Fully Present

Hi, everybody. I am writing this blog post from the Wired Lounge at Kripalu Center for Yoga & Health in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Management, and presumably the majority of guests staying in the dormitories and private rooms here, frown on the use of portable electronic devices. For me, however, the retreat experience has less to do with yoga and Swami Kripalu than it does with meditation, contemplation, and the creative process that inherently springs forth from such mindfulness. Here I sit, with a few other kindred spirits, creating an experience that works for me. Part of the R & R experience this weekend, unlike a typical speaker program, has been to participate (or not) in certain group activities such as lectures, hikes, meals, and classes. I have done none of the above. My purpose in booking this last-minute retreat was to garner some reflective time in a safe, nurturing place without breaking the bank. Kripalu's guests are graced with a sauna, whirlpool, healing arts, great food, and expansive grounds. At 6:00 this morning, I signed up for a 9:30, two-hour, intermediate, roundtrip hike along Kripalu's extensive trail network. Within an hour of our departure time, snow was falling heavily and the fog had settled in around the base of the mountain. The weather didn't necessarily dissuade me, but the thought of trooping around with a group of hikers did, and I felt my enthusiasm waning. I'd promised myself I'd do a few things this weekend: I'd use the sauna and whirlpool, I'd consider getting a massage if the price was affordable, read, take some photographs, hike. The hike was the last promise, and I knew that if I blew it off,  I'd feel I cheated myself. It occurred to me that I could still go on a hike (this isn't my first time here), solo. I went back to my room, donned my long Johns, my flannel socks, ski pants, vest, hat, boots, and in a flash I was transported back to weekends I used to spend with my young family in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Dressing for a day on the slopes was an intense affair, one that involved layers of clothing, equipment, arguments, tears, and work. (At least my dry drunk self invariably viewed it as work.) Today, of course, I realize that I didn't know what I didn't know back then, and I squandered away some mighty fine opportunities. As I slipped effortlessly into all my winter gear this morning, I thought back to those winter weekends at Waterville Valley, those two youngsters who are all grown up and chasing lives of their own now, and I smiled, because even though I can't change the past, I am fully present for today.

Leaving a Heart Print.

I am sitting on a northbound USAir flight bound for Boston, Massachusetts, on the last full day and night of 2014 (without question, the best year of my life). I wasn't supposed to be on this flight until Friday, January 9, 2015. Obviously, something went very wrong, or very right, depending on your point-of-view. Quick backstory. On Sunday, November 9, during the last leg of my epic month-long, cross-country journey, I met a gentleman at a church breakfast in the hills of Tennessee. This man and I connected in a powerful, kinetically-charged, five-minute conversation. Over the course of the next forty-five days, we corresponded frequently via email, text messages, and telephone conversations. I received flowers for my December birthday, and greeting cards for major holidays, all of which delighted me. It had been a long time since a man paid that much attention to me romantically. When he offered to fly me down to visit him after Christmas, I gladly accepted. Our face-to-face meeting in the Charlotte, North Carolina airport in the wee hours of December 27 was childlike and joyful. We did some really fun things during my stay including checking out campers for a possible road trip back to his Colorado birthplace in the spring; we revisited the church where we'd met and connected with members of the congregation; we lounged lazily that same afternoon, drank tea, giggled, and listened to music; we went to the movies, held hands, and went out to dinner afterwards. All these things made my heart open, sing, dare to imagine, hope, love. So, what went wrong?

While the outside picture of us, our unique coupling, looked good, the private conversations between us, revealed denial, addiction, darkness and fear. The loving, compassionate, starry-eyed me that I brought along continued to love, to shine, to hope, to speak the language of the heart, but that light was no match for the layers of denial that dis-ease had left in its wake, a soul sickness that I have come to recognize all too well. Out of respect and safety for my own sobriety, my recovery, my tender heart, I intuitively took my leave early Monday morning. As I write this blog post, my heart is heavy. I can't save anyone but myself. I knew, in advance, that the fairy tale romance would, undoubtedly, undergo major and stiff revisions, but I never imagined that denial's dark underbelly was powerful enough to send me packing.

I left my heart print.

Peace

Hi, everybody. Today marks the end of the second full week of cross-country journeying for me, and the effects on my soul, my psyche, and my life have been profound. Due to the speed at which I am putting down the miles, however, I suspect that the real changes and impact won't come until I am back home in Rhode Island, on or about November 15. The initial whispers from my heart tell me that I will never be able to come back and ground myself in my old life again. I have seen too much, and more importantly, I haven't seen enough. The original hunger that launched me on this quest has not abated, indeed, it has only grown larger. On the other hand, my heart longs for connection, deep and powerful connection that only coming home, coupling with another, making a commitment to find common ground, dreams, and purpose can deliver. I am unsure which of those two roads, or a different one entirely, that God, the Universe, and my angels have in store for me. For today, however, my heart is open, the road is long, and the opportunities to be of service are endless. Peace out, my friends.
Love, Carol

It's Your Life

A few years ago, it occurred to me, in a stunning and humbling moment of clarity, that I was waiting for someone else to show up with the key to my life.

As a single woman, I was seeking a partner with a big life. In my mind, big life was not necessarily synonymous with big money, big house, or big car. Big life meant that I wanted a partner whose life was filled with passion, purpose, meaning, and depth. I wanted to be transformed, and carried from my own so-so life, into someone else's purpose-driven life. What the Universe provided me with, however, was an opportunity to experience, and utilize, my own sense of lack as a vehicle for transformation. In short, so long as I sought, outside of myself, that for which I desired, I would continue to attract that missing piece in others. And while I never thought of myself as a woman seeking rescue, that moment of clarity was a game changer. I discovered that in order to find people who led deeply passionate and purposeful lives, I had to become a vibrational match! 

The Universe wasted no time delivering direction. Almost instantly, I was given an opportunity to attend a class at the Rhode Island School of Design, aptly called, "Become the Art Director of Your Own Life." From the first class, I began a process that continues to this day, of creating my own big, rich, passionate, purposeful, meaningful life. And lo and behold, now that I have taken responsibility for that creation, now that I am an energetic match to all that I seek, I no longer have to look outside of myself for the key.

Going Out Onto the Limb

There seems to be much talk these days of courage, specifically the kind of courage that it takes for me, a 59-year-old woman from New England, to embark on a month-long trip across this great country of ours, taking pictures, selling work, meeting new people. What does courage mean to me, and how do I manage courage, because certainly the flip side of courage, for me, is fear. How do I practice fearlessness in the world?

For a young girl growing up in Bristol, Connecticut in the 1960s, fear commanded my life. I had great difficulty even going into the market. This fear of walking into places followed me for some time into womanhood. (The early manifestations of agoraphobia, perhaps?) Today, I can walk into rooms, buildings, new communities, and smile, introduce myself with confidence, and extend a hand. Is that courage?

Traveling down interstate 90 west, with speeds of 75 miles per hour, with tractor trailers all around me, and having to pass. Is that courage?

Walking into a meeting in South Dakota surrounded by people who don't look, or talk, like me. Is that courage?

Embarking on a month-long trek cross-country with nothing but a map, a camera, a few changes of clothing. Is that courage?

The answer to all of those questions is yes. And the only way I learned to be courageous was to practice fearlessness in all aspects of my life daily. When I learned to lead with love, courage grew exponentially.

Wherever you are today, go out on a limb, onto the limb that is your life. You don't need to travel across the country to practice fearlessness. Practice it right where you are. Do one thing today that scares you, and then do it again tomorrow.

When you lead with love, fear vanishes.

Love, Carol

Wait For It

Quick story.

Much of my trip has been pre-arranged, at least the route part of this cross-country trek of mine. Barring snow, and the closing of northwest sections of Interstate 90, I have pretty much ascertained, in advance, which towns I'd be stopping in. Nevertheless, I have left room for the unexpected, the unplanned, the uncharted, and it is when I travel with an open heart and an open mind, without my agenda, that wonders unfold. Without exception, the Universe's plan for me is always infinitely more colorful, wonderful, and magical than anything I could have thought up.

Example.

When I woke up in Elgin, Illinois on Thursday morning, I knew I wanted to find the 7:30 meeting at Advocate Sherman Hospital before getting on the road for La Crosse, Wisconsin. By the time I took my seat in the conference room of this fabulous medical facility, literally hundreds of geese, egret, and heron had set down on the hospital's 15-acre geothermal lake! I had to resist the urge to leave the meeting, run back to my car, and grab by camera. Another member reassured me that the birds would be there when the meeting ended. Not so.

By the time the meeting closed, the birds had taken flight. No more bobbing. No bird calls. The lake was still. I wanted to curse my luck, but I knew that other photo opportunities awaited, so I grabbed my camera anyway. When I left that facility four hours later, I did so with some wonderful images, albeit few of waterfowl.

So be it.

Fast forward to yesterday's unplanned visit to Falls Park in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. After checking in with Taylor Fox, my Airbnb host, he urged me to check out a greeting card shop downtown, and while I was down there, he suggested I visit the falls. Here's where the Universe's plan for me trumped my own: geese, hundreds of them, bobbing, squawking, all around me! Despite slippery quartz rocks (and me in flip flops), I walked out to the ledge as far as I could safely, and sat down a breathe away from these fabulous creatures. What a thrill to be close enough to almost touch their fat underbellies as they took wing right above me, and to feel their swoosh just overhead as they became airborne. I even cried out in glee, "Thank you!"

So glad I waited for it.

Linger longer

Early last night, after checking into my apartment in La Crosse, Wisconsin, for the night, I decided to head into town for a meeting. Not knowing my way around, I gave myself plenty of extra time to find the meeting place. Driving down the street, not too far from my apartment on the Mississippi River, I passed this handcrafted, well-lived-in birdhouse. My muse told me to stop and take the picture that she had already conjured up in my mind's eye. Fear said, "Better not. You'll be trespassing, and you know what happens when you do that." Fear won out, ever so briefly, and I kept driving, but not for long. Seconds later, I made a hasty K-turn in the middle of the road, and returned eagerly, to capture the moment.

I parked the car, grabbed my camera, jumped out, and took the shot. At that moment, I knew, intuitively, that I had to be on higher ground for the shot to work, for the Mississippi River to be glorified in the background. So, I did what any self-respecting photographer would do---I climbed onto the trunk of my car! From that perch I snapped away, and ultimately walked away with this image and several others.

The lesson is always mine, and for me, on this trip, the message that I've learned, and hope to convey in my work, is linger longer. Wherever you are. Whatever you are doing. Be in the moment. Be present. As poet Mary Oliver writes, and I so often quote, "Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it." Even though I am breezing through towns across this great country, paying homage with one-night stands, make no mistake, I am missing nothing. This was never intended to be a sight-seeing tour. The sights I am seeing may not be the popular ones, the ones people seek out on vacations, the ones advertised in travel brochures, but the insights from lingering longer over the ordinary, the mundane, the discarded, the overlooked, are powerful.

I wish you time to linger longer today and every day.

Love, Carol