How often do I revisit what I teach? Almost every day.

When the difficult, courageous, crucial, purposeful or just plain hard-to-hold conversation is imminent, I get out my "Checklist", tips, and resources. I call supportive friends and get to work on myself--looking inward to see what makes "this" one different, challenging, and off-putting.

I know I'm not the only one who's tentative about these conversations. In fact, most recently I've noticed a plethora of articles on the subject, which all pretty much say the same thing.

I'm revisiting the topic today with a few of the most common coaching suggestions....

I had the good fortune recently to be reminded of Amanda Gorman's poem, "The Hill We Climb". At 22, Gorman was the youngest person ever to deliver a poem at a U.S. presidential inauguration as Joe Biden amd Kamala Harris were sworn in as President and Vice President. 

These are tumultuous times, and we/I -- I'll speak for myself -- have days when I fear for my country's future and it's ability to recover from innumerable onslaughts, both internal and external.

"The Hill We Climb" brought hope today, and I share it here. If you like, you can watch again the Amanda Gorman's beautiful delivery on the Library of Congress website....

While I've written often over the years about the kind of conversations many of us put off (or never have) because it's just too hard, I believe wholeheartedly (and know from experience) that these tough conversations are the ones we need to have the most. If held well, they can build or rescue a relationship, find an elegant solution to a knotty problem, and even be energizing and thought-provoking....

Like waves crashing against the shore, worry, regret, and fear-based narratives wash through my brain. Over and over again. In the middle of the night, day, whenever, whenever. They find me.

Spinning thoughts -- "if onlys", missed "do overs", and anxiety

My husband called me to the kitchen window a few days ago and asked me what I thought was attached to (and hanging from) the squirrel's nest in the bushes that line our driveway. It looked like a dead rabbit, but it couldn't be, right? Too heavy! We stared at the thing for several minutes trying to understand what we were seeing. Then it moved--Woh! Could it be a live rabbit? A squirrel? Something else? 

The bush is only ten yards from the window but we couldn't figure it out.

It's New Year's Day and I'm thinking about and visualizing the year ahead.  My friend and mentor, author Thomas Crum, introduced an experience at one of his Magic trainings many years back. We were asked to imagine ourselves a year ahead and to write down all the things we were grateful for that had happened in the year just gone by. 

So... if I were to do that exercise today (and I did), I would be visualizing myself on January 1, 2025, and writing down all the events, experiences, people, and actions that happened in 2025 that I was grateful for....

Last December I wrote a post titled "Death as an Ally" about the preciousness of each fleeting moment. In the past year, I've come to appreciate this sentiment even more.

As you move into the month of December with its accompanying demands on your time--the cards, parties, family visits, joys and conflicts--maybe take a moment each day (oftener if you're willing) to stop and notice this moment, this...ki... moment, a moment that will not come again. Find ways to reinforce presence....

My last two posts in September and October gave some context on the next steps I'm taking into the unknown. It's weird. I don't know how not to be busy, how not to be engaged in an endeavor that gives back so much. I'm not sure what that's going to be like. 

You may ask, "Then why stop?" And I'm not totally sure of the answer. I love what I do - I still have some work as I write this - and I also have a sense that this is a good time to bring this part of my worklife to a close. It's an interesting, thought-provoking, exciting place to be.

I sometimes listen to the Calm app when I'm meditating. Recently Jeff Warren, one of their authors and a meditator, said...

When I left Queens my future seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road. I thought I could see along it for many a milestone. Now there is a bend in it. I don't know what lies around the bend, but I'm going to believe that the best does. It has a fascination of its own, that bend, Marilla. I wonder how the road beyond it goes – what there is of green glory and soft, checkered light and shadows – what new landscapes – what new beauties – what curves and hills and valleys further on.

I recently listened to the audiobook, Anne of Green Gables, by L.M. Montgomery, written in 1908. The quote that leads this post is from the book, and it literally gave me pause. I was walking and listening, and I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk...

In July, I wrote about how I'd been "Wobbling" and beginning to re-identify myself to myself. Who am I when I'm visited by emotional overwhelm? Where is my purpose when those I love are struggling? What am I meant to do "with this one wild and precious life?"

When I think about it, this re-identification has been going on for some time. Then Covid happened, and work and life, and world, were transformed, and I began spending more time on these bigger questions...