I felt like a kid in a candy store.
Arriving to help my friend pack up her office in preparation for a move, I encountered two rooms with wall to wall book cases. This was my idea of heaven. My conversational skills receded as my head tilted to browse hundreds of titles lining the shelves. So much knowledge! My curiosity and delight threatened to take over.
I got a hold of myself. After all, I had a job to do.
I was there to corral a fellow book lover into letting go of a lifetime of really cool books. To release a multitude of journals, notebooks, and workshop notes. Ouch. That’s the thing about downsizing. You can’t take it with you. Well, you can take 10 tightly packed bankers boxes. A treasure trove of delight awaiting a new home.
As books were being offered to me, I realized the book addict in me was being tempted.
I got my head clear and activated my purpose for being there. It wasn’t so I could “shop.” After two days of organizing, packing, tossing, and donating books, one room was clear. With a plan and a sprinkle of hope that one day those other shelves would be emptied, I headed home.
Taking only 3 books with me. Wait, I meant 4.
With one being mailed to me. Okay, 5. And 3 photos of books I have to order. And 8 books to pass on. A few things for Soul Sanctuary. One new journal for some special person. And a really cool workshop handout. That’s it. Scout’s honor.
Here’s the skinny on those 3 books.
I put the yoga book away. Very interesting, but I thought I’d wait ’til I returned to practicing yoga. The Egyptian Goddess? I peeked, but I’m not so keen on diving in yet. That will take some attention. I have a pile on my shelf where she went.
Why put off exploring this beneficial wisdom?
I discovered the answer by reading the third book cover to cover.
Light bathing on my deck the following afternoon, surrounded by birdsong and breeze, I devoured this small gem. They say don’t judge a book by its cover, but I did grab this book because of its title.
The War of Art.
Cleverness intrigues me. And it was a small book.
It was a good thing the sun was shining on my comfort and curiosity. Because the author, screenwriter Steven Pressfield, calls it like it is. He offers a map to bring creativity into form. Taking your art – painting, writing, musical composition, entrepreneurial pursuits, or [put your art here] – and bringing it out of the realm of idea into material reality.
He challenges the artist to create consistently and with a diligence I’ve never achieved. And now I know why.
Pressfield distinguishes a profession, such as me being a psychologist and a mother, from a professional approach to creating art.
Even reading a few pages about what this means is enough to offer a mindset intervention. Yet, perhaps not quite sufficient for changing a life long pattern of being an amateur artist.
The magic word in this book? Resistance.
Page after page. Example after example, he describes the resistance which lies within each of us. Ready to strike with a healthy dose of self sabotage, distraction, doubt or any of those internal obstacles which inhibit success.
Resistance crashes dreams. Sometimes before they get lift.
After a while, I stopped reading as an “artist” and saw the influence of resistance across so many areas of my life.
This tiny book was a lovely wake up call. Kind of like an artistic bitch slap.
It stings a bit, but it’s a good sting if your creativity longs to express more fully.
Just when my cheeks were red and sore, I got to the good part of his map. I’d hate to spoil the end of any book. Let’s just say any artist who mentions resistance, resilience, and creativity along with angels and the muse has got my full attention.
I’m still a book lover. Piles tend to manifest in my home as if out of thin air.
They are artistically arranged in every room, bringing me great pleasure and a nugget of wisdom any time I wander into the open page. I guess that makes me a “professional” book lover and seeker of knowledge.
As for the artist in me. Well, she’s still an amateur.
An amateur who is appreciating the artistry and creative capacity of my inner resistance. I’ve got a lot to unpack and toss here. Downsizing my resistance so I can upsize my professional engagement of the muse. Sounds like a map I can follow.
Moral of this story? Good things happen when you clean your room.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Are you prone to procrastination? A recent study from Bishop’s University in Canada suggests that procrastinators may have higher levels of stress (no duh). And a potential for lower levels of self-compassion. Ok, that makes sense. Increasing self-compassion helps you recognize the downside of procrastination (and other kinds of “resistance”) without getting lost in negative rumination and emotions. Increasing self-compassion may help you decrease stress, disrupt negative self-view, and support positive behavioral change.Sounds like a map you can follow.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.
“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.
A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.” And he calmly parked much farther away. As we walked to the entrance, I asked about that statement.
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
