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.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Monday, January 2, 2012
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...
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...
Thursday, December 8, 2011
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.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
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!
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!
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Passion for Change
If you are living, and I am gone---then please feel free to put "Passion for Change" on my memorial service program. I love these words. Passion. For. Change. I first heard them a couple weeks ago. In my inbox. An invitation from Guinevere Stevenson...a talented new film director...and so...
Last Saturday night, the eve of Easter---I had the huge, crazy privilege of seeing, for the first time, a first-cut release private screening of "Passion for Change", a documentary about five national delegates to the 2008 Democratic National Convention. And one of them is me. There we were, tucked in the backroom of the most delicious, surprising Vincenzio's Italian Bakery. Eyes lifted. Hearts remembering. Tears flowing. While the Sicilian singer passionately serenaded diners in the next room we were awash in the screenglow. Mesmerized by the energy, the spirit, the hopefulness, the conviction, the action, the showing up, the jumping up, the dancing, the stepping in, the believing that we shared in this journey---all captured forever on film. There it was. My passion, larger than life. My passion, exposed. My passion, radiating from the screen.
There's always a risk when you show up, isn't there? When you truly put yourself out there. It's a vulnerability---much like what Brene Brown points to in her totally-hit-the-mark TED talk on "Vulnerability". When I said yes to being the film subject of this documentary---to have crew following me right into my home, my refrigerator and kitchen, I knew there was a risk. I knew I was letting go of control and opening myself to impact. I did it by choice. I believe it is what we are here for. To risk showing up. 100%. Every day. And truly step in with our whole being.
As I watched myself on screen----I saw me. Authentic and true. Even talking with my hands with a big chef's knife waving. Surrounded by family love. Eating sandwiches. Sharing beliefs together. Risking living and loving so the whole world can see...and be a better place. It's an honor to risk oneself fully. Many of us never accept this honor. I choose to risk my significance...and I'm absolutely convinced that it has made all the difference. It's like the wisdom of David Whyte. He said, "If you feel both fear and excitement, great! That means its your own life you're living...and not someone else's." It's an exhilarating mix...and I believe, the ride of a life worth living.
A dedication. I learned this at the feet of my Mom and Dad. Their passion (they wouldn't use this word----they're Norwegian Lutherans, afterall) for showing up and making the world a better place inspires me. One bunny cake at a time. One Habitat home at a time. One volunteering with the "sweet old people" day at a time. One mentored adolescent at time. One "Spit and Shine" day at your church at a time. One "Meals on Wheels" delivery at a time. One heart at a time. I dedicate this to you, Mom and Dad. Without your quiet, selfless example (which continues to this day) I wouldn't know my passion. My fire. My joy.
p.s. Speaking of joy, and since this is my Red Lips Red Boots blog, afterall---I invite you to hold the vision of this film being accepted by Cannes----and me, passionately attending with Guinivere and crew!
Last Saturday night, the eve of Easter---I had the huge, crazy privilege of seeing, for the first time, a first-cut release private screening of "Passion for Change", a documentary about five national delegates to the 2008 Democratic National Convention. And one of them is me. There we were, tucked in the backroom of the most delicious, surprising Vincenzio's Italian Bakery. Eyes lifted. Hearts remembering. Tears flowing. While the Sicilian singer passionately serenaded diners in the next room we were awash in the screenglow. Mesmerized by the energy, the spirit, the hopefulness, the conviction, the action, the showing up, the jumping up, the dancing, the stepping in, the believing that we shared in this journey---all captured forever on film. There it was. My passion, larger than life. My passion, exposed. My passion, radiating from the screen.
There's always a risk when you show up, isn't there? When you truly put yourself out there. It's a vulnerability---much like what Brene Brown points to in her totally-hit-the-mark TED talk on "Vulnerability". When I said yes to being the film subject of this documentary---to have crew following me right into my home, my refrigerator and kitchen, I knew there was a risk. I knew I was letting go of control and opening myself to impact. I did it by choice. I believe it is what we are here for. To risk showing up. 100%. Every day. And truly step in with our whole being.
As I watched myself on screen----I saw me. Authentic and true. Even talking with my hands with a big chef's knife waving. Surrounded by family love. Eating sandwiches. Sharing beliefs together. Risking living and loving so the whole world can see...and be a better place. It's an honor to risk oneself fully. Many of us never accept this honor. I choose to risk my significance...and I'm absolutely convinced that it has made all the difference. It's like the wisdom of David Whyte. He said, "If you feel both fear and excitement, great! That means its your own life you're living...and not someone else's." It's an exhilarating mix...and I believe, the ride of a life worth living.
A dedication. I learned this at the feet of my Mom and Dad. Their passion (they wouldn't use this word----they're Norwegian Lutherans, afterall) for showing up and making the world a better place inspires me. One bunny cake at a time. One Habitat home at a time. One volunteering with the "sweet old people" day at a time. One mentored adolescent at time. One "Spit and Shine" day at your church at a time. One "Meals on Wheels" delivery at a time. One heart at a time. I dedicate this to you, Mom and Dad. Without your quiet, selfless example (which continues to this day) I wouldn't know my passion. My fire. My joy.
p.s. Speaking of joy, and since this is my Red Lips Red Boots blog, afterall---I invite you to hold the vision of this film being accepted by Cannes----and me, passionately attending with Guinivere and crew!
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