About unexpected change and then some

Mar 18, 2022 | Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

I didn’t expect to move from Washington to North Carolina 2 months ago. The prospect didn’t even enter my conscious consideration until early December, when I flew to my sister’s as birthday present to myself. Yes, months earlier she’d mentioned that I should inhabit her 3rd floor, but I didn’t take her seriously. Who means that? Who offers that? Who really wants someone else living in their home? But once I got there, sitting in her living room, drinking coffee, and actually entertaining the possibility, it became shockingly clear to me that she wanted this. I could actually choose to say “yes” to a change that was bursting into my life — unexpected, surprising, shocking even.

How often we do we miss opportunity for change and transition? We either a) assume it’s not really ours to pursue or embrace; not really available; or b) immediately disregard it, given what it would require, cost (on multiple levels), and ultimately mean.

Though I have made this leap, believe me, there have been plenty of times in which I’ve not. Options were presented to me, but I disregarded them. I dreamed of something I really wanted, but didn’t believe it could actually happen. I knew that I could make a bold choice, but it felt too hard, too “out there,” too disruptive.

In denying myself the possibility inherent in change, I wonder: What did I miss out on because it felt like too much to accept, to walk toward / through, to be too good to be true?

Even more importantly: What change might yet be on the horizon were I to open myself to change, look for it, even assume that it’s right around the corner?

For me, at least this time, to not accept what’s been so graciously offered, feels like turning my back on something mysterious, even miraculous, that is clearly functioning on my behalf. I don’t want to ignore what doesn’t make sense. Not anymore. I’ve done plenty of that over 5+ decades of my life. Instead, I’m leaping into the unknown with Change and Transition in the front seat and me along for the ride . . .

So, at least a cursory exploration of unexpected change. Now, what does it mean to intentionally choose such?

When my sister made her generous and heartfelt offer to move into her home and incorporate myself into her family, I had a decision to make. Well, lots of them, actually.

I had to intentionally choose to give up my independence, “solo” living, and autonomous lifestyle.
I had to intentionally choose to accept others’ care, connection, and love.
I had to intentionally choose to let go of “home” as I’ve created it for myself and instead, let that idea be more loose and fluid.
I had to intentionally choose to leave behind a city I’ve lived in for 30 years, in which I’ve raised both my daughters, that is still their home — even if not in chosen location.
I had to intentionally choose to say (incredibly hard) goodbyes to friends and family with whom I’ve been proximity-connected for most of my life.
I had to intentionally choose to trust that even if this doesn’t work out, that there is something yet ahead that I can and will step into and embrace.
And not insignificant, I had to intentionally choose to live without a kitchen of my own and a bathroom on the 2nd floor. 🙂

Some of these, admittedly, are small and inconsequential; others are huge and still in-the-works in my own mind and heart. Still, to spend the past few weeks sitting with the option and availability of choice — and then making such — has been empowering and humbling.

Here’s what I’ve come to: We almost always have choice; it’s the making and taking of such that trips us up. Whether it’s the unknowns or the tradeoffs or the sacrifices or even the benefits, we are far more comfortable with the status quo (even while we complain about it).

I say none of this to somehow affirm my own maturity or wisdom. Just the opposite! I have shunned choices left and right over my lifetime. I’ve not seen myself (or others) as able to handle them. I’ve found them inconvenient and hard. I’ve chosen the devil I know for the one I don’t.

What I’m inviting (for me and you both) is the possibility of just the opposite — of opening ourselves to the ample invitation of change and then intentionally choosing it. In my experience, both right now and in my past, it’s then that grace rushes in.

Finally, how “accepted” disruption serves. This, of my three points today, is the one that’s been on my mind a lot the past few weeks. Not because my own life-circumstances (or personal versions of disruption); more because I can’t not see just how frantically our culture works (often successfully) to keep us from accepting and allowing the harder parts of life . . . to our detriment.

We cannot avoid disruption — despite our endless attempts to do so. “Highlights” of recent and unavoidable disruption include:

The 2016 election
The necessary and long-silenced truth brought to light in the Me Too and Black Lives Matter movements; the miles-and-miles-and-miles we have yet to go related to sexism, racism, ableism, ageism, and so much more
Global warming
An international pandemic
The drama of the 2020 election
New strains of the virus
The list goes on . . .

Then there are the more personal forms of disruption:

Job loss
Career changes
Financial strain
Relationship loss
Avoided conversations and the ramifications of such
Heartbreak
Death
Aging
Illness
Empty nests
Existential questions and crises

(Almost every one of these is on my personal list in the past few two years!)

In the midst of all these realities, we live in a world that demands we maintain a positive outlook, that we “choose happy.” And if that’s not possible, it seduces us to dissociate through consumerism — buying things, programs, and possibilities — that promise us relief from the pain of life.

It is pain that makes beauty evident and felt! It is disruption that invites an acceptance of our own complexity, and just how complicated and glorious our life truly is.

Anything less than this, from where I sit, is not only disingenuous, but tragic.

I want you to welcome the disruption, the pain, the crises, the ache. They are, after all, unavoidable; even more, they’re part-and-parcel with life, with your wild and precious life. To allow in what you attempt to resist, even embrace such, is the best option (if not the only one) that allows for a life that is full, rich, real, and true.

And at the end of all things, that is all I want for you, for me, for all of us: a life that is full, rich, real, and true — inclusive of welcomed change and transition, intentional choices, and accepted disruption. May it be so!

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Changing Everything

May 24, 2021 | My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality

If you want to learn about a culture, listen to the stories.

If you want to change a culture, change the stories.

This quote by Michael Margolis speaks volumes. It can be thought of on a wide-scale level: our culture, as a whole. But it is equally applicable and important at an individual level.

Maybe most concisely stated like this:

If you want to change, change your stories.

When I began working with the ancient, sacred stories I love, I became crystal clear about what made me crazy and super-frustrated with how their stories had been told over thousands of years: Deeply-ingrained patterns layered onto the page and in between the lines that shamed women who had opinions or used their voice, that believed women to be dangerous who were different, that kept women contained so that they did not disrupt systems of (or persons with) power.

When I looked closer still, something else became crystal clear: what made me crazy and super-frustrated with their stories was exactly what made me feel the same about my own.

MY story was made up of deeply-ingrained patterned beliefs that found me withholding my opinions and quieting my voice, opting to not be different (and certainly not dangerous), to not disrupt the system or upset the apple cart; instead, to play by the rules, be good, stay inside the lines.

That had to change. I had to change. Everything had to change.

Truth-be-told, I found it far easier to change stories that are thousands of years old, than to do the same with my own. I could endlessly talk about Eve (which I continue to do) – praising her for eating the fruit, listening to the serpent, following her desire, and honoring her own wisdom. But to do that for myself? To tell and live that story? Much, much harder. And…ongoing; a life’s work, to be sure.

As I’ve remained committed to reimagining, retelling, and redeeming ancient, sacred stories, I’ve worked to do the same for myself. And I’ve learned a few things along the way:

The stories we’ve been told, the way they’ve been told, live deep within us. Sometimes for good; sometimes, not so much.
Those stories (and the lessons within) turn into the stories we tell ourselves – the inner-voice that constantly reminds us we are too much, not enough, potentially both.
When we listen to these stories, name them, acknowledge them honestly, and choose to change them, we can then begin the work and practice of telling and living the stories we desire and deserve.

Every bit of this is sacred practice; responsibility, privilege, and gift. It’s also the most important thing we can possibly do.

When we change our stories, we change everything.

And perhaps it’s dangerous and disruptive to say so, but changing everything is what matters most, what’s required of us, what we’re called to – for ourselves and for our world.

May it be so.

*****

The process and practice I have developed with ancient, sacred stories (and my own) is probably the most concise way for me to describe what my 1:1 work is about: inviting you to name the stories that have made you you, then helping you reimagine and rewrite them in ways that empower, embolden, and, well, change everything!

I currently have space for new clients. Book a free, 30-minute call with me. No pressure or obligation – just a chance to chat (which I’d LOVE).

*****

Photo by S O C I A L . C U T on Unsplash

On Writing – #4

Sep 2, 2016 | Writing

This week, I’m offering a series of posts on writing – ones I’ve written before, new ones yet unseen, anything and everything that reminds you of just how powerful the act of writing is – whether you have any aspirations of ever being a writer…or not.

Writing For A Change
[1st posted in August, 2010]

A true piece of writing is a dangerous thing. It can change your life. ~ Tobias Wol

There are two obvious ways to look at the title of this post:

Writing for a change (as in finally, and/or in deference to other activities).

Writing for a change (as in having an agenda, desiring an outcome, hungry for
transformation).

Given that I write all the time and would do even more if I could, it’s the latter of the two that applies to me. Over and over again.

Though I am deeply hopeful that my writing invites change in others, what I know with 100% assurance is that it creates change in me. As I think of topics, categories, and themes I am (not always, but often) aware of how they speak to me, compel me, and are what I most need to consider in my own life. As I type words I am (not always, but often) aware of how the language choices, phrases, and even punctuation speak to what I’m attempting to avoid or that which I desire. Even as I choose design elements I am (not always, but often) aware of how particular images touch my soul, or don’t, and what that’s about.

And I’m super-aware (always) of when I’m just trying to make something work when it’s really not. ‘Seems an important metaphor in life…

Writing for a change means that I am willing to pay attention to all of this; that I am willing to pay attention to my own life – as articulated through the very letters, words, sentences, paragraphs, and pages I type. The dignity and the depravity. The celebration and the pain. The clarity and the confusion. The sanity and the craziness. The certainty and the mystery.

We are all a paradoxical bundle of rich potential that consists of both neurosis and wisdom. ~ Pema Chodron

All of it. All of it is telling. All of it tells me of me. All of it is writing for a change.

Change writers are purveyors of hope. ~ Mary Pipher, Writing to Change the World

Writing for a change, for me, means hope.
It is in writing that I feel hope. Yes, what I write offers hope – I hope; but it’s the writing itself that keeps me centered – and invites me to move; that encourages, challenges, compels, inspires, settles, calms, offers perspective, heals, and changes (me). Hope is rife.

And finally (though hardly), I am writing for a change because I’m realizing, more and more, that only I can say these things. Not because I’m such an excellent writer or because I have such incredible thoughts. Only I can say these things because they are words, ideas, stories, and concepts that I alone can say. They are mine. (The same is true for you, you know?)

What can I do that isn’t going to get done unless I do it, just because of who I am?
~ Buckminster Fuller

I am writing for a change – my own. Always. Every day. In hope.

What are you writing for? What are the words (and worlds) that you alone can say?