It was a rare peaceful moment.  All the day’s work was neatly stacked on my desk and in my mind.  The driving was over. Although dinner was in front of me and my daughter and a friend were madly baking in the kitchen, I found myself sitting on my bed, chatting with a friend behind a closed door.

Our conversation veered from decisions and stresses to emotions and desires. Then Jenna said, “I just want to live a life with peace for my family and for me.”  

Yes.  The sentence sunk in and settled deep.

There is so much buzz about happiness right now: choosing it, raising it, hardwiring it; but I’m voting for peace. Peace has a different quality about it.  It’s a bit more weighty.  I imagine grounding in peace, like lying on the expanse of sand at Ocean Beach.  

We continued to toss around the complexity of our lives and it became apparent to both of us that you cannot chase peace.  The very act of pushing your way towards it removes the prize.

The times when we most intensely seek peace is often when there is an underlying change that needs to happen.  The focus of my decade of corporate change management work was always to move people and organizations through a change as fast as possible with minimal disruption.

But the more I focus on personal change, I understand that sitting in the space of disruption is meaningful time spent, as unpeaceful as it feels.  

This week I spoke with author Dr. Susan Plummer about her new book Deep Change.  She outlines a fascinating seven-stage process on the journey of deep personal change. Right smack in the middle of the journey is the shift of The Stilling:

“Where we arrive at the threshold between our known selves and world and what can feel like nothingness, with no new horizon in sight, suspended between two ways of being. In this state we wait, with our imaginations stilled, open to the unknown yet unaware of what is to come in the future.”

I breathed a sigh of relief while reading these words that put shape to a nebulous unsettling space.  Peace percolates from within our place of deep knowing. You can’t race to or push through or chase after it. Connecting to your powerful inner rudder requires stillness.

And then with your compass in hand, peace can mean action: big, bold, uncomfortable, risky action . . . that embraces the change that's been brewing and brings you that freedom known as peace.

We all have it.  That part of our lives or ourselves that we look at . . .  over and over again.  It’s a place of question or discontent.  It’s a place of focus, but not clarity. And often, it’s a place of limitation.

Have you noticed the more intense you are about finding clarity, the more elusive it can become?  So you take a step back.

Summer is a natural time of year to give ourselves a little more space to see things differently. Did you hope for a new angle on an old part of you while you were poolside, or beachside, or lakeside this summer?  Did being in nature help you to feel more expansive?

I always take my daughters to Pennsylvania to be with my family.  I purposefully didn’t bring my laptop, took a break from my blog, and went with the intention to break some cycles and get a fresh perspective.  

Creating distance from our swirling cycles can be the break we need.  But I learned from this summer, that stepping back isn’t enough.  

You know those moments when you are trying to take a picture of what’s in front of you and you can’t fit it in the frame of your camera?  You zoom out, step back, and then surrender to the fact that what you are experiencing can’t be captured.

A few weeks ago my sister and I took my parents to New York City to celebrate their wedding anniversary.  No matter how I tried, I couldn’t capture the immensity of the cityscape, the energy of the lights at Time Square, or the impact of the 9-11 Memorial.  Life in front of me was always more expansive than my lens.

I was thinking on the train ride back about the desire I’ve felt to expand my perspective of my own life.  I was reminded that no matter how much distance we give ourselves.  No matter how many angles we try to create by flipping the situation, there is still a frame we are working within and it gives us limits that become our world. 

On the last day in the Big Apple my daughter showed me the nifty panoramic button on my iPhone just in time to get a shot of the freshly scrubbed Grand Central Station on its 100 year anniversary.  It’s a very cool technique that requires you to be very still and slow as you sweep your camera across the full horizon in front of you.  

I am ready to put down my camera now.  Summer is wrapping up.  It’s a natural time to dig back into life, but I don’t want to become myopic.  Let’s remember to:

• Shift your eyes from the object you are focusing on to see the edges of habit you are operating within.

• Keep stepping back in order to notice when your back hits a wall of limitation.

• Then hit that panoramic button to find a more expansive horizon of possibilities.

• Remember that what life presents to you is more than you can ever capture.

It happened.  My 12 year old daughter and I were standing at the bathroom mirror together getting ready for the day and I saw it for the first time.

“Eva, I think you are taller than I am!”  I knew it was coming, but it still took me by surprise.

As well did her response, “Yes Mama.  I’ve known for about a month, but didn’t want to tell you.”

A sweet moment of wrestling with growing up, shifting relationships and vantage points. The momentum of life.

I had to wonder what about me invited this milestone to be tucked away. Maybe my wet eyes every time we watch home videos or my promise to be able to always pick her up.  Surely I have many subtle actions trying to keep her little.  

Then I started thinking about my relationship with myself. I’ve done my own growing this past year and haven’t claimed it.  I’ve said yes, when I naturally would have said no.  I’ve taken some risks. I’ve asked for help.

When we follow the traditional exercise of forward goal setting, we miss an opportunity to look in the mirror and see the growth before our eyes.

I just came back from an amazing weekend with the poet David Whyte.  He so wisely shared, “Solid ground is the meeting between what you think is you and isn’t you . . . A narrow definition of self gives us a narrow place to stand.”  

How can you expand the ground of Self you stand on?  Take a look at how you’ve grown.  Give yourself more than a minute. Maybe light a candle, pull up a calendar to review the months of your journey, and honor your own momentum. What would you like to claim?  Send me an email !  I would love to stand next to you on your solid ground, gaze at your beautiful reflection and smile, “Yes, you ARE taller.”

Last night my sister and I talked over dinner about how it is becoming harder to look in the mirror.  It is an exercise I try to do with compassion, but often wish for a dimmer switch.

On my way home, I drove past Victoria Secret in Union Square and had three bigger-than-life images, blond, all-American, dimple clad, full lipped, cleavage baring beauties staring me squarely in the eyes.  For the first time, I looked at these industry standards of beauty and realized they were closer to my daughter's age than mine.

It put me into a slight tail spin of panic . . . sadness . . . depression.  And then there was the invitation.

How am I going to embrace beauty in this next chapter of life?  

We obviously need to redefine beauty as we age.  And embrace it.  Maybe for the first time.  

Our reflection has been a constant companion from the time we learned how to curl our hair to covering our roots.  It’s an exercise of seeing our beauty between our blemishes, finding our unique stamp of feminine, and receiving each new line as a gift of life lived.

As much as I want to refocus my lens, I really want to invite in a new reflection of beauty.  It can best be seen from our connection with ourselves and the world, rather than from our mirror.

It's an exercise that would serve my daughters as much as myself.

How does your beauty come to the surface?  Through your laughter perhaps?  Your love?  Your strong sense of self?  Your passion?  Your ability to help others feel their own?

I invite you to see your beauty touching the world around you. It’s a powerful reflection.  

As you grow in your awareness of your own beauty, hold up a mirror to help others catch a glimpse of their own.