by Heather Plett | Aug 29, 2011 | Beauty, childhood, Passion, personality
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I like to explore green spaces.
See those little pockets of green all over my neighbourhood? I’m attracted to them like a magnet to steel.
Since this has been my summer of wandering (and the summer of beautiful weather), and training for my upcoming 100 km walk, I’ve had a chance to explore a lot of green spaces. It’s become a habit of mine – scan a Google map, find a patch of green I haven’t explored yet, and go.
Sometimes I find lovely parks I didn’t know existed, with manicured paths, and child-filled play structures.
Often though, I walk past the manicured parks to the next green space.
My favourite discoveries are not the parks. My favourites are the untamed, unruly, un-manicured spaces that scream out to my inner child “EXPLORE ME!”
And explore them I do, these little pockets of wildness. I climb over underbrush, hop over puddles, shimmy under fallen trees, and push through thick branches, until I am so deep inside the green box on the map that the city just outside the boundary ceases to exist.
Inside the green I find hidden streams, magical trees, colourful mushrooms, raucous wildflowers, and – when I’m lucky – deer.
What I find most of all, though, in those untamed green spaces, is my own wild heart.
I remember what it means to be wild and unruly. I remember what it feels like to be free of the tidy little boxes I let society place me in. I feel the lilt come back to my step that tells me I am following my heart and not the expectations of others.
From the moment I step off the well-traveled path and into the green square on the map, I am transported back to my childhood, when I used to roam the woods on our farmland, imagining myself a gypsy or an explorer.
The child in me revived, I revel in each discovery. I stare in awe at the leaves quivering in the breeze and twinkling in the sunlight. I marvel at the patterns in the bark of trees. I giggle at the bare patches where it looks like fairies have danced. I look deeply into the magical eyes of deer.
It doesn’t take much to give my wild nature space to breath. Just a little green shape on a map.
Go… find one of your own.
And if you want a companion, take me along.
by Heather Plett | Aug 26, 2011 | Joy
1. This magical summer. Beautiful weather and a lack of bugs – almost more goodness than a “proud-to-be-hardy” Winnipeger can handle!
2. My feet. Oh my – they have carried me so far this summer! Walking, walking, and more walking. Yesterday – 18 km. The day before – 14 km. I love my feet.
3. Discovery. Wandering around my city on foot makes for a lot of interesting discoveries – things I’d never seen in a car.
4. Work. More of it than I anticipated. So much that my calendar looks full from now until April.
5. Teaching. Oh how I enjoy being in a classroom and teaching and inspiring and helping people remember their own sense of wonder and delight!
6. Confidence. A sense of self-assuredness that my intuitive path is a better one for me to follow than the well-trodden path others are following (especially when it comes to teaching).
7. Support circles. People who show up when you want them to. People who let you cry when you need to. People who celebrate with you when that’s what you need.
8. Movies in the park. Popcorn, cold drinks, lawnchairs, a little Indiana Jones, and people I like to hang out with.
9. Iced tea. Especially the glass my husband brought me an hour ago.
10. An upcoming adventure. A road trip, a three day walk with interesting people, and some time to connect with my favourite people in 2 different cities.
11. Kites and swings and suction cup arrows. Or more specifically, the two evenings this week Maddy & I have hung out in the park making each other laugh, trying to fly kites with little wind and shooting each other with suction cup arrows.
12. Anticipation. The really cool & diverse people who’ve already signed up for my creative writing class and the fun things I’ve got in mind to do with them.
13. Wanderers, edge-walkers, fringe-livers, freaks, misfits – and all of those lovely souls who are wandering with me on the path.
14. Cheerfulness. More specifically, a shift in tone in my mom’s voice after the ravages of surgery and chemo have subsided somewhat.
15. A shift. More hopefulness in our family, even though not all of the hard things in life have been resolved (ie. the fact that Marcel’s job offer turned out to be a dud that he turned down).
16. Notes on the whiteboard in front of me, from sneaky visitors to my office. “Julie is boss. Nikki is gorgeous. Maddy is awesome. Dad is silly. Nikki rocks. Julie is a beautiful girl.”
by Heather Plett | Aug 25, 2011 | Leadership
It was 1992. I’d just gotten home from spending an evening with my boyfriend (who became my husband a year later).
“Your dad called,” my roommate said, as though it were just an ordinary every-day occurrence.
“My DAD called?!? Are you SURE?” My dad didn’t call. Ever. It just wasn’t his thing. In all my life, I got only a handful phone calls from him, and the other four were various Christmas Eves when he needed me to pick up a last-minute present for Mom. This wasn’t Christmas Eve.
“Yeah, it was your dad. I’m sure of it.”
What did that mean? Was I in trouble? Did something happen to Mom? My heart leapt to my throat.
“It didn’t seem urgent. He just wanted you to call him back when you were home.”
Phoning Dad back wasn’t an easy thing either. His farming lifestyle meant that he was rarely in the house, and he didn’t come in for meals at the times when normal people did.
Eventually, I made contact. “Dad? You called?”
“I heard from Mom that you were thinking of becoming a teacher. I just wanted to tell you that I think you should. You’d be a good teacher.”
And that was about the extent of the phone call. My Dad was a man of few words. When he spoke, the words were usually calculated and important.
At that time, I was in the early stages of my government career. After finishing an English degree, I was wrestling with what I should do with my life and was contemplating an after-degree in Education. That’s what my dad had heard.
He hadn’t heard it directly from me though. I wasn’t in the habit of discussing my life’s plans with my dad.
It wasn’t always easy being my father’s daughter. He was a stubborn man whose love for his farm often seemed more evident than his love for his children. And yet, he was a wise, astute man, and there were many things I greatly admired and respected about him. He was a lifelong learner who placed great value on education (though he had very little formal education himself). He had clarity of vision on some things like few people I know. And, despite his rather conservative worldview (and the fact that he never allowed me to do scripture reading in church because of my gender), he admired strong and eloquent women. (Canadians of a certain age will remember journalist Barbara Frum – one of my Dad’s hero’s.)
Though we didn’t often have heart-to-hearts, my dad saw things in me I didn’t always see in myself. He offered very few compliments in my life, but those he offered were golden. He didn’t exist in a world where women were supposed to be leaders (and he never overtly encouraged it in me), but he saw me as a leader. Once, after we’d had to move all of his tools out of the old house that was about to be torn down, he’d said to me “I felt better when I knew you were the one taking the responsibility. I knew I could trust you to take charge.” And he saw me as one of those strong women he admired. Once, after I’d gone through a really difficult personal valley, he said “I knew you’d survive. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
His recommendation that I become a teacher felt serious. I wasn’t sure at that point that I really wanted to be one, and yet if my dad saw it in me, perhaps…?
Despite my dad’s advice, I didn’t become a teacher – at least not then. I went through the process of applying for the after-degree program, but “forgot” to show up for my interview. Something about it didn’t sit right with me. I wasn’t sure I had enough patience to hang around with children all day every day.
I stayed in my government career at the time, and soon found my passion for communication and leadership. Before long, I was rising in the ranks and finding a place that fit.
My dad’s words never left me, though, and as the years evolved, I kept feeling a silent tug – my teacher heart wanting to emerge.
Last year, after several years of dreaming about being self employed and longing to leave my non-profit leadership job to work as a writer and consultant, I finally took the leap. I had no idea what was ahead, but the timing felt right. Within minutes of having a heart-to-heart conversation with my husband and deciding that it was time for me to quit my job, I got an email from the university, asking me if I would consider teaching a writing course. The message came completely out of the blue. Someone had recommended me for the position.
It was just the sign I needed to affirm that I was making the right move. I gave my notice the next day.
I taught that first course, and then I taught a couple more, and yesterday I was offered three new courses. Plus I have several one-day seminars lined up for the coming months.
From the first day I walked into a classroom, I knew I was where I belonged. I was energized, engaged, and happy. That first class full of students was just what I needed to affirm that I was doing the right thing. They embraced me and told me again and again how much they liked being in my classroom. I heard things like “you know how to build trust in your students” and “you taught us a lot about writing, but more importantly, you taught us how to live and work with integrity and boldness” and “you made us go deeper than we expected to go”.
Nearly twenty years after Dad gave me the advice, and eight years after he died, I am a teacher. I took a winding path to get here, but I don’t regret the path. I picked up a lot of the skills and confidence and wisdom and seasoning I needed along that path before I could stand fully in my teacher role.
Though I enjoy the courses I teach at the university, I know that this is not the end of the road. I don’t plan to spend the rest of my life teaching students how to write effective press releases or persuasive emails.
I want to teach people to write with passion, to live with boldness, to embrace creativity, to challenge themselves, and to dare to lead. I want to foster people’s imagination and help them re-experience the wonder they left behind with their childhood. I want to be a catalyst for positive change.
To start with, I’ll be offering an 8 week in-person course in “Creative Writing for Self Discovery“. (If you’re in Winnipeg, I hope you’ll check it out.) And in a few weeks, I’ll be opening registration for a few more online leadership workshops.
I wish you could see me now Dad. I am a teacher. Instead of taking the traditional route to get here, I’ve forged my own path. It’s been worth the journey.
by Heather Plett | Aug 22, 2011 | Passion, personality, savour, travel, Wisdom
Which way shall I wander next?
At the beginning of this summer, I turned 45. It was kind of a big deal – a mid-way point in my life.
When I turned 45, I decided that, instead of getting all serious and introspective (like I am inclined to do), I would do something fun to honour what I like about myself.
And so I created the e-course “A Path for Wanderers and Edge-walkers” and started writing lessons about what it means to be a wanderer, a globe-trotter, an edge-walker, a gypsy, a gadabout… in other words, what it means to be ME.
And then I spent much of the summer wandering. I wandered through my city, I wandered on beaches, I wandered through the woods… I wandered on foot, I wandered by bicycle, and I wandered by canoe. While I wandered, I came up with lessons and inspirations and I TOOK GREAT DELIGHT IN MY WANDERING! Not only that, but I learned a lot from it and realized that my wandering edge-walking spirit is one of my greatest strengths. You can see a lot from the edge that people in the centre can’t see.
Now I have completed 12 lessons in the series (none of which I wrote at home – it seems I needed to be doing the wandering in order to write about it), and it is some of my very favourite writing ever. It’s writing that stretched me to think outside the box, to re-define myself, to dig into my spiritual self, to re-imagine the world, and to see other people differently. I hope it will stretch you too.
One of the things I learned this summer is that not only am I a wanderer and an edge-walker, but most of the members of the tribe I tend to gather around myself are wanderers and edge-walkers too.
Here’s a quote from someone who’s been enjoying the series this summer:
“Heather’s unique blend of practical wisdom, passion & creativity is reflected so eloquently here. She instinctively knows how best to inspire & encourage, capturing perfectly the deep yearning of every edge-walker & wide-eyed wanderer! The rich mix of personal story-telling (with corresponding photographs), a treasure trove of insightful interviews plus a wealth of probing questions, provides the reader with much to ponder. It is both challenging, hugely inspirational & deeply uplifting – a real treat! Thank you!” – Jo Hassan
Last week I spent a good deal of time compiling all 12 lessons into an e-book. When I wander, I like to take photographs, and this e-book not only has 115 pages of juicy, rich, inspiring content, it also contains 115 of my original photographs from my global wanderings.
I am so in love with this product that I want to share it with everyone.
Here’s a list of the lesson titles:
1. Permission to be a wanderer
2. What does your Wandering say about You?
3. Risk Making Connections
4. The Wanderer at the Edge – On Naming Ourselves
5. When Journeys Change us – Slowing Down to the Speed of Soul
6. Curiosity DIDN’T kill the cat – Life as a Learning Journey
7. At the Halfway Point – Self-care for Wanderers & Wandering as Self-care
8. Following the Thread – A Wanderer’s Journey
9. Like the Wild Prairies, Remember your Nature
10. The Blessing of the Pelicans – Guidance in the Wandering
11. Wander to the Right – Playing with your Brain
12. Wandering as Spiritual Quest
Each of these lessons includes an interview with another wonderful wanderer. Find out who they are here.
For a sample lesson, click here.
Since it’s nearing the end of summer, I’m in a good mood, and I’m in the final stretch of preparing for my 100 km. wander in early September, I want to give you the chance to buy “A Path for Wanderers & Edge-walkers” for half price.
That’s just $12.50 for 115 pages of juicy, fun, challenging content. (But only until the September 7, and then it goes back to its regular price of $25.)
To learn more about it click here. On that page, you’ll have the option of buying it as a set of emails that you receive each week for 12 weeks or as a complete 115 page e-book.
If you already know that you want the complete e-book, go ahead and click “Add to cart” below.
by Heather Plett | Aug 17, 2011 | Beauty
Sometimes the right words show up at just the right time. This is what showed up this morning:
Suffering makes an instrument of each of us, so that standing naked, holes and all, the unseen vitalities can be heard through our simplified lives.
…In every space opened when what we want gets away, a deeper place is cleared in which the mysteries can sing. If we can only survive that pain of being emptied, we might yet know the joy of being sung through. Strangely and beautifully, each soul is a living flute being carved by life on Earth to sound deeper and deeper song.
– Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening
Imagine that. These deep gashes in my soul from broken relationships, a son who died before he was born, a father who died before I was ready to let him go, a mom fighting cancer, a husband whose demons have nearly killed him twice, a rape before I knew what sexual intimacy was… these are all holes that make the instrument that is me sound beautiful and sweet.
With time and healing, they let me sing a deep, rich song that may be just the soothing ointment needed for someone else’s fresh wounds.
Often we get caught up in identifying our strengths and our giftedness and we spend all our time trying to figure out how those things can uniquely impact the world.
We forget that it may very well be our pain that will let us sing the sweetest songs and soothe the greatest hurts.
