“Hati… hati”

| LOCATION: in the garden at my bungalow in Amed, Bali overlooking the Java Sea |

“Slowly… slowly.”

They tell me this in Bahasa with careful caring eyes as I “jalan jalan”–journey.

It is significantly more work to cultivate and practice simplicity than it is to “acquire and fill up” our time and space.

Simplicity requires slowing down.

When I came to Amed last year, I was healing the intensity of a powerhouse year. It worked wonderfully.

I make a practice in my life of “not going back,” though.

So as I came to Amed today, I had wondered all along why I was coming again to where I’d already been.

Met by the staff at my bungalow with the love and greeting of long-missed family, and frangipani flowers arrayed on my bed in a giant fragrant yellow heart with pink blossoms spelling Welcome in the middle. I was awash with joy in their bursting smiles.

It was a few hours later that I felt… what?

Sitting on the crisp white sheets now, careful to not disturb the sweet flower heart that takes up half the bed, I stare out into the garden, sounds of geckos and frogs calling in the early evening. It is the deep quiet that catches me. Without trying, everything has slowed. I’ve slowed. Sitting amidst the simple life not fixated on squaring every corner, fixing every pothole, or enforcing mosquito-free zones.

Even the wifi is down tonight, reassuring me that life is securely beyond my control as always, and it is time to Let Go, Carmell.

I get the clear sense in only a few hours here, that I have not come back, but rather returned after my initiation.

I am ready for a deeper silence this time. A measured clarity of my life as it is now. Being schooled in balance and discipline between the water that flows over and through every part of life here, and the lava running a constant fire beneath my feet from the moment I stepped foot on this island.

I’m right here.

#lifeschool
#everyoneknowsBalidecideswhetheryoustayorgo
#Iamherefornow
#simplicity

Relocation

| LOCATION: Lying on a bench in the Starbuck’s in Chiangi Singapore Airport waiting for 7 am |

As I prepared to be out of the country again for several months with the loosest of plans, I kept feeling the pull to stay home.

“Your bed is SO comfortable… It’s the only thing you miss when you’re gone.”

Or the little half-thoughts, “There’s so much to do with your company. So much easier to stay on track if you’re just here instead.”

“Cozy……”

“How much less stressful will it be–no packing!! Everything you need already right here. No getting ready to sublet. You’re right at the crunch-time of your rebrand, you could just wait–”

“How many hours of flying?!!”

A dear friend said last week, Carmell, you’re living the life so many want to live. And I asked him, Really?!

The truth is, every great kind of life requires sacrifice of some sort. And from what I’ve learned, that ALWAYS includes sacrificing comfort.

From the outside, our life may look like business as usual or it may appear glamorous, but if it is something great, you will find sacrifice in it.

I don’t use this word lightly. I’m not a martyr or a victim.

I choose in.

It took only 7 hours into my 30 hours of flying–I was somewhere over the North Pacific toward Russia–that I felt the shift. The return of my hard-won love affair with Relocation.

Leaving where I am for something new again, struggles and challenges in the simplest daily needs, wonder and creativity off the charts. The anxiety (and exhilaration) of not knowing.

I write this as I made it by minutes onto my Tokyo–Singapore leg, then spent the last 4 hours sleeping on the Starbucks sofa from 1:30-4:30 am waiting to check in for my 7 am flight. Last leg 😉

We all long for home. But that’s not the same as comfort. And confusing those two might keep us comfortably stranded on a tiny familiar island for years or decades, dreaming and never doing.

#adventuroussoul
#relocation
#agreatliferequiressacrificingcomfort
#lifeartist

A Year That Answered

| LOCATION: Alive and happy on the corner of 3rd and N Street |

Six years ago.

Moments like this saved my life. It’s a simple picture with the biggest loss of my life happening like a raging underground river barely beneath a very thin surface.

We think we know who we are, what we are doing, where we are heading…

But what we know is just the safe zone we call “right now.” We can pretend we are one thing. We can try valiantly to remain who we think we are. We can be so clear on where our life is taking us or where we want to go.

We are not a book to read the same stories out of to ourselves at bedtime. Even our history changes as we change.

The truth is, life is a mystery living itself out from inside our bodies and souls. Simultaneously heartbreaking and exultant, the victor and the loser.

We are all blind authors.

Zora Neale Hurston wrote, “There are years that ask questions, and years that answer.”

Rilke wrote, “Learn to love the questions, and live them…perhaps someday you will find yourself living into the answers”

I love the woman named Carmell sitting here in this sunny Sunday morning bed, and looking back at my own tragedy beneath the surface of six interminably short years.

I am sure that is an answer.

A Sort of Balinese, Zen-Buddhist, American Thanks-Giving Prayer…

| LOCATION: Relaxing at Menari Coffee on the side of the road amidst rice paddies in Gianyar, Bali, Indonesia |

“May you laugh, even with your tears. May you be loved. May your smiles be returned, and the goodness of others flow to you. May your abundance bless even those you will never meet. May your life hold quiet fulfillment, and abounding joy in others’ successes. May you know those who can simply sit with you in your grief. May you see the dawn and remember the feeling of beginning life. May you see others with love, and in them, yourself.
-Carmell”

Years past, I read the poem of an aging Japanese Buddhist nun from 4 centuries ago knowing that the autumn that year would likely be her last.  She wove the careful words of her love for having lived 66 autumns, each unique and exquisite to her.  At the last, her quiet anguish broke through at how 66 seasons is so brief.

The memory of her poem has stayed with me. Forty-six autumns seems so few when I think of each autumn of my life. 46. It makes each one, and each day of it, more precious to me when I see it this way.

We celebrate Thanksgiving each fall, but I want instead to celebrate Gratitude. Even in my most terrified or private heart-wrenching moments, gratitude has brought me back to myself and opened my heart to life–magnificent and fleeting as it is.

So as I sit here near the equator tonight, the moon full and bright in the November Balinese sky, I am so thankful for each of you I share life with in one way or another. We are connected–and to me this immense gift both humbles me and utterly delights me.

It has made 46 autumns so rich and blessed.

Guilt Kills Gratitude and Self Respect

| LOCATION: My cozy flat in the Lower Avenues, Salt Lake City, Utah, USA |

I had an incredible session with a dear client this morning (the eve of Thanksgiving) and we spoke about her amazing Respect List: a list of personal statements that deeply affirmed and empowered her respect of herself at the next level of her life. (She’s seriously cool!)

She had listed, “I am not guilty” as one of her statements of self-respect, and it caught my attention. Guilt plagues us in both a full-on frontal attack, as well as subtly woven into something that looks good or innocent on the face of it.

I think guilt is my #1 killer of gratitude. And so…

Gratitude is my AMAZING discovery for transmuting guilt into something beautiful and useful.

Gratitude.

When I first discovered this years ago at my office, I was running late getting to my next client. I’d been doing a lot of work on guilt and as I walked over to greet her, instead of apologizing profusely for my lateness, I instead said, “I appreciate your patience! Thank you for being so gracious.” And I knew I meant every word. I felt Great, not guilty!! She smiled broadly and we got down to business.

This is true over and over, whether it’s something I’ve done, something someone else has done, or something just inside of me. Gratitude.

The moment I reach out and find gratitude, nothing held back, my guilt–or my need for someone else to feel guilty–vanishes and my heart is FULL.

Not surprisingly, I’ve noticed that in finding gratitude, I also let go.

Naturally.

I trust.

And I feel life move forward instead of sliding back which feels all kinds of good to me.

Hummingirl Jane

| LOCATION: …relocated |

I told the universe, “I’m DONE.”

And I meant it. I had had an unexpected and painful parting of ways with a new love interest who was also an old friend. My 3-year relationship before that had ended only a few months earlier like the last air of hope leaving a slowly deflating balloon.

Then, a few days ago, I was out running in the July evening in my neighborhood when I paused to take a phone call from a client. As I spoke with her walking down a street I never take, I paused for a minute, standing in the road.

Focused on my phone call, my gaze moved unthinkingly down to the pavement around my feet–and I was caught! By what?– My brain registered tiny eyes looking up at me from a tiny body. A hummingbird!

I excused myself from my client and bent down, carefully reaching out to her. She didn’t flinch. I softly picked her up in my palm. She continued to gaze at me, her delicate body breathing the fast regular hummingbird pace.

Almost intuitively, I realized she’d been absorbing the heat from the concrete as the evening grew cool. Finding her that way, she seemed stuck, somehow. I gently closed my hand around her to hold in her warmth.

I immediately looked to the neighborhood. What would I do with her? That lightning quick calculation that I had to pause my life to renegotiate everything for her in the next few hours–the next 24 hours… and how long after?… To see to her care. I knew I wouldn’t just deposit her in a tree and hope for the best.

But I didn’t know what to do.

“Well she needs to eat, Carmell,” I said to myself. “Hummingbird metabolisms require constant food.” In a surreal shift of reality, I walked across the street and into the yard of an arts and crafts style home with beautifully manicured gardens hoping to find someone home who might help me.

Along the drive were golden trumpet vines in full bloom and I thought to stop. I held my tiny soft bundle up to a buttery yellow trumpet flower and silently gasped. Her little tongue extended faster than my eye could track, snaking into the depths of the flower and drinking, pulling back into her long thin beak, extending again and again.

I never thought of a hummingbird’s beak as ‘a beak.’ A beak seems like a much more substantial, possibly-dangerous-to-humans kind of appendage and this was so damn delicate!

She sat, a tiny raja on my palm as I lifted her from flower to flower to drink the nectar. I watched her in awe. “Oh my god, I’m holding a hummingbird as she feeds FROM FLOWERS?!?!!…” I mean, really! Five minutes ago, I was discussing training possibilities with a client for her team, getting my run in, and heading back home to an evening of work at my desk.

Now I was in a garden, holding a juvenile hummingbird, remapping my foreseeable hours and days to support the little life sitting in my hand, bright black eyes silently observing me.

 

I fed her sugar-water every hour through the evening and late into the night. She perched on my finger under the warm lamplight as I sat at my desk. I’d dip my finger into the ziplock of sugar-water and hold it in front of her waiting beak. Her impossibly long thin tongue continued to lick out and suck the nourishment from my finger.

I was captivated. Captive.

I named her Hummingirl Jane.

She sat on my desk that night for hours, looking up at me with clear dark eyes and utter trust. No creature I’ve rescued has looked at me like that.

.

I left her under the heat lamp for a few hours sleep, getting up to feed her and check on her. The next morning I carried her in her clean cardboard restaurant take-away box, into the bedroom as I was getting ready. She suddenly took flight! And my ceiling fan was on!! I panicked, turning off the fan and luckily catching her without injury. Apparently she could fly.

This was simultaneously relieving–and a nerve-wracking new development in her care.

My little companion, that day. Feeding her calmly as I sat in video sessions with clients; her sitting contentedly on my left index finger as I wrote client notes with my right hand. She preferred being perched there, little head darting back and forth, taking everything in.

My heart couldn’t help falling.


>

I had located Wasatch Exotic Pet Care. They would take her and give her the proper proteins a juvenile hummingbird needs, before handing her to Wildlife Rehab who would make sure she safely re-entered her migratory pattern, her free life…

I drove her there, that afternoon; beautiful tiny Hummingirl Jane.

For less than 24 hours, my whole world had changed… And my whole world changed in less than 24 hours.

When I picked her up, I didn’t know what to do, what she would require, how long I would be committing to… I had a choice then. And I carried her home.

At the counter in Wasatch Exotic Pet, I held her perched on my finger for longer and longer as she looked trustingly into my eyes. Even the vet techs commented on her total attention with me. My heart actually ached to let her go. It seems ridiculous, maybe. Except it’s true.

Her empty box sat on the car seat next to me as I drove home. And then life–as it was. But not me as I was. We don’t know how long some magic will continue with us. And we’ll never be able to calculate how we will be changed forever after.

Sometimes, Life relocates us.

I say, Let go. Be relocated. Be soft and captivated and lost and unknowing. Just… be there.

Meaning of Life

| LOCATION: At the counter in the Kitchen of My Life, asking “What’s for dinner?” |

When people talk about answering the question of why they’re here, it always sounds like we expect it to be one thing.

Like, “I’m here to have dinner. Once I decide on, prepare, and eat that meal, it’s done and that’s all there is. I just want it to be “the RIGHT meal.” We put off grocery shopping or trying new foods, eating the same boring things every day or even fasting until we can decide on that One. Right. Meal.

A friend said to me today, “You seem to really know why you’re here. I’m so glad you figured that out!” with the implication that he was still searching and uncertain. I laughed. No matter how clear I get about why I choose to be here, I’m always still asking.

If we’re really honest, I think we always are.

I want to taste as many simple or gourmet, ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ meals as I can fit into this crazy go on the planet. And to share them with a lot of people.

There’s a purpose in there somewhere. 😉

Adventures Are Not For the Faint of Heart

| LOCATION: On a cliff terrace facing the night storm over the Mediterranean, Vernazza, Italy |

I sat out on the quay today writing in the sun, for hours. I knew the storm was coming. The town was only half open–half alive, as though it knew to prepare for something the rest of us were foreigners to. My stomach was in knots–would I be able to show up?

I’d made 3 different backup plans for wifi for my session tonight. The clouds were alternately ominous and majestic as they ran breathless over the top of our little village. As the sun fell, the storms threw the sunset into sharp beauty. And still we all waited, the sky growing dark.

Shops were closing early. I bought wifi time at the only wifi cafe for my mastermind group tonight. And as the cafe closed up, I sat down on the cobbled street outside the door, under an awning, and logged in. The rain started, thunder and wind, as our group came online.

“Where are you?” I panned the webcam down the lonely dark street with lamps lit. “Is that Italy?!” Yes. A small village with NO cars–I can touch the houses on both sides of the streets when I stretch out my arms.

We had an incredible session as the rain pelted sideways and I had to wipe it from my screen. The faithful church bells called the hour, the half hour and the new hour. Looking at me strangely, people scrambled last minute to dry, lit homes behind shuttered windows. My focus was on the seven people on my screen.

I was numb from cold and sitting on cobblestone for nearly 2 hours when I (very) slowly stood up, packed up, and went in search of a last open cafe for a hot drink.

The storm had taken a small intermission.

After being severely warned of power outages, I was thankful to find I had electricity when I arrived at my terraced room on the cliff over the ocean.

I stand alone now in the dark doorway wrapped in a blanket and watching the Mediterranean rage below me as the rain whips across me unrepentently.
……………

And I leave on the early train tomorrow for Florence to prepare myself there for clients, then meeting up with friends I will stay with that I made on my trip 2 years ago.

Immediately, Wednesday morning, I fly to Madrid. The Prado awaits–a dream of many years.

A young woman with her friend on the quay this afternoon, traveling as students, said, “Traveling is really hard. You think you’re going to have this phenomenal time–and you do–but it takes so much to do it. More than you expect or think.” I smiled sympathetically as she said it.

I could relate.

Exquisite moments. Amidst lots of angst and effort and anxiety about where I will sleep tomorrow night… It’s the struggle that makes the journey powerful. It’s the effort to show up and experience everything we can, that opens wide the inner transformation.

Vacation is a reprieve from the daily routine. Traveling literally moves us from where we are to somewhere new–from the person we were to the person we become.

We meet the unexpected. We put ourselves over and over right into the center of the unknown and ask boldly or timidly for what comes next… But we ask.

I love to weave the magical spell with pictures and words of all I am experiencing. And it is all that! And so much more… But the webs that bring the magic together, often quickly dismissed or overlooked, are the struggle and the questioning–the anxiety and stress inherent in not staying in one place longer than a few days, not knowing where we will sleep tomorrow. Trusting life with the next step.

Something incredible will be there.

Fake Outrage

| LOCATION: Tulie ~ French Bakery off of 9th, Salt Lake City, Utah, USA |

How will you feel in 30 years about the stuff you’re posting/commenting now? 🙂

Have any of you suffered from Fake Outrage*?

Years ago in my 20s I had an epiphany one night as I came home from work, made dinner and sat down in front of the TV to watch my favorite shows.
I had absolutely nothing that I valued to show for the time I sat there each night.

I thought, “This is my life! But there’s no ‘fun’ or creativity or true inspiration happening for this time I’m spending.

And I stopped watching.

Just like that. And I started figuring out each night what I wanted to do with this time that was my life.

I had conversations–good ones. I spent time with people. I read. I headed out the door. I took my dog out to run more. I saw sunsets. I got rid of cable, eventually got rid of my TV, and in this… I felt my life return to me.

I tell this story to illustrate a new point. Not so many years back, I found a new addiction that gave me nothing I valued in place of the time I spent. And worse, I was pulling myself into arguments that hinged on my being right or being agreed with rather than on real connection, understanding and personal enrichment.

This addiction was Fake Outrage*. My drug?

The comment threads on social media.

And it was bad.

I started on MySpace (remember that?) and moved to FB. And before long, I realized how awful I felt every time I chose to be sucked into a No-Win debate that devoured hours and hours of my life that I would never get back and left me feeling empty, angry, vindicated (that’s the ego right there, that is…), or self-righteous.

What a waste.

You see, Fake Outrage is where we choose to upset ourselves in a forum in which nothing we do can have actual impact. We invest our energy and time for no real return. We relinquish accountability to instead feed our egos (even our well-intentioned egos 😉

I immediately disentangled. I pulled my fingers out of the sticky, messy, addicting dough and cleaned up. I would catch myself getting hooked by a thread or a comment.

Sometimes I still begin typing a reply and realize where it’s heading for me. I delete it. Or I change what I say to reflect my truth of common human dignity and respect for people. And before I hit “Post” …..

I LET GO.

It is amazing that my social media experience is so positive when I hear so many bemoaning how negative theirs can be. But it’s also not surprising.

There are two sayings that have been especially crucial and necessary for me:

“We receive according to what we Allow, what we Stop, and what we Encourage.”

“Small minds talk about others.
Mediocre minds talk about events.
Great minds talk about ideas.”

Let’s raise the bar for ourselves, and consequently for those we influence by engaging in positive support and ideas. Let’s put all that energy into actual service to the causes that work for what we value, and not dead-end negative entertainment online.

Would we rather go to bed at night feeling right––or wronged? Or would we rather go to bed feeling Connected, expressing the best inside of us, lifting others and believing and expecting the best from all of us?

Would we rather feel like we’ve made a real difference?

*Fake Outrage, the term, comes from The Minimalists on this blog that I HIGHLY recommend 🙂

http://www.theminimalists.com/outrage/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+theminimalists%2FHztx+%28The+Minimalists%29