to perfect relationships, bank accounts, kids, and bodies what value would they have?

The beauty of first drafts is that they don’t stay that way. The beauty of first drafts is that they call to us in their imperfection – demanding diligence, sweat, commitment, passion, desire, and brilliance. The beauty of first drafts is that they morph into something we could have never imagined. The beauty of first drafts is that they call us to more; they call us to ourselves.

Imperfection clings to a person, and if they wait till they are brushed off entirely, they would spin for ever on their axis, advancing nowhere. (Thomas Carlyle)

The world itself is pregnant with failure, is the perfect manifestation of imperfection, of the consciousness of failure. (Henry Miller)

The fact of storytelling hints at a fundamental human unease, hints at human imperfection. Where there is perfection there is no story to tell. (Ben Okri)

The beauty of first drafts is their imperfection. In writing and in life, editing is gift and grace.

A few days back I enjoyed a lovely and powerful phone call with Kelly Diels. In the midst, she mentioned that she and a colleague has been marveling at how persistence was pretty much the most underrated survival skill in the world. Yup.

And perseverance. And stamina.

We understand all three of these words – by definition, as concepts, and in reality. We also wish we could escape any circumstances that require their use. These are not muscles we want to strengthen or abilities we want to hone. They rarely make it on to a resume or online dating profile. They seem necessary evils; aptitudes we wish we could discard as irrelevant and avoidable. And all the while, we persist, persevere, and exert great stamina as we tirelessly pursue the easy way out, up, and through.

Stamina [and persistence and perseverance] is utterly important. [It's] only possible if it’s managed well. People think all they need to do is endure one crazy, intense, …creative burst and their dreams will come true. They are wrong, they are stupidly wrong.

Being good at anything is like figure skating–the definition of being good at it is being able to make it look easy. But it never is easy. Ever. That’s what the stupidly wrong people conveniently forget.

Hugh MacLeod, Ignore Everybody: and 39 Other Keys to Creativity

Case in point: Tonya Harding.

She had years of persistence, perseverance, and stamina under her belt (or Lycra costume). She’d laced those skates thousands of times, practiced countless hours, fell repeatedly, suffered injuries, and – over time – developed her craft. But somehow, those lessons didn’t “take.” She was still on the hunt for a surer, easier, fail-safe way to victory, success, and acclaim. Stupidly wrong.

We’re not all that different, are we?

We want difficulties to go away. No persisting problems, please. We want quick fixes. Don’t make me persevere. We want ease, answers, wealth, beauty, happiness, love, and smaller thighs. NOW! No stamina required.

Even if these sentiments are secretly true, this is even more true: we are not Tonya Harding. We understand that we have to do the work. Right?

Within the past few hundred years, particularly in Western culture, we’ve created (and then perpetuated) a worldview that compels, cajoles, and nearly forces a belief that everything should work out our way; that happiness is our destiny; that we deserve to have everything we want. Though this certainly shows up in materialism, it’s more insipid than that. It gets its hooks in us through other things: perfect kids, satisfying sex, super-model beauty, financial security, near-fame status.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m lured by the same. But to pursue them as inalienable rights and to do almost anything to get them (a la Tonya Harding) is where this breaks down. When we pursue (or persist, persevere, apply stamina) to an ideal reality, the be-all-end-all dream, or some imagined facsimile of perfection, we are no longer aware of the gifts that are ours in survival itself.

We lose sight of our own strength, our own story, our very self when we mistakenly believe (or demand) that life should be easy.

That’s what happened to Tonya Harding. She forgot about (and did not rely on) her own strength, she wanted a perfect story, and she sold her very self. Stupidly wrong.

Let’s be smartly right. No easy way exists. We must go through. And in so doing, we survive. Not in some Darwinian, survival-of-the-fittest sort-of way. No, one that lifts up just being, the gift and grace of showing up every single day, no matter what, and yes, of doing the work.

What if, for the sake of the exercise, we did list persistence, perseverance, and stamina on our resume? Here are some possible accomplishment statements:

• Consistently demonstrates persistence through adolescence, bad first jobs, bad first relationships, bad cars, bad debt, and bad weather and innumerable trying situations to enable personal fortitude, a wicked sense of humor, and sustained hope.
• Models high levels of proficiency in perseverance; ongoing development and implementation of inner strength despite a traumatic childhood, painful marriage, childbirth, child-raising, less-than-stellar bosses, and endless hard choices.
• Displays stamina with diets, exercise, singleness, infertility, angry teenagers, hard conversations, misogyny, and the tireless pursuit of meaningful work while simultaneously fighting for self-esteem, self-worth, and goddess-like stature.

What if, instead of heaving a heavy sigh at the mere mention of these skills, we celebrated them? What if we sought after, affirmed, and even applauded them (in self and others) versus endlessly chasing after something illusive and potentially (if not probably), when all is said and done, nearly meaningless?

What if we stopped with the what-ifs?

No what-ifs. No illusions. No easy way out. But ample, generous, and endless meaning found in the midst, and through.

For those of you struggling to make ends meet, to make sense of a difficult relationship, to make it through another day – persist. For those of you wondering if you can hold on long enough to see your desires come to fruition – persevere. For those of you about to give in to financial pressure, cultural messages, shattered dreams, or even despair – let your stamina sustain.

You have underrated and shockingly sophisticated survival skills. Your strength, your story, and your very self are enough. You are enough. Gold medal in hand or not, you leave us breathless. Perfect 10′s from every judge. Wild, uncontainable applause. Your face on the big screen. All because you survive.

Put on some Gloria Gaynor, tighten up those laces, and get back out on the ice.

As much as I may attempt to be present, aware, and alive to every moment of every day, I don’t succeed. Hindsight serves. Worry preoccupies. And in between are the middle spaces.

Somewhere between past and future, between being present and dissociating, between gratitude and worry. These are the places I know.

Hardly thin, they are thick – sometimes in burdened, weighty ways and sometimes in rich, beautiful ones.

The middle spaces are familiar. Like ambivalence, they are home.

• The middle spaces are where I read between the lines in conversation, taking in a larger context than what is being spoken. I hear one thing, but understand another.
• The middle spaces find me vacillating between speaking my mind and employing tact, balancing discernment with full disclosure.
• The middle spaces are where I live as a mother to daughters. It is where they live, as well – between mom’s house and dad’s, between parental expectations and peer pressures, between adolescence and adulthood.
• The middle spaces exist between paychecks; between gratitude for income and anxiety over its lack.
• The middle spaces populate days in which I’m not out working outside my home and spend my time wandering through emails, Facebook, Twitter, all-the-while hearing writing’s beckoning; places between desire and praxis, between confidence and fear.
• The middle spaces exist between my past understanding and experience of God and one yet unknown, still explored, undefined; between what was “known,” solid and sure and now, a more predominant sense that nothing is known, solid, or sure.
• The middle spaces are filled with the frenetic volume of activity in my brain; thoughts that inspire and frustrate, compel and critique, stagger and stall.
• The middle spaces are the deep and too-often-unspoken places in my heart that hold unexplainable, sometimes unexpressable love for my daughters; an expanse between emotion and action, between intention and manifestation.
• The middle spaces are memories I traverse from relationships-past as I navigate the tranquil waters of relationship-present; lessons learned swirling amongst hopes held.

The middle spaces occupy most of me. I most-often occupy them. They are ordinary time, day-to-day life, the warp and woof of my head and heart. Not thin; thick. Not fully present; no less profound.