Lean In, Baby, Just Lean In

I used to believe that bad things happening to me meant I was a bad person somehow. The truth is, the reason so much “bad” stuff has happened around me is simply because I love so many people so deeply and because, well, that’s life.

I used to be afraid to tell you more bad stuff was happening in my life because I don’t want pity, and because I thought for sure I was doing something to “deserve” all this bad stuff. On some level, I think I believed I had not become enlightened/empowered/aura-fied/chakra-fied/fully present/fearless/brave/spiritual/positive thinking enough to transcend suffering.

I wanted so badly in my journeys these last 4 years to find a way to transcend suffering. I really thought if I read enough books, meditated well enough, shared some insight with others who were suffering and maybe wrote a book, gave a speech, that would also help you transcend suffering… then everything would be better.

But, that’s not true. There is no such thing as transcending suffering. In fact, the very revolt against it only solidifies and intensifies its grip of angst on your soul.

I have not done anything to deserve 20 deaths in 4 years, moving 5 times, watching my daughter grieve her best friend, suffering through illness after illness after illness, pay cut after pay cut, job loss after job loss.

I have not done anything wrong. This stuff didn’t happen because I didn’t think positively enough. It didn’t happen because I’ve been living in fear. It didn’t happen because I’m not doing enough to attract all kinds of great things to myself, or because I didn’t practice The Secret or The Laws of Abundance or The Laws of Attraction or The Power of Now well enough to create A New Earth. It didn’t happen because I was unable to Return to Me or find The Gifts of Imperfection or create my own Translucent Revolutions after fully practicing The Four Agreements through a good Conversation With God. (Don’t get me wrong, I have read and loved most all those titles and they all helped me, but they did not help me learn how to fend off life’s lemons – no one can teach that).

All this “bad stuff” happened because I’m human, and this is the human experience.  This is just life. This is the life of someone who loves deeply, and thus has much to lose, much to ache over, much to grieve. God, who would want a life that had nothing to miss? Nothing to lose? Nothing to be afraid of leaving behind?

Instead of trying to find a way to live without loss – turn inward, put up walls of solitude and shut out anything that might possibly cause potential pain, I have chosen to keep buckled in on this rollercoaster ride and try my best to embrace both its dips and hills.

I have found the greatest thing I can give myself is compassion. Compassion for ourselves is allowing and softening into whatever feelings arise – good or bad – instead of shunning them away because they are “bad” or “uncomfortable.”

Thich Nhat Hanh says we should cradle our suffering like a baby, so, when I am hurting and angry, I try to look at myself like I look at my 6-year-old when she is in the midst of a full blown meltdown. On the surface, there is anger, pain, tears – underneath, there is sadness, sorrow, hurt, frustration, and a little girl just dying to be heard and understood.

We each have that child within, who just wants her pain to be seen and heard.

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It would be easy for me to turn into a mean, angry, violent person. I have so much hurt and anger inside for all the shit I’ve been handed. It takes everything in me to, instead, try to let it out – breathe through it, lean into it, feel it, and go through it, not around it. I have learned that allowing myself to be in the uncomfortable space of anger, frustration, self-doubt, shame, loneliness, and sorrow, is actually the only path through suffering. Lean in, not away. Soften into it. Have compassion for myself, instead of anger at myself for not being a perfect human being who has somehow magically found a way to live a life free of suffering.

So, instead of telling you to feel better today about whatever you are going through, I am going to tell you, go ahead and feel like crap. Have a pity party for one for a minute. Cry, throw a temper tantrum, punch a freaking wall. Then, pick yourself up like a child who fell off his bike, and wipe your tears away with compassion – true, all-encompassing, non-judgmental compassion that allows you to feel whatever you are feeling now.

I’d like to think life will get “better” eventually, but it may not, so I try to embrace whatever is before me – even the pain, because I know more joy is just around the corner, and all of it is part of this crazy, mad, happy sad beautiful life. For everything I have lost, I have loved a whole lot more.**

Brave Little (Former) Grim Reaper Girl

“I realized this little egg I’ve been sitting on, that I’m dying to hatch and share with you in the form of books, talks, workshops, blogs & more is not just about grief. I’ve realized it’s actually just about life.”

Ok, so, here it goes.

I have a confession.

I have been totally terrified for the last year to be myself, completely. I am inching back into the territory of the brave, and I am asking you to bear witness.

A year ago, I stood on a precipice of magnificence. I created a Grief Workshop for a huge grief conference, putting together a complete proposal with learning objectives (had to learn how to write those!), experiential learning tools, a curriculum vitae, guest speakers, and all kinds of other fancy stuff. In a matter of weeks, I did it. From start to finish, this task pushed me far beyond my limits and past them – and when I was done, I had something, complete, and, well, GOOD.

See, one of fatal flaws is I’m great at start things, notsomuch at finishing them. But, this time, I finished something. I did! I was brave, and made phone calls and asked people to help me, and they did! They wanted to! They wanted to help ME, help others! I showed people who I considered much further advanced in my field of bravery (LOL) my true heart, my passion, my truth…and you know what they said?

“This is work that needs to be done.”

“Yes, this needs to be shared.”

“Whether you’re accepted to this conference or not, I will support you and help you in doing this work.”

You see, I have something in me, that has come out of all this craptastic schiznit the last few years…and it’s amazing, I know it. It could change my life, it could change your life, it could change the world in so many ways, great and small. It’s a sort-of system that has unfolded before me for dealing with negative emotions and life challenges, big and small. In my view, it could be a missing piece in the GREAT BIG puzzle of life in so many ways.

I never felt so alive as when I was creating this workshop, and I made so many brave choices. But, then, I got scared again, and I crawled back into my turtle shell, had a really shitty year that I let push me further into the oblivion of my own shell, and I didn’t do a damn thing with that amazing thing I did.

© Razvanjp | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

So, life, as it often does, handed me some more lemons (pardon the ole’ cliche) again, and said, “Neener, neener, Megan, what are you going to do with these ones?” It’s like Maya Angelou’s famous quote, “When you know better, you do better.” It took me a little longer than I’d like to admit, but this time, I knew what to do, and soon enough, I did finally start crushing and churning those lemons. As I did, another piece – maybe the final piece of the puzzle –  emerged. I realized this little egg I’ve been sitting on, that I’m dying to hatch and share with you in the form of books, talks, workshops, blogs & more is not  just about grief. I’ve realized it’s actually just about life. Period. It applies to every single person on this Earth. It can help you find joy in tragedy, or in the mundane, it can help you embrace sorrow as equally as bliss, it can help you discover your life’s purpose, it can help you face your fears and pain, it can help you be a more joyful parent, wife, friend, lover, partner, human. It is already helped me do all these. 

And I think I’ve figured out, that if I don’t do this…I will die. Seriously, I will self-implode. I may not die today or tomorrow, or even 10 years from now, but every day that I continue to live in fear of being brave and vulnerable, of being willing to try and fail…every one of those days, a slow poison will be eating away at me inside – the poison of not expressing my magnificence.

So, I’ve decided that STEP ONE of my new post-Anita-Moorjani “living fearlessly” attitude-in-action is to create some accountability for myself, and garner your support.  So, if you would like to see me hatch this egg and start speaking on the beautiful lessons I’ve learned the last few years, to help others live more joyful, fearless lives, would you like this post or comment on it, and tell me?! I’d like to know, would you come to one of my presentations? Would you buy a short e-book that would give you specific steps and tools you can incorporate into your daily life to help you deal with life’s challenges – to help you learn how to accept yourself and your life as it is, while also opening up that connection to the Divine and expressing all your amazing magnificence?

If the answer is yes, then please share below.

Then, do me a favor, and come back in a week, and ask me what I’m doing about it, before the Universe hands me more lemons to squeeze again, will ya?!

What Are You Holding Back?

I’m reading Marianne Williamson’s, “Everyday Grace” right now, and this quote struck me so profoundly when I read it the other day, I wanted to share it. Anita Moorjani, who I spoke of in my last blog post, spoke about this same sort of principle – that if we withhold our magnificence from the world, and keep it inside, it can turn into a sort of self-implosion that eats away at us from within, turning into disease and dis-ease in our lives.

I think Marianne is speaking of the same thing here. It’s all those little things we are afraid of sharing, because we’re afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of what others will think, afraid of making a mistake, afraid we’re not quite there yet. Each time we withhold a piece of ourselves from the Universe, every time we question an inner intuition to share our love and joy with the world, it’s like a small firework going off before it leaves the ground –  it still erupts within, but because it has nowhere to go, it simply burns itself up.

I know I’ve been withholding my magnificence from the world in many ways – out of fear of failure, fear of life, fear of joy, fear, fear, fear, and a bit of pain, too. I’m working right now on allowing it to come out and loving myself enough to trust that it’s important to share my heart, but it’s a daily process, and one that I’m taking with you.

Today, ponder on this thought. What are you withholding? What is that one thing within that keeps dogging at you, tugging at your heart again and again, asking you to let it out into the world and express it, believe it, dream it? What are you holding back? What could you give away? I’m not talking about going and clearing out your pantry and donating some staples to the local food bank. I’m asking you to look within and ask yourself what’s in there that’s dying to come out, but maybe you’ve been afraid to try? If you could live like Anita Moorjani does after her near-death experience – FEARLESSLY – what would you do with that thing within?

Is there one small thing you could do today to start expressing your magnificence?

Take a moment to consider it, then “fake it ’til you make it.” Act courageously, even if you feel scared to death. Try it. See what happens!

A Different Kind of Near-Death Experience

He reminded me to use my voice…so I did, for him. ~ Christopher Lane’s Memorial Service 8/25/12 ~ Photo borrowed from Christopher’s Facebook page

I thought I was doing fine, since the Memorial. I doused that place in a good storm puddle of my own tears on Saturday, and I guess I thought that’d do me for awhile.

But, today, it came back. Listening to this haunting, powerful, poignant, bomb-hitting-your-house sort of poem of Christopher’s. I’ve never heard anything like it in my life. I hadn’t heard it before he died.  The first time I heard it was at the Memorial – so now, hearing his voice is like putting a stethoscope to a grave and catching the waves of a heartbeat.

His death has done so much to shake me up. I’m writing again…because he died. I’m unfolding my scared petals again…because he died. 

I often think, who am I to be so affected by his death? I can’t even begin to comprehend his family’s pain, his wife’s sickening grief.

And here I am, grief-stricken in my own way…but I’m figuring something out about myself.

I have chosen to put myself deep in the potholes on this road, right in the path of death’s river – because of something a bereaved parent, whose 15-year-old daughter passed away, said to me the other day.

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“It is not ours to understand the ebb and flow of life and death…impossible in a dualistic, egoic body. I know grief…losing a child is my awakening to the Unknown. I do know that there is something that is called ‘Mystery’ that knows the way to understanding if we are just willing to not tell a story of it being any different than what it is.”

She went on to say, “It is strange, but loss of this kind, if embraced, is truly the way of accessing something deep within us that would have never broken open.”

I could have distanced myself from many of these deaths. The night my Aunt died, I could have spared myself seeing her die. I could’ve stayed at home, not brought my Grandmother to say goodbye to her daughter, and just had a phone call to feel, rather than the aroma of death itself to haunt me. With many of the deaths since, I could’ve missed out on the last moments – I had all the best excuses in the world, but instead, I put myself right there, at death bed after death bed, for my own unique “near-death experiences.”

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Near-Death Experiences, but in a different way than most. More and more people are coming forward, sharing the depths of wisdom to be seeped out of NDE’s.

I have been having my own NDE’s. Although I’ve never died and come back to tell the tale, I have been “near-death,” as in at its bedside, at its feet, in its hours and weeks and months preceding, in its final moments, in its post-mortem rituals, in its mortuaries, crematories, graveyards, obituaries and Memorials – too many times to count now.

I have meditated at the bedside of agony. I have whispered to the dying. I have sang a Hallelujah chorus’ into Heaven for a Christian. I have held Shiva for a Jew. I have felt the arm of my dying Grandmother on my shoulder from the other side. I have conversed with old friends in my wakeful dreams.

These “near-death experiences” have been my awakenings, as the death of her daughter was my friend’s awakening. They have thinned the veil between life and death, scooped out my soul into a cavernous, porous, eager opening, and reminded me of Who I Really Am, again and again.

Memorial services have become my platform (bet you won’t see that on Ms. America’s docket!) – the place where I, melted down to my purest form of Being, pour out ladles of unencumbered truth, transparency, heart and wisdom I could only have reached in the soils of grief.

And so, today, as I shouldered my bathroom wall like a dear friend, weeping into its arms at the loss of Christopher once again, I find I’m not grieving in this hopeless, senseless, aching, depressed sense of old. I’m just grieving. Grief does not have to bear merely negative connotations. It can bear that ‘Mystery’ – that opening to the divine – if we let it.

I trust that Christopher is still with us. I’m confused, and still trying to wrap my head around the “story” of his death – his young age, good health, lack of explanation for his death, and his beautiful family left behind. But, I know he is still with me, and I am at peace with his death, because I can feel him conveying that message to me from within. Still, it hurts, though, still I ache, and this is par for the course, no matter how much I’ve faced death, how “at peace” I am with it, how enlightened I may or may not be.

For the last three years, I’ve often been afraid to share how I feel, like I’m doing right now…so afraid you were so sick of hearing it again, and again. Sometimes, I post on here, or Facebook, and feel like I can hear my friends’ moans, “Another death for Megan? Oh geez.” I think those are my own insecurities. In truth, I know few people who would feel anything but empathy for the profound prickers of pain I’ve been picking out of my knees lately.

I’m realizing now, that I am who I am for a reason. There is no one like me. Only I have had these experiences, and only I have handled them through this filter of “Megan,” the girl who loves hard, feels deeply, bears her soul honestly, and thus…experiences loss on a profound level, folding in the petals in grief, but opening them again and again each Spring.

So, I’m not apologizing for who I am anymore. These experiences have shaped me and taught me Masters-degrees of wisdom. I may grieve but that doesn’t mean I am “depressed” or that anything is wrong with me at all. It’s just a process, one that is required of, and owed to the honor of every soul we lose in this lifetime.

My NDE’s have given me so much to share…and while the “stories” we tell ourselves usually bear only negative connotations to death, dying and grief, I believe I am living proof that opening ourselves completely to the great mysteries of Life and Death, bears promise in either direction. Why should we embrace one, and shun the other? Both are part of our experience. Grief deserves time, attention, honor and embracing, and a willingness to sit at death’s bedside – to embrace the loss experiences in our lives – while painful, can also give us a glimpse of “Heaven,” the one that we find glowing within, when we, like statues, are broken open.

“What, Where, Who Have You Helped Today?!”

“Christopher’s Legacy”

Written 8-26-12

Last night, I attended the Memorial Service for Christopher Ya’ir Lane, one of probably a couple hundred people who attended.

The service began around five and didn’t end until after 8. There were so many souls, who were given a voice by Christopher, or reminded to use their voice in his care, and so they did use their voices last night in his honor.

I could almost feel Christopher standing over each one as they spoke, validating their voices, as he always did, pulling up a chair in the audience to give a resounding applause at their efforts, great or small, nodding at the MC, “Just one more…” after the twentieth, or thirtieth person spoke. He would’ve wanted every one of them to speak, to give gifts of words that birthed in their hearts and burned in the flames of grief and remembrance.

A strange sense of peace filled the air of Oak Creek Canyon, under the sycamores, as the candlelight bloomed glowing branches of remembrance to light our words at the mic. I didn’t expect peace, in a space filled with hearts ajar and open, salt still mincing into fresh wounds.

This loss was so sudden and tragic, so immense and far-reaching – as one woman said, “A man stopped me today and said, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.”

She replied, perplexed, “Who, me?!’”

The man continued, “Yes, you’re an artist in Sedona, right? Then you knew Christopher Lane? I’m from Albuquerque and we all knew Christopher Lane there.’”

The night began with songs and friendship, and then Christopher’s beautiful wife, Akasha, took the mic. We all held our breath a little, waiting to exhale at the sight of her – what would she say, how could she speak? Here, the counterpart of a conspicuous, vociferous beauty – just as breath-taking in her shyness, and the quivering pauses between her phrases. She struggled to find any words fitting of a man who spit them with fire and eloquence, power and purpose, but her words were perfect.

She began by sharing a drawing and letter Christopher’s 8-year-old son wrote for him…Daddy, I miss you, what was wrong with you, I wish I could just give you a hug, I wish you could still read me stories before bed.

That letter was the hardest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

As she read, I glanced at my husband, who knew Christopher much more as an acquaintance then a friend, and saw his eyes overflowing with tears. I thought of our two beautiful children, and the one blooming in my belly.

Then Akasha began to speak about her husband. Her words came in waves, and after each sentence, she inhaled and exhaled long deep, shivering breaths…

“This doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream, or a movie.”

“I can just hear Christopher now, ‘So I had to die for you to finally get on a mic?!’” We all laughed.

Then, she continued, “God, I was so lucky to be married to him. I knew him 10 years and nine months, and I was a princess for every one of those moments.”

She spoke of what a doting father he was, and really, he was. There are few men in the world like him, that open up the Pandora’s Box of the world for their children daily, conveying magic and mystery in the mundane, parenting through powerful grace, gentle devotion, and quiet strength.

Every word she spoke made me think of my own husband, because every word she spoke could also be true of him. He lives his life for the kids and I. He adores our children, and would hurdle planets and platoons to bring back any small piece of Heaven on Earth for us. He’s a Christopher sort of Daddy in his own way, and I have always been thankful for this, growing up with a Dad who provided more financial strength, then emotional.

Every one of Akasha’s words will stay lit like a flame in the window of my soul. But, this sentence stayed with me the most.

“I loved you so much, Christopher,” she said. “And if I could go back, I would’ve loved you even more.”

And if I could go back, I would’ve loved you even more.

For Kory & I, 15 deaths in 3 years has certainly been enough to make us cling to each other like jellyfish on a surfer’s leg. It’s certainly been enough to singe indelible impressions on our hearts, marking the fragility of life. We’ve attended Memorials for children, friends, grandparents, aunts, second Mothers, second Fathers – and with every one, we’ve been painfully reminded, in fact, drenched in an overwhelming feeling of thankfulness for what we have. We know better than most, how quickly things can change. I know regret in so many ways, I’m like a diamond expert explaining the 4 C’s – cut, clarity, carat and colors – of regret.

Akasha’s words made me grip my husbands fingers in mine tighter still though, and vow to myself – in memory of Christopher, in honor of a love that gave her power to stand at that microphone he had owned with such exuberance, after losing the love of her life –  to love my husband, my children, my anyone…more.

I’ve made an invisible list in my mind of how many different ways I want to live my life as a small tribute to him. I figure, if I could be half the human being he was in my lifetime, I’d be doing ok.

The words from one of his poems, which they shared a recording of last night, hit me, “No longer should we be allowed to speak to another poet unless we have answered the question, ‘What, where, who have you helped today?’”

That’s the basis of my new commitment to life. What, where, who have you helped today?

Christopher helped someone every day.

I help my kids every day, and my husband, and that’s a lot, but like Akasha, I look back and think, could I have done even more? I don’t know, but, I’m going to try.

When I got home late last night, I was reminded, even in all my immense self-doubt of late, that being a full-time Mom is a pretty amazing thing, too. I returned home to find my own little letter awaiting. My five-year-old daughter had written it while I was at the service.

I guess the real message is…do as much as you can, with whatever you have, wherever you are.

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If you do nothing else with your day (besides reading this post, thank you!) PLEASE watch this video – you WILL be inspired to live and love more. 

Christopher Ya’ir Lane’s Most Powerful Prose

Cancer SUCKS, But…

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Cancer sucks. In fact, if I were honest, and willing to be profane, I would give Cancer a solid tongue lashing right now. I would fling multiple curse words at it because it has burned its hot branding into the lives of my loved ones far too much in the last three years.

In 2008, Cancer began an endless stretch of its slimy paws so close, so encroaching, and so frequently into my life, it felt like it’s sole purpose was to greedily rape my soul and break my heart a million times over. As of just a few weeks ago, Cancer has touched, and killed, six close loved ones in three short years. All but one of them were under the age of 52.

But (yes, there’s a “but!”), with time, I was able to take Cancer’s “Pandora’s box” of pain-infested manure and work it compost for my life’s flower garden. For me, this practice brings purpose to pain.

At the time that my fifty-year-old Aunt (my Dad’s younger sister) was diagnosed with Lung Cancer in ’08, we were not very close. She had been a solid, staple figure in my life, but I had always ached to truly know her at a soul level.

Even in the midst of her chemotherapy treatments, biopsies, and a brutal battle for survival, my fears of the unknown – of death and despair, and the discomfort of trying to get to know her better – kept me from making time to get to know her. I am ashamed to say, I didn’t visit her once that entire year.

But, in early 2009, after a short remission period, the Cancer returned with a vengeance and finally kicked me square in the rear, hard enough to knock the fear right out of me.

Suddenly, I was overbearingly reminded of the all-too-familiar taste of regret – a feeling I had known too well after my two-year-old nephew died. I hadn’t seen him for two months before his sudden death – a regret I would live with for eternity.

What Would I Regret More? 

I was scared to see my Aunt suffering, but the question of regret tormented me daily. I wondered, would I be sitting at her funeral thinking, “I wish I had known her better,” or would I be weeping in the back corner because I had, well, finally found a way to know her?

My Aunt Debbie holding my daughter

I didn’t have much money, and I had a two-year-old in tow, but I threw out all my excuses, and finally went to see her several times before her death. The gas money to drive two hours to see her just magically appeared, and bringing my daughter with, which I thought would certainly be a terrible idea, actually created the best memories I have with her.

We only had three months together, but that was what her Cancer gave us…time. Death can come in so many sudden, inexplicable, horrific forms that leave us filled with questions and regret. But, Cancer almost always gives us at least a little time with our loved ones.

When she did pass in March, I made another choice to push past my fears, and go be with her, and her family, in her final hours. I whispered in her ear, “It’s ok, you can go be at peace now,” and when I finished the sentence with, “We will miss you,” it had a new meaning it wouldn’t have had a few months before.

After she died, I spent a week putting together a photo slideshow of her life for the Memorial Service – it was my small way of trying to honor her.

I grieved her deeply, and tortured myself slowly through the placing of the photos of her life.

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But, as I sat in the back of the Church, making sure the slideshow went off without a hitch, a pipe burst in my hardened heart. I wept profuse puddles of tears for what I had lost. I had found a way to know her – my only regret, was waiting ‘til the last minute to try.

I HATE Cancer, But…

I hate Cancer. I loathe it, despise it, curse it, bemoan it. But, it has swept me to the death beds of five souls to make last-ditch memories, swear my unending love, unleash my tears, and relish in final shreds of joy with each one.

I can’t really say Cancer has been a gift in my life, because, well, this is Cancer we’re talking about. But, I can say, with a great deal of inner work, I was able to transform my hate in Cancer’s aftermath. For those of us left behind, that’s about the best we can do, I think.

“Sorrow, fear, and depression are all a kind of garbage…You can practice in order to turn these bits of garbage into flowers. It is not only your love that is organic; your hate is, too. So you should not throw anything out. All you have to do is learn how to transform your garbage into flowers.”

~Thich Nhat Hanh, “You Are Here”

Are You Expanding or Contracting?

Are you pushing yourself outside your comfort zones? Are you expanding your heart and your spirit further into bettering yourself and others? Are you living in fear of failure, or pushing through the fear to see what’s on the other side? Are you willing to make mistakes, or do you stop yourself before you even try? 

This is almost a love letter to myself right now, because I need to hear this advice, so I’m going to give it you, in hopes perhaps my own psyche will absorb it by osmosis along the way!

It seems my natural instinct is to contract, although this instinct has only become more inherent in me since all these gobs of loss began in my life three years ago. I’ve been a bit like a turtle recoiling in my shell, believing that  things would be better in my safe zone within.

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Time spent turning within has certainly been necessary, vital, and thoroughly beneficial for the health of my soul, and I do believe that in order to change the world, we have to start with ourselves. But, there is also something to be said for turning without, for following the course of our instincts as they lead us to expand our lives, our futures, our dreams, our hopes, our simplest ideas of day to day “extraordinary ordinary.”

Expanding can be scary, because we may be called to expand in new directions that are unknown, thus uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and scary. But, what is life if we are simply a stagnant pond? What is life if we sit still, if we never move forward, into new unknowns?

I’ve been willing to move to new homes, start new lives again and again, rebirth myself through endless loss experiences. But, I’ve been terrified – blisteringly TERRIFIED – to expand fully into myself: to stand up and say, “This is why I’m here, I have something to share, I hope you can take something from me.”

I DID SOMETHING BRAVE AND SCARY

See, a few months back, right before I found out that I was pregnant, I did something big, brave, and scary. I thought about telling you about it…but, of course, I was afraid of failing in front of you (haha, there’s that old ego popping in again, petrified of being diminished in any way, large or small. Pesky bugger!).

I started to plan a workshop/seminar teaching a simple, intuitive process to finding peace in pain, that I’ve uncovered through all these experiences of loss and grief. I’ve honed this process as I’ve gone through all these losses, adding to it with each one. By the fifth devastating loss I had, I had fallen into a rhythm with this process which profoundly empowered me through all my subsequent struggles.I took a HUGE LEAP, and submitted a proposal for a Grief Conference, which pushed me so far outside my comfort zones I scared myself every day I was working on it. It was great! Exhilarating! Terrifying – in a good way!

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I pushed past all my fears that normally would’ve stopped me so many times along the way, and I did something amazing.

Then, I went back in my shell to hide.

WHY STOP THERE?!

I thought, “Who am I? Who am I to say I have something to teach anyone else? What will they think of me if I get up there and share my truths? I don’t have any letters after my name! I don’t know anything about the psychology of grief! I’m just a regular ole’ Joe who thinks she figured a thing or two out along the way!”

So, that’s where I’ve been sitting for the last few months. As I’ve simultaneously hibernated through the first tormenting trimester of pregnancy, I’ve also been sitting in contraction.

I’m not afraid of more pain, more hurt, more loss, more moves, more deaths, etc. I’m afraid that I might not do right with the gifts I’ve been given. I’m afraid I don’t have the worldly qualifications to stand up and say, “Here, here is my gift to you…take it, use it.”

But, isn’t that kind of dumb?! 

Last night, after a wonderful day in nature floating down the creek, soaking up sun and serenity, I was driving home thinking about all this…about how I had started to step out on a leap of faith and how death-defying that had felt, and how I had just stopped, and frozen, right on that cusp of something amazing.

Driving along, it hit me like a brick through the windshield. What was it all for – 13 deaths, four difficult moves, a miscarriage, financial struggles, and years of meditating, writing, reading, and soul-searching, digging for gems in piles of sewer spoilage – what was it all for, if I don’t do something GOOD with it?

bigevil600/stock.xchng

TIME TO CHOOSE TO EXPAND

This little method I’ve come up with is something that could bring great healing to many people – it is simple, profound, and a path to peace that empowers us to feed and heal our own souls without needing others to do it for us. It could help heal your pain from a loss of any sort, it could help you just figure out why you fought with your spouse yesterday, or why you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. It could help you make peace with a relative you haven’t spoken to in decades, it could help you find meaning and gifts in grief like I have.

But, only if I have the courage to share it…in person, in a room full of your bright, shining souls…willing to watch me fail, or succeed.

That conference wasn’t right for me, and I knew that from the beginning. But, I submitted the proposal because I knew I needed to develop the workshops and start offering them here, in my own backyard, on a smaller scale, where I can simply share my story with you, and hope you can take something from it.

So, I’m writing this, because it forces me to start expanding again. It holds me accountable to you, the beautiful souls who’ve come here to witness my journey and find something for yourself here. I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to keep expanding, but I’m going to try.

I’m so honored by you, by your presence here, and I’m terrified that I somehow won’t give you enough. I’m terrified of standing up in a room and telling you I have something to teach you.

But, I think I have to do it anyway.

__________________

Are you expanding or contracting? What are you most afraid of taking a risk on when it comes to your dreams? Is there ONE small step you could take to start pushing through your fears to find out what’s on the other side? Let me know what you find when you get there…

 

The Big News (Finally!)

Hello there, blogging slacker reporting in for duty!

In my last post, I told you there would be a BIG announcement coming soon.

It perfectly explains why I accidentally took a pretty long hiatus from the work I’ve been trying to do in the world here on this blog.

I was reading an article in a magazine at the doctor’s office recently and a line struck me – it spoke about all of one’s creative energy going to one project, and leaving little to give in other areas of life.

Well, all my creative energy has been going somewhere lately, that’s for sure!  And to a pretty amazing project might I add! One of the three best, most miraculous, life-changing, creative journeys of my life, in fact.

Yes, my creative energy has been creating…

I Confess, I Killed the Metaphorical Tea Kettle!

It’s taken me awhile to have the courage to write this post.

I have a horrific confession.

Do you remember awhile back I talked about my lovely little tea kettle in my post “Accepting the Unacceptable – Part II”?

I had not paid enough attention to my poor tea kettle, and thus a thick residue had built up inside her, which I was unknowingly serving my family in their brown sugar oatmeal and tea.

I used the sweet tea kettle as a metaphor for our unattended pain. Her unresolved issues were affecting my family (what were we drinking?!) just like unresolved pain within us affects our lives and loved ones, whether we see it, or not.

When we don't take the time to look within, residue builds up, and seeps into our lives.

At the end of my post, I made a bold conviction to pay more attention to her, so she could return to her rightful place as the Sole Hot Water Provider in our home, and maybe even move her up to the front burner!

I had left her on the back burner – a reminder that she needed attention, yet still I didn’t feel inclined to get my hands dirty, grab the baking soda and vinegar, and go at that residue within. She just sat there, on the back burner for days, and looked on longingly as I warmed my water in the big, bad…microwave.

It was much easier to just forget about her, and just find a new way to get my hot water.

But, one day, I put a pot on the front burner to boil some frozen peas for the kiddos, and walked away…probably to this computer to check this blog.

Of course, I got lost in writing as I tend to. (Insert sheepish grin here) I don’t know how many minutes passed, but then I heard a strange sound, and smelled a strange odor. It sounded like a balloon slowly fizzing its air out, and it smelled like…something was burning!

I rushed to the stove, expecting to find charred peas glued to the bottom of yet another ruined pot (yes, I admit, this is not the first time this has happened). Instead, I found…this.

Look what happens when we put ourselves on the back burner and don't pay attention! =)

I left her on the back burner, and she got burned.

The fire within literally burned her from the inside out.

Poor, poor tea kettle.

In case you were wondering, as beat up as she was, she’d lost her ability to whistle awhile back, so that’s why I didn’t hear anything before it was too late.

Now, I don’t know what to do with her.

But, damn, I’ve learned a good lesson about putting myself on the back burner, waiting ’til later to deal with the hard stuff, and making bold claims on my blog about how much I love my tea kettle and want to take care of her!!!!

I had to come and share my story with you, with a grin and a giggle, as yet another reminder to take time EVERY SINGLE DAY to put yourself on the front burner, go within, and look at whatever is there.

In the last three years, more oft than not, what was “there” was hard for me to look at. There was anger, regret, pain upon pain, sorrow and fear. Not so pretty. But, living with those things inside of me, eating away at my life daily, slowly seeping poison into my life, was more painful, more detrimental to myself and others, then doing the hard work of sitting and looking at the hurts, and releasing them.

1) Sit still. Be quiet. Close your eyes. Take three deep breaths in, and out, slowly.

2) With your eyes closed, gently bring your pain to the surface like a bobber on a fishing line rises to the surface of the lake.

3) Sit, look at whatever arises. Ask yourself why you’re hurting/angry/scared. Then, begin to peel back the pain like the layers of an onion.

When my Grandma died last year, I could not understand why I was so upset over her death. She was almost 80, had been ill for awhile, and was ready to die.

It wasn’t until I sat with the pain and asked myself in that still, quiet time alone, “Why am I so angry about her death?” Then, waited, to listen for a response from within…that I heard the answer that granted me great peace.

“I’m so angry she’s gone! But, why?! She was old, she lived a long, full life! Why am I so affected by this death – of all the ones I’ve had – hers made the most sense so far?!”

And I continued with this inner dialogue, “Why am I not mourning her like a Grandmother? Why do I feel like I lost…a…best…friend?”

And there it was. The truth that had been hiding under all my hurt, anger, and pain. I was not mourning a Grandmother. I was mourning a best friend. Losing her had been like losing any woman in my peer group who I call up for coffee and cookies on a Tuesday morning.

4) Give yourself permission to grieve.

As soon as I realized this, I felt a huge heave-ho in my soul, and a gush of a release of the pain. I gave myself permission to grieve her like a best friend. I didn’t need anyone else to give me this permission, or to recognize this and validate it for me. I did that for myself. And, in doing so, granted myself freedom. I was able to work through the grief, consciously, and move forward, treasuring the memory of a woman who I was honored to call a friend and a Grandmother.

5) The last step was finding a new way to meet for myself and others, the needs she had met for me.

So, in her honor, despite my tendency towards hermitville after all this loss, I forced myself to work on being a good friend to others, and creating more relationships like the one I had with her. I have also worked harder at maintaining relationships with my remaining grandparents – and creating “friendships” with them, too.

I believe my Grandmother is still with me, so I gave myself one last permission – to keep talking to her like I always used to. When I get quiet, and still, I hear her replying, “Hi Boobala!” just like she always used to. So, in truth, I have not lost anything in her passing – in fact, I have gained so much.

These steps apply to ANY “negative” feeling you encounter in your life – whether it is a deep, devastating loss, or a less intricate tangle with a co-worker that leaves you riled up at work. Whenever you feel “against” something, take a moment to stop and look within, and you will find the true source of your pain which leads to healing, release, and gives rise to move forward with better understanding of yourself and others.

Now, as for that poor tea kettle of mine, I’m at a bit of a loss. I think the metaphor must end now – because frankly, I think I’m just going to have to get a new one finally! I have definitely learned, though, to look under the lid every so often though, and pay attention to what’s within (and, um, pay attention to which burner you’re turning on before you walk away, Megan!).

This Post Is Not Going to Amaze You

Warning: This post is not going to amaze you, blow you away, unveil any startling information about life or death, or how to go at either. This post is not going to make you want to create a viral video and spread it across all the 299 social network sites you belong to. You will not want to like it, tweet it, share it, digg it, pin it, +1 it, Stumble or Tumble it, or maybe even read it.  

This, right here, is going to be a below-average, unplanned, spontaneous, barely edited regular-ole’-Joe kind of post. 

So, hold onto your socks, they’re not going anywhere. 

I’m a writer, so I have pretty high standards for anything everything I put out into the world that includes words.

This includes my Memoir I’ve been working on diligently for 1.5 years now, Workshop Proposals, Press Releases, website content, newspaper articles, contributing articles for sites like Wandering Educators, text messages, blog comments, Facebook posts, Pinterest posts, and…it includes this blog.

With every flashy would-be Blog Headline that passes through my mind, I pin it like a Pinterest pin on the bulletin board of my mind and ask myself one question…

Pulitzer Prize material, or not?

Ha! I’m just kidding!

My standards are kind of high, though. Someone once told me, “There’s no such thing as a great first draft, only great editing.” I’m a writer, so I know that all good content comes in the tedious task of working and re-working, fine-tuning, and fine-tooth-combing your work to make it as good as it can possibly be.

So, where does this leave me in the great post-something-once-or-twice-or-30-times-a-day Blog world?

It leaves me wishing I could write faster, edit with more feverish fervor, hire SuperNanny, win the lottery and just lower my own ridiculous bar so I can just step over it and get on with blasting out multiple amaze-a-friend posts many times per day.

But, every time I write to you, dear friends, I want to be profound, dangit! I want to move you tears, knock those socks off of ya right into the next room, urge you to do something about something, or simply sink you deeper into the seat of your soul as you read. That is my intention, every day (or every other day, or once a week, or once every other week, or as often as I can!).

Every day I check my email inbox to find a plethora of consistent bloggers (like this guy or better yet, this gal who’s preggo with numero quatro, homeschools, and still blogs every day) dumping yet another gift-wrapped, neat little bit of their being into my email box, all nice and tidy, pristine and pretty, looking quite nicely edited, and even with fantastic photos to go with…and I think, what the heck is wrong with me? Why can’t I do that?

I wish I could post more! I’m sure I could make a full-time job out of delighting and inspiring you daily, but, we all know, “real life” comes first.

These two.

And a dream for this:

And maybe this:

And in between, a dream to have just one person a day come here, and feel…something…feel known, seen, heard, understood, deepened, or dare I say, enlightened?

And, profundity takes time, and work, and thoughtfulness. I’m not saying those who produce multiple posts a day don’t use all these tools – just that I guess I move at a slower pace???

What’s The Punchline? 

All this being said, in this amazingly wonderfully blaise, inadequate, ill-formatted and unplanned post…

I am making plans for what I hope will be a series of Posts That Will Amaze, Stun & Shock You (oops, sorry, the overzealous Circus Ringleader in me just urped out there!).

They’ll be comin’ right up, hot and fresh, just as soon as I can take 42 hours to edit each one ’til it’s perfectly, tidily, primly, properly, proportionately prepared for you.

And The Moral of the Story Is (Because we always have to have a moral!)

I’m sure you can tell, the tone of my posts has changed. Don’t worry, I’ll get all serious and deep on you again soon! For now, and for the first time in three very long years of pure, unimaginable funeral-ridden hell, I am sitting back and soaking up the rays of joy that are spreading ooey-gooey-cheesy sunshine into every crevice of my life.

I worked VERY hard to get to this place – to be able to get up in the morning and choose to see the glass half full, instead of feeling the weight of lack, pain, grief, and sorrow defining my existence. It took a lot of work for me to pull back the edges of the black cloud over me, and search for a rainbow in the sky somewhere above it. So, I do believe a bit of “Just for the joy of it!” celebrating is in order for a time!

I’m looking forward to sharing my upcoming series on the gifts in loss with you soon. First, I’ve got a little joy calling me. I’m throwing a birthday party for my son – a birthday party! I haven’t enjoyed something as silly and inane as throwing a birthday party in A YEAR! Can you believe I’m over-the-moon about Traffic Signal Rice Krispy Treats and Grape-pinned Apple Cars?! This is miraculous in and of itself.

Every day, I’ve been waking up, choosing to live, “Just for the joy of it! Just for the joy of it!” For a girl who’s got as many funeral dresses as Katherine Heigl had bridesmaids dresses in 27 dresses, this is pretty freaking fantastic, I think. So, page views, take a break for awhile if you must, I’ll be sendin’ some more amazin’ your way soon. We’ve got recessions to beat, tragedies to alight, awakenings to unfold, soul food to crunch, and much more…coming right up, on a hot soul-plate of somethin’, as soon as I can whip slow cook up some more homemade profundity for you all!

They do say, it’s all about quality, not quantity, right?!

(Goshdangit, I just couldn’t do it – I simply COULD NOT put this post out there without some prissy, perfecting editing and some pretty pictures! Dangit! The Writer Within wins again!)