We gave my nephew a butterfly kit for his fifth birthday.  It’s a bittersweet present.  You watch your tiny larvae hatch, grow into caterpillars, go through a miraculous transformation, take their first flight, and then you have a choice.  Do you let them fly and be free, or do you keep them in their cage, have them longer and ultimately watch them die?

When they were young, my daughters decided to keep their butterflies, and feel the heartache of each life ending. My nephew let all but one be free.  And then deeply experienced the pain from his decision.

These little creatures have very little time on this earth: some species live a week or two; some a year if they are lucky to survive the increasingly difficult migration. It’s a poignant decision for a child to make, knowing that free butterflies live longer than captured ones.  

Don’t we all?  Yes, we should live as freely as we can.  We need to feel the fleeting nature of our own lives; not to despair, but to generate the courage to leave our cage and fly.

I recently attended a writer’s workshop, and was given the prompt:  If I let my life happen . . .

I couldn’t help but think of butterflies.
 
If I Let My Life Happen . . .
There is a butterfly on my shoulder.  Its wings open and close in my ear.  I don’t dare move. Yet, it’s not taking flight. It stays with me up and down the stairs. Not feeling captured or busy but entertained by my running.

Sunshine is a window away.  It knows its direction but won’t go without me. So he is patient.  And I hurriedly finish my work, shortening my list of to do’s enough to fly along.

We touch each piece of God’s beauty that offers nectar.  Feeling into the currents of warm air that take me higher.  No guide needed. Density below, warmth on my wings, and gratitude in my heart.  I take flight before life is over.  It’s fleeting but not too short. No sorrows. No words. No song. No need to despair.

The dust of color from my wings has worn off from full-contact living.  My antennas are slowly losing sensation.  My mouth is dry but smiling.  My flight is sporadic.  I fall away.  

I fall.  
I fly.  
Is there a difference?
Direction is subjective.
I have spread my wings.
My life is whole. 
​

There’s a big difference between looking through the glass at life and being ankle deep in it.

I just came back from one of those big trips you take when you want to feel alive again. You go not just to get a break from your own knee-deep responsibilities. You hope that by stepping away from your life, you will gain clarity . . . new energy . . . new perspective.

I knew it was time for this trip to Vietnam and Cambodia with my husband. I was starting to feel a comfortable distance from life. Running on autopilot; resting in the ease of routine and habitual choices; feeling victim to the pace of my days; procrastinating; observing my life rather than being fully in it. I even felt distant from my own heart.

So off to a far away land. Immediately the heat, smells, sites and flavors woke up my senses. And then my heart broke open . . . seeing the pain of poverty mile after mile . . . yet feeling the peace behind the eyes and the smiles of everyone in my path.  

Each day I had greater desire to get closer to the people, to be deeper in their worlds.  I would look out of the car window at the rice paddies as we sped along, watching the back breaking work of the straw hatted workers, curious about how rice is grown and harvested.  My desire for a perfect photo for my walls shifted to wanting to experience the feeling of being in the rice paddies myself.  I became obsessed with the idea.  But what was I going to do?  Tell our driver to stop the car and march out through the wet fields and saddle up next to a farmer?

Yes. That was what I was going to do.  We were on a small dirt road in the scorching heat of the afternoon.  I found the courage to verbalize my request, “Would it be possible for me to plant some rice?”  Our guide turned his head with a wide grin.  A minute later my shoes were off, and three dark faces with bright bright eyes were welcoming me to join them.  I slowly stepped into the slippery mud and sank to my ankles. A child like energy burst within me as I felt the mud between my toes. I was handed my own bunch of young rice sproutings that had been pulled by hand just to replant them again evenly in order to maximize the harvest. One by one I pushed the small stem deep into the clay like earth, being coached on the right distance between plantings.  The fully clothed ladies cackled under their hats. It was a joyful moment for all of us.  I could have stayed there all afternoon, ankle deep in life.

I’m back now.  Determined to feel the deep texture of my life and the hearts and desires of those in my daily path.  I’m done with the distance that makes us numb to others and keeps life safe and easy.


What distance are you keeping? Why? What might you gain by rolling down the window, getting a little muddy, allowing a new closeness in your life?

My initial reaction was, “I’m too busy to know.”  I didn’t say this out loud.  It felt like an answer that should easily flow.  And the too busy part . . . well, I didn’t want to whine. 

The question was, “What do you want to do on Mother’s Day?”  I have other questions also lined up waiting for an answer. 

What questions are you carrying because you are too busy to drop into that deep place of knowing?

In life there is always something making us busy.  For me the end of school year crazies are putting me in a spin.  But I don’t want to be too busy to know what I want in life.  I don’t want to be too busy to feel the sun, especially on days like today, when it’s begging me to notice it. 

I don’t want to be too busy to...
  Work on big ideas
Celebrate others
  Read
Start important conversations . . . and complete them
  Make love
Hear my child
  Care for my body
Stoke my passions
  Nurture meaningful friendships
Be playful
  Connect with the hearts of others along my daily path

Yep, that’s it.  That’s the answer.  I know what I want to do on Mother’s Day.  How about you?

Blessings,
Amy

It’s hard to predict when you will need to step away. I’ve never been good at anticipating it, but I know how it feels when it arrives.  It’s usually in moments of grappling, discontent, or stress that I’m triggered to step away, without even thinking about the destination. 

It can feel like fleeing, but this urge to move is really the need for new energy.  If you know what energy you need, you will know what direction to step. Sometimes we need to shift into calm. Sometimes we need energy that motivates.  What do you need? 

Step back and contemplate. Think deeply, carefully, and fully. Land in the parts of life you tend to push through, stuff down, or gloss over. 

Step into nature. My yoga teacher Charu Rachlis says it’s always there to help you find the most direct path to your highest self.

Step up and make a decision. Then wear it for a while and see what energy it creates.

Step out of your comfort zone.  Feel the surge of energy that comes from taking a risk, feeling your edge.

Step away, mindfully.  Just stop.  Or go.  Whatever you need to create space for new energy to come in. I stopped writing for a bit.  I felt the need to refuel that tank.  I just spent a long weekend with a dear friend. I needed space from my day to day life. 

And then there’s the Two Step.  I was in a cowboy bar in Dallas last weekend watching the leather boots on the crowded dance floor sliding, twirling, and stomping.  The Two Step is a rhythm of two steps right and one step left.  It’s simple, but requires concentration.  I gave it whirl and it was pure fun! 

When you aren’t sure what step to take, the Two Step always works. Move in the direction of delight! You will receive fresh energy, expansiveness, and a new spring in your step.

What three words described your 2013?  Quickly -- top of mind.  I'd love to know.

On New Year’s Eve, in a circle of friends and family, we took turns seeing what words bubbled up to the surface.  Challenging, exhilarating, progress, complicated, sunny, thankful, persevering were a few.

This morning my own fourth word came forward: Yearning.  Was yearning part of your year too?

Looking back, I had very specific chapters with very specific desires.  I also had an overarching fuzzy sense of yearning that I know sometimes felt restless or stagnant; other times it propelled me forward, even though I can’t name where I landed. Yearning can be intense. It produces energy inside of us that seeps into the world.

This week my yoga teacher, Sean Haleen, shared the yogic philosophy that we are constantly creating, sustaining or destroying. I started to think about which category yearning falls into.  

I believe yearning can hold any of these energies.  Looking back on your year, did you act on any desires that brought something positive into the world or brought good energy to those around you?

How much energy did you expend to protect or maintain something about yourself or something sacred to you.  Most importantly, can you see when going towards your yearnings were at the cost or destruction of others?

Let me give you a simple example. This week I had a huge yearning to clean, purge and start fresh in the new year.  I became more and more intense as I pushed my daughters to be a part of the one-day house cleansing.  It was a very real yearning that had been brewing within me.

My youngest daughter knows when this yearning surfaces and always asks that I at least let her shut her bedroom door while she cleans (so she doesn’t absorb my energy). I couldn’t help myself.  I had to check her progress.  I knocked to ask permission.  On her dresser top, she strategically piled a bunch of her stuff onto a tray.

I eyed a hammer and gently asked, "Aria do you need this hammer or can I take it downstairs?"

She barked back with a twinkle in her eye, "Yes I need my hammer to hit you over the head when I don't like your parenting style!" 

My desire to create a fresh start, was actually more destructive than productive. The only thing I was creating was stress in my daughter.

This is a natural time to start moving your yearnings forward with fresh hope and energy.  

My wish for you is to live out your yearnings in ways that feel empowering, purposeful, fun, and brave . . . to live out your yearnings in ways that mindfully feed life around you and nurture what you treasure most.

Blessing in 2014!

This week I decided to try a new recipe. That’s as far as I got.  As soon as I started thinking about the time required to find one, my chest tightened and I headed for my To Do list. Eventually I came back from Trader Joe’s with my usual arsenal of dinners for the week.

It’s a funny thing - how we define Time Well Spent. It’s very personal.   

We all know someone (or we are a person) who:

• Delights in experimenting in the kitchen
• Exercises more times in a week than most do in a month
• Alphabetizes her spice rack with glee
• Creates purposeful, playful, and present time with their children
• Passionately burns the candle of their career climb
• Meticulously designs the details of their home, their wardrobe, or yard
• Has an insatiable appetite for books
• Always remembers the birthday, writes the letter, reaches out, makes time for a coffee
• Has a disciplined practice for centering in prayer, meditation, journaling, or solitude

You get the idea.  We allow ourselves some activities more than others and the guilt free list tends to be short.  It’s fueled by our values ~ what is a worthy endeavor, what brings us satisfaction, how we define accomplishment, what adds to our own sense of self.

l left Trader Joes determined to break my patterns.  I headed straight for Bed Bath and Beyond, where I bought kitchen organizers.  Rearranging an unexpected corner was a gift of calm. I allowed myself some time to find a few new recipes that felt good to make. Today I finally started to help my daughter with a garden she has been requesting for weeks.  With each activity I gave myself permission to enjoy, take my time, and be present.  It was true Time Well Spent.

At this point in our evolution, with all of the economic and technological advances in our society, researchers predicted we would be enjoying significantly more free time.  Yet our culture spins unnaturally fast on a scarcity model, where free time is rarely free from priotizing, justifying, or micro-managing.

There’s no one right definition of Time Well Spent.  However, I believe there is a universal gift we receive in expanding our definition: new energy, new experiences, new learnings, new joy.

What would you like to add to your guilt-free list?  If you need encouragement to spend this time, reach out to the seasoned artist, designer, athlete, gardener, or entrepreneur that you know.  Listen to their authentic enthusiasm.  It will help you be open to new possibilities for your own.