Tiny Steps Past the Impossible

There’s power in doing things our brains told us we could never do.

But these impossible things don’t have to be immense, gargantuan tasks! They can be tiny.

Here's a tiny impossible thing I did yesterday, for instance:

I edited a video to include a graphic with some theme music.

That’s right, y'all.

I hope you are super impressed by my ingenuitive talent and technological virtuosity.

It was an important lesson, though, in noticing that this tiny step did basically the same thing in my brain as much larger and scarier leaps I've taken in the past.

So this is what happened.

Someone challenged me to polish up the videos I'm making for my free storytelling training next week.

Immediately, I was like, no I am absolutely not doing this.

Because I would have to learn a new thing and spend all this time and energy figuring it out. And what if after all of that, I couldn't even get it how I wanted. And then I'd feel like a failure. Plus, it’s such a small thing; would it even matter?

But I could see it pretty much right away: all of these thoughts were just automatic responses from my brain as it tried to fortify the walls of impossibility that were starting to shake in the rumblings of newfound creativity, curiosity, and possibility.

And this is why it mattered that I spent two hours figuring out how to add 5 second of music and a graphic to my videos:

Because it put a crack in the solid, stone wall of “nope, not possible” that lives in my brain.

Doing impossible things is like guerrilla warfare (or nonviolent direct action) for the liberation of possibility and freedom of movement in my own self.

If I can interrupt my brain before it automatically shuts down a new, scary, unknown thing, I can start to change everything about how I live my life, step into the world, and create what I want.

And low-stakes situations are perfect ways to do this.

So what impossible thing could you do today? What possibility has your brain written off as an automatic “no” that you might reclaim?

Doing this impossible thing might not "matter" in a linear sense, but I will tell you: it's a delicious and deeply satisfying thing to feel walls of impossibility crumble to the ground in your own self.

Living from the Future

When I look back on the goals I’ve reached and the dreams I’ve actualized, I see a pattern:

They all required me to inhabit the present and the future simultaneously.

When I was studying Spanish, I had to completely immerse myself in the process of learning the impossible (and surrendering to the accompanying brain strain), while also holding to the bright magic of connection and possibility I knew existed on the other side.

When I was an athlete, I had to feel the thrill of strength, power, and speed in my body that didn’t exist yet, while also pushing through exhaustion in practice and giving my energy and focus to the set in front of me.

When I was learning to coach, it was the beautiful vision of my future self - competent, powerful, and magical - that motivated me to volunteer to practice in front of the whole class and risk failing spectacularly.

My dreams require me to be in two places at once.

They ask me to work from the both-and space where the present touches the future.

They pull me toward the imperative of the humble, practical, day-to-day work in front of me now, just as they ask me to do magic and travel through time to feel what is already real in my imagination.

And when I follow these instructions, it starts to feel like I’m not only walking toward the future, but the future is walking toward me, and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle - in that space where grit, presence, groundedness, imagination, and vision all converge into the magic of actualized possibility

Hope, Capacity, and Possibility

{Thoughts on dealing with climate grief and anxiety in the spirit of sharing hope, discussing strategy, cultivating camaraderie, and imagining possibility}

When grief and anxiety flare, my first step is always grounded presence.

I ask myself: How can I be with myself right now? How can I climb back into my body? How can I not abandon myself when the waves of grief and anxiety come?

This reliably makes me feel better, but it also has the practical benefit of getting me back in touch with my intuition and inner knowing/wisdom so I can take grounded action if/when needed.

Deepening my relationship with death and grief has also helped immensely.

When I remember that death is and will be part of my story, our story, the earth’s story and make peace with that (which I would have had to do anyway, even with a perfectly healthy planet), I feel a little less panicked about the future and more grounded when it comes to my place in the universe.

And when it comes to grief: I’ve noticed that letting it move and do its work in me has this shattering function that opens up empty, liminal space.

And that’s a space I can work with.

I can bring intentionality and agency to that space. I can decide how to use it and what to put inside it (I try to opt for groundedness, possibility, and maybe even hope and magic if I can get there.)

I also remember that uncertainty is my friend.

Because where there is uncertainty, there is mystery and possibility.

So maybe the apocalyptic hellscapes my mind is conjuring don’t quite capture the whole truth.

I try to make mystery a space where my mind can rest in the in-between of not knowing everything and hold space for other possibilities.

And finally, I invest in magic, look for goodness everywhere, and practice feeling awe.

Not to bypass or ignore the hard stuff but to *deepen my capacity for it*.

This is our collective challenge: how can we find a depth of magic that matches the depth of horror?

Seeking the answer to this question is the quest of my life, and whether I succeed or not, it sure feels good and grounding to try.

Imagination and Possibility

I believe that one of the most powerful and important things we can do in our lifetimes is widen our imaginations and expand our sense of possibility.

Imagination is how we make impossible things happen.

It’s how we create, lean into, and have experiences of what doesn’t exist yet (in this dimension of time and space, at least).

It’s a simple practice of pushing the edges - of what we think we know, what we believe we can do, what we assume is possible, and who we think we are.

It’s the process of stepping into mystery and choosing to see possibility rather than impossibility, of being in uncertainty and saying “maybe so” rather than “probably not”.

It’s a space of creation, curiosity, and magic.

One thing I’m learning about imagination is that it requires me to be in active, deep conversation with my fear.

Because my fear lets me know (real quick) where my edges are. It tells me what I believe is impossible, out of reach, and not for me.

So one of the most effective ways to deepen imagination and widen possibility is to walk toward that fear and then see who we become and what we find in the process.

And this could be anything that simultaneously scares you and calls to you: sharing your writing or art with others, dancing in public, walking into a social space where you don’t know anyone, risking rejection, investing in yourself, having real, hard conversations, learning a skill that will require you to fail repeatedly (these are all some of mine).

And the beautiful bonus to all of this is that imagination is contagious, inspiring, and catalytic. When you imagine hard, you’re doing a public service.

So dream big and imagine hard, lovely humans.

Embracing your Radiant Weirdness

There are few things as inspiring or catalyzing as people who are fully alive and lit up in their radiant weirdness.

To me, radiant weirdness is anything that falls outside the norms of the dominant culture, anything that causes people to look or think twice, either with disdain or interest, disapproval or curiosity, that also illuminates and inspires.

Radiant weirdness makes us feel like we’re glowing from the inside-out.  Like we’re so congruent with the truth of our being that everything sparks.

It’s the strange, unexpected oddity that makes us magnetic and interesting and lights the way into new possibility.

Whether it’s your eclectic array of hobbies, your ambitious creative project that pushes the edges, your inner complexities and contradictions, or the path you’ve chosen for yourself that makes others raise their eyebrows, if it lights you up, it’s a thing the world needs.

Radiant weirdness changes the culture.

It’s catalytic and contagious.  

It inspires a sense of possibility, opens spaces of permission, and lends courage.

And it doesn’t really matter if your radiant weirdness is different than mine.  If I see you expressing, owning, and living it, I feel it in my bones. It’s something my soul recognizes.  It’s something that creates sparks of hope, truth, and calling in my own being.

Embrace your radiant weirdness for yourself first.  And also know that when you do, you are doing a public service.  By carving out space in the culture for your realness to exist (in all of its weird, radiant complexity), you are widening the field of possibility for all of us.

So shine on, you beautiful, luminous weirdos.

The Possibilities in Emptiness

{Coaching Reflections, Part 1 of 5}

Coaching is a process of opening up space in your mind by clearing away clutter.

It’s a lot like cleaning out your closet.  You look at what’s there, take inventory (probably finding some surprises along the way), clear away what no longer fits, tidy up the space, and then put it back together in a new way.  

When it’s all done, the newfound empty space one of the best parts.  Emptiness is inspiring. Suddenly, the space feels bigger and brighter.  Anything feels possible.

Coaching works in a similar way.  We look at the spaces in our lives and our minds (and sometimes our actual closets) to see what’s stopping up the flow of energy, crowding the space, or getting in the way of what we want.

Where is clutter creating static and chaos?  What are we holding onto that would be better for us to release?  What possibilities would step forward if they had space to move and expand?   

Because in order to create a new thing for ourselves, we need room to move.  We need clear, open spaces for our creativity to flow, for our imagination to roam, and for our intuition to deepen and expand.  

Our dominant culture fears emptiness, so we’re often encouraged to fill our lives, homes, and brains to brim.  But emptiness is a delight. It’s blank canvas for our creativity that invites mystery and possibility.

So where in your life are you craving empty, open space, and how might you create even the tiniest bit of it in your home, your mind, or your life?

The Power of Desire

Desire is a powerful resource, and it’s an energy I’m always trying to connect with and draw on in my own life.  I often ask myself: how’s my desire doing, and how’s my relationship with my desire doing?

Because it matters how I respond to my desire.  It matters what I do with that energy pulling me forward into what I most want.

I’ve experienced the power of channeling my desire into imagination and creation and movement, just as I’ve experienced the destruction of pushing my desire away or making my desire mean that I’ll never reach what I want, that I’m not worthy of what I most yearn for, or that my desire is pointing toward the impossible.

Desire is a powerful force – and whether that’s a force for creation and aliveness or for destruction and despair largely depends on my relationship with it and my response to it.

This is some of what I’ve found helpful in cultivating a more positive and powerful relationship with my desire:

1. Affirm and celebrate desire when it comes up.  Because it’s sort of amazing to want things and be fueled by that wanting.  My desire means I’m alive, and it’s a gift I am free to use and work with to create, grow, and deepen into my life.

1. Celebrate the ways desire has pulled you forward into beauty, creativity, and growth.  I know my desire has prompted me to do things my fear would have preferred I definitely not do: get on a plane and travel to another country alone, go on that first date, publish and share my creative work.  Without desire, none of that awesomeness would have happened.  Think back.  What has your desire done for you?

1. Get familiar with your desire.  How does it feel in your body?  What are its different shades, textures, and energies?  How does it ripple through your life?

So what do you want?  Where’s your desire pulling you next?  I hope that as you explore and lean into your own desire, you also feel into the power, possibility, and creativity that exists within it and lives within you.

Devotion and the New Year

One of my favorite New Year’s rituals is choosing a word of the year.

There’s more to my New Year’s reflections, imaginings, and schemings than this, but I love the practice of trying to distill the energy of the 12 months ahead into a guiding word I can return to when I’ve lost the thread.

And each year, my word becomes almost eerily prophetic and finds expression and realization in ways I didn’t expect.

In 2018, my word was expansion. This year, my word is deepening.

Last year, I threw myself into life, tried new things, chased opportunities, and changed in ways and directions I couldn’t have imagined a year ago. And there was so much goodness that came of it.

This year, I feel the pull to tend to the roots – to deepen into devotion and intention, to be really clear about what matters most, remain realistic about my capacity, and live accordingly.

It’s reminding me that sometimes, life asks us to say no to some of the goodness present or available to us in order to invest in another possibility.

And sometimes devotion means stepping away from what is perfectly okay (and maybe even wonderful) because it is incongruent with the commitments we’ve chosen or the frequencies we’re committed to cultivating and amplifying in our lives now.

This has already been hard. I don’t like to pass up opportunity or let go of goodness.

But it’s been helpful to remember that I’m limiting the width in my life to amplify the depth. I’m stepping back from growing outward so I can lean into processes of growing inward.

Paradoxically, limits can set us free, and boundaries can open up spaces of infinite possibility. 
(Or at least that’s my working hypothesis for the year).

So whatever 2019 is asking of you, I hope it opens, deepens, and catalyzes you into whatever goodness awaits.

The Invitation of Creative Urgency

Creativity is urgent and insistent. Our art, our vocations, our activism, our work in the world – it all matters. It all carries weight and significance.

But I’ve often resisted this urgency, conflating it with the demands of a hyperactive dominant culture that pushes us to be productive at all costs.

What I’ve come to realize is that our creative urgency is a different thing than the urgency of panicked striving that disregards the organic cycles and processes that support our creative energies.

Creative urgency is real – and an important thing to feel, I think. It speaks to the necessity of vision, imagination, ideas, and art in our world. And we can listen and respond to this urgency without interpreting it through the lenses of oppressive systems that will always and forever tell us we’re not enough, and that we’d better push ourselves to the edge of destruction in an attempt to prove otherwise.

The urgency of my creativity is not the urgency of capitalism (which always demands I do more, produce more, and be more), and when I feel urgency, I’ve found it super important to take a moment to discern which sort I’m experiencing. The former pulls me forward, invites me into bigness, connects me with power, and inspires vision and possibility. The latter has me preoccupied with measurement, comparison, panicked striving, and external expectation. It’s an urgency that kills the best parts of my creativity.

And so while I do ask my creativity to produce for me (as some of my work in the world asks for that), I also take intentional breaks to separate creativity and production – to set aside space free from judgment and expectation: space for process, flow, and experimentation. And perhaps most importantly, I do not ask my creativity to “prove” anything about me – my enoughness, worthiness, giftedness, etc.

Our creativity is urgent because it’s a portal through which we step into and open spaces of power, aliveness, hope, and possibility. And these are all things we need, things the world needs. So when that urgency rises up in you, pay attention and follow its lead. It’s calling for something big and important.

Creativity and the Deeper Thing

On the creative path, there are all sorts of ways to get tangled up and pulled off course by fear, perfectionism, and beliefs we hold around productivity, enoughness, and visibility. It’s a simple enough (though not always easy) process to dive into these pieces and do the work to get somewhere good, but in my experience, there is another essential step in uncorking creative flow.

And it’s basically finding a way to remember that creativity is always bigger and deeper than the thing we’re creating.

I’ve found it helpful to have regular conversations with my creativity, and here’s one way to do this: remember a time you felt connection, exhilaration, flow, resonance, freedom, love, etc. in your creative process; get anchored in how that feels or shows up in your body; and then step into that feeling to “take on” its consciousness and channel its energy. From there you can journal from its perspective, ask it questions, or allow it to guide your creative process.

This is what I consistently find when I do some variation of this exercise with clients: there is always a depth of wisdom, spirit, or vastness present. Which doesn't surprise me because our creativity is a holy and alive thing.

And when we can connect to the depth and vastness of our creativity, we step into a whole other frequency of energy, one that can't really support or sustain our fear.

And while it may not be possible to live here all the time, even a glimpse of it can start to change things.

And this is why it matters to me that more folks find a way to unleash their creative power: because it’s more than what we make with it – it’s the energy inside and beyond us – the light, connection, and resonance we share with the world and pour into the collective.

So if you feel creatively stuck, see if you can find your way into the deeper thing, the underlying energy of power that wants to pull you into all manner of creative goodness and possibility. I'd love to hear how it goes : )

Winter and Aliveness

Where I live, pretty much everything dies, hibernates, goes dormant, or flies away for the winter. Water stops flowing and becomes hard and heavy as a rock. There are days when the slightest breeze against skin is physically painful. The sun sets at 4:30.

And every year, there is that inevitable moment, usually around late January, when we hit the bottom of winter – when things feel so impossibly frozen and lifeless that our bodies temporarily forget that summer ever existed.

But there’s a rightness to winter. Because it’s just the truth – deep and abiding realness.

Winter reminds me of so many things. That stasis cannot support life. That death is essential. That as much as I think I want eternal, unchanging summer, I know in my bones there is something not right about that.

I sometimes think I want forever summer in my own life too – that energy must always be moving, ideas always flowing, activity always happening. But unchanging levels of energy and constant activity is its own type of stasis. And stasis is not organic. Stasis is not alive.

But we are alive, so winter happens inside of us too. And these times of dormant inactivity and motionless stagnation are required happenings in our own life-cycles and inner seasons. To live, create, and claim our own aliveness, we must make our own descents into winter.

And rather than fighting it, how might we embrace its gifts of quiet, stillness, rest, and death, knowing we are held inside of larger natural forces of life, death, and rebirth that carry us forward and around into a new moment, season, or possibility?

Setting Boundaries and Investing in Possibility

I think about boundaries a lot.  It’s a topic that often comes up in my workplace and with coaching clients.  And it’s something I track closely in my own life and experience: am I protecting my space and energy?  Do I have what I most need?  Am I starting to feel overwhelmed or resentful and need to readjust?

Saying no not only helps me eliminate what I do not want in life; it also fortifies the energy, experiences, and relationships I do want.  In other words, boundaries are not only a no; they are also a yes.

Boundaries not only build walls of protection around our safety and wellbeing; they can also push us into spaces of unknown, open possibility in which we’re asked to imagine, create, and seek out what we want.

In this sense, boundaries are a leap of faith.  Saying no to what is familiar and just good-enough so that we have the space to say yes to what truly dazzles and enlivens can feel like a risk.  It often is a risk.

But boundaries are investments in possibility.

And in cases like these, I try to remember that it’s okay, and actually essential, to use boundaries as tools to create empty spaces of uncertainty because those are also fertile spaces in which our dreams and desires get nourished, take root, and find ways to grow and expand into our lives.

Resistance and Stepping Between

I stepped between two people about to fight this week. Not to convince them to stop or to force them to do anything (because I couldn’t) - just to get in the way and interrupt the momentum of the conflict.

I didn’t do it to fix the problem, resolve the conflict, or determine the outcome. I did it because it was the thing to do in that moment.

This shifted some things around how I understand our political resistance. Instead of asking, how can I fix it? I wonder if often a more helpful question is: Given what’s real, what must I do in this moment?

Because I don’t know the answer the first question. I don’t know how to fix this.

I cannot single-handedly abolish ICE, end migrant detention, open our borders, or stomp out xenophobia and racism. And while I believe we can do these things collectively, we will drive ourselves to a breaking point if we make our agency contingent upon our ability to fix this mess immediately.

But we can make things harder. We can interrupt spirals of panic and hatred. We can bring clear energies to turbulent spaces. We can surprise, scare, and disrupt authoritarianism. We can make things more difficult, complicated, and uncomfortable by inserting our bodies, voices, and energies into what is already in motion.

The two people I stepped between may have still been able to get at each other, but it certainly would have been more cumbersome and complicated with (6 ft, 180 lbs) me in the middle. Suddenly they both had new questions to consider: can I get around this person? Do I want to try? Am I willing to harm a third-party? Even if the answers were all yes, having to consider them at all slowed it down, if only by fractions.

What spaces of pause, dilemma, and interruption can we create?

Resistance invites us to get creative with our power and agency. It asks us to use our power to derail, connect, refuse, dissent, create, dream, transgress, step in, stand up, and speak out. It asks us to find new and inventive ways to become radiant beacons of our truth and power.

So even when it’s hard and feels impossible, I’m remembering: All of it counts. All of it matters. And all of it’s essential.