Pleasure Activist

You know when you have a really satisfying conversation?? One where you connect and connect some more and say, "Oh yes...and...!" Recently, I met a new friend through synchronous means. 

Let me pause for a moment---and say that synchronicity sounds random. It's not. It's actually something very cool that we can all ride. Here's what it takes: It starts with noticing the little curiousity in you. Noticing when something in you says, "Oooooh, look at that!" Or, "Ohhhhhhh, wouldn't it be cool if....!!" This is a little like a dog, sniffing. First one good scent...then oooooooh, what's that over there on the hydrant! Then a passing dog pulls sway. You get the picture. (Another more poetic friend of mine calls this, "Following the fragrance of your desire." Love that, too! Choose the metaphor that best fits you. Dog or flower! Now----that's fun, but not enough. After the noticing comes something that makes all the difference, ----it's action. And here's where we humans often get stuck. We think, "Oh, that would look funny!" Or----NO ONE does that. Or, "Seriously, get a grip! Do you think they would like to talk to a stranger with an urge?" The answer is...you'll never know til you try! So----the next step requires something we're all born with, but may be rusty at using. Courage. That's it,----the courage to take a risk! So----let's review. You've got the noticing...followed by the urge...and you take a dash of courage. Now---do something! That's it. Just do something. Give yourself permission to experiment a little---and see what happens! Maybe they will think you're crazy. Maybe they won't respond. Maybe they will be your new best friend. Maybe they are the missing link to your business. You'll never know until you try! (Thanks mom---I hear your voice here!) Oh---and one more thing. Notice NOW how FUN this is! Really! Notice the energy and the juice and the OMG kind of adrenaline. Because now you're really LIVING your life!

Well...recently I did that. (Actually, I do it a lot these days and wow, is it a blast!) It went like this---I have a supervisor in my coaching certification program, assigned to me. I went to his website--and discovered lots of connections between us (always wonderful to find, isn't it?) And...as I looked at his website links I found the name of another person with whom I shared a bunch of connections...and there it was, the urge to connect. To a stranger. And so I did----sending him an email, sharing my curiosity. Within minutes, there was his response...and so much more we shared, including Our Whole Lives~Sexuality and Our Faith---the fabulous sexuality/spirituality movement I'm a part of, and write for and truly passionate about! He suggested we connect by phone. Which takes me back to where I began.

As we talked on the phone, in that fun new discovery way, sharing our passions and what we are up to in the world he exclaimed, "You are a Pleasure Activist!" At first I was taken aback. Wow. Whoa! Seriously?! And yet---I knew that this naming of me was spot-on! Stated more clearly and strongly than I ever had known/seen. I do believe that our senses are divine. Gateways to All That Is. I do celebrate pleasure! That moment, at my kitchen table, thousands of miles away from this new friend---I received a new understanding of me. Which of course, would never have happened...had I not gotten curious, noticed, followed my urge with a dash of courage!

So I invite you!

Sniff.

Notice.

Follow.

See.

Experiment.

And let me know what happens!

p.s. There's more to the story. It's about my next book, "Juicy Prayers". To be continued!

Planting

I've been planting. Don't know when I started to plant, actually. Ten years ago with my first coaching course? Almost two years ago when I answered the "call" (yes, it really felt like this---divine and mystical as a new friend leaned over her suitcase in the front hallway of an Alabama Bed and Breakfast and said, "Lynn, I'm in a program I think you'd love") to leap into the Coaches Training Institute's  (CTI) Leadership Program? The day I realized I wanted the whole enchilada---CTI's juicy, spicy Life Coach Training, too? The day I did something about it, signed up and began flying hither an yon (all beautiful locations---all succulent opportunity for this red lipped red booted adventurer!) to experience full immersion coach training courses? The day I hit the pause button because my partner was sick...and needed me near? The day that post-healing, I "began again", with a new wave of passion? The day I "graduated" from all the training last September? The grateful day near Thanksgiving when I committed boldly to one more step, the icing (and of course, I wanted the icing!)...and I officially enrolled in CTI's rigorous six month Certification Program. Or this Tuesday, when I officially began that journey?

Yes...dreams...seeds...being watered and fed.

This site has likely appeared dormant.  That's what happens after planting. It's all underground, and frankly, looks like nothing. Worse still, looks dead. Ahhhhhh, but we all know better! We know that it is in the spring that the shoot bursts forth. One day, flat earth. The next---kabam!! Thrusting that is unmistakably bold and beautiful.  I'm very close now. I can feel all the energy in me lining up as I embrace all my clients. I can feel the nourishment coursing through my veins, my heart, my mind, my spirit. I can feel me growing in huge leaps and bounds. It's exciting and exhausting. And...it's exactly where I need to be...living my life...on purpose.

My coaching doors are flung open...and the weather is good!! (They actually aren't doors---they are phonelines. Open and available for you or those you know might feel this "call" to engage me as their coach. And answer it! )

Here's to us all---planting and soon blooming, bearing fruit and harvesting in no time!

With deep gratitude to all planters who have gone before. I stand on your shoulders, indebted to you always. Grateful for your compassion, interest, love, care and steadfast encouragement.

Tabula Rasa

A brand spanking new year. A blank slate. I remember in college first hearing the fancy phrase, "tabula rasa"----and the idea of a blank slate got a real name. Oh yeah, baby. Immediately, I loved it. I loved it and knew it was the way I preferred to live. How I like to see a movie (knowing nothing...awash in real time.) How I read a book. (I know some prefer a glance at the last page---I'm simply not one of them!) To me, blank slates are alive with delight, possibility. I think there's a little edge of excitement/danger there too, that I like. Truly not knowing creates a wild adventure. Again, my preferred way to live.

Juicy opportunity exists in this blank slate. Yet I/we forget. I fall into rutted living. Routine roteness. It happens to all of us. The slate, oh-so-laden and oh-so-familiar. Yet, as humans I know we're wired for something else. We're wired for breakthroughs that return us to Blank Slate Being. We respond to events. To calendars. To tragedies. To pain. To ritual. To grace. We open. We pause. We Begin Again. A New Year. Poised on a precipice of time----we are anything but rutted. Not yet.

I glance up. A wren camouflaged in the white aspen bark flits. I see it. My seeing is the gift. I feel myself attune, boldly present for more against the brilliant blue sky. There's another. Oh my---there go two, no three more. Now I can't take my eyes off them.

We twenty first century humans greet each other in the new year...wired for connection. We step, just a little, out of what we see as "ordinary" time. There's a sincerity. A true desire here. We "get" that something is possible---and we speak of it and for it on behalf of all beings. With fireworks, toasts, rituals---we kiss the possibility of our collective blank slate. We bless it. We name it. Sounds primitive, yet it may be some of our highest functioning. What if we really believed it. That this year---2012, holds all that can be. Jubilee. Hope. Love. Connection. A New Way.

Here's to your blank slate. Today. This hour. This moment in which your heart beats, your fingers feel, your skin warms, your ears catch a faint wound. Your eyes see flitting...moments ago unseen. This gift of life---yours and mine---pulses. And pulses some more. Whether we notice it or not. Flowing blood and air, nerves and chemicals, water and life, streams and consciousness. To be here to witness and participate on this blank slate day at 10:57 in the morning of January 2, 2012 makes me grin. It's a fresh book. And you are in it too. Let's turn the page...and...

Free Cappucino

At the gas pump, the sign said "Free Cappucino with fill." I was on my way to my haircut where I'd be served coffee, so I didn't need any.  Yet...hmmmmmm, here was flash of opportunity to brighten someone's day. Looking up, I noticed a young hispanic man in the flatbed of his pickup truck, working. I walked over grinning, and asked if he'd like a free cappucino. His face let up. He jumped down. We strode into the gas station, beaming, with a purpose in our step. Cool! We were up to something! When we arrived at the fancy cappucino machine there was the taped up sign, "Not working." Oh well, no problem we both agreed---we already felt great. As we neared door the cashier asked what happened. We told her---and she said, "Oh no---it's just the mocha that's broken!" Now there were three of us up to something! Back we went. Mission accomplished...we parted. One with coffee. One feeling the joy of giving. One who caught the wave. 

Popover

In Minnesota two weeks ago, on a chilly fall day, having buried my dear friend's momma, we arrived back in her childhood home. To life without her mother.  It was there that I got the call from my momma and heard her say, "I'm cancer free!" With tears streaming down my cheeks, I shared the news (mindful of their oh-so-fresh loss, wondering if I should) and my dear friend and her dad, the new widower, cheered. Right there on the day of their loss. Right there in the kitchen I grew up in. They cheered for my mom. 

Because I was unexpectedly in Minnesota for the memorial, I was near my parents' home. Within an hour I was with them in their cottage home on Green Lake, hugging and crying. We celebrated that Thursday night at the Swedish Inn in Center City with what's affectionately called "Cheap Chicken"--- quarter fried chicken, real mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans---and popovers the size of momma's head all for $3.50. There was even an old woman playing the accordion for tips! When I mentioned to our teenage waitress that my momma just got the news that she's cancer-free she looked right at momma and told her how happy she was for her. My momma said, "You're gonna make me cry!"...and then the tears rolled. Dad was beaming at her side. A few minutes later, our waitress appeared again and said, "The owner wants me to to tell you that your dinner was paid for." More tears.


We still don't know who paid for our supper. Was it the owner (if so, thank you!) or another of the many friends she was hugging and reuniting with after months of reclusive living? We may never know the answer to that question. But---what we do know is this: it is in the sharing of all of life---the sorrows and the joys---that we unleash a flow of humanity and possibility that is far beyond the wildest imagining of our shuttered selves. 

Ginger Snaps

A pause in this glorious fall day. Music undergirds this moment. Creating a pulse of joy. A strum of action. I just came from the dentist.  Good news and bad. Looks good---and I need to floss. Now, as someone who has been a health educator, and who is now a life coach, I'm embarrassed to admit that this is true. Flossing in the land of good ideas doesn't do much for dental health. And I know it. So, it's time I come clean! I know we all have zones like that. The zone of "Oh yeah baby, that's working and I'm loving it!" And the zone of  good intentions, which is really the zone of possibility. Of greater health. A zone of calling to be/do/become an even more powerful, beautiful and delicious version of ourselves. I'd like that---and I'm guessing you would, too.

Floss.
Be.
Dance.

This is a good habit waiting to happen. The simplest two minute a day habit. I know it will take more than imagining it as a good idea. So---I commit. Out loud and in public. With the music strains now punctuating my words with a bold beat: I will floss. Once a day. And you?? What's calling your name? The thing you know that will take two minutes/day or less---and make all the difference in your life?? Name it. You could even audaciously declare it right now in the comments. Join me!

Time to for me to get up out of this chair. To go get the floss. To put it in its new special spot. To fuel the action. Oh yes----and there's one more thing. I'm not doing this so that Janine (my patient hygienist) doesn't scold me. (Although big thanks to you for the nudge!) I'm doing this because I want to live to 100, play with my beautiful grandchildren (which are pre-twinkle, I'm imagining)...all the while munching crisp apples and ginger snaps!  Laughing, grinning, alive and we know it! Now that's floss-worthy!

Alive In My Boots

It's been months since my last post on Easter's Eve...awash in passion...and dedicated to my momma and dad.  Hours later, on Easter I got the call. Momma in the ER. Life and time stood still. I stopped dead in my tracks. Everything changed in that instant. Those who have been there know. I summoned all my courage. And grace. So did momma and dad and our family---instantly knit closer by this news. I showed up with and for it all, and for that, I am grateful. Life forever changed. Blogging stopped.

Silence.

Four months lived. Inwardly. Expectantly. Hopefully. Living here and there. Dancing with fear and peace. All of you who have walked in these shoes know. The shoes point in one direction and one direction only. Sometimes, I forgot that I had shoes. Sometimes I walked in momma's shoes to find my way back to compassion. Sometimes I put on my big girl boots and led. Sometimes I tucked my shoes under the bed and crawled in. This journey into the Mystery is not for the faint of heart. Up until now, I knew that my parents would die. Of course. But I didn't really believe it. Not with all my degrees, or evidence of other's parents passing. Nope---not my beloved momma and dad. My magical thinking swathed in waves of heartlovefantasy had us really living on forever, thank you very much. That was the ending I thought I preferred...up until now. Now I see that this hour is all that any of us have. The rest, complete fantasy. Unknown. Just as unknown as whether momma  (or you or me) will have the gift of the next hour. So in this hour---I choose to break the silence, and come clean.

True confession about my silence: Momma told me that she and my dad print out every blogpost I write and save them in a binder. Yes. Wow. This, too, stopped me dead in my tracks. The irony is not lost on me---the very one who wrote about showing up, risking, having impact, passionately leading a life worth living. To be this seen and known and loved and held and tenderly preserved by my parents makes me weep. This is how true love shows up. Printer, wrinkled hands, a 3-hole punch. A binder. Messy and vulnerable. The challenge and blessing of seeing, and being seen.

I vow to show up more fully---even if and especially because my momma and dad are watching.

So here it is: Dedication #2 to Momma and Dad. You are my sunshine. Both of you. Dad, as you wake up and say, "Just another day in paradise" as the sun rises over the lake streaming into your cabin. Momma, as you battle your cancer with grace and gritty courage, fighting with every cell of your tiny little body for your precious life... as you near the end of chemo...and glimpse the possibility of the light of your life rising over the lake once again. Here comes the sun!

Dead in my tracks was OK for a time. But now, I'm alive in my boots.