CREDIT FOR IMAGE AND POEM ABOVE -
Katrina Plumb, Chief Poet and Inspirer at Writing Tank

Some people make resolutions, some people choose mantras – my years have themes.

I don’t make conscious decisions about these themes. I don’t really think about them at all. But for the last five years, around the first of the year, I’ll say something, or hear something, or write something, and a quiet little voice will whisper, “There is your theme for the year – beginning right NOW!”

As the end of 2011 inched closer, and 2012 peeked over the horizon and raised an eyebrow at me to say she was getting curious about what I planned to do with her, my thoughts turned to dreams.

My theme for 2011 was “Embracing my Inner Pollyanna.” The year had started with a fanfare of high notes; wonderful clients doing meaningful work, an inner circle of dear friends that included an amazing man I’d been married to for nearly 25 years and continued to love even after we separated, a relationship with a new love I thought I would happily spend the rest of my life with, a head full of ideas for bringing new life and light to entrepreneurism and a heart full of gratitude for all the love and possibilities I saw in my present and my future.

I’d spent much of 2011 on “dream work,” helping other people clarify and realize their dreams. I’d been training a group of Certified Go-Giver Coaches to use the Stratospheric Success Mapping process I’d developed, and Dynamite Live, an event I’d hosted in October, was focused on “putting your dream in drive and you in the driver’s seat,” including a Big Dream Gathering with Mitch Matthews.

As I cast my mind toward the next twelve months, I thought about my dreams – the ones I’d seen realized, and the ones I’d watched slip through my fingers.

My dream of “exploding entrepreneurship” flourished, but my dream of creating products went nowhere. My dream of having even deeper relationships with like-hearted people was realized in ways I could never have imagined, but the relationship with the one I had imagined to be my soul-mate soured. I’d dreamed of finishing a business book on my Blast Thru Coaching™ method, instead I was nearly finished with a book of pseudo-fiction that had nothing at all do to with business. My dream of speaking at an event that had been in my heart-space for four years came true, but left me empty. However, I hosted my own event, a dream I’d never dreamed, coming true in amazing fashion and touching many lives.

Sorting through – celebrating dreams realized, laying to rest dreams relinquished, selecting dreams worthy of future commitment – I began to picture each dream as having physical form. From that grew a post on choosing the dreams to keep in the “closet” and letting go of dreams that no longer “fit.”

And there was my theme for 2012 – “The Year of Dreaming True.”

Following my sharing the post and my 2012 theme on Facebook, I received this question from a friend and amazing thought-instigator, Katrina Plumb (who sent me a couple of challenges – one of which I’ve featured above.)

She posted to my Facebook wall, “I’m trying to figure out what you plan to do with dreams this year. So tell us, is there such a thing as ‘dreaming false’?” 

Katrina is a beautiful thinker and poet, she often hands me conundrums like glittering, tangled chains, and I can’t rest until I’ve straightened them out in my mind.  But this was more like a can of Silly Putty – it said “Here I am, DO something with me. I DARE ya!”

Can we have ‘false dreams?’ If not all dreams are true, then some dreams must be false, right?

To explore the notion of dreaming true or false, I had to examine my understanding of dreams – and my understanding of truth.

What does it mean to “have a dream?”

As in, “Last night I had the strangest dream?”

Or, “Dreaming my life away?”

Or perhaps we refer to the unforgettable line, “I have a dream!”

Do we mean dreams born of the sleeping subconscious mind, the waking semi-conscious mind, or the wide-awake intentional mind?

Sometimes those thoughts and ideas reach us awake, sometimes they wait until we relax our mental barriers and surrender to sleep. And sometimes we craft those ideas into visions and plans that we are willing to devote energy to bringing to fruition.

What is a dream if not simply a thought, an idea, a mental representation of something we believe is not presently real?

So what constitutes a true dream as opposed to a false one?

Have you ever had a nightmare? It’s just a dream, right? But it’s a dream you would never want to have come true.

Have you ever had an idea or a thought that wasn’t true for YOU? Something you knew was a leftover recording of someone else’s judgment, or a belief cultivated by society, or a deep-seated fear?

What is true if not what you choose to accept and to own?

And what is false, if not what you choose to reject and refuse to make a part of your reality?

So to answer Katrina’s beautifully illustrated question to me:

Do you really think the dreamer escapes?
Really detaches from egotistic
Energies and joins a great agenda
Accumulated by other powers, Up
Miles away, beyond time and distance,
FREE!

I think it is in dreams, all kinds of dreams, that we do escape our egotistic energies and our surface one-life-to-live agendas. I think that we are those “other powers” and it is in dreaming true that we join with our own divine agenda, take ourselves up beyond time and distance, and become truly free.

So what is a “true dream?” I think it is simply a thought, an idea, a mental representation of something we believe is not true for us now, but which we desire to make true.

What is a “dream come true?” I think it is the manifestation, the realization, the actualization, the awareness that what we desired is our reality.

I think that’s why we call it “living the dream.”

And I’m getting rid of a lot.

Of dreams.

Not because they are too big.

Not because they are too small either.

But because they aren’t right for me.

Here we are, about to begin another year. Arguably, we begin a new year every day. But we, the “civilized people of the Western World” have chosen to designate January 1 as the beginning of a New Year, and it’s as good a date as any to spend in celebration and contemplation.

(Side note: birthdays are also good. Sundays too. As are Wednesdays and anniversaries and days of no consequence whatsoever except that they are your days to do with as you choose.)

So, in this week of celebration and contemplation leading up to the magical moment when the clock is reset and time begins anew, I spent some time reviewing my dreams.

They looked a lot like my closet often looks – some spots on the rack crowded with bright colors and rich neutrals while other spots show gaps where favorite wear-so-often-they-never-make-it-back-to-the-closet pieces are supposed to be. Fancy-frillies are hung at the far end where they are seldom noticed, while walk-the-dog hoodies snuggle up to speak-to-roomfuls-of-people jackets and skirts.

I gave myself the same challenge I periodically use to clean out my closet – “If you haven’t worn it in a year, if you don’t like the way it looks on you, if it worked for that one occasion but that occasion won’t ever come again, should it be taking up space in here?”

When addressing my closet, that usually results in a storm of fabric flying from racks to boxes, shoes thudding into donation bins, belts and purses pelting down from high shelves to join them.

I’ll pause now and again, running my fingers over some beautiful thing before I reluctantly admit it just isn’t “me.” Or wiping a tear as I lay some cherished, but no longer useful, item in the to-be-donated box, remembering when I bought it, where I wore it, the emotional threads inseparable from the silk and cotton.

But the time comes – I have to let them go.

Because, really, that burnt orange shade is hideous on me.

That cocktail dress is pretty, but I don’t want to go anywhere that I would wear it.

That jacket looks good, but I’m always fussing with the sleeves.

That old thing really IS an old thing – it’s worn thin with frequent wearing and washing and no miracle will make it look good again.

When I purge my closets I let go of anything that doesn’t serve me, whether it fits me or doesn’t.

Time to do the same with my dreams.

That dream that someone else thought was perfect for me? Gone.

The one that was so bright and full of possibility, until it went through the wringer a couple of times? Gone.

The one I so wanted to believe was real, until I saw the “faux” on the label? (That’s okay for leather and fur, but NOT okay for dreams.) Gone.

All boxed up and ready for someone else to pick up and wear.

So what is left?

The true dreams. Not the dreams already come true, but the dreams that are truly mine.

Are some of them too big for me now? Sure. But I love them enough to grow into them.

Are some of them so bright and bold that I have a moment of doubt, wondering if others will judge me for choosing them? Sure. But I love how I feel when I wear them, and that is the only judgment that matters.

Are some of them a little revealing? Sure. But I have nothing to hide.

I’m keeping only the dreams that make me feel good, that make me feel like the me I like best. I’m keeping the dreams that make me feel like dancing, like running, like jumping for joy.

Everything else has to go.

Because when you choose your dreams, it isn’t about dreaming big.

It’s about dreaming true.

For you.

I wasn’t Jewish.

Or Muslim.

Nor were my parents atheists, not by any definition of the word.

We were Christians. We just didn’t observe the religious holidays associated with that faith.

My parents explained to me that it was because the observations – the rituals, traditions and religious rites – associated with the Christian holidays were adapted from the pagans.

Besides, they said, even if Christ had been born on December 25^th, we didn’t need one day of the year to celebrate his birth; they celebrated his life and death every day in everything they did.

I accepted that. But my child’s heart still yearned to believe in the magic of Santa and his elves. My storybook habit fed my imagination tales that ranged from the ironic sacrifices of the The Gift of the Magi to Jo March surrendering her one vanity in order to provide a fitting Christmas for her beloved sisters.

I couldn’t wait until I grew up and could have a tree of my own, decorated just the way I dreamed it. I would sit and watch it twinkle from my cozy chair by a roaring fire with a cup of hot cocoa or cider in hand. I pictured the friends who would gather, the songs we would sing, the laughs we would share. We’d pull taffy and make chains of popcorn and berries for the tree. We’d light candles and kiss under the mistletoe. Oh, when I grew up, I would have a Christmas that no one would ever forget!

And I did have many grown up Christmases. One year we even went out into the woods (well, not really, woods are scarce in Kansas so we went into the pasture) and cut down our own tree. Our big yellow dog, Saffron, went along and chased bunnies into the thickets and escorted us and our tree back to the car with a cheery wave of his plumy tail. I had parties, and friends. I had lights and laughter.

And I finally unwrapped the gift of growing up, a child who never had a Christmas.

I didn’t need Christmas. I just needed friends and fun, lights and laughter.

I didn’t need rituals. I just needed traditions of showing my love for the people who matter most in my life.

I didn’t need gifts. I just needed shared experiences, seconds glimpsed through a single lens by me and even one other person.

I had everything I needed. I always did. Christmas was just one way of experiencing and expressing what was already mine.

I love the beauty of the pagan rites, whether they are celebrated through the Christian interpretation or some other. They are expressions of the laughter, light and love that we all need to live. They remind us of our spiritual oneness and our spiritual wholeness. They speak to us of themes that are infinite and eternal – rebirth, giving and receiving, peace and lovingkindness.

But I don’t need them to experience my spirituality or to acknowledge the meaning these themes have for me.

I have said that I believe rituals are anchors – physical symbols and routines we use to anchor ourselves in the meaning that underlies the ritual.  They are only powerful when the ritual has meaning.

If the ritual is an expectation, of giving and accepting gifts, of cooking the feast and doing the dishes, of standing in lines and signing the cards, and sending polite “thank yous” for things we didn’t need or want -then that becomes the anchor. That becomes what follows us from holiday to holiday, gathering to gathering, tradition to tradition.

Having had my dreams of Christmases come true, I no longer count the day itself as special. I do, however, count the meaning it has to me as essential in the fabric of my life. I enjoy sharing the rituals of others, they speak to me because of my bond with the people celebrating them. But it is the bond that matters, not the ritual.

I was a child without Christmas, I am now an adult blessed with everything that Christmas stood for when I stood on the outside looking in.

Whatever ritual ties you to the experience and expression of peace and light and love – I hope you will celebrate it as an anchor. I hope that you will pin it to yourself like that post-it note of vital information that’s pinned to your bulletin board at home or at the office.

Gifts don’t need a reason or a season.

Because every season is a season of the heart – and the gift of your heart is the greatest gift you will ever give or receive.

I wish you happy happy, merry merry, joy joy, today and every day!

In a previous post, which included my answer to what The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy author, Douglas Adams, called “The Ultimate Question of Life the Universe and Everything,” I mentioned that we’d be revisiting the question, and the answer.

Over the course of his series of novels, Adams takes us on a hilarious journey with his unlikely hero, Arthur Dent. Dent is a survivor of the planet Earth which, we learn, was actually built as a complex computer to discover the Ultimate Question. Another computer, Deep Thought, had been built to determine the Ultimate Answer, and after seven and a half million years had reached a conclusion.

The Ultimate Answer, Deep Thought said, was 42.

When the beings who had set about to learn the answer protested that they didn’t know what it meant, they were told it was because they didn’t understand the QUESTION.

Earth was then designed to uncover to Ultimate Question, but before a conclusion could be drawn, the Earth was destroyed by Vogons. The beings seeking this Ultimate Question and Answer, which look exactly like creatures we know as mice, decide they don’t want to wait another eight million years and settle on an arbitrary question; “How many roads must a man walk down?”

So now we know that a man must walk down 42 roads – but we still don’t know which roads, or where he’ll end up.

As farcical as this may seem, (and as Adams no doubt meant it to be) it illustrates one of the greatest fallacies we ever buy into.

That fallacy is the idea that someone else’s answer is a solution for our problem.

I have had clients who just wanted answers. They wanted someone to tell them what to do: which of the 42 roads to walk down next. They wanted to use someone else’s magic wand to magically solve their own problems.

Certainly, I could give them answers. And they would be the right answers to some questions. But they may not be the right answers to the client’s questions.

In order to arrive at answers that are meaningful and applicable, we have to be asking the right questions. That’s why my process always begins with coaching (the questioning phase) even when I will be doing business consulting (the recommendation and answer phase.)

It might be an extreme example, but in my previous post I said “sometimes love is the only sensible response.”

That answer is true for me, it answers the questions I was asking at the time. (And I’ll be writing more about the questions I was asking and why that answer is so powerful and not at all extreme for me.)

But unless you know your own question, “love” might have as much meaning as “42.” Because without the Ultimate Question, you won’t know how to APPLY the Ultimate Answer, rendering the whole exercise as futile (and a lot less amusing) as Adam’s story.

Right now, many of us are  examining both life and business, gearing up for 2012.

I hope that before you look for answers, you’ll take the time to ask the meaningful questions. The results might be surprising.

I’ve been quiet lately.

There is precedent for that, but I’ll admit it isn’t a frequent occurrence.

The last time must have been when I was about three. So I don’t remember much about it.

But I’ve heard stories.

Mostly from my mother. She was there.

In her story, I was nattering on about something arcane (arcane, at least, to a grown up.)

She never did say what I was on about. For all I know, I was theorizing about “Life, the Universe, and Everything” even back then.

My mother must have found my theories about as meaningful as The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (in which, if you remember, the computer, “Deep Thought,” was asked to provide an answer for Life, the Universe and Everything and yielded an answer of “42.” More on that later…) At any rate, her motherly patience finally ran out.

“Dixie,” she said, (or at least this is what she says she said,) would you PLEASE say something sensible?”

According to her version of the story, I was quiet for some time.

Then, in a small voice, I said, “I love you Mommy, is that sensible?”

It makes a great punch line. For as long as I heard her tell that story, I’ve gotten teased about how, even as a baby, I knew how to wrap people around my little finger.

But I know me better now than I did then. And I think, just maybe, I gave it some “deep thought” and returned the only answer I could think of. The only sensible answer anyway.

Love, when it really IS love and not the things we often mistake for love, such as need, desire, security, ego, or other forms of attachment, is the purest, most transformative force we can access or encounter. Children know that.

Several decades later, I’m still contemplating Life, the Universe, and Everything.

I decided to be quiet until I had something sensible to say.

Here it is…

Sometimes love is the only sensible response.

Life happens. Return and reconnect to the heart of it.

Life changes. Hold tight to the love and release your expectations.

Life ends… No, truly it doesn’t. But because life as we know it can end – never miss a chance to speak your heart.

Even when you don’t understand the question.

Love is still the sensible response.

P.S. There is more to this thought. But it will have to wait until I sort it out.

P.P.S. Thank you to my friends and readers who have missed my voice and let me hear about it.

P.P.P.S. Yes, that somber tyke is/was me. Probably the only baby picture of me without a smile.

 

“There is a deeper wound when people don’t hear our words of affection. There is a greater loss when people don’t hear our praise. It’s a loss for them, and we’re diminished by it because there’s something… a certain level of grieving when we know that our expression of ‘I love you’ has fallen on deaf ears. That hurts at the soul level.”

Trey Pennington, From the Dynamite Dialogs (complete audio below)

 

As many of you know, our world is short a storyteller.

And all of us, his friends, fans, followers and family, are hurting at the soul level. Because we know that our expressions of “I love you” were not enough.

After Trey’s first attempt to end his life was made public, I sent him an email. We weren’t close friends, although we shared a stage and many core values, our paths did not cross often. But a story he told to me during a conversation we had while preparing to record a dialog for a product I was launching kept coming back to me. It was so poignant, so powerful and so clearly something Trey was passionate about, that I asked him to repeat it when we recorded that dialog.

It was the story of Amanda. A little girl he’d known at Hidden Treasure school, Amanda was considered “non-verbal/non-communicative.” And yet, she managed to communicate her feelings to Trey in a way that he never forgot.

I emailed him a reminder of that story. I said “people are trying to tell you something, are you listening?”

In the end, as you know, the voices in his head were louder than all the “I love yous” that were being shouted and whispered, emailed and posted. We were all “Amandas” – as he said in the dialog, “We are all non-verbal/non-communicative.”

I listened to our conversation again after a friend sent a DM on twitter alerting me that he was gone. I’d clicked through the photo album he posted only hours before and wondered what was in his mind. But as many have noted, the posts leading up to that morning’s decision indicated a positive outlook. I thought about how we weren’t getting his message and he wasn’t getting ours. Non-verbal/non-communicative indeed.

Trey was best known as a social media expert and advocate, and in the dialog you’ll hear his passion for that medium coming through loud and clear.

“Turning Communication into Conversation” with Trey Pennington

I woke up this morning with a post on my mind.

This is not that post.

I jotted a few notes about that post and ran off to meet with a good friend and mutual mentor, the savvy, talented and heart-driven entrepreneur and author, Tom Ruwitch.

(He heads up a boutique email marketing company called MarketVolt and has co-written a book called “Generation Big” and I call HIM whenever I get stuck on my communications strategy!)

I left that meeting pumped up and ready to be productive, with that blog post uppermost in my mind.

Then I took a little detour.

It’s a girl thing (I think for the MOST part it’s a girl thing anyway) but I do some of my best thinking sitting in one of those big massage chairs with my feet in hot water. So I took my trusty notebook and walked into a nail salon for a mani/pedi.  (for you non-believers out there, a manicure/pedicure is a well-known wizard’s trick to lift your spirits and pump up your self-esteem)

The televisions were on – a distraction for me since living without the noise and motion of a television screen has made me hypersensitive to one if it’s in the same room with me. (I grew up without a television and made the choice to turn mine off forever several years ago. I SAID it was so I could stay positive and productive, but the truth is that the remote that came with the new television was smarter than I ever hope to be!)

It was on a commercial, I had no idea what programming it was tuned to, so I settled back into the pummeling of the chair and sank my feet into hot sudsy water. I counted my blessings and opened my notebook. Ready to WRITE that post! (yeah I know, there are things called laptops, iPads or even PHONES that I could post from, but for thinking, I like paper and a pen I can chew on!)

So there I was. Feeling great about my productivity so far on this beautiful Saturday, treating myself to some pampering, and anticipating that I’ll go home with a great post, type it up at lightening speed and then relax in my garden with a good book.

Except the televisions were all tuned to the aftermath of the Casey Anthony trial.

I am not going to discuss our legal system. I’m not going to discuss the trial (I didn’t watch it, I read enough to make myself physically ill.) Nor am I going to discuss the trial outcome.

What stuck with me was the public outrage that the defendant and the jurors could sell their story and potentially profit from their part in the experience.

I heard a lot of talk about “there outta be a law.”

I didn’t hear one person ask “where is that money coming from and why is there a demand for the story?”

There ARE people willing to pay for that story (their views, book purchases and attention all equal money to someone) and it gave me pause to wonder why people are so drawn to these stories that there is a market for them.

I asked myself to keep my own biases out of it. To keep my emotional reaction out of it. I asked myself to just pose the question – “What value do people derive from seeing accused killers interviewed, from reading their books, or from listening to a juror’s version of the trial from the perspective of the jury box?”

Where is the value?

And, if a law to prevent people from paying them is in order, then I have to ask, “Where is the harm?”

Not, “is it RIGHT?” That’s my judgement, according to my values and my sense of highest right. No, by MY values it isn’t right. Nor, by MY values, is it right for me to feed on those stories, whether the content is given voluntarily or for pay. It violates my sense of highest right.

But laws are there to protect people, not to mandate that they follow MY sense of highest right or align with MY values (or any one else’s.)

So who are we protecting if we pass a law that no one tried and acquitted of a crime, nor anyone serving on the jury can be PAID for telling their story?

The other function of law is to establish guidelines for punitive justice. So if we were to pass these laws who are we punishing? The jurors? Why? What wrong did they commit other than to give up days of their lives and submit themselves to intense scrutiny and stress in order to perform a civic duty that many people do their best to dodge? The defendant? IF they are innocent (and public opinion and beliefs aside, legally a defendant who has been acquitted is innocent and remember this law would apply equally to those accused who had they sympathy of the public as well as those, like Casey and O.J., who don’t) so why are we punishing them?

On the other hand, perhaps there are people who have something to learn from seeing, hearing or reading those stories. We all learn from experience, and we can also learn from the experiences of others. So if there are people who would in some way be served by having access to the perspective of the defendant or the juror, and we cannot force these people to tell their story for free, then passing a law against paying them for their story is actually doing the public a disservice.

If the public doesn’t want them to profit from their experience all the public has to do is to not view, not read, not give it their attention. WE are in complete control, the purest form of majority rule. Why should we NEED to pass a law?

You can probably tell I’m still searching. I know I’m likely to get a lot of emotional rhetoric here – go ahead, vent if it helps you. But I suspect that a lot of the emotional rhetoric is the same as I was trying to quell today – the rational mind’s way of trying to distract us from the deeper lesson, to avoid challenging our own beliefs, searching our own souls, and to keep us from noticing that we aren’t always reflecting our highest self either.

Okay, the floor is yours. I will delete anything that is purely hateful or uses foul language. That’s just my sense of “highest right” not to expose myself or my readers to such content.

I’m going to head for the garden, I need to visit my “rose nymphs” and “daisy naiads” and reground myself in my own purpose and light. I hope each of you have a place you can go to do the same.

Here’s to YOUR highest self – and to you right to follow where it leads!

I’d rather have watermelon than ice cream. I prefer it to cupcakes. I’ll even choose watermelon over chocolate! (oooo -did I just SAY that?)

I’ll share almost anything (even ice cream, cupcakes and chocolate) – but it’s against my nature to share watermelon. (Even with the “Dragon Dog” who also loves watermelon – I know, she’s not your average canine.)

Most kids love July 4th for the fireworks. Believe me, fireworks are a BIG favorite with me too. (with a childhood nickname like “dynamite” you might expect that, huh?) But for me, Independence Day, a day we celebrate freedom, was a day I celebrated a different kind of freedom. There were picnics, with LOTS of watermelon and I was FREE to eat as much as I could get my hands on. So every July 4th, while the other kids were hogging the ice cream, cupcakes and chocolate, I got my hands on as much watermelon as I could and didn’t apologize to anyone for taking the last slice.

You see, I grew up with “watermelon deprivation.”

Okay, I made that up. It’s not a recognized form of torture or abuse.

But, my father didn’t like watermelon. Actually, he didn’t like any kind of melon. And my mother believed in serving what my father liked to eat. So we didn’t have watermelon very often.

You’d think, as a grownup, I’d buy watermelon year round. You’d think it would be a staple, that my shopping list would read “milk, bread, eggs, WATERMELON.” Right?

But the guy I married wasn’t a big fan of watermelon either. Not that he EVER suggested I shouldn’t buy it. It just seemed selfish to buy something he didn’t care that much about. (I didn’t even notice that I was making my MOTHER’S choices, not my own!)

Well this year, living alone for the first time in we won’t count how long, I realized that I still think of watermelon as a luxury, a treat reserved for holidays and family gatherings. Yesterday I did my grocery shopping for one and I bought a whole melon! It felt so decadent to buy a whole watermelon for just ME I almost put it back.

Tonight I had watermelon as an appetizer and watermelon for desert. And I didn’t mind that the “Dragon Dog” got a few bites.

If watermelon were currency, I’d be RICH! As of today, watermelon is no longer a “limited resource.”

It made me think, as I savored the last bite knowing there is still a full bowl of watermelon chunks in my refrigerator just waiting for me to get hungry again, about two things.

First, I thought about how easily we become conditioned to put our pleasures under the control of others. I’ve now spent more years as a self-governing adult than I spent as a dependent child. Yet, I’ve allowed the patterns of my childhood to dictate the pleasures I allow myself as an adult.

Second, I thought about how easy it is to share what we know is easily replenished. The “Dragon Dog” is lying at my feet right now, happily having participated in my after-dinner treat. We shared a ritual, she and I, that goes spirit deep – whether it’s called “breaking bread” or “sharing watermelon.” Sharing of what feeds us, at all levels, is the truest form of communion.

Which led me to imagine what shifts would take place if we always gave ourselves freedom to indulge in what we love – without looking to others or to rituals or to conventions for the permission to do so.

And what if we always shared –  of our food, of our material wealth, of our ideas and of our spirit, from a place of endless replenishment?

Because we CAN make that shift.

What “watermelon” have you been depriving yourself of enjoying and sharing? Please comment and let me know.

For an entrepreneur, it’s a new idea.

For a coach, it’s someone with a problem.

I’m both. I see LOTS of bright shiny objects. Two things that are nearly irresistible to me –  ”hey, can I run this idea past you?” and “I don’t know what to do, got a second?”

In any given day I hear one or both of those questions at least once. My knee jerk response is “SURE!”

You know where this is going, right? If I allowed myself to follow through on that knee jerk response every time I’d have a lot of clients (and prospective clients) calling me a jerk because I wouldn’t be taking care of THEIR needs. So when I get that knee jerk urge, I try to kick myself back into high gear on the work front.

Today I allowed myself to be sidetracked by private messages from someone in my “sandbox” of speakers, coaches, writers, etc… who was very traumatized by the choice of one of her friends. My instincts kicked in, I grabbed that bright shiny object and began trying to piece it together.

To add to my coaches’ natural temptation to coach, the situation touched my heart and a couple of old sore spots. I “couldn’t” leave it alone. It wasn’t like this person really NEEDED me. She has other friends who are closer to the situation, better able to speak to her distress, better suited to offer comfort and perspective. It was my OWN need that moved me to respond.

Interestingly enough, as I began to chide myself for giving my energy and time to someone ELSE’S drama  I recognized that my answers to her contained wisdom I didn’t know I had. There were my next three blog posts, a chapter that belongs in my book, kernels of truth I had thrown out with the chaff.

Not that EVERYONE will consider it wisdom. There is no “universal philosophy” and the more wise it is for me the more wrong it will be for some other people. But it was MY wisdom, gems I’d been mining for and had not yet uncovered. And I recognized power in it that might speak to others and help them uncover some gems of their own.

But then, there was also the hour and  half of reading, responding, detoxing, reframing… That wasn’t in my work plan, I had a full day of clients and projects and commitments - “shouldn’t” I at least have had the discipline to leave it until after “normal” work hours?

Didn’t I just let a bright shiny thing derail my productivity for the day? After all, posting to the blog was on my list of “to-dos” and here it is nearly 9PM and I’m just now getting to it. Surely that isn’t responsible “life balance.”

Depends on how I tell the story, doesn’t it? Either I let myself get trapped into a tailspin of drama/trauma, free coaching and emotional drain. OR I was offered a completely no-risk opportunity to learn from someone else’s story.

I actually received TWO huge gifts from that bright, shiny thing.

One was the “ah ha” moments of truth I had while responding to the messages. I’ll be unwrapping that gift for months, maybe years to come.

The other was a reminder that I control my energy. No one else. The amount and nature of the energy I give, and the amount and nature of the energy I let in. UP.TO.ME!

So there is the balance beam – fall off on one side and we miss the opportunity to dip into our own well of wisdom, to receive the gifts of sharing another’s experience. Fall off the other side and we step into the trap of giving energy without being mindful of our choice.

WALK the beam with sure feet and land the dismount and we have been gifted with insights, we have offered compassion, we have been true to ourselves, but we have preserved our own energy field.

Was I reaching for the bright shiny thing or reaching for wisdom? They look a lot alike. The difference is a mindful choice.

Yesterday I rescued a dragon in distress. Or maybe it was a damsel.

In truth, it was most likely a dragonFLY or a damselFLY. But it was most definitely in distress.

I had let my dog out into the garden for her usual morning ramble. She’d given fair warning to all the birds, sniffed the newly opened flowers, taken care of “business” and demanded to be let back into “her” house. And right on her tail (almost literally) flew this confused creature.

I left the door open. I tried to shoo it back toward freedom. But the silly thing decided that the window NEXT to the door offered the best chance at escape and began to beat its fragile wings against the screen.

Now I am fond of dragons (my dog is even dubbed “The Dragon Dog”) and count a fair number of damsels among my friends. So I wasn’t concerned with WHICH kind of winged beauty was dying to escape from my kitchen, I just wanted to help.

Of course, my attempts to distract it from its escape plan and offer an alternative exit route only panicked the poor thing. And I realized, to this tiny, beautiful creature I am the dragon!

Not counting the gossamer wings, this thing was no bigger than my finger. My entire hand must have looked like a moving mountain. What little brains it had were all in “OH SHOOT” mode. (Dragons and damsels don’t use “bad” language, I’m told.)

I won’t keep you in suspense. The story ends happily. At last, exhausted and possibly encouraged that the mountain hadn’t yet toppled onto it, the dragon/damsel in distress clung to my finger. I covered it gently with my other hand and darted out the back door.

I pulled the door closed with my toe (NOT as easy as it sounds) and uncovered my unexpected guest. It blinked at me. REALLY, I think it was saying “thank you” – and then it flew away.

All day I pondered how often we try to show someone an open path to freedom, to power, to success, to greener pastures, to somewhere they SAY they want to be. And then have had to watch them beat their wings against the barriers on the path they have chosen.

I thought about how often I’ve been the dragon, frightening or intimidating when I only wanted to help. And I pondered how often I have been the dragonfly in distress, frightened and intimidated by the friendly dragon who was only trying to rescue me from my own stubborn blindness.

There are so many lessons in this story – for dragons and dragonflies both. I’ll share a few.

If you’re the dragon -

Saying “I’m a friendly dragon” with fire trickling from your nostrils may not be very convincing.  Your dragonfly isn’t a mind reader, it won’t know your intent, it will only know what you say and how you say it. Be empathetic. Ask “how will this appear to a dragonfly?” – not “how would it appear to another dragon?”

You may have to be patient, difficult when you’re having to watch the dragonfly bruising its wings trying to be free. But if you just grab the poor thing by its delicate wing and take it outside chances are it will never fly again. Your dragonfly will have to tire of doing things its own way and you will have to allow that process to take place.

You may have to move slowly, even if 30 seconds FEELS like 30 minutes. A hand the size of a mountain moving at normal human speed is a MAJOR threat to a poor little dragonfly. Offer your help at the pace your dragonfly can accept, regardless of how badly you want to see it fly on its own.

You may have to give the benefit of the doubt. A distressed creature isn’t thinking rationally. So you may be tempted to say “You’re too stubborn and stupid to be worth saving! Beat your wings to ribbons, see if I care!” But you know that is just your frustration speaking. Your dragonfly is plenty smart (for a dragonfly) – its just not thinking at full capacity right now.

If you’re the dragonfly –

DO NOT PANIC! (good advice if you’re the dragon too, but dragons are less prone to panicking. More on that later…)

Seriously, no matter how severe your situation (or how malicious the dragon) panicking serves no purpose. Have a breakdown later – when you’re safe and telling your tale of escape to all your dragonfly friends. Right now, keep your wits about you and THINK.

DO NOT ASSUME! (and yes, I know how to spell ass-u-me, but it can also make you DEAD if you make the wrong assumption about a dragon.)

If you assume the dragon will eat you and you’re wrong, you’re going to die beating your wings against the window screen while the dragon wrings her claws in despair. If you assume the dragon is friendly and he isn’t… well, I’ll let you finish that story. Pay attention to clues, then go back to the last tidbit of wisdom and THINK!

STOP being stubborn and OPEN your eyes! If you’d just admit you MIGHT be wrong about the best chance of escape being through the window you might be able to see the open door. ‘Nuff said!

REMEMBER – that dragon didn’t graduate from dragonfly status into full fledged, firebreathing dragon extraordinaire without learning a few things. (What? You say dragonflies don’t grow up to be dragons? How would YOU know?)

Just because you can’t see the open door, or any other path to freedom, to power, to success, to greener pastures, to somewhere you SAY they want to be, does NOT mean you need to beat your wings to ribbons against the window screen. The dragon can probably offer many other possibilities and paths if you’ll only listen.

In reality, I think being a dragon or a dragonfly is situational.

I have dragons in my life. I am blessed to have MANY dragons who have come along to rescue me from shredding my wings.

I’ve also had the opportunity to rescue a few dragonflies. Some flew thankfully on their way, some determinedly beat their wings against the screen.

Regardless of your role, dragon or dragonfly, just remember – you were BORN to fly!