My Site

Category: Reclaim Your Life

  • I Don’t Have a Passion

    I Don’t Have a Passion

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    What is my passion? 

     

    I’ve heard that question a lot lately; actually I’ve heard it all my life and I’ve never been able to answer it.

    As a child there was never one thing that grabbed my attention completely and had me transfixed. Nothing that I was drawn to do with a single mindedness that would not be denied.

    As I continued to grow, that question was always in the back of my mind. I thought that surely, as I gained experience and knowledge, that I would find my passion. Yet I never did. I was sure something was wrong with me. I was sure that I was damaged and that meant that I would never fulfill my reason for being here.

    As an adolescent I would hear the bible story about not wasting my God given talents, and for the life of me I didn’t know what they were. I was sure I was doomed.

    As my life progressed, I would periodically revisit this quest to discover my passion, always without success.

    When Leah died and I began to listen to where I was being called, one of the things I began doing was writing my story. That led to writing my book, which led to telling my story. 

    Each one of these steps progressed in a way that helped me to reclaim a part of myself that I had left behind in my childhood for many reason, some of which I have discussed in detail in previous blogs and writings.

    I’ve also talked about my recently completed yearlong quest. Even though I went into it without any expectations, one of the things I hoped would come out of it was finding my passion. But it didn’t happen; at least not in the way I envisioned it happening.

    This doesn’t mean that there are no pursuits that I find enjoyable. There are a lot of thing that bring me pleasure, and in the past few years I have been seeking out play, and have found new activities to enjoy. I love to paint, make collages, draw, read, dance, write, have meaningful conversations, to name a few but nothing has emerged as what I would consider a true passion.

    I have often said that telling my story is a passion, and it is, because through telling my story I inspire others to live their lives fully. I know this is my life’s calling and it’s an honor to do it. 

    Through it I have healed many of my childhood wounds more fully, allowing me to continue to say yes to where my life is calling me in each moment. I’ve often thought that if I hadn’t had exactly the life I did growing up, I wouldn’t be able to do this work, and while that is true, I still wanted to find that elusive passion.

    I was very frustrated that I didn’t have what other people had, a driving passion that stood above all else in their lives, so last week I made this my inquiry in my daily Samyama practice. 

    I recognized that I can’t stay in grief 100% of the time. I need the self- love practices that fill me up, that give me the energy and capacity to hold space for my grief work. I wanted to know once and for all where my passions lie.

    And then I knew; my passion IS living my life to its fullest. 

    Having fun with Dan while experiencing new and favorite past times such as going to the fair, dancing, listening to live music, laughing at shared memories, making new memories, planning our tiny home together, or sitting quietly in each other’s presence.

    I found there was no limit to the experiences that make up living my life to its fullest. When I received this realization my entire body relaxed. I felt at home in my own skin, I didn’t have to be anyone other than who I was; who I am.

    I never did, and it’s not lost on me that if I hadn’t said yes to my grief journey; if I had stayed in the pain and suffering; if I had chosen to stay in bed and retreat from my life; I never would have reached my fullest potential. I never would have realized that living life fully is more than enough for me.

    Writing these words today, I am in awe of my journey, of the process that has brought me to this moment. I bow in appreciation to the mystery, always.

     
     

     

     

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  • Dancing on the Edge of the Unknown

    Dancing on the Edge of the Unknown

    I’ve been in a time of not doing for a while now, and I’ve struggled against it, wanting to do rather than be. During this time I was a presenter at a business retreat that was planned way before I entered this space, and it came together seamlessly. This was confirmation that,

    when I’m working from my strength and my gifts, flow happens and my to do list gets done.

    After the end of my yearlong quest, when I stated that I was done efforting, my body took this proclamation seriously. I’ve felt most like myself these past few weeks sitting in my heart and waiting for inspiration to arise rather than pushing it to arise. That has led to major triggering on all sides, from everywhere. What came out of that was the awareness of a very young part of myself that needed attention. Until now she hasn’t felt safe enough to let me know her needs. It was in the back and forth of surrendering to what I know I needed, slowing down, and being willing to figure it out so I could move past this (whatever this is or was), that she found the space to emerge. I’ve known about her for a long time and every time I’ve noticed her in the past, she retreated. She’s ready for my undivided attention and I’m ready to give it to her. I’m asking her to help me play. I’m letting her know that as a child she’s not responsible for some of the things she’s been trying to take on, like keeping me safe. There was a time when I needed, and she needed, to be kept safe. Now I know how to keep myself safe so she can play.

    I’ve been searching for play in my life for a really long time.

    The kind of play when you lose track of all time, blissful play that was never really a part of my life, maybe on a few occasions, but not on a regular basis. Sometimes I think its ironic that I came to where I am today through my grief journey, that the death of my daughter provided the initiation I needed to fully take a stand for myself. To say yes to stepping fully into who I am in each moment, knowing that I dance on the edge of comfort and discomfort each time I take another step into my self, into my truth, into my aligned heart.

    Sometimes I am dismayed that it took so long to get here. I am 65, how can I still have fun? (I’m sure part of this feeling is from the birthday card my dad gave me when I turned 30. The message said, “You are 30. You will never again have fun.”) I know that was my father’s sense of humor and it wasn’t true. I did, however, think of that message whenever I questioned some of my life’s lessons.

    Yes, my physical age can give me a start sometimes, but I’m not going to let limiting thoughts and beliefs shape my life.

    It’s not always easy to be in a place of being instead of doing, until I surrender to the present moment and listen deeply to my heart. I’m reminded why my business is Being with Grief, not doing grief.

    One of the questions I am asked most often is, do I think I will ever stop grieving. My answer is no. My grief may shift and change; no doubt it will continue to change me; it will never end though because Leah is not here. That also doesn’t mean I won’t feel joy.

    I am joyful, I am grateful, and I am sad, I feel sorrow, I feel pain. I’ve discovered I can feel all of it. One of my biggest discoveries is that when I allow myself to feel the sorrow exactly as it show up,

    It leads me to the sacred ground where joy is also possible.

    I don’t know how it works. I’ve tried to figure it out. My head has analyzed it, sliced and diced it a thousand ways, and I still don’t know how it works. I do know that it does, when I come into my heart with all of my feelings I have a greater capacity for joy, for gratitude, for love.

    Do you feel the same way? I’d love to hear from you.