by Heather Plett | May 4, 2010 | growth, hope, journey
“When you come to the edge of all that you know, you must believe one of two things: there will be earth to stand on, or you will be given wings to fly.” – Author unknown
Today is my first day back at work after three weeks of spending time with my beloved as we search for healing following his suicide attempt. It’s good to be transitioning back into some form of “normal”, but I have to admit, the ground still feels a little shaky under our feet. Healing doesn’t happen overnight.
I feel a little like what I imagine earthquake survivors must experience – you can’t quite trust the ground anymore. Who knows when the aftershocks will come?
At the same time, though, there is something strangely invigorating about re-building when the metaphorical earthquake has left your foundation unrecognizable. You don’t assume the same things are rock solid anymore, so you factor in more flexibility. You realize you have to re-think old patterns, so you look for better materials on which to build.
Gradually you learn to trust the earth once more, and when it shifts again, you’re more ready to move with it. You enter the dance of change more readily when you’ve learned to bend at the knees.
Though he doesn’t know it, and wouldn’t admit it if you pointed it out to him, Marcel has been my teacher these last few weeks. He is spending a lot of time re-thinking old patterns and habits. He’s reading, he’s learning, he’s talking to wise teachers, and he’s practicing what he learns. He’s trying to find new foundations and new ways of thinking and being that don’t result in the same tragic results. He asks honest questions, and he doesn’t get angry when he doesn’t like the answer. I’ve seen an openness and vulnerability in him in the last few weeks that is remarkable and awe-inspiring. In a family that has never been given to much sharing of emotions, he’s learning to say “I love you” to his siblings. With a personal history of never being able to accept a compliment without turning it into a joke, he’s practicing saying “thank you” and trying hard to believe it. He’s even learning to set aside pride, shame, and stubbornness to say “I need help”. Those are all lessons I can learn from.
We are growing as a family. Our daughters are watching him and they are learning new habits through what they see modeled. They’re watching both of us, and through it all, I believe they’re learning what it takes to build relationships, trust people, grow, adapt, and be strong while still admitting to weakness.
Slowly but surely, beauty is emerging from the ashes.
by Heather Plett | Apr 13, 2010 | art, Creativity, journey
There was something about this woman that captivated me. Just outside the Chicago Institute of Art, she was spending her afternoon wrapping yarn around a tree. Installation art, I suppose she’d call it. For no other reason than that it looks pretty and engages the eye. Or perhaps it’s a form of meditation, those steps round and round a tree. Whatever her motivation, it holds meaning for her.
Much has happened since that moment when I stood there with my camera. The world has shaken; deep emotions have been felt; many tears have been shed; guilt, anger, and fear have all been wrestled with; and seemingly insurmountable boulders have been thrown into the paths of myself and the people I love most in the world. The world looks darker and colder than it did that lovely afternoon when I wandered around Chicago in the sunshine.
And yet I find myself glancing at this photo, and something stops me. Partly, it’s a longing to be her – that carefree woman spending hours wrapping yarn around a tree. I don’t know her stories – perhaps they’re even more insurmountable than mine – and yet when I look at the photo, my mind molds her into the ideal story I long to embrace. A whimsical, carefree woman interacting with art and creation, with no other reason (no guilt hanging over her head, no fears, no obligations) to be any place than where she is, wandering around a tree.
But beyond just coveting her carefree-ness, the picture holds a reminder that I need to look for my own way to wrap yarn around a tree – be it literal or metaphorical. I need to find colour, to make art, to touch nature, to meditate, to seek the presence of the Spirit, and to wander until my heart finds peace. In the wise words of Ann Lamott, “… the good news is that creative expression, whether that means writing, dancing, bird-watching, or cooking, can give a person almost everything that he or she has been searching for: enlivenment, peace, meaning, and the incalculable wealth of time spent quietly in beauty.”
Starting with this post and the quiet moments it took to create it, I promise myself I will at least try. Because even if I can’t fix things for the people I care about, I can at least seek healing for the deep wounds and disappointments in my own soul.
by Heather Plett | Mar 31, 2010 | beginnings, change, journey
There are knots trying to untie themselves in my stomach. Big decisions trying to get made. Big ideas trying to find space to grown. Big worries trying to overshadow those big ideas. Big questions. Big doubts. Big and dangerous transformation trying to happen.
The other day I tweeted: “Holding this phrase in my heart today: ‘In the fullness of time.’ When the time is right, the shift will come.”
Honestly, though? I suck at “the fullness of time”. I’m really, really impatient. When I decide I want to take a certain path, I want to take it NOW, not six months from now when the timing is better. You’d think I’d have learned this lesson by now, after so many times in my history when I’d wring my hands hoping for something to change IMMEDIATELY and then – when it changed at a later time and turned out in a better way than I’d even dreamed – I’d realize “oh THAT’S why it was better to wait”.
But, alas, those lessons seem to be lost on me whenever I’m chomping at the bit waiting for a new story to unfold. Like an unruly child, I squirm and shout “Now! I want it NOW!”
I’m not quite sure what this post is for. No great wisdom or revelation here. Just the wrestlings of a restless soul.
BUT… if I were to write myself an advice column, I would tell myself:
1. Change is inevitable. Embrace it, dance with it, but don’t try to rush it.
2. Slow down. Transformation takes time. The cocoon will be broken open when the butterfly is ready to be released. Break it open sooner and the butterfly dies.
3. There is a force greater than you at play in the world. Trust it. Spend time with it. Let the Spirit hold your hand and whisper in your ear.
4. You have good friends who understand things about the world. Share your secrets with them and they may just whisper words of wisdom you didn’t let yourself believe to be true.
5. There are lessons to be learned in the waiting. You NEED these lessons. Take time for them.
6. Sometimes you need to let things go – some really GOOD things – to step into a new story. Don’t worry, you’ll find new things in the new space and they’ll probably be just what you need for the person you’ve become.
7. Be gentle with your family. They may not understand what you’re going through. But they want to see you happy.
8. Sometimes, the people who love you the most are the ones most resistant to seeing you change and grow. It’s probably because they want to keep you safe.
9. The “road less travelled” sometimes has scary shit on the path – monsters and falling trees and huge crevices – tread carefully, but don’t give up. It’s still the right path.
10. That ugly feeling of restlessness and worry and doubt and angst all balled up in the pit of your stomach? This too shall pass.
Now if only I were good at following my own advice!
by Heather Plett | Mar 26, 2010 | journey, navel-gazing, Uncategorized
I’ve been feeling a little tender these past few days. In more ways than one.
After a surprisingly quick healing process the first week after surgery, I was expecting to stay on the same trajectory, but, sadly, that didn’t happen. I guess I hit a plateau. I can’t say I feel much better today than I did a week ago. Sigh.
Part of the problem is that feeling as good as I was a week ago, there started to be a few too many reasons to leave the cocoon on the couch. Buying a van, visiting the bank to finance that van, picking up that van, doing the taxes (which was about 2 hours of weeping – those forms make me feel stupid at the best of times and this was definitely NOT the best of times), driving kids places, taking daughter to a follow-up appointment with her surgeon, going to my own follow-up appointment with the surgeon, going to a band concert, taking daughter shopping for panty hose for that concert, cooking meals … the usual expectations of being a parent. It’s hard to set them all aside, even when you’re trying to heal. I thought I was getting enough rest in between, but I’m not sure that was really the case. I’m still feeling some pain and the exhaustion isn’t going away very quickly.
Last weekend, I’d honestly thought that this would be a lovely, relaxing week, in which I’d have the energy and space and emotional presence to do some writing and painting. I thought the creative muse would visit, but she didn’t. Instead, it’s been a week of frustration – of trying to hang on to stability with my fingernails.
The emotional tenderness was the most unexpected. The concerted effort it takes not to snarl or weep when someone says the wrong thing (or almost anything at all, for that matter). The ache in my heart when my husband told me I’d been rather mean to him the last few days. The flipping and flopping of yesterday’s post.
This morning, after driving the kids to school and rescuing my husband who’d left his keys at home, I climbed into the bathtub. Before I knew it, the tears were flowing. I wept for about half an hour – for no particular reason I could put a finger on.
It’s possible that this is just the residual effect of being under a general anaesthetic for over three hours, but I have a feeling it’s combined with a few other things.
Perhaps the body simply needs to grieve the pieces it has lost.
Perhaps the soul still needs to heal from the rawness that this past year of challenge has brought.
Perhaps the chrysallis, changing from caterpillar to butterfly in the cocoon, is not simply resting but is experiencing the pain of change.
It’s hard, isn’t it? When there are people in your life expecting you to be present in their lives and kind to them and doing the laundry and giving space to their pain – to find enough quiet space to let healing and transformation happen.
In the meantime though, I can hardly express how good it felt to have so many of you say “me too!” in yesterday’s post. Thank you for being tender with me in my tenderness.
p.s. I can’t stop listening to “It’s been a long day” by Rosi Golan, thanks to a recommendation from a Twitter friend, @newagejalopy. It’s perfect.
by Heather Plett | Mar 23, 2010 | beginnings, calling, dreaming, fearless, journey, Leadership, navel-gazing, Passion, Uncategorized
Not long ago, I wrote about how Maddie loves to build magical worlds under the dining room table. Recently I found her there, lying on her back, staring up at the bottom of the table. When I asked her what she was doing, she said “oh, I’m daydreaming. I have to do it here because Madame doesn’t let me at school.”
Now, I’m a big fan of daydreaming, so I told her to go ahead and do it at school – just hide it by pretending she’s reading! (I got away with that many times when I was in school! I still do!)
Well… what do you think I did this morning? I climbed under that table, where Maddie has her boxes, her magical stool, her stuffed toys, and now her Little Lovely painting from Connie at Dirty Footprints Studio, and I daydreamed! Because what’s a better way to spend a morning when you’re still hiding in your cocoon waiting for your energy to come back?
About five years ago, I worked my way through a book called The Path, by Laurie Beth Jones. Laurie believes in daydreaming too (though I think she calls it “visioning” – a grown-up version of the same concept). She suggests that you sit down and write a vision for the future, a fairly specific “day in the life” of the person you dream of being in five years. She says that in her experience, a lot of people who do that kind of visioning end up very close to what they write about – maybe not in five years, but somewhere along the way.
Yesterday I pulled out my five year old daydream. There are a few parts of it that have come true – like the part about my husband coming home after teaching in his first classroom and feeling good about having gotten through to at least one student. He’s finally got a full time teaching job and I don’t remember when I’ve seen him happier. It’s a pretty tough school, but he’s in his element, helping inner city kids realize the value of education.
There’s a big part of the vision though – the part that’s mostly about MY dreams as opposed to my husbands – that hasn’t been fully realized yet. If I wrote another “five year vision” it would probably contain essentially the same thing. It’s the long held dream of making my living as a full time writer/speaker/consultant.
It’s closer to coming true (now that Marcel has a full-time job), but I’m not quite ready to quit my job yet. I’m not in one of those “just putting in time to bring home a pay cheque” jobs, so it’s not one I have to run away from. A few of the blogs I read are about people who are excited about quitting “the man” and launching their own businesses. Well, I wouldn’t really be quitting “the man”. I did that six years ago when I left a secure, fairly high level job in federal government for non-profit. For me it would be more like quitting “the woman” – by which I mean the marginalized, impoverished women who are being supported by the incredible organization I work for.
I keep wrestling with it, in fact. There are times when I can hardly WAIT to walk away from a 9-5 job and sink my teeth into a life of writing, speaking, traveling, and teaching leadership and creativity workshops. But then there’s that little voice that pipes up and says “Hello!? Remember how lucky you are to have a job that gives you such a great opportunity to use your gifts in leadership, creativity, writing, etc., that fits so well with your passion for justice, and that lets you travel to some of the most interesting parts of the world in search of a good story and photograph.” And lately I’ve been excited about the new staff I’ve hired who bring lots of great energy and ideas and who are a pleasure to lead. There’s a lot of exciting potential going on that I would be sorry to leave.
The truth is, though, when I lie under the table and daydream, that old familiar dream comes back to me every time. I’ve got a book (or two) published; I’m traveling to conferences and retreats to speak to people on topics related to leadership, beauty and justice, and leading a creative life; and I’m writing, writing, writing.
The past six years at my job have been truly incredible. I’ve stretched in incredible ways, I’ve met some of the most amazing people in the world, I’ve slept in a tent on a farm in a remote part of Kenya, I’ve held hands with a young teacher with a beautiful soul on a tiny island in India, I’ve taken incredible photos all over the world, I’ve gotten to write lots of stories, I’ve learned more about leadership than I could have imagined possible, I’ve lead film crews through Ethiopia, India, and Bangladesh, and I’ve been reminded time and time again that some of my greatest lessons come from my failures.
I remember six years ago, when I first got the job, I said to a friend “this job will stretch me” and I couldn’t have been more right.
I don’t know for sure when the time will be right to leave this work I love. I’m not really in a rush. But I can’t let go of the idea that the past six years have been preparing me to step even more fully into my calling. The possibilities are endless, and I’m ready to ride the wave wherever it takes me.
What about you? I’d love to hear what would be in your daydream if you sat down and wrote about a day in the life of the person you want to be in five years.
by Heather Plett | Mar 16, 2010 | Beauty, beginnings, fearless, journey, Uncategorized
I’m writing this from my little cocoon on the couch. The big picture window lets me catch glimpses of the outside world, but until I am sufficiently healed from my breast reduction surgery, I remain mostly indoors, in this position, with a few good wisdom books, some green tea, my journal, my laptop, and a box of tissues within reach.
The last time I remember cocooning like this was in September 2000. I was in the hospital for a few weeks hoping the baby I carried would remain in his little cocoon long enough to emerge a beautiful strong butterfly. He didn’t, but that doesn’t mean a butterfly didn’t emerge. It was a transformative time for me, Marcel, and our family. Transformation that was brought on largely because of those three weeks I sat in the quiet little retreat space that my hospital room had become, holding space for the son who would never breathe but would change my world.
During that time, my friend Stephanie gifted me with a story about how a butterfly had become a beloved symbol for a woman who had gone through the loss of her dad. She also gave me a butterfly clip that I wore until I left the hospital. Amazingly, after that day, butterflies started showing up everywhere, including my 5th floor hospital window.
Even after I left the hospital without Matthew, butterflies served as a regular reminder of my son and the way that he had changed me. The following Mother’s Day, while we ate lunch outside with our family, an amazingly friendly butterfly, with one flawed wing, landed on the heads of almost everyone at the table. It was my son, coming to bless us on Mother’s Day.
This week, I’m cocooning again. I was resistant at first, wishing for the time to pass, wishing for friends to visit, wishing I could at least accomplish something. But then I listened to Jen Lee’s simple but wise podcast about how sometimes, when it looks like nothing’s happening, the truth is that everything’s happening. When Jen talked about the transformation that happens when she’s busy taking a nap, it triggered a deep, resounding “YES!” in me, and soon I was relishing my quiet little cocoon on the couch.
The thoughts that came after Jen’s podcast sent me to my bookshelf for an old friend. More than 20 years ago, a beloved teacher/mentor I had at the time, gifted me with “Hope for the Flowers“, a transformative little picture book about a young caterpillar who, after trying repeatedly to “reach the sky” by climbing to the top of a “pillar of caterpillars”, learns to give in to his true nature, climb up on a branch and spin a cocoon. Only once he is willing to take that risk and just be still is he ready to be transformed into the butterfly he is meant to become.
Re-reading that book for the umpteenth time reminded me of how valuable it had been, nearly 10 years ago, to pause from clamouring up my own “pillar of caterpillars”, and rest in my little cocoon with my unborn son as my spiritual guide.
With rather uncanny timing (isn’t that often how these things happen?) I stumbled on Lianne’s lovely (and free!) e-book that asks the provocative question “What is dying to be born?” I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that question since I read through the book. (It’s beautiful and full of so much goodness!)
Wow! What is it that has to die in me in order to let something else be born? What do I have to be willing to abandon in this cocoon in order to emerge the butterfly I am meant to become?
Last year was a restless year. Despite a great job and lots of goodness in my life, I was full of some deep dissatisfaction. Try as I might, I couldn’t find the right way to FIX it. I tried some new things, took some new paths, restled with demons, but still the dissatisfaction lingered.
Until… well, until I was willing to do two of the things I’d been avoiding. Rest. And wait.
I haven’t quite figured out what is dying to be born in my life, but I know that I won’t figure it out with restless clamouring, trying to reach the sky.
I’m giving in, and spinning my cocoon. Some day soon, the body that I chose to transform through surgery, will carry me through the deeper transformation into my butterfly life.
