How do we help the men?

By Heather Plett on May 16, 2013

fishing

Three years ago, I read an article called Boys Don’t Cry, by Richard Rohr. Since then, I’ve been sharing it with nearly everyone I know who’s raising sons. The article speaks of the challenge men face in a patriarchal world…

After 20 years of working with men on retreats and rites of passage, in spiritual direction, and even in prison, it has sadly become clear to me how trapped the typical Western male feels. He is trapped inside, with almost no inner universe of deep meaning to heal him or guide him.
For centuries, males have been encouraged and rewarded for living an “outer” life of performances, which are usually framed in terms of win or lose. Just listen to boys talk—they have already imbibed it, and usually with the encouragement of both dad and mom. The world of sports, contests, American Idol, video games, and proving oneself is most males’ primary “myth,” through which he frames all reality.

 

Many news stories lately have demonstrated exactly what Rohr is talking about. Whether it’s the young men who raped Rehteah Parsons and the community that failed to support her, the owner of A&F who believes that girls need to be slim and boys need to be big and muscular, or the evangelical pastors who brag about their hot wives in leather pants, it’s clear that there are far too many men being raised with skewed views about what it means to be masculine.

Sadly, our young men are being socialized into a world that continues to believe that being masculine means that you have to dominate, you have to win in competition, you can’t show your fear or humanity, and you’re allowed to abuse other people now and then for your own gain.

Patriarchy has done as much harm to men as it’s done to women. In a world where boys don’t cry and the toughest football player is the biggest high school hero, young men grow up feeling shame over their weakness and their ordinary human feelings of fear and sadness. If they’re not as strong as society expects them to be, or if their interests are in the arts instead of sports and competition, they risk being labeled “gay” or “sissy”.

As this article suggests, men are in a “masculinity crisis” where their roles have changed, they’re pressured to live up to “pornified ideals”, they can’t show their emotions or be vulnerable, and they’re looked down on if they reach out for help.

In the three years since I read Richard Rohr’s article, there has been a question burning in the back of my mind… “how can we help the men?”

I do most of my work with women, and, in fact, my current byline is “helping women live and lead with courage, resilience, and authenticity”. I like working with women. It’s easy, it’s safe, and it feels like important work.  There are few places I feel more content than when I’m in a circle of women sharing stories and being vulnerable. Women are socialized for this kind of thing – building relationships, sharing stories, and being vulnerable with each other. Next weekend, for example, I’ll be hosting a women’s leadership retreat for 35 women, and I know that I will come home inspired and energized.

It’s important work… but I know that there is still some work that is whispering in the corners of my mind that has yet to be realized.

How do we help the men?

Not long ago, I started a Facebook page called Women Changing Leadership about the need to bring more feminine wisdom into the way we lead. Although I love working from that platform… I’m wondering… how do we help men create a similar one called Men Changing Leadership? We don’t just need women working on this issue, we need men working on it.

Men are hurting too. I see it everywhere I turn. Men want to be able to live in full expression of who they are. They want to be allowed to be more vulnerable. They want to be able to cry without ridicule. They want to be able to build relationships that aren’t based on sports scores and fast cars. They want to be able to cultivate their inner lives in healthier ways than they’re encouraged to. They want to be taught how to handle their rage, their fear, and their sadness. They want to sit in conversation circles and share stories, just like women do.

In the public relations classes I teach, I occasionally invite the students into circle to have sharing time, especially when some conflict has arisen in the group. I find it interesting that it is often the young men in the class who come to me afterward to tell me that they really appreciated the opportunity to be in circle and share how they’re feeling. They aren’t given these opportunities very often. I am pleased that, for two years in a row, the students in this class have chosen to work on a group campaign that speaks out against violence toward women and raises money for a local women’s shelter. This year’s campaign, Stand Up Winnipeg is about encouraging men to be stand-up men who challenge the stereotype and dare to care about ending violence toward women. Though they may be socialized to be “tough guys”, the young men in my class give me hope that there are those who have the courage to be themselves.

A few years ago, I was at a retreat where a circle of women gathered at the side of a beautiful lake in Ontario to learn about circle and storytelling from our wise guide, Christina Baldwin. Throughout the time we were there, our conversation was frequently punctuated by gunshots across the lake. Apparently it was hunting season.

It was a stark picture of how the socialization of the genders had resulted in such different activities on either side of the lake. On one side, women brought their vulnerability, tears, and stories into circle. We even built a labyrinth out of dried leaves to represent our journey to our deeper spirituality. On the other side, meanwhile, men were working out their aggression through the sport of shooting birds. Possibly the only conversations going on were about their choices of weapons and how successful they’d been in the hung. (Yes, I’m making a generalization for the cause of this article. It is not my intention to offend anyone with this, but to open a conversation.)

At some point in the weekend, I found myself thinking, “how do I row out to the middle of the lake to meet with the men?” That thought hasn’t left me since, even though I make most of my living working with women.

I feel an ongoing tug to find a way to meet with more men, to invite them into circle, to listen to their stories, to give them safe space for their hurts, to help them challenge the stereotypes, and to encourage them to be vulnerable. That doesn’t mean that I want them to deny them their masculinity – far from it – I simply want to help them find a balance, a yin and yang of masculine and feminine. If they need to end the circle time with a rousing game of floor hockey, or go back to the other side of the lake to find a duck for supper, they can do that.

The question is… how? How do we help them? How do we make safe space and then convince them to step into the space? How do we let them know that we’re not judging them, but we want to support them? How do we invite them into meaningful conversation that will serve ALL of us? I ask it because I really want to know… men and women who read this, please share your thoughts in the comments so that we can start a conversation.

While I consider what more can be done, I’ll continue to do what I’m doing in my classroom and wherever people will welcome me. I’ll push the chairs into circle, I’ll invite men in (along with the women), and I’ll do what I can to host their longing and their pain.

And some day, as someone suggested recently, I may create a version of Lead with Your Wild Heart for men.

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“I see beauty everywhere”

By Heather Plett on May 14, 2013

Like many Canadians (and people from all over the world), I have fallen in love with astronaut Chris Hadfield in the last four months. Not only is he an exceptional human being (Canada’s first commander of the International Space Station, a gifted musician, and a gifted photographer) he brings us all back to something that many of us lost when we left childhood – a sense of wonder.

Every time he posted an image on his Facebook page, the caption was some version of “Look at this amazing view I have the privilege of seeing! Look at how beautiful the earth is! Look at all there is in this universe to marvel at!” Every time he posted a video about life in the International Space Station, whether it was about what happens to tears in zero gravity, how to clip your nails in space, or how he makes a peanut butter and honey sandwich, the tone of his voice said “isn’t this cool? I’m so glad I get to share this with you!” Every time he wrote or sang a song, whether he sang with the Barenaked Ladies, or did his final ISS parting song, Space Oddity, you could hear the delight and awe in his voice.

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His sense of wonder was paired with his great generosity, and that’s why so many people fell in love with him. He clearly took great delight in sharing his experiences with us.

I am happy to say that I was raised by parents who, like Chris Hadfield, taught me to witness the world with a sense of delight. Every Spring, my Dad would write “frogs” on the calendar on the first day that he heard them singing. If he found a bird’s nest in a tree, he would almost certainly drag one or more of us kids out to the tree to see it. One of my favourite photos is one that he took of dandelions – what he said were the most under-appreciated flowers in the world.

Mom was the same. On lazy Sunday afternoons, we would go for drives in the countryside and explore old abandoned homes, because she was intensely curious about what was inside. Any chance she got, she would climb trees, just for the fun of it. Even in her dying days, she watched the birds at her bird feeder and delighted in the variety and beauty of each of them.

On Mother’s Day this year (our first since Mom died), my sister and I drove out to the small town where we grew up to visit the graves where our parents now lay buried. We had a lovely day together, first at the grave, and then in the park with the swinging bridge we used to play on, and in the field where we used to hunt for crocuses when Spring finally came.

Instead of the desperate sense of emptiness that we both thought the day would be filled with, there was peacefulness and nostalgia in our conversations and our wanderings. Much of the day was spent doing exactly what Mom and Dad taught us to do – finding the beauty in the world. We got muddy on the riverbank, trying to get the right angle to photograph the swinging bridge, and we got our clothes covered in dry grass and dust, lying in the field trying to capture both the crocuses and grain elevator in the same shot.

Arden

I was reminded, once again, of the power of beauty for healing and transformation. The grief was still there, but in seeking beauty, we were able to breathe hope into our lives.

In our pragmatic, goal-oriented lives, we forget to pause for beauty. “Wandering in crocus fields is for people who don’t have important things to do with their lives,” we tell ourselves.

Wrong. Wandering in crocus fields is ESSENTIAL if we have important things to do with our lives. Beauty is imperative!

In my travels in the world, I have seen people whose lives are full of wealth but not much beauty. I have also seen people who live in poverty but surround themselves with beauty. I would rather live in community with the second group of people, because they know joy, they live generously, and their delight shines in their eyes.

Last night was one of those impeccable Spring evenings when the wind calms, the sun’s setting rays are warm and golden, and the air is full of the hope of new life. I couldn’t resist wandering through my neighbourhood once again, seeking beauty and letting myself be filled with awe.

I am grateful for every moment that brings wonder into my life, and I am grateful for the capacity to witness it.

riverbank wandering

And if you still need convincing that a search for beauty is imperative, watch this short video of a 109 year old Holocaust Survivor. “I see beauty everywhere.”

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The unfinished business of living

By Heather Plett on May 11, 2013

Around this time last year, I finished what I thought was my final edit on my book before starting to figure out how to get it published.

Not only did I finish it, but my friend Segun shared the first 5 chapters of it with his advanced graphic design class and gave them the assignment of developing a book design. I visited the class and was shown more than a dozen versions of what the book could look like if I brought it into print. It was a thrilling moment. I even reserved the url for the book title, confident that I would get it into print one way or another.

Butterfly at the grave
I was close… so close… and then life got in the way.

It’s tricky, this business of writing a memoir. Life is messy and unfinished, and it’s difficult to tie it up with a pretty bow at the end.

Last year at this time, the book was called “Butterfly at the Grave”. Now I wonder if I should call it “The Unfinished Business of Living, While People around You are Dying”.

The book has been growing in me for more than a dozen years. It’s the story of my stillborn son Matthew and the huge impact his short life had on my life. It started growing even before he was born, when I was sitting in the hospital waiting for him, on an unexpected sabbatical from my life. During those three weeks, I wrote in my journal “some day I will write a book and it will be called ‘The Journey of a Woman’.”

The problem is that while the book was gestating in me, other deaths happened that changed my life just as much. When I started writing it two years ago, I was pretty certain it would focus solely on Matthew, but then one day I realized that I couldn’t ignore the impact that my Dad’s sudden death had on my life.

And then… while I was trying to wrap it up… well, Mom got cancer. I wrote this in the last chapter, just before finishing the first draft a year and a half ago…

“On Mother’s Day this past year, I was having an especially horrible day. After spending the afternoon with my mother who was experiencing the ravishing after-effects of her first chemo treatment, I came home completely spent and emotional. It finally hit home just how devastated I would be if I lost my Mom. Our relationship hasn’t always been an easy one, especially in recent years when I and my siblings had to get used to the idea that she married again after Dad died and things shifted fairly significantly. And yet, despite the challenges, I love her deeply and I don’t want to lose her.”

You know the rest of the story. I lost her. So… how can I now end the book on that note when I know just how much her loss means to me?

I’m not sure. This book still wants to be born, and at some point I just have to say “finished”, but I suspect it’s not finished yet. I think a few more chapters are going to emerge before I finally see it in print.

Life is unfinished, imperfect, and messy. I suppose that, even when it’s in print, this book will always be unfinished.

Grief is a class we never get a final grade in.

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On surrender, trust, and abundance

By Heather Plett on May 8, 2013

Last Friday was a bad day – one of the worst I’ve had in a long time. I spent a lot of time worrying and stressing and trying to control the outcome of things that were outside of my control. I also spent a lot of time beating myself up for doing these things (because I know better), and then getting really down on myself for not being further evolved than I am.

I won’t go into all of the details of what was going on, but one of the things was my disappointment over low sales of Lead with Your Wild Heart. I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback on this program and many emails of interest, and I am completely convinced that it is a beautiful and meaningful program, so I let myself believe that those things would translate into significant sales. I was wrong. For whatever reasons (a saturated market, wrong time of year, marketing to the wrong people – your guess is as good as mine), sales were low, and that means that once my current contracts end at the end of June, I’ll have to work harder at finding more sources of income over the summer. Sigh.

Things began to shift over the weekend, though. I took a couple of long walks in the woods, visited the museum with my family, and walked the labyrinth where crocuses are beginning to bloom. The coming of Spring helped to shift my perspective. Life can’t be all bad when crocuses are blooming.

A few things kept going through my mind on the weekend. First of all, I reminded myself of an ongoing mantra of mine… “The outcome is not my responsibility.” In other words, I am not responsible for how many people show up to receive my teaching, I am only responsible for whether or not I offer my gifts and whether I do my best to make them available to people. I’m doing that. I’ve poured my heart and soul into Lead with Your Wild Heart and I KNOW that it is the best possible expression of my gifts. I also know that it is a deeply meaningful journey for people who choose to take it. I offer, people receive, and that is all that I am responsible for. The numbers have no relevance to the value of the offering.

The other thing that kept going through my mind was what we’re taught in Art of Hosting… “whoever shows up are the right people.” This is what I tell myself every time I teach a course, host a retreat, or throw a party. Even if only two people show up, they are the right people. Even if I show up alone, I am the right people. There is value in large gatherings, and there is value in small. If the offering is made, the right people will show up whether it’s two or twenty or two hundred.

And so I spent my weekend surrendering, trusting, and letting go. I walked, I prayed, I released, and I trusted.


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Now, there are some simplistic versions of this story that we all want to believe in, and one of those versions would be this: “After letting it all go, I attracted abundance, hundreds of people showed up and I was rich.” That’s the version you might seek after focusing on things like the Law of Attraction or The Secret. I hear that version ALL THE TIME on the internet and I cringe every time I do.

That version has a limited view of what “abundance” means. That version sees abundance as monetary gain, or all of those things that make life easy and smooth.

The real version of the story is still about abundance, but it has nothing about money or fame, or even ease.

Only a couple of more people registered. No crowds were knocking down my door. Abundance showed up in different ways.

On Monday, it suddenly occurred to me that there was absolutely nothing on my calendar on Tuesday. AND I didn’t have any projects due or papers that needed to be marked right away. WHAT?! How could that be? My calendar has been over-crowded for months now, and there is almost always a to-do list a mile long.

Not only was the day wide open, but the weather was stunningly beautiful after many long months of snow and cold.

A free day AND beautiful weather? That sounded like abundance to me!

I dedicated the day entirely to self-care. After dropping the girls off at school, I packed my journal and camera, bought a chai latte, and headed out to a provincial park not far from the city. I found a hiking trail and I wandered for hours in the woods. Then I stopped at the beach, and dipped my toes in the water, feeling like I’d been sprung from the prison of a long, hard winter. When I got hungry, I drove into the city, picked up some picnic food, and ate lunch at a special place called Oodena, a celebration circle near the forks of the two rivers that run through our city.

It was an exquisite day and I relished every moment of it.

But it got even better…

In the evening, I came home to find a package had been delivered by someone my daughter didn’t know. Inside was one of the most beautiful hand-knit shawls I’ve ever seen. I was dumbfounded. This was for ME?! I opened the letter in the package and discovered that it was a gift from a very special woman who’s been a student in my Creative Discovery class. She’d poured love and prayers into every stitch of it – specially for me. “Heather, I prayed that you and your family would be blessed with all that God knows is right for you and that He would guide you and give you the wisdom you need as you travel your path. His beautiful shawls seem to have a wonderful ability to heal, to encourage and comfort and to give solace and protection, especially in difficult times, and they give the most warm Divine hugs too.”

The shawl is burgundy and magenta, and this is what she learned about the meaning of the colour magenta: “Magenta represents universal love at its highest level. It promotes compassion, kindness, and cooperation and encourages a sense of self-respect and contentment. Magenta is the colour of the non-conformist, the free spirit. It pushes you to take responsibility for creating your own path in life. Magenta inspires change, transformation, growth and personal development.” And then she added: “Do you recognize yourself in all this?”

Wow. TALK ABOUT ABUNDANCE!

prayer shawl

It was especially meaningful to receive this gift from someone I met through one of my courses. She has been touched by my work to offer her own gifts. (Her first book is coming out in publication next week!) What more could I ask for than to be an inspiration for other people so that gifts continue to flow in the world? I don’t need hundreds of people to show up – I just need the RIGHT people to show up!

And… I don’t need a lot of money, when I have abundance of another kind. I have the abundance of being part of a gift economy that can never be measured by monetary transactions.

Just one more story of abundance and the gift economy… this morning I went to yoga class at my favourite studio and I didn’t have to pay for it. Why? Because I have exchanged coaching sessions for yoga sessions with my coaching teacher! We are both sharing abundance and money has nothing to do with it.

Yes, abundance shows up, but it may not look the way we expect it to look, and it may only show up when we’ve walked through the fire of surrender and trust.

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Come wander with me… and hear the story of an encounter with a deer

By Heather Plett on May 6, 2013

This weekend was magical – the kind of beautiful Spring weather that brings hope back to the prairies. It’s been a long, hard winter here, and Spring has never been more welcome.

Best of all? I finally had time to enjoy it. I wandered in the woods, visited the labyrinth, took pictures of the first tentative crocuses poking their heads above the soil, laid on the forest floor, and took lots of deep, healing breaths.

While I was wandering, I made this little video in which I introduce you to my favourite place to rejuvenate, and I tell you the story of an encounter with a deer.

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On leaning in and leaning out and walking out and walking on

By Heather Plett on April 30, 2013

M & SI’m a statistic. I’m one of the women Sheryl Sandburg and others talk about who don’t, in their opinion, help the cause of feminism. I made it all the way to the glass ceiling, peered through the cracks, decided I didn’t like what I saw, and walked out. I’m a “walk out who walked on.”

There’s a pretty good chance I would have made it through that glass ceiling if I’d “leaned in” long enough. I had all of the credentials and was an ambitious up-and-comer at the time. I took the fast track through the ranks of the public service, had the title “director” added to my name, got the office right next to the corner office, and was making more money than I’d ever dreamed I could.

On top of the career, I had a good feminist husband who carried his share of the household and parenting responsibilities, a couple of beautiful daughters, a house in the suburbs, a minivan, a trailer at the lake, and a boat. You could say I had it all – the feminist’s dream.

And now? I still have the husband and daughters (with an extra one since those days), but I no longer have the trailer at the lake, the boat, the comfortable paycheck or the title of “director” attached to my name. Instead, I have a tiny office in my basement without a window and a fledgling career as a teacher, coach, facilitator and writer.

Some might call me a failed feminist. I let go of the dream that my foremothers fought for. I quit the corporate climb on the wrong side of the glass ceiling. Instead I now spend a good portion of my days creating mandalas with Sharpie markers, hosting story circles, and inviting retreat participants to stitch together quilt squares – not exactly the things a traditional feminist would take pride in.

Why did I walk away from the corporate career and the frequent flyer points in favour of Sharpie markers, quilt squares, and women’s retreats?

There are a few reasons.

  1. At the height of my career, I had a stillborn son whose presence in my life reminded me that my priorities are not wealth, work, or prestige but rather family, community, and space for spirituality.
  2. I wanted to find happiness. I knew that the corner office wasn’t my path to happiness.
  3. I became convinced that it’s time for feminism to grow into something new, and I was pretty sure that I could serve a greater role in helping to birth the new wave of feminism from outside a corporate structure.

It’s that last point that I want to talk about in this article. Instead of a “failed feminist”, I like to think of myself as an “emergent feminist”.

It’s time, I believe, for women to change the world.  That won’t happen simply by getting into CEO positions and taking more seats at the boardroom tables. Women will change the world only if we CHANGE LEADERSHIP.

When I was in formal leadership, on my way to the top, I thrived because I learned to think like a man. I listened to the voices of mentors who told me that “feelings have nothing to do with leadership and you should leave them out of the boardroom”, I shut down my intuition in favour of logic, I left my spirituality and much of my creativity at home, I was careful not to be too wild or passionate, and I even started to believe what I was told once that “relationships get in the way of good programming.”

By the time I broke away from formal leadership to start my own business, ten years after being named a director, I was almost completely burnt out from living in a way that was not authentic to me. I returned to the things that made me feel alive – spiritual practices, art-making, wandering in the woods, and relationships – and when I did I realized that THESE THINGS were exactly what had been missing in my leadership practice. More importantly, they weren’t just absent from my own journey, they were missing from leadership in general.

Instead of leaving them at home, I should have clung to them and brought them into my work. Instead of shutting down my feelings and encouraging my staff to do the same, I should have invited them to bring their vulnerability into conversation circles. Instead of creating strategic plans that rarely evoke any imagination, I should have drawn mandalas that wake up the right brain and invite it to the table. Instead of sitting around energy-killing boardroom tables, I should have held staff retreats in the middle of the woods.

For far too long, we’ve accepted a masculine-dominated leadership paradigm in our government offices, our businesses and even our non-profits that is no longer serving us. As Margaret Wheatley and Deborah Frieze say in Walk Out Walk On, we’ve been relying on the leader-as-hero model, when what we really need now is the leader-as-host. In the words of Tina Turner, “we don’t need another hero”. We need people who can lead from a place in the circle, people who can help heal the brokenness in the world, people who help us feel connected again, and people who can remind us of the importance of our relationship with the earth.

“Leadership is about rearranging the chairs, getting the questions right, putting citizens in front of each other and then knowing what’s worth focusing on. The leadership I’m longing for is the leadership that says my number one job is to bring people together, out of exile, out of isolation, and into connection.” – Peter Block

All around us, we see signs of how disconnected we have become – over-consumption of our resources, terrorist attacks, climate change, extreme poverty, etc. These are the stories of a disconnected human race and this disconnection has been fueled by competitive, hierarchical, power-driven leadership that has been allowed to run un-checked.

If the new wave of feminism has a role to play in the world it is not about pushing harder for the corner office, but about bringing us back to a place of connection. Instead of fighting for the top jobs, the power and the prestige, we should be urging our leaders to bring us out of exile and back to community, back to spirituality, back to earth stewardship, and back to ourselves.

Instead of simply fighting to gain entry into the halls of power, we should be working to change the furniture in those halls. It’s time to move the chairs into a circle and open the windows to the world. It’s time to air out the corner office and replace it with conversation spaces. It’s time to replace competitiveness with collaboration, and hierarchy with community.

This is why I decided to walk out and walk on… my role in the world is no longer to fight for power, it’s to help us figure out how to balance power with love. Instead of standing in front of people, I’m sitting beside them and creating space for conversations. Instead of thinking like a man, I’m inviting men to think more like women.

I don’t want the corner office, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see a woman there. I will always fight for her right to be there, and when she gets there, I’ll be standing beside her, helping her to take down the walls of her corner office and invite people in. I will urge her to see the world through balanced eyes, honouring both the feminine and the masculine in the world, and creating space for us all to have meaningful conversations that lead the world into the transformation it needs.

I’m now leading from a place in the circle so that I can help other women (and men) learn to do the same. When we’ve gathered into that circle, we can all lean in and listen to each other.

If you’re looking for a new way of defining leadership, join me on a free call on Re-imagining Leadership for our Time on May 1 at 2 pm. Central.

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Re-Imagining Leadership for Our Time – Free Call

By Heather Plett on April 23, 2013

“I’m finally beginning to realize that I’m a leader.”

Those are the words I heard not long ago from a woman who’d just finished the four month leadership program I was co-facilitating. She was an incredible woman doing great things in her community, including lobbying to save a local nature trail, but she’d never thought of herself as a leader.

I hear those words all the time, especially from women. I’ve been hearing them recently in relation to my online course Lead with Your Wild Heart. “I love your program… but… I’m not sure I’m a leader.” Almost without fail, these women are gifted in art, teaching, community transformation, homemaking, earth stewardship, etc., and yet they don’t see leadership in what they do.

Part of the purpose of Lead with Your Wild Heart is to re-imagine leadership for our time. I believe that the need in the world has changed and that we now need to see leadership through a new lens.

I believe that the leaders the world needs now are those who know how to host conversations, imagine change, paint, dance, sing, write poetry, love generously, live in right relationship with the earth, build community, imagine new ways of using and honouring our limited resources, teach, and play. 

As Margaret Wheatley says, a leader is “anyone who is willing to help.” The world needs us to show up and help right now, with whatever gifts we have to offer.

I’ll be hosting a free call on Wednesday, May 1st, at 2 p.m. Central on Re-Imagining Leadership for Our Time.

The call will be an exploration into a new way of defining leadership that fits the paradigm we are now living in. Your questions and ideas on the subject will be more than welcome. One of my deepest beliefs about effective leadership is that it involves hosting meaningful conversations that help surface the wisdom in the circle. Your wisdom is welcome in this circle, and so are your doubts, questions, and curiosity.

I’m happy to be joined in the call by some of the members of my Wise Heart Wisdom Circle. Those who’ve confirmed so far are Desiree Adaway, Julie Daley, and Lisa Wilson.

Sign up below and you’ll receive the call information in your inbox. I look forward to our conversation!

ALSO… over on Facebook, I’m collecting “what if” questions about leadership to inspire us for the conversation. Scroll down below the sign-up form to see the ones already gathered, and add your own to the comments of this post.

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wild heart - quote 3 - Sera Bishop

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A circle of connection

By Heather Plett on April 14, 2013

I am home tonight, for a quick stopover in between hosting a women’s retreat in the woods and then traveling tomorrow (after teaching one of my weekly classes) to Minneapolis for an Art of Hosting training.

My life, these days, is all about hosting meaningful, heart-based conversations, whether they take place in the classroom, at a retreat centre in the woods, around the table in a rural coffee shop, or over the phone or Skype. I am listening deeply, coaxing a lot of stories to come forward, sharing from my heart, and doing my best to create safe space for vulnerability to show up.

I can hardly imagine more important work to be doing than this. These spaces where conversations happen and people connect with each other are where the life blood of the world is pulsing. This is where change begins to happen. This is where hope grows.

At the end of the weekend retreat, each of the women was gifted with a stone that had a word carved in it (hope, love, courage, peace) and a beaded bracelet that reminds them of the circle they are now connected to. I asked them to hold out their hands, and it was only after I took the picture that I saw that the attempt at a circle had come out looking more like a heart. Either way, it works for me!hands with rocks

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My roots are showing

By Heather Plett on April 11, 2013

trees at grave

There’s a ridge that runs across the prairies. It was once the beach of the prehistoric Lake Agassiz. Fed by glacial meltwater at the end of the last glacial period, its area was larger than all of the modern Great Lakes combined, and at times it held more water than contained by all lakes in the world today.

It is on that ridge that my parents’ bodies lay buried. Their bones now mingle with the fossils of ancient fish and salamander and water fowl.

Their unassuming graves lay just feet away from a stand of towering poplar trees. These trees have withstood the harsh winds, cold snows, and blistering heat that shapes the prairies. They are sturdy and courageous and they know how to find nourishment even in the sandy soil of the ridge. The roots of those trees will now feed on the decay of my parents’ bodies. The green leaves that will grow in the Spring will be richer because my mom and dad lend them their nourishment.

I will stand in the shade of those trees, come summer, and know that my mom and dad are still there, caring for me, feeding me, mingling with the soil and the trees and the dirt of centuries of history.

It matters to me, this knowledge that my roots are now entwined with the roots of these beautiful trees, and that the bones of my mom and dad are now mingled with the history of the prairies. It matters to me that the cycle of life goes on and that even in death, we matter to Mother Earth and she matters to us.

It may seem macabre, but it’s not really. It’s the cycle of life. It’s the way things are meant to be.

We can not extricate ourselves from this deep and meaningful connection.

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The promise I made to myself

By Heather Plett on April 5, 2013

18 - ring

Three and a half years ago, I brought myself a promise ring.

I was visiting Banff at the time, after a business-related road trip through Western Canada. Visiting Banff always brings up mixed emotions for me. I love the beauty of the place, in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, but it holds a sad story from my past. I lived there the summer I turned 19, and it wasn’t a particularly happy summer. I was in that “trying to decide whether to stay safe in life or to take more chances and risk getting hurt” phase of early adulthood. Sadly, I let the things that happened to me that summer convince me that safe was a better option. I gave up the plans I’d had to change schools and move to another province and I went back home to nurse my wounds and play it safe.

One of the places that always brings up deep longing for me is the Banff Centre. When I lived there, my roommates and I sometimes went to watch visiting performers, and each time I went, I’d think “oh, if only I were talented enough to spend time at a place like this!”

When I visited three and a half years ago, I drove past the Centre and started to cry. I cried for the young woman I was more than twenty years earlier who believed she wasn’t talented or worthy. I cried for the hurts that young woman had already suffered and had yet to suffer. I cried for the long journey I’ve had since then, learning to trust both my worthiness and my longings, and learning to be both resilient and courageous through the hard times.

When I drove back into town after visiting the Centre and the resort where I spent the summer cleaning other people’s mess out of hotel rooms, I wandered through the downtown and dropped in at a jewellery store. In a flash of inspiration, I bought myself a promise ring with a blue chalcedony stone.  (I later learned that the chalcedony speaks of spirit and trust and is known as the Speaker’s Stone, the stone of one who must measure his words. It encourages reflection and meditation, its gentle radiance preparing us for action but helping to hold back words we might regret. The great Roman orator, Cicero, is said to have worn one around his neck.)

Later that day, I sat in a cafe with my journal and wrote the following promise to myself:

I promise:
– I will take more chances.
– I will believe that I am an artist.
– I will trust my ability.
– I will look for opportunities to paint and make art as often as I can.
– I will sign up for another class or workshop that stretches me.
– I will honour the muse.

I couldn’t go back and make those promises for my 19 year old self, but it wasn’t too late to make them for my 40+ self.

Last week, in the last lesson for Lead with Your Wild Heart, I invited participants to make a commitment to themselves and to honour it with some kind of gift, like a ring. That tweaked my memory and I went back to find the original post I wrote about the promise ring I’d bought for myself. I started crying all over again – not because I was sad anymore for my 19 year old self, but because I am delighted for my 46 year old self that I can honestly say that I have kept my promise to myself.

I have done just what I said I’d do. I took more chances (quit my job and started a business), started making more art and taking art classes, I’ve been honouring the muse, and trusting my own ability.

Nothing to date has felt so much like an honouring of that promise as the creation of Lead with Your Wild Heart. Nothing has felt so much like it is emerging out of my most authentic, most beautiful, most Spirit-guided self.

I’ve just opened registration for the second offering of Lead with Your Wild Heart, and I can say that I am thrilled beyond expectation with how beautifully it has turned out. This has been an exercise in trusting my own wild heart, and I know that it will serve as a gift to all those who take it into their own wild hearts.

And now… can I tell you a little secret? I’m dreaming of taking some version of Lead with Your Wild Heart to the Banff Centre for Leadership Development. I don’t know yet how to make that happen, but I’m sharing the dream in hopes that will help me get closer to it.

I’m trusting my wild heart and seeing where it leads.

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