Back in October I casually mentioned that not only was California the last of the 50 states to finally pass a law to license professional counselors, but that I had decided to go for it. And, I noted that because I’ve been a counselor for 10 years, I get a pretty good deal: the chance to be “grandparented” in to the new license.

Grandparented. Such a cozy word, isn’t it?

Takes me back to my grandma feeding me chicken soup when I had a cold. Or big hugs from my big grandpa.

In this case, though, grandparenting isn’t quite so homey. Basically, it means credit for experience and fewer requirements.

It’s still a lot of work, though: extra classes, more client hours, additional supervision, and perhaps most daunting of all, passing three exams. But if you compare it to starting from scratch, it’s kind of like the State of California is doing a Don Corleone and making me an offer I can’t refuse.

So here I am, six months into my quest, and like all good hero’s journey stories, this one’s shaping up to be full of adventure.

As it turns out, a few of those adventures have been a bit harrowing. Like when I initially set out, I ran into some rough waters with my first supervisor and my metaphorical boat capsized. But luckily I’m a good swimmer, and made it to shore. Then, I lost my way a bit when I wasn’t quite sure how I would complete the requirements. So I aimlessly wandered for a time, eventually coming upon the best path through the forest. Most recently I’ve encountered an evil bureaucratic wizard, but snuck around him while he was sleeping.

Of course, I couldn’t have gotten this far without those moments of serendipity and synchronicity that magically appeared just when I needed them. Not to mention all the support I’ve received from the mentors, guides, and allies I’ve met along the way.

With their help, I’ve persevered. And I’m learning a heck of a lot about perseverance in the second half of life.

Because not a day goes by without me asking myself, “Why am I doing this?”

I certainly don’t have to. It’s not a requirement. Most of my colleagues, perhaps wiser than me, are choosing not to. So there are times when I think about turning around and going back (a common theme in journey stories). But so far, I haven’t.

That’s because I keep coming up against this essential truth: it just feels right. And in spite of the hard work and challenges, I continue to take one step at a time, remembering each day what Joseph Campbell said:

If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.

So now I’ve arrived at the place in the journey where the path turns upward and the hero (me) recedes from view and disappears for a time. Still, you know she’s there, following the call, trudging along, reaching out with all her might to claim the boon.

Like all path-makers, though, I don’t fully know what this means yet.

I suspect it’s about putting this blog aside for a period of time, in order to regroup and focus.

I suspect it’s about finding a way to keep writing here without feeling compelled to say so darn much each time.

I suspect I’ll come back refreshed and renewed, with more stories to tell.

In the meantime, my door’s open. If you’d like to connect you can leave a comment here, or if you’d prefer something more private, send an email: bechtoldlifework-at-sbcglobal-dot-net. It may take a few days to get a response, but I always answer emails. And if you’re not yet on my newsletter list but would like to be, click here to sign up.

So. To my subscribers, readers, and commenters: a big, huge, heartfelt thank you. Your support means so much to me and I’m already looking forward to the day we meet again.

And for those of you who are new here, I’ve gathered up a handful of posts that I loved writing. Well, okay, it’s more like a bucket full. But if you’ve got a few extra minutes, stick around and read a few:

Meaning Mondays: The Time Edition

Why Self-Help Bores Me

Meaning Mondays: The Singing Blog Edition

Refrigerator Rights

What the Super Bowl Taught Me About Life

Meaning Mondays: Life As Collage

Dark Magic and the $97 Book

Many Lives to Live

Meaning Mondays: The Four Healing Salves

Please, Bore Me!

Meaning Mondays: Life As A Quilt Edition

Retracing My Steps

Celebrating Myself Home with an Art Journal

Life As A Work of Art

Meaning Mondays: The Stuck in the Mud Edition

The Kindness of Strangers

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I welcome referrals to my blog and counseling/coaching services. If you know someone who may be interested in what I write about or what I do, please share with them. Your satisfaction and trust in my services means a lot. Thank you.

P.S. – UPDATE! It’s September 15 and I’m still plugging away at my goal. My tentative plan is to return to blogging in January of 2012. In the meantime, whoever it is out there who’s reading my blog even though I’m not writing: thank you! 

ME. MANY YEARS AGO. A HIGH SCHOOL CORRIDOR.

I’m stopped by two girls, vaguely familiar, with notebooks in hand. Brunette and blonde. Ready to write, it appears.

“We’re doing a story for the school paper,” the brunette tells me. “Can we ask you a question?“

“Oh, alright. Sure.”

“Cool! What famous person do you wish you could trade places with?“

The answer comes quickly. “Isadora Duncan,” I say. A flash of uncertainty crosses their faces. So I elaborate, “You know, the famous dancer? She died a long time ago.”

Suddenly the blonde girl remembers who Isadora is. “Oh, that’s a good answer.”

“Yes,” I agree.

Because Isadora was one heck of a woman. And boy, did I want to be like her.

Well, not the part about her family tragedies. Or the public drunkenness. And especially not the freak accident that caused her death, when her long, flowing scarf got caught in the wheel of her car.

But the rest of it? You bet. The monumental creativity! The adventure! The inspiration! The freedom!

My 17-year-old self found it oh-so-very enchanting.

ME. ABOUT TEN YEARS AGO. READING A BOOK.

Nope. I didn’t become Isadora. But I did eventually find my way to Robert Johnson, and he helped me figure out my fascination with her.

In Owning Your Own Shadow: Understanding the Dark Side of the Psyche, Johnson illuminates the shadow, that repository of unacceptable personal characteristics (like greed and hate) that we find every which way to deny about ourselves. And in a simple and lyrical voice he makes the case for why we need to own these orphaned parts: because the alternative–unconsciously projecting the dark stuff thither and yon–does not make for a whole and happy life.

But wait. There’s more. As it turns out, the shadow houses some really good qualities, and in Johnson’s words:

It is possible to project from the shadow the very best of oneself onto another person or situation. Our hero-worshiping capacity is pure shadow; in this case, our finest qualities are refused and laid on another. It is hard to understand, but we often refuse to bear our noble traits and instead find a shadow substitute for them.

Bingo. My light bulb moment with Isadora. I finally get it.

I’d been unconsciously projecting some of the best of me onto her. In fact, she’d been holding it for a long time. And maybe it was time to start taking it back.

So began the externalization of my inner Isadora. It was an invitation to reclaim my artistry: to create a business, a garden, a home. To play with color and fabric, return to performing, begin writing, and bring expressive arts into my work with clients.

And I mustn’t forget the scarves. Most with a story all their own. They would become the touchstones, a way to remember that taking back my projections is a life-long journey.

YOU AND ME. TODAY. HAVING THIS CONVERSATION.

Now, I wear a scarf almost every day. A tip of my hat to Isadora. Or better yet, a flip of my fringe.

In the ensuing years, I’ve learned a lot about shadow and hero-worship. And if I’m allowed to toot my own horn for a minute, I’ve gotten pretty good at helping my clients explore and unearth their own versions of Isadora.

Certainly, most people mightily resist. Yet, when they’re in a kind and loving relationship with someone (me) who cares enough about them to acknowledge and accept all of their shadow–both light and dark–the process becomes a little easier.

But nothing’s ever simple, right? So here’s the most important lesson I’ve learned about taking back our projections: what can be classified as hero-worship or idolizing or pure adoration during our younger days often veers uncomfortably toward envy and jealousy as we mature and move into midlife.

Envy? Jealousy? Yes, we got ‘em. And they often house the adult version of Wannabe Syndrome. A strange twist on hero-worship. And you know what? That’s OK.

Gasp! Did I just say it’s OK to feel jealousy and envy? Isn’t envy one of the seven deadly sins or something?

I don’t know too much about that. But I will tell you that when I read something that proclaims we shouldn’t feel envious or jealous, I usually move on fairly quickly, because it’s missing the deeper point.

And when clients begin to unpack these emotions that they suppose represent only the dark and flawed parts of themselves, I always want to help them look underneath to see what light might be shining there. To sift through what’s about them and what’s not about them.

Because let’s face it, life is complicated. People do grow weary. Even bitter. Sometimes they feel beat down by life. And as a result, envy and jealousy may emerge.

Now, I’m not recommending a steady diet of envy or jealousy. I’m sure you understand instead that I’m talking about acceptance. Seeing underneath. Working through.

And holding these parts of ourselves as gently as we would a tiny kitten or a budding rose.

JUST YOU NOW. ENLARGING THE CONVERSATION.

I’d love to hear your take on this.

Care to share an experience with hero-worship? Admiration? Envy? Jealousy?

What bright qualities have you or do you project onto other people or situations?

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I welcome referrals to my blog and counseling/coaching services. If you know someone who may be interested in what I write about or what I do, please share with them. Your satisfaction and trust in my services means a lot. Thank you.

That’s the prevailing theme for the week. It’s shown up in almost every session with clients. And we all seem to agree: it’s HARD to do patience.

So yes, I’ve been known to ask clients how they cultivate their patience. But I’ve learned it’s a particularly obtuse question. And now I’m considering that maybe it’s more about why we find patience so difficult to corral these days.

Of course, the patience problem nips at my heels too, as I struggle to contain the part of me that wants to run headlong toward too many things. Even though I’m intimately familiar with this impatient inner kid who seeks distractions so she won’t have to settle down to what’s right in front of her, it doesn’t make it any easier. In fact, I’d venture to say it’s gotten harder in the past ten years.

So I’m playing with a new theory: that it’s actually the buildup of distractions in our world today that’s made our patience muscles go all weak and puny.

IN OTHER WORDS, MORE DISTRACTIONS OVER TIME = LESS PATIENCE SKILLS.

I know. I’m not the first to say something like this. But usually it’s talked about in relation to focus and discipline. Patience is different, though. It’s heart not head.

And today, a bit of related serendipity dropped in my lap when I read a review of David L. Ulin’s book, The Lost Art of Reading: Why Books Matter in a Distracted Time.

According to the reviewer (whose name, unfortunately, I’ve misplaced), Ulin “mulls over a central paradox: that the artifice of literary work creates a vital engagement with story–and by consequence with time, space, and moral awareness.”

That’s as good a way as I can think of to frame patience–through story, time, space, and moral awareness. And Ulin writes eloquently of his own patience drifting, leaking out around the edges:

…a sense of skittering across the surface, a feeling of drift, both mental and emotional, in which time and context become unmoored…I can check my email in an instant, and twenty, thirty times a day I do. What am I looking for? It doesn’t matter. The looking is an end unto itself.

So if we’re always looking, what chance does patience have?

YEAH. BUT HOW DO WE CULTIVATE PATIENCE?!

Okay. You probably noticed I haven’t answered the question that I opened with. Truth is, I don’t know. So I took up my art journal, hoping an image would appear. It did.

Patience, apparently, has blue eyes and blue hair. But beyond that, she’s deeply rooted, emerging from a sturdy tree trunk. Both young and old. She has lines and crow’s feet, but there’s a luminosity that shines through. Mossy bits cling to her, while tiny buds vine their way up, patiently waiting for the day they’ll bloom. And Patience is many-ringed. If you were to cut her down (but who would want to?) you could trace her years like you can on a visit to the trees in Muir Woods.

BUT WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

I think Patience is telling us that she’s deep within. Never lost. Just maybe needing some love and attention. Personally, I like the idea of pumping her up by reading more literature and fiction. But that’s just me. So I’ll throw this obtuse question your way, and you can have a go at it in the comments today:

HOW DO YOU CULTIVATE YOUR PATIENCE?

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I welcome referrals to my blog and counseling/coaching services. If you know someone who may be interested in what I write about or what I do, please share with them. Your satisfaction and trust in my services means a lot. Thank you.

It’s that time again. When people do a little dance with their gray matter and attempt to capture an entire year in a single word.

Okay. Sometimes it’s two words. Maybe even three. Or a whole phrase. But however many words are on the agenda, it always makes me tense up. It feels reductive. Constrained.

And I can’t help wondering: is this ratcheting down of our lives just another way to give us the illusion of control?

Of course, I do get the one word madness. So please don’t take this post personally if you’ve decided to encapsulate your year into one word. I know how compelling it is to name things. An act of the inner magician. Because when we use words to access the power of naming we transform our view of ourselves and our lives. We reach for our potential, and shout it out to the world.

And hey, I’m all for that. But one or two words? C’mon.

Recently I read about a woman trying to distill her entire life, her essence, down to only two words. Clearly, she was a seeker. She was on the path. You know, that circuitous thing that winds through the forest, twisting and turning, sometimes disappearing altogether? And she was floundering, like all seekers do at times.

What I really wanted to do was reach out to give her a big hug and say, “It’s alright. You can’t always contain your seeker. Maybe she needs a few more words right now. Let them out and let her roam.”

As for me, I fail miserably when I try to describe anything in my life in one or two words. Apparently, I need a lot more than that.

Case in point: when my memory drifts back to last year, the words bump right up against the starting gate, like race horses before the bell rings. This jockey can barely contain them: love, chaos, kisses, play, grief, earth, water, waves, colors, gratitude, confusion, songs, tears, ideas, cantankerous, music, obsessions, flowers, dancing.

And one word for this unfolding year? You’ve got to be kidding.

About the best I can do is recite the name of this blog: Why. Not. Start. Now. Because isn’t that what we do at the dawning of a new year? We take a step. We begin. Then life comes flying at us, with all its glorious eccentricities.

And I could probably write a thousand words about that alone. But don’t worry. I’m not going to.

Instead, I’ll tell you that I want you (and me) to have more than a few measly words. I want you to have as many as you need. A basket. A bushel. A bounty, if necessary.

In fact, I want you to have other ways to name yourself, too. Through images. Stories. Conversations. Music. Shadows. Light.

I have a hunch you’d like that, because just the other day my chums at WordPress kindly shared that my two most popular posts last year were about creativity and connecting: Life As A Work of Art and The Art of Friendship.

So in that spirit of creative community, I’m venturing out to try something different. It is a new year, after all. (And by the way, a happy one to you.)

For months I’ve been longing to get my hands back into group process, but couldn’t quite put my finger on what it would look like. But a few weeks ago it finally gelled: a telecircle that brings together two fascinating topics – movies and the second half of life.

The deal was sealed when I recently received a card from a former client who was in the very first group I ever facilitated, more than 10 years ago. She told me she still has the collage she created way back then. I thought that was a good sign, telling me to go forward.

So here’s the scoop: this is a small group, and we meet over a telephone bridge line. We talk movies. We talk life. We talk to each other.

Have I piqued your interest? I hope so, and I hope you’ll click here to get all the details. But even if you’re not interested, go ahead and click anyway because you might know someone who needs something just like this.

Oh. I bet you’d like to know the name of the group too. Here it is:

LIVING LIFE’S SECOND HALF: SUNDAY NIGHT AT THE MOVIES.

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I welcome referrals to my blog and counseling/coaching services. If you know someone who may be interested in what I write about or what I do, please share with them. Your satisfaction and trust in my services means a lot. Thank you. And if you’re interested in receiving my newsletter, all spiffed up for 2011, please click here.

Leave home we do, throughout our lives. But I don’t just mean those times when we box up our stuff, pack up the car, and hit the road to a new dwelling. No, I mean all those times we leave a role or stage of life, in order to transition to a new one.

LITTLE DID I KNOW HOW TRUE THOSE WORDS WOULD BE FOR ME THIS YEAR.

In fact, I’ve been a walking, talking advertisement for the theory that you don’t need go anywhere to feel far from home. Like transition expert Nancy Schlossberg says, “even when nothing is happening externally, everything is changing internally.”

It’s been sort of like taking a road trip, in the fog, without a specific destination, but with lots of questions. Familiar questions, to be sure. After all, many of my clients are asking them too. And I suspect you’ve done your time with them as well.

You know. Questions like: How do I balance my needs with who and what I love so much? Where and how do I want to live? Who am I becoming? What’s it all about? How can I pay attention to the sweet, precious moments of life? What will my next act look like? Where, oh where, does the time go?

GOOD QUESTIONS. BUT WITH A TENDENCY TO LEAVE US FEELING UNMOORED. UNHOOKED. UNTETHERED.

At least internally, that is. And truth be told, there’s an odd satisfaction that comes when we just give in and simply allow ourselves to float in that place.

But as the year unfolded, just floating wasn’t enough for me. And last summer I decided I needed an anchor, a home away from home. So on a whim, (and after reading a book by Natalie Rogers), I picked up a small sketch pad and some colored pens.

AND MY FIRST ART JOURNAL CAME TO LIFE.

In the beginning I had no idea where it was going. And even though I rarely gave it the suggested ten to twenty minutes a day, I noticed early on that each time I sat down with it something shifted.

NO MATTER WHAT I DID, I FELT A SHIFT.

A scribble. A doodle. A quick free-write. A mood expressed with words and images. All of it warmed me. Embraced me. Made me breathe a little easier. A definite shift.

RIGHT ABOUT THEN THINGS GOT PRETTY INTERESTING.

My art journal took on a life of its own. It wanted more than colored pens. It called out for paint. Pastels. Crumpled magazine images. Quotes. Snippets of newspaper articles.

Even messages from the year’s blog posts started showing up. The stuff about purposeless play and my philosophy for living a meaningful life. On one particularly confusing day, Joe the Quilter found his way in, looking remarkably like Joan Crawford in drag. But his (her?) words rang loud and clear: You don’t have to know what you’re doing. You don’t have to wait to start. You can find out what you’re doing by doing it.

SO TRUE. IN BOTH LIFE AND ART.

Perhaps most unexpected has been the way my art journal accommodates my deeper self and helps me make sense of my dreams (the sleeping kind). It all started when I pasted in a photo of a young woman with pigtails. She reminded me of a recent dream; I knew she was a metaphor, an archetypal symbol. And I wanted to talk to her through the process of active imagination. Although that can sometimes be difficult, it wasn’t this time. Her words easily tumbled out, gently challenging me: You think it needs to be perfect to find me, but I’m always, always, always available. Stop pushing me aside.

SO THERE YOU HAVE IT. IN CASE YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED, I’M TRULY, MADLY, DEEPLY IN LOVE WITH MY ART JOURNAL.

Of course, I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that I’m really showering all that love and affection on myself, since my art journal is me. And that’s what an art journal can give us:  a reminder that we are enough, that we are creative and whole and full of imagination. And even during times of complicated transition, we can find our way back to ourselves. Just like the lyrics say in one of my favorite holiday tunes, we can celebrate ourselves home, even when it’s a metaphorical home.

Please, celebrate me home.
Play me one more song that I’ll always remember
I can recall whenever I find myself too all alone
I can sing me home.

SINGING US HOME. I THINK THAT HAS A NICE RING TO IT.

And yet, I was the tiniest bit hesitant to share the art journal, because it’s very personal. So I photographed it with my MacBook and added some special effects. I like the way they transform it just enough for me to keep my privacy and you to experience its spirit.

And if one person sees this and understands that art can be about feelings and process rather than expectations and product, that the end result doesn’t matter, then I will be very happy. If it encourages one client or blog reader to stop saying I can’t draw or I’m not an artist or I’m not creative, then that will be a very good thing, in my book. That, in fact, will be enough.

So as this year comes to a close, I wish for you a time of singing yourself home, metaphorical or otherwise.

A TIME OF JOY AND ENOUGHNESS.

I’m out of here for a few weeks, but set to return during the first week of January. So stay tuned because I’ve got some new goodies in store for you.

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I welcome referrals to my blog and counseling/coaching services. If you know someone who may be interested in what I write about or what I do, please share with them. Your satisfaction and trust in my services means a lot. Thank you.

Last month I was on the receiving end of a technique meant to help people feel better about themselves and their lives.

Well, maybe technique is the wrong word. You could probably call it a movement, since it’s gained many followers. And I was game to try it, at least once.

So there I was: Answering the questions. Committing to the process. And eventually coming up with the requisite insight.

But the thing is, the insight didn’t last. Not because I lost awareness of it, but because another insight floated up right underneath it. And then an inner voice called out: This is all about fixing you. And you don’t need to be fixed.

MAKING THINGS WORSE

So much of the self-help and personal growth industry focuses on what’s wrong with the human machine and how to fix it.

Got a screw loose? You better tighten it.

Engine running rough? Let’s tune her up.

Fluid leaking? There’s a quick patch for that.

But what if trying to fix ourselves actually makes things worse? What if it leads us into the trap of believing that there’s some right answer, a right way, to deal with the challenges of life? (Trust me, there’s not).

THERE IS ANOTHER WAY

Recently I learned that Carl Jung, the founder of archetypal psychology who was, somewhat ironically, also a significant influence on the field of personal growth, wasn’t too concerned about whether his patients overcame their problems, in the traditional sense.

Simply put, he couldn’t care less about techniques or tools or strategies or fixing things.

But he was interested in helping people look within to create deeper connections with their inner lives. He cared very much about heart and soul and relationship: transcending the boundaries of conscious life and getting to know the buried wisdom lurking way down in the psyche.

And, no surprise, with this approach people did change. But not in the self-helpish way we’ve been conditioned to think about change. Not in the I’ll-learn-to-stop-procrastinating way. Or the I’ll-whip-my-worry-into-submission way. Or even the I’ll-finally-get-myself-organized way.

No, this was different. This kind of change was about deep transformation, self-expression, and self acceptance.

And to paraphrase Humphrey Bogart, it was about embracing this truth:

It doesn’t take much to see that our problems don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that. Here’s looking at you, kid.

WHEW, WHAT A RELIEF

Let me tell you, from my perspective as a procrastinating, disorganized, worry-wart, this is indeed a relief. But it’s not really a surprise.

Because I remember that my procrastination takes a hike when I trust that my intuition will pull me through. And my disorganization doesn’t matter much when I’m in the flow of my creative nature. Not to mention that my internal worry-wart recedes into the background when I focus on the heart-centered bond I experience with clients, friends, and family.

To be sure, the problems don’t go away. They don’t get fixed. But if I’m honoring the inner life of my intuition, creativity, and heart, they don’t need to be fixed.

And they certainly don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Kid.

So here’s a question to ponder: which of your problems don’t amount to a hill of beans and don’t need to be fixed?

p.s. Here’s looking at you!

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I welcome referrals to my blog and counseling/coaching services. If you know someone who may be interested in what I write about or what I do, please share with them. Your satisfaction and trust in my services means a lot. Thank you.

If you’re new here you may not know this, but my writing has been somewhat sporadic lately.

It’s not that I have nothing to say. Quite the contrary, loads of ideas are vying for space in the old right brain. Daily, it seems, a new inspiration knocks at my door. But the urgency to get any of it on to paper (or the screen, as it were) has taken a holiday.

So this got me looking back at what I’ve written during the past year. Marveling a little, in fact, and wondering who was that woman who kept churning out the words each week? There was even a moment, a flash, when I thought maybe my best work was behind me.

Oddly, though, this thought didn’t bother me. My reaction was kind of like, oh well. And that’s when it occurred to me that my current lack of writing desire has little to do with a creative block, but is more likely about the normal ebb and flow of my multipotentiality.

WHAT THE HECK IS MULTIPOTENTIALITY?

You may not have heard of it before, but that’s okay, because I know a lot about it. I spent almost a year studying it (and other aspects of creativity) when I wrote my master’s thesis in 1999 (seems like eons ago). So let me briefly return to that time and geek out on you for just a minute.

Way back in 1972, a guy named R.H. Frederickson defined a multipotentialed person as someone who, “when provided with appropriate environments, can select and develop a number of competencies to a high level.”

Later, researchers discovered that many multipotentialed people are creative as well, and their multipotentiality shows up as complex cognitive abilities, curiosity, a drive for perfection, and high degrees of originality and flexibility.

We probably all can agree that’s a fairly accurate description of many creative people. And most of it is really good, except for the stuff about perfection. But here’s the dilemma: there’s only so much time in a day, or a life. And that curiosity and originality wants to spread itself around, trying lots of different things.

But as Mr. Frederickson noted years later, writing in the Journal of Counseling and Development, that’s not the traditional route for honing a creative skill:

It can be argued…that to be a truly gifted dancer or musician [or writer, or any creative endeavor]…one must make a complete commitment of energy and talent in one particular area and give 100%, if not more, to that objective. This singleness of purpose…will most likely mean limited development of other potentially valuable skills.

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

What it means for me is that I can give myself a break. I’m not in the grips of a creative block, and I’m pretty sure there’s still a lot of writing for me to do.

Yet it’s comforting to know that with a little digging I’ll discover that my creative multipotentiality has been showing up in other areas of my life, where I’m expressing valuable skills. So let’s see, what have I been up to lately? Doing a lot of cooking, actually. Bingo! Definitely a creative endeavor for me.

What it may mean for you is that you can give yourself a break, too, if you’re not meeting your creative expectations. And if you’re seriously struggling to get back on the writing or painting or singing horse (or whatever your particular creative horse is), then you might want to experiment with another creative outlet for a while, and see what happens.

Let your multipotentiality roam. Set it free for a bit. You can always round it up again when you need to focus.

How about you? What’s cooking with your multipotentiality these days?

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I welcome referrals to my blog and counseling/coaching services. If you know someone who may be interested in what I write about or what I do, please share with them. Your satisfaction and trust in my services means a lot. Thank you.

One of the sweetest gifts I ever received was a slim paperback volume by May Sarton – The Fur Person. If you haven’t read it, it’s the endearing story of the stray cat (Mr. Tom Jones) who adopted Sarton. As he insinuates himself into the household and truly makes a home there, he transforms from Cat-About-Town to Gentleman Cat to, finally, Fur Person.

Fur Person. I love that name. Simple, yet it perfectly describes the bond between humans and animals. No matter if it’s cat or dog, horse or rabbit, bird or hamster, we imagine that our pets take on some of our own characteristics, and we theirs.

Of course, companion animals give us so much, not the least of which is unconditional love and affection. They also remind us (sometimes demand from us) that we need to make time to play. They’re goofy and they make us laugh. Some even provide warmth on a long, cold night. In fact, many studies have noted the link between animals and stress reduction, healing, and increased physical and emotional wellness.

So this week, as I say goodbye to my devoted buddy Leo, a charming, quirky, lovable, funny little Fur Person if ever there was one, I can’t think of anything I’d like better than to share with you the final passage from May Sarton’s book. Here it is:

For the Fur Person might still be the ineffable Mr. Jones walking down the street, but he was also an anxious tender personality who followed the two Voices up and down the stairs and round the house, begging for a lap. The Tenth Commandment stated coldly that one had to choose a housekeeper with extreme caution. It said nothing about what happens if and when the housekeeper becomes a true friend, to be trusted in sickness and in health, to be followed from house to house, repaid for the trouble she takes in providing excellent meals with songs and purrs, and in general properly provided with catly attentions. But of course the Eleventh Commandment would have to deal primarily with love.

It is all in the name “Fur Person,” he decided then–not really a name at all, but a way of describing a Gentle Cat and his true friends among the human people. For a Fur Person, he saw in his state of extreme concentration, is not just an ordinary cat. He is a cat who is also a person. And Tom Jones realized that he had called himself the Fur Person when he did not really know what a Fur Person is. For a Fur Person is a cat whom human beings love in the right way, allowing him to keep his dignity, his reserve and his freedom. And a Fur Person is a cat who has come to love, one, or, in very exceptional cases, two human beings, and who has decided to stay with them as long as he lives. This can only happen if the human being has imagined part of himself into a cat (Tom Jones had noticed that Brusque Voice sometimes tried to purr) just as the cat has imagined part of himself into a human being. It is a mutual exchange. A Fur Person must be adopted by catly humans, tactful, delicate, respectful, indulgent; these are fairly rare, though not as rare as might be supposed. So thought Tom Jones, and it was the end of such a long think that he was quite exhausted, the Eleventh Commandment must go something like this: A Gentleman Cat becomes a Fur Person when he is truly loved by a human being.

It was not exactly a commandment, he realized, but it would have to do, for he was suddenly very sleepy.

Here’s to all the Fur Persons in our lives, past and present. Although their time here is limited, their gifts are immeasurable.

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I welcome referrals to my blog and counseling/coaching services. If you know someone who may be interested in what I write about or what I do, please share with them. Your satisfaction and trust in my services means a lot. Thank you.

Almost without fail, my quest to nest asserts itself at this time of year.

The big stock pot emerges from the cupboard, ready for the simmering soups it will host. The oven gets called back to work from its months-long vacation. And out come the warm blankets and fluffy comforters. My sewing machine will probably make an appearance too, as my love of textiles and color converges with my need to stitch up a few cozy, warm-hued pillow covers.

But since there’s not much time for sewing lately, my nesting instincts propelled me toward the IKEA website this week, hunting for the one pillow that could pull it all together and add a dash of zing. The exclamation point, if you will, for my home’s transition from summer to fall/winter.

As it turned out, I didn’t find the perfect pillow. I found something even better, though: an invitation to take a sabbatical.

EVER THOUGHT ABOUT A SABBATICAL?

The idea of a sabbatical is compelling to many of us. In fact, I often encourage clients to take mini-sabbaticals, in the form of a day just for them. And long ago, that was at the heart of all sabbaticals: an extended time-out to rest and regroup.

In recent history, however, sabbaticals have changed, and people are more likely to use the time away from work to learn something or create something or accomplish something. There’s frequently a healthy dollop of self-discovery and travel mixed in, too.

Whatever kind of sabbatical it is, I’m all for it. And if I were Queen of the World, I would give everyone a chance to take a sabbatical at least once in their lives. But seeing as how I’m not Queen of the World (darn!), I’m happy that IKEA is stepping up to offer it to at least one lucky person.

A SABBATICAL WITH A TWIST

IKEA is billing this as a Life Improvement Sabbatical. But here’s the interesting part: it’s about improving the lives of others, to the tune of $100,000. Along the way you get coaching, too. With Martha Beck, no less.

Now those IKEA types are pretty smart, if you ask me. They know that when we give of ourselves to improve the lives of others, we improve our own lives immeasurably. The emotional rewards are huge: increased empathy, self-esteem, resilience, a sense of belonging, gratitude. And then there’s all the other intangible stuff that’s difficult to articulate. I won’t even try to put it into words, because I think you get my drift.

So, as my mind rushed ahead to all the possibilities, I arrived at a familiar place: creeping overwhelm. So many options. So many choices.

Kids. The environment. Poverty. Women’s issues. Walkable communities. Sustainable living.

Yikes! How on earth could I figure out what form my own improving-the-lives-of-others sabbatical would take?

WHAT WOULD I DO?

OK. Whoa, Nellie. Time to pull back the reins and get this horse back on the path.

At its core, any sabbatical needs to be first about something that truly matters to us. Something we care deeply about.

IKEA liberally uses the word passion in their materials about the sabbatical. It’s a serviceable word, although sometimes problematic; it can isolate people and make them wonder what they’re missing. As in: What’s wrong with me for not having a burning passion?

But there are a whole bunch of other good words.

Fascination. Curiosity. Intrigue. Meaning. Let me use them in a sentence: What truly matters to you, that you find fascinating, that piques your curiosity, that intrigues you and pulls you toward it, that is full of meaning?

Those words definitely clarify it for me: expressive arts and healing. Of the many things that fascinate me, this rises to the top. So during my sabbatical I would develop a non-profit center for healing and expressive arts.

That’s a good start, but whom do I want to serve? Surprisingly, the answer comes quickly. For months I’ve been reading about the dire need for increased mental health services for veterans returning from the Iraq and Afghanistan wars.

Not only are these men and women facing depression, drug and alcohol abuse, post traumatic stress disorder, and increased risk of heart disease, but suicide rates have sky-rocketed as well. Astonishingly, in California, three times as many veterans took their own lives after returning home as died during the actual wars.

That statistic chills me to the bone, and each article brings another pang of sadness. I know enough to pay attention to that. When we’re drawn to read something again and again, it’s speaking to us. And we need to listen to that voice.

Mind you, I’m not a war person. I don’t think it’s the answer to conflict. And yet, I know that creating a non-profit healing and expressive arts center for veterans would be absolutely the right thing to do if IKEA handed me that check for $100,000.

So there you have it. My Life Improvement Sabbatical.

I’ve even figured out who I’d call first – my old friend from grad school. She’s now the veterans counselor at a local community college. I’m pretty sure the two of us would make a good team.

You know what? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to call her anyway.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

Now it’s your turn. You’ve got the $100,000 to improve the lives of others.

So please, tell me all about your sabbatical.

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I welcome referrals to my blog and counseling/coaching services. If you know someone who may be interested in what I write about or what I do, please share with them. Your satisfaction and trust in my services means a lot. Thank you.

I am I Don Quixote…The Lord of La Mancha…My Destiny Calls and I Go!

When I hear this refrain, I get all excited-tingly inside. And I’m not alone, apparently.

Last Saturday night I sat in a packed theatre with a bunch of other people, all of us watching Don Quixote’s magical quest unfold and letting it conjure us into a place of collective enlightenment.

Theatre has the power to do that.

In fact, somewhat coincidentally, one of my favorite quotes about theatre comes from the liner notes for the Broadway Revival CD of Man of La Mancha. In them the director, Jonathan Kent, wrote:

THEATRE  - THAT STRANGE RITUAL, STRETCHING BACK OVER 2000 YEARS WHEREBY STRANGERS SIT IN ROWS WATCHING OTHER STRANGERS – HAS THE UNIQUE CAPACITY TO TELL US SECRETS ABOUT OURSELVES IN THE DARK.

Oh yeah. For years I’ve reread those words as I listened over and over to the soundtrack (and broke the CD case). Although I’d seen another production many moons ago, it wasn’t until I started listening deeply to the songs (and the incomparable Brian Stokes Mitchell) that the spell was cast and I was taken to that secret place.

And if you’ve never heard Brian Stokes Mitchell sing The Impossible Dream, well…you simply must. It will definitely be worth a few minutes of your time.

But I digress. I’ve also shared those words (about theatre telling us secrets about ourselves) with others during workshops and performances. I’ve noticed they loosen people up and help them enter another world, the world of imagination.

Which is where Man of La Mancha slyly takes us.

Into the backcountry of imagination. Urging us to look at the sketchy border between fantasy and reality. Posing the question, “What is madness and what is truth?” As Quixote/Cervantes asks:

When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams, this may be madness. To seek treasure where there is only trash…too much sanity may be madness! And maddest of all…to see life as it is and not as it should be!

Maybe, just maybe, there’s room for a fine sprinkle of madness, a bigger scoop of imagination, in all our lives right now.

What do you think?

How do you navigate the border between fantasy and reality? Or is there even such a thing?

And have you ever experienced a performance that told you “secrets” about yourself in the dark?

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By the way, if this looks familiar, it is. I wrote it over a year ago and it appeared on my blog in August 2009. Not many people saw it, though, so I’ve retrieved it for another go-round. Isn’t recycling great?

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