The sail is at ease

Jun 14th, 2012
by Randi Buckley.
6 comments

I didn’t plan on bookending my debut and goodbye posts for Roots of She with Norwegian poetry but it seems to be what I find when I peel back the layers and move closer to the core. I’ve looked at the world through this poem with the words out of focus but more as a lens. So many of you wrote that you loved to see the Norwegian in the last poem (one I penned on my own) so I’ll leave it here in Olav Hauge’s original form. The translation is below.

Eg er ein båt
utan vind.
Du var vinden.
Var det den leidi eg skulde?
Kven spør etter leidi
når ein har slik vind!

I am a boat
without wind.
You were the wind.
Was that the direction I wanted?
Who asks about direction
when one has such wind!

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In not too long I’ll be again, looking through these words. The echo of the wind is a memory. My hair, once raptured and wild in its gusts now still in the calm. Do we slip away or go out with a storm? Either way, the sail is at ease.

It can be hard to let go. We hold out for the wind to pick up but also wonder if we want to set a new course. I never needed the wind but it did take me. I enjoyed the ride and discovered that it was the wind that needed me. And still does. A sail gives shape to the wind, defines the wild and gives it purpose. Like a long pause, expecting and waiting for music to begin again we suspect the wind has changed, died or blows in a new direction.

In waiting the boat drifts, with thoughts of new directions, new energies, and new possibilities. What is our obligation to the wind? What is our obligation to our own wild self?

Not following our hearts often comes from a fear of betraying who we used to be, at the cost of who we are now.

So we drift, suspended in time as it marches by. We surrender ownership of our days to a passive hope. Sometimes we drift into a current and find ourselves in a new place, sometimes into a maelstrom, finding ourselves being pulled further down. But the drift is a surrender, for better or worse.

Do we wait until the wind might move us again? It’s through the poem I will look and see if what is written in the stars mirrors my heart. The stars are beautiful and bright but like the Northern Lights, my heart wants to dance across the sky. And I’m ready to move again.

A note of deep gratitude and thanks: I yearn. And now I write. While I was committed nonetheless, you’ve been a loving witness who didn’t turn away. I’ve written and you’ve received. Thank you. It’s a new wind, you and I, this writing, and I can’t wait to see where we’ll go.

In my introductory post I didn’t dare call myself a writer. And I do so now only in flirtation. I’m not afraid of owning it but I’d rather flirt with it. And having had such a lovely (truly and deeply) lovely experience at Roots of She, I invite you to stop over at my place. There’s a renovation underway to make room for this new flirtation and the expansion of my work. It’s an open invitation.

And to Jenn: You are a rich and layered embodiment of love, my dear. To receive a non-writer into the home of your child, Roots of She, was a risk and you took it with me. I am forever grateful and quite changed by this. I had a spark and you offered a place of fuel and tinder while the generous readers gave it oxygen and fanned the flames. You’ve stood with me- patiently so. Roots of She is a gift. You are a gift and a beacon. We are so inspired by your creation and your steadfast tending and nurturing. The roots might have other origins but you are the curator, gardener and goddess here. Thank you, sweet woman.

Neither dissed or dismissed – it’s just not our boat

May 31st, 2012
by Randi Buckley.
40 comments

A beautiful boat, a floating party of a ship, passes by. You see the lights, the fun, the chance to mingle, to see and be seen. Oh, to be on the boat! But you’re on the coast, watching it go by and feeling the absence of connection, the sting of having not been invited aboard. It seems to go by daily, if not every couple of hours. More parties, more fun, more of just what you want to be a part of.

From the coast you can’t be seen but the boat is an unmistakable silhouette of your absence and of what you’re missing. It feels like the boat was not only missed but dismissed you in the process. And it goes by and slips into the horizon, deep into the night. The air is cold and you are left again, standing in the shadow of your unseen beacon of light.

The past few months have felt like I’ve been watching from the shore. Colleagues, friends and partners have been gathered on the boat in contribution with pieces they’ve written, advanced book reviews, free VIP tickets to summits, as featured guests, philanthropic adventures, gatherings, lots of gushing … passed me by. We all know it, that sting of not being asked and overlooked. It’s easy to feel not only overlooked but even worse, dissed and dismissed.

I see this often being referred to as wanting to ‘be one of the cool kids’. I disagree. (I am the cool kid. So are you.) It’s about feeling connected.

We feel connected when people recognize our gifts and talents. We thrive when they thrive from those offerings. We shine and create light for others. To me, that is the feeling of being most alive, shining that light. “Our people” are both fuel for the light and recipients of its warmth and glow.

There’s a big emotional distinction and difference between being overlooked and being dismissed or dissed. Feeling overlooked can feel like your offerings are being dismissed, if not dissed. But that’s adding a wholelotta story and interpretation towards making a fear real.

So what can you do when that boat goes by?

Drop the story, love. It’s easy to invest in our own fiction but it keeps us from moving past it. It’s human nature to make up a ‘why’ (why didn’t I get asked? why didn’t she see me? why…) but it’s just a story. A good “so what?” may seem far less exciting to a sad heart, but really, so what? If the story doesn’t serve, it’s just trashy pulp fiction.

Bless their hearts! Maybe the one who didn’t invite or ask you has no idea just how hard you can rock it***, no idea the extent of your gifts or already cast others into the role. Maybe they forgot. We don’t know. But nonetheless, send ‘em a little love and move along.

Use it as fuel. It’s been the times that I’ve been overlooked that have lit the biggest fires under me. Tears and anger can show us what is important to us, what we really want. And being water and fire, they have excellent transformative powers. My greatest feats (*** and while I’m quiet about them, have been massive, epic and impressive, but those who haven’t been able to see me have no idea, yet) have often come from being really fired up about something that didn’t happen. Really, watch out. When I get in this space anything is possible. I bet that’s the same for you too.

Conduct a litmus test. Ask yourself, “Is that really where I wanted to be anyway?” The answer might well be yes. But often to our surprise, it’s no. The boat looks good but is it your boat? Your people? Or is there just some aspect of the party on the boat that would like to import into your own life? While it’s always nice to be asked, this is a chance to look and see if this is really the ship we desire.

The cure for anything is salt water – sweat, tears, or the sea.
-
Isak Dinesen

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I was on a boat when I figured this out, leading 60 people on a coveted and beloved cruise up the Norwegian coast and I didn’t feel connected. My talents were in no way being tapped or put to any use.

While I was a good guide, my passion was teaching about the country, the culture, the language, and personal transforming through cultural inspiration and as a loving witness. But all of the things I longed to share and show people were out of reach because I was stuck on a boat. The country and coast were passing by, largely overlooked. This didn’t mean the land wasn’t worthy, that the villages weren’t adored, or that the natural beauty was diminished.

There is just as much going on along the coast and when we stop lamenting the boat we’re not on, we can turn towards it, enjoy and cultivate the gifts of where we are and notice the connections already there but previously missed while longing for the silhouette on the horizon.

While invitations are nice, they don’t define our worth, don’t mean we aren’t adored, nor does it mean the beauty of who we are and what we do is any less.

It just wasn’t our boat this time. And that’s ok.

When we risk nothing, we risk it all

May 15th, 2012
by Randi Buckley.
37 comments

What if we get quiet? Really, really quiet and listen to the whispers of our soul. The ones that we pretend not to notice or don’t even know they exist.

What if we get still? So still that we feel the message within our heartbeat. The rhythm of our desire.

What if we get honest? An honesty that liberates us from that which no longer works. The freedom of truth.

What if we are vulnerable? A vulnerability that will undoubtedly break us open. The exposure of tenderness.

We risk knowing what will offer deep nourishment.
We risk knowing our recipe for joy.
We risk conscious evolution.
We risk filling our capacity for love.
We risk hope.

But when we don’t look, it is to protect ourselves from what we might not be able to have.
In risking nothing, we risk it all.

When we don’t look our deepest desires in the eyes, we don’t have to know them intimately.
We don’t have to take responsibility for, as we say in coaching, what is dying to be born.
We are free of the risk of a broken heart.
We are liberated from shattered dreams.

But that’s not why we’re here.

Thank you has no expiration date

Apr 25th, 2012
by Randi Buckley.
13 comments

I learned a few weeks ago that gratitude is a close relative to forgiveness. Once expressed these two cousins both offer their own flavor of transformation. Thank goodness! I was getting sick from the built up gratitude in my heart. The yet-to-be-expressed sentiments for kindness that served as oxygen to me had not exhaled.

It’s not that I hadn’t felt gratitude. I’d written thank you notes to incredibly kind folks in my head. The letters became like notes I’d meant to pass on to my friends in fourth grade but found months later in my backpack. Deeply creased, dusty, stained, and late, but no less heartfelt and no less true. The origami of gratitude sat like cranes that never flew, never delivering their message.

It was too late, or so I thought. I’d slipped into ‘this is beyond embarrassing’ territory having envisioned grand and decadent expressions of thanks met by little to no external action. Gratitude had overwhelmed my heart but too often not spilled over into proper expression. Even so, it had been there and still was. That’s when I learned that unexpressed gratitude must be exhaled for us to ever fully take a breath it in again.

But really, I was starting to feel like a jerk. So many gestures, words, offers and acts of kindness had crossed my threshold of new motherhood, new projects, encouragement, gifts, and so on. I was blessed with showers of kindness over the year (well, a year-plus). And I was letting that get tainted internally by guilt and self-loathing around it. I was so behind and didn’t think I could ever catch up. I was embarrassed.

But ‘thank you’ has no expiration date.

Thank goodness!

Sometimes we need to allow ourselves to do what we can from where we’re at. The vision we have might be getting in the way of getting the fundamental task done. We get in our own way. Even with something as simple as ‘thank you’. Why? Because we want it to be profound and forget it’s that the bottom line is what matters, even beyond our well-intentioned notions of grandeur.

I leaned into my acknowledgement- 1000 paper cranes from my heart, all in a deep bow letting these incredible souls know the impact they made on me. And within the folds of the cranes was deep gratitude that soared, thanking them for words, gestures and the kindness that had stolen my breath at times and been oxygen to my soul.

This works for other radical, life-shifting expressions and sentiments too- as long as they are sincere and authentic. The aforementioned forgiveness, love, condolences, empathy, kindness, and many more emotionally intelligent super heroes are ready for us to call upon them. Even when we feel like it might be too late, they are ready to free us from the emotional traps (from binds to prisons) we have placed ourselves. When we realize their power is perhaps changed but not diminished by time, we can fully live in the essence of forgiveness, love, condolences, empathy, kindness and now for me, gratitude.

We feel powerful emotions deeply. And until they are expressed they are a tourniquet on our hearts and that pressure builds. I invite you to let it flow. You’ve done the work, held the sentiment, now put it out into the world. See what happens.

Let the fog of unexpressed sentiment and feeling lift. Even at times if it can be quite beautiful inside, it is still a veil between you and the rest of the world. And one between you and letting those cranes soar.

And there is more to come from my gratitude. Perhaps the greatest gifts to acknowledge and thank. In the interim, know that gratitude fills my heart. And it is on its way to you.

What needs to come from your heart? What is ready? What is being tainted by time or embarrassment that it has yet to be expressed?

It’s not too late. It never is. Let it soar.

Getting intimate… with fear

Apr 10th, 2012
by Randi Buckley.
15 comments

Let’s weave some magic, shall we?

There has been so much written about fear that it can be confusing or downright disorienting to know your strategy/way of being/truth/favorite coach/Oprah quote/you name it, because dammit, you’re looking at something you fear and it’s scary. (And if you’re got something that works for you, excellent. In the end, that’s what matters. Do what works for you!) But for me ubiquitous advice such as “feel the fear and do it anyway” is hollow and doesn’t honor something our soul is desperately trying to tell us.

I think fear gets a bad rap, is misunderstood and underutilized.

Usually we think that brave people have no fear.
The truth is that they are intimate with fear.
-
Pema Chödrön

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What exactly does this mean?

I came across this quote after I made peace with fear; after I realized that fear might actually be in support of me. And I think that is in large part fear’s misunderstood role. Not giving it its due is cutting off a source of our own deep wisdom. Liking it isn’t a requirement, but if we want to know the whole of who we are then it’s helpful to listen and learn.

Fear wants to be in service of us. It has a concern and rears its head in order to keep us safe. The problem is it is incredibly unskilled at effectively communicating its concern. It lacks emotional and social intelligence and acts like a buffoon. Nonetheless, it holds wisdom we need to move forward. Fear grows (in size and impact) through a diet of resentment and neglect. When we try to ignore it or attempt to brush it off, it acts like neglected toddler.

When a child wants attention or wants to be heard they let us know (tug at our jeans, running into our lap, squeal until they get what they need). The more they are not heard, respected or recognized, the more they do to garner our attention, often resulting in a tantrum, or for the more theatrical, a remodel of your living room with lipstick and Sharpies. Fear does this too. Until it’s understood it will raise the stakes of warranting your attention and resort to behavior that frustrates you, and triggers anger, disappointment and rage. It doesn’t want you to realize you’re in control, but… pssst: you are.

When we sit down and have a conversation with fear we can learn what it’s really trying to protect us from and what its concern is. While it often shows up heaving Molotov cocktails of self-sabotage at us, ultimately it’s trying to prevent a broken heart, an embarrassment, pain, or shame.

I invite you to get intimate with fear. What it has to tell you might blow your mind. Or not. But if we don’t listen to it we cut off a part of ourselves and our deeper wisdom. Do I recommend catering to it and letting it have the final word? Hardly! But in hearing it we can learn what it takes to mitigate its concern so that it can back off in intensity and ultimately, retire its post and leave us alone. Herein lies the magic. YOUR magic.

I didn’t only give lip service to this idea. I want you to try it out. Here and now. Here’s a recording of me talking you through your conversation with your fear. Give it a whirl! I go into greater detail in depth when I know your specific issues and hear your fears responses to your questions and yours to it, but I think this exercise is really helpful all on its own. I hope you’ll try it- it’s 13 minutes and change, long. And tell me below, if you will, what you learned.

(Some thoughts: I don’t want you to try this if you don’t think you can feel safe with in conversation with your fear. The question you need to ask yourself before this exercise is then, ‘What would have me feel safe in a conversation with fear?’ Really, it’s ok to sit this one out. I think knowing your answer will help you get to the point where a conversation with fear is totally doable and safe.)


With gratitude,
Randi

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