Firm in that “don’tyouberunningoutintrafficwithoutlookingbothways” kind of way, loving in that brow-soothing, “here’s a cup of tea and some life-learned enduring wisdom” kind of way, and fierce in that “don’t you doubt yourself for one blessed second, child, or else” kind of way. I could listen to her talk for hours (and have). I could read her words for hours (and have).  We have talked about things. We have talked about sanctuary, silence and faith. We have talked about boys (okay, that was part of a sacred weekend of soul sisters…no link to that).

On Friday, Ronna released  beautiful work called Inspired by Eve, which is, in her own words, an invitation to self-trust, deep knowing, and a delicious life of desire (along with the discovery of a God who offers the same). It is a crisp bite of apple and a deep breath. It is delicious.

It’s Mother’s Day, and I’ve already written a story this week about MY Mama, so I’ve invited Ronna to share more about her retelling of the story of Eve: the Original Mama. Lean in.

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We are all for living lives full of passion, potential, and desire. And we might even be all about taking risks and stepping boldly toward what we want. Often times we can visualize exactly what all of this would look and feel like. We’ve crafted and visualized the dream. We’ve focused our intention. We’ve even created a business plan designed to move us ever closer.

But most of us feel like we’re just on the border of all this. We can almost taste it. It’s see-able, achieve-able, attainable, but we just. can’t. quite. reach. it.

The thing, the relationship, the job, the reality, the income, the client(s), the life we most deeply desire seems to evade us – not by miles, rather by inches.

We’re living with a mixed up story of Eve.

Yes, that Eve. The one who was created from Adam’s rib. Who lived in Perfection. Who walked in the garden in the cool of the day with God. Who listened to the snake. Who reached for what she desired and got more than her hand slapped. Or so we’ve been told.

It’s no wonder we just.can’t.quite.reach.it: this life we desire.

This story keeps us trapped (often unconsciously) in places of shame, fear, and feeling like we’re too much. This story creates and perpetuate the messages that tell us to tone it down, play it safe, and color inside the lines. This story has formed the framework of philosophies of thought, structures of power, and politics of gender. This story has separated us from ourselves and from God.

Not the story itself. The way we’ve been telling it.

Tell (and live) a different story!

Eve calls to us, longing that we tell her story as she would. For she knows that if we could, we would find our way home; that we would hold on to and pursue our desires; that we would be (re)introduced to an intimate, knowing, and kind God; that we would take a big, juicy bite of the apple that is completely within our reach – and oh, so delicious!

Let Eve inspire you. She reached for what she wanted. It was not just out of her reach. Yes, there were risks. Yes, there were consequences. And yes, her eyes were opened – to new worlds, new life, new and amazing ways of relating to God.

What feels like it’s just.out.of.your.reach is closer than you think. Eve’s cheering you on…as is her God.

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Ronna Detrick provides Spiritual Direction to both individuals and businesses. Picture a hybrid of the iconic Oprah Winfrey and the slightly-irreverent Anne LaMott and you’d have a glimpse of both her love for significant, meaningful conversation (without the national media platform) and her impassioned writing bent (without the dreadlocks). She gets at deep truths and talks about a God and faith you’re hungry for. Learn more.

Without hesitation, I poured out the memory that lives right on top of my heart. Fresh and pure like a glass of water.

I spent my summers with my family in a rented cottage north of Toronto by about 2 hours.

Wymbolwood. Kilometers of expansive white beach. Sandbank upon sandbank.

Every day, I would go for a long walk with my mother.  In this enduring memory, I am eight-years old. Too young to be distracted by boys, tan lines and reading Seventeen magazine. (That would come soon enough.)

We always walked to the same destination: Diamond Head (name coined by my cousin). It was a unique and mysterious house on a cliff that overlooked the cerulean blue waters of Georgian Bay. No one ever seemed to be in there, adding to the mystique. Two diamonds, meeting over the expansive front door. Huge windows, curtains drawn.

We would spend the walk creating stories about who built this wildly atypical building. A cardiac surgeon, perhaps, driven mad by heartbreak and vowing to only create structures found in a deck of cards. Perhaps his estranged wife was buried on the property (hole dug with a spade, natch). When we would reach it, we’d pause, take in the marvel that it was, shudder with goose-bumpy delight and turn back, satiated with story.

On the walk back, we would discuss what ice cream cone we’d have. Three o’clock was ice cream time. We’d invent new flavours (like “Cold Currant”, inspired by the waters we walked along). We’d giggle and hold hands, anticipating the rest of the glorious day. And when a shimmer of sadness would wash over me that this moment wouldn’t last forever (even back then), we’d run down a list of joyful things just around the corner: the CNE, back-to-school shopping, first day of school, my birthday, Thanksgiving, Hallowe’en, Christmas. Light and warm-hearted once again, we’d have reached our family and friends on the beach and en happy masse, we’d enter the general store and order our cones.

My mother passed away in 2004 and my daughter is now eight-years old herself. This is a memory I cherish. Pretty much daily. And if she were here for Mother’s day and her birthday on the 10^th, I’d be sharing it with her. In fact, I suspect I’d commission an ice cream aficionado to create cold currant ice cream and bring her a cone.

As much as your mom relishes the flowers, spa visits and jewelry that you’ll adorn her with on Mother’s Day, may I make a request? Will you conjure up your own favourite memory and share it with her? In your card or in your phone call?

I suspect that all she really wants to know is that at some point in your life, she was doing something right.

Relief. Awe. Joy. And more relief. {As much for myself as for those closest to me.}

It’s beautiful. It’s rich. It’s important. And it’s here.

I’ve spoken about the fear that I needed to move through. I’ve spoken about the support at the finish line that made sure I did.

And now, it’s here.

For myself, I have celebrated with champagne. I have celebrated with friends on Whidbey Island. Today, I celebrate in rest. Brownie-baking, movie-watching rest.

I’m not issuing any time-limited launch promises or hard-to-comprehend pricing schedules. The Board of Your Life kit is exactly as it’s laid out on the sales page.

Three guides filled with every detail you will need to have your own transformational (yes, transformational) Board of Your Life program. $150 CDN.

I am so happy it’s here. And if it’s for you, it can change everything.

On the mean streets of advertising, you were from one side of the track or another. You were either a Suit or a Creative. (Like the Sharks vs the Jets but with far less fancy dance moves.)

Depending on your vantage point: Suits = out of touch stiffs. Creatives = out of touch flakes.

Admittedly, I was a Suit. But I secretly harboured the belief that I was a Suit with a side of Creative. And no, not the kind that thought adding clipart to my .ppt presentations meant that I had a good design eye. (That sort of self-deprecating talk about my kind helped raise my stock with the Creatives, you see). No, I believed in the power of creativity, and that it was for all of us. And, armed with my ideological ways and Libran charm, I believed that I’d be the first one, ever, to bridge the two sides. I could see the value in both camps and knew our best work would come from bringing harmony to the creative process. And dare I say it, joy?

Umm. Not so much.

This work wasn’t about joy. It was about work. The industry is built around creativity was a transactional endgame. Get an idea. Get people on board. Cook it or be cooked. Someone’s not doing something right and with all that firepower, people get burnt.

That was then.

As I tripped and traipsed through the next stages of my life, I couldn’t shake my Pollyanna belief that I could be a Suit AND a Creative. That burnt as I felt there wasn’t a way to have it MY WAY. To be a powerful force in this world AND to be deeply rooted in a richly sustained and creative way. That I had something to be expressed.

It started with a new belief. That creativity may be about output, but it’s not about outcome. And that the process was the point. Not the product. So I decided to “try” to commit to a belief in the okayness of creating for creating’s sake. For the pure joy of it.

I started to see this: Advertising is a transactional endgame. Creativity is not.

And so, testing this new theory and buoyed by a desire to see some original art hung on our walls, my husband and I started painting. Just for fun. Just to see.

{We saw, and we happened to like what we saw. But that’s hardly the point.}

For the most part, I get the new approach right. And then without warning, I start to treat my writing, painting or other creative pursuits as transactional, and, like clockwork, I shut down. And shut off.

But now, I have a powerful ally. When I stop writing because I’ve allowed myself to measure my words with metrics like Facebook shares, likes and RTs, I have one fail-safe: I sit down to draw with my eight-year-old daughter.

She surveys the blank page, for but a moment, then fearlessly attacks the paper. She has yet to throw a picture away in a moment of “it’s not good enough”. Immersed in the pure love of her process, she just makes it better. For her and her alone. And there are rainbows. And kitties. And peace signs. And joy.

So, my desire for you is this, you Creative, you.

I want you to believe that you were born to create. I want you to believe there is untold and unexpressed beauty within you yearning to be released. It needs to trust that you will not judge its imperfections, nor try to force it into something it’s not. That you will love it for what it is. And that in time, when you have nurtured this tender new growth into the fulsome being that it wants to be, that you will lovingly release it into the world, so that others may rejoice in the beauty: of your words. Of your song. Of your silverwork. Of your adornment. Of your art.

That your “good enough” can move mountains, launch ships, set hearts free.

That your “yes” is someone else’s “YES”.

I want you to create for you. And THEN spread it around. With joy and abandon.

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Oh so much gratitude to Jen, Marianne, and Susannah for inviting me to riff on Creative Joy and for taking a strong and powerful stand for YOUR Creative Joy. Will you join them at their retreat in July?

On your 8th birthday, I have eight wishes for you.

And one for me.

For you

1. I wish that you always carry with you this big heart of yours: the one that wants to be the peacekeeper, inspired by what you know of Marianne. Beautiful as you are, your heart is your best feature. 
2. I wish that you retain your capacity for empathy, even when you get charged with being too sensitive.
3. I wish you to hold on fiercely to your belief that you can be anything you want. Because baby, you can.
4. I wish you continued delight in every wonder. And that even as those big, beautiful wide eyes become dimmer with the skepticism of age, that your curiosity lights your way.
5. I wish you to feel deeply…the highs AND the lows.  No sense avoiding it, ’cause  there’ll be days like this.
6. I wish you to KNOW that your voice may be sweet, and it’s still mighty. It will take you to places beyond your wildest dreams.
7. I wish you could see yourself, as we see you.

And for me

I wish I’ll always be something like this in your green eyes.

Oh, I know that it won’t always be this way. And so, for those years that you won’t be able to stand my very presence, my final wish is this:

8. That you remember this morning: your bear holding your balloons for you, the chocolate croissants in bed, the steady stream of phone calls from family and friends,  and the biggest worry of your heart being what party dress to wear to school.

I know I will.

Okay. Maybe not.

But she IS coming to town to launch her (hothothothothot) book: The Fire Starter Sessions. (The very book that has yet to leave my side).

New friends. Old friends. And DANIELLE!

Click on the invite to get your ticket. See you and your dancing shoes on the 19th at the Gladstone Hotel.

Like every other project in my life, I started writing the Board of Your Life Kit con mucho gusto.  I shouted from the rooftops. I whooped it up and got bizay. I came up for air to revel in my progress. It was easy, to start. After all, this is the program that I developed in 2008. I’m damned well masterful.

Annnd…90% of the way through, I lost my mojo.

Like the final putts on the 18th hole. The gravy that still needs to be made for the Thanksgiving feast. The final 500m of a 10k run.

I wanted. To. Stop. Tired. Bored. Apathetic. Contrary.

Who’s going to love this thing, anyways?

Recognizing a pattern that has had me stopping short in life, I caught it this time.

One thing I’ve learned deeply: if you want to feel better, open your circle, be vulnerable, ask for help, say you need it, allow it in. – Maria Shriver

I called in friends. I called in reinforcements. I invited them to help me hold this. Their cheers, offers and love has meant more than I can ever utter.

How else could Board of Your Life be born? After all, it has everything to do with rallying your team.

So grace be to them, the Board of Your Life kit will be available within two weeks. There won’t be much fan-fare (though how gorgeous is that new graphic on your left? Carrie Klassen, Imma talking to you). It will slip quietly in the water. I will break a bottle of Veuve Cliquot on its side with my nearest and dearest and whisper a prayer that you love it as I do.

Sign up here to get updates about The Board of Your Life Kit

If you are fighting through the last 10% of ANYTHING,  please heed this:

• Lean into your friends. They want you to cross the finish line more than you know.
• Clear your calendar. You may need to say no. You’ll make up for it in leaps and bounds when you are finished.
• Keep going. Edit by edit, swing by swing, stride by stride, whisk by whisk, we are getting there.

And you know what? We’re going to love your thing, that’s who.

Today, Mercury is in retrograde. I’ve actually taken precautions. {For real.} Annnnd in spite of said precautions, inexplicably, the planets have decreed that I not receive email on my general inquiry account. So THAT’S, you know, great for business. My VA and Web Wonder Woman are all over it, people have been resourceful enough to contact me via Twitter + FB and in the meantime, I have choices.

Take stock of what I have YET to do, or take stock of what I HAVE done.

Today, I choose the latter. While Mercury whoops it up with his trickery, I decided to round-up where I’ve been writing, posting, chatting when I haven’t been here, or coaching, or producing the oh-so-soon-to-be-released Board of Your Life program.

I’ve been re-listening and re-reading. Reflecting on every love-filled request. Appreciating the airtime. Relishing the deliciousness of being invited into the on-line spaces of some of the brightest lights I know.

I hope you track these dropped crumbs—I know you’ll appreciate the powerful work these people are doing just as I do.

Writing

I’ve been showing up regularly at The Jungle of Life to talk about new beginnings, focus, change, giving, consumption, and love.

Sara Blackthorne invoked the Warrior Woman in me to talk about my path and support along the way. A favourite topic of mine.

Tamarisk Saunder-Davies and I riffed on being a connection catalyst. (How hot is that?)

It was an honour to be part of in the autumn tribe of Roots of She. In fact, it was magical.

I was interviewed by the luminous Hannah Marcotti for the Women We Admire issue of Wild Sister Magazine. We talked about ritual. Sumptuous.

C.A. Kobu invited me to speak to her people about Strengths in her truly delightful A Year With Myself Project. (And she’s super-generously giving away the whole module as a Valentine’s Day prezzie!)

Amanda Fall published my “I See You” post in the Bold Issue of Sprout Magazine.

Kate Swoboda invited me to share what I think I know about courage.

Video + Audio

Amy Kessel and I talked about the glory and the messiness and the grace of unfurling. And our grandmothers. Both bodacious women in leisure suits named Mildred. Awesome.

Ronna Detrick invited me to her pulpit to talk sanctuary, silence and faith as journey. Click here to listen in.

Amanda Farough and I spoke about clarity in your business (and warning, things got a bit, okay a LOT, sweary…hence the aforementioned search of non-swear swears).

David Cohen invited me on to his show to talk about putting a bit of love back into your business.

With all this rounding up and re-listening, it was timely that Abby Kerr went in and read my writing voice, like a Super Star Seer. It’s part of her Illuminating Voices series. I am touched and humbled by what she shared. She also read the voice of Tara Gentile, Rachel Cole, Bridget Pilloud, Emma Alvarez Gibson, Alexandra Franzen, Erin Miles, Yvonne Bynoe (In Part 1, Abby reveals what she hears in Danielle LaPorte, Chris Guillebeau, Marie Forleo, Justine Musk, Laura Roeder, Havi Brooks, Charlie Gilkey. Some pretty stellar writers…)

So, that’s where I’ve been. Feeling honoured and suddenly far more prolific.  Grace be to Mercury for the time to pause, reflect and savour.

Will you put down your To-Do list and create a Done list?

Yes.

And, while I am being more mindful of what I’m putting into my body (you know: Vita-Mixing kale like it’s my job), this isn’t a post about that.

It’s about what I’m feeding.

I recently ran across a story about a Native American tribal leader describing his own inner struggles. He said, “There are two dogs inside me. One of the dogs is mean and evil. The other dog is good. The mean dog fights the good dog all the time.” Someone asked him which dog usually wins, and after a moment’s reflection, he answered, “The one I feed the most.”

Living a Life That Matters, Harold S. Kushner

Have you ever noticed how much time is spent on the problem? The pain, the worry, the fear? How we feed those with our time, energy and devotion, even as we recognize how it depletes us?

And how we merely tend to our successes and move on quickly to the next problem?

Now, Darlings. Please do NOT get me wrong. I’m not suggesting we ignore the pain, worry, fear, betrayal, disappointment. That would be unrealistic and arguably, irresponsible. After all, what we resist persists.

I’m suggesting we flip this around.

Tend to the pain. But feed the joy.
Tend to the fear. But feed the love.
Tend to the anger. But feed the freedom.
Tend to the worry. But feed the excitement.

Do you feel the energy shift? Do you feel how important that is? Do you see how this changes everything?

Yeah. Me too.

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And speaking of feeding hungers, my dear friend Rachel Cole is traveling the US leading intimate Retreatshops for women who want to explore their truest, deepest hungers and what it means for them to be well-fed. The reviews are coming in and they are glowing. She’s half-way done, but you can still grab tickets to: San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, Chicago, Minneapolis, and Los Angeles.

Tweets for the Sweet

Tend to the pain. But feed the joy. (TWEET THIS)
Tend to the fear. But feed the love. (TWEET THIS)
Tend to the anger. But feed the freedom. (TWEET THIS)
Tend to the worry. But feed the excitement. (TWEET THIS)

So thank you.

For being here when you could be somewhere else. Somewhere fancier. Somewhere smarter. Somewhere more elegant. Somewhere more hilarious. Somewhere hipper.

Oh yes, I have those thoughts.

And yet, you are here.

Thank you for reading my words.

Thank you for sharing your comments, sharing your dreams, sharing your goals, sharing your gifts.

Thank you for sharing my words with your “likes”, “tweets” and “recommends”.

Thank you for being patient, receptive, warm and loving as I grow and stretch and retreat and grow some more.

Thank you for asking me for what you need from me (please don’t ever stop…) It means we’re in relationship.

And for that, I am truly grateful.

Love,