There was this piece of me—a young, vulnerable, desperate piece of me—who begged for someone to finally just tell me who the hell I was supposed to be, or do, or what my life was supposed to be about. Every time life intensified, waves of hysteria would swell from deep within me, the fear that I’d get it wrong… that I couldn’t trust myself to know what was true for me. I felt terrified that, without external guidance, my life would be wasted.
But then I started to explore what one of my early teachers called “the spirituality of the self”. I studied the way I reacted to the world around me, the way I allowed certain relationships, circumstances, and experiences to affect me. I learned I was powerful, far more powerful than I’d ever imagined, and that I could change reality by changing the way I was showing up in the world. In time, I released what no longer served me and made space for my truth to become my life. The artist, the lover, the priestess, the mother, the healer, the dancer, the writer . . . one discovery at a time, I hosted a reunion of the pieces of my soul.
This transformation was possible because of the supports I cultivated for myself along the way. My blog is an extension of my journals. I use it to share the lessons I’ve learned, powerful resources, and inspiring stories of my clients’ transformations. Dig in and find the information and inspiration you need today and keep coming back when you need another dose! If you can’t find what you’re looking for, email me your question and I’ll see what I can find for you.
This is my first year living in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I love the earth—she is easily my most influential teacher—and watching the seasons of life unfold in this new place has inspired me in ways that often defy words. In these moments, I take pictures and wait for the wisdom to unfold.
This bicycle has been chained to this post since I moved here last June. It happens all over the city. I don’t really understand why perfectly good transportation gets left out in the cold . . . but that’s another challenge for another day.
So, it took a little while for winter to hit this year, but once it did, the snow fell and the temps stayed low enough for what fell to stay. And then, more snow fell. It just kept coming and never really melted, although sometimes the people here relocate snow to make it more convenient for us to get about.
By February, I was pretty sure the bike would disappear before the snow stopped falling. I couldn’t really make sense of my fascination with this bike. I knew it had a message for me, but I couldn’t find it. Every time I stopped to take a picture, my family would laugh at me. There are many other bikes that offered more dramatic images, but this one just spoke to me. It called to me, again and again.
Yesterday it called to me again . . . and I found this:
It’s crushed. Someone came through with a big piece of equipment that cut into the snow to clear more sidewalk space for walking. They crushed the bike. The bike that had been so gently held in that bank of snow for months is crushed. My heart was aching. It felt ridiculous. Well, it did at first, before I started writing this.
Now, I can see more. I can see this bike telling us a story about the winters in our lives.
Winter is the time to be still—to rest and renew, to integrate the learning that the previous seasons gifted us, and to prepare for what is ahead. We are moving into spring, a new beginning, a transition from what was into what will be.
Sometimes the winter’s shifts are subtle. Everything is so quiet and still that we don’t even recognize what’s happening. But then, the days get longer, and the bitter cold gives way to cold and eventually, warmth. When the snow begins to melt, sometimes we find lush, rested soil, and sometimes we find that something we once treasured is now broken.
The broken bicycle encourages us to pause to check in—to notice what’s happening in the many gardens that make up our lives—mind, body, spirit, home, business, love, and the rest.
What in our lives have we allowed to remain buried, is broken, or in need of tending? Are we going to hurl ourselves into the next season without doing what needs to be done before this one is over?
We can do this, but there will be consequences. This disconnected carelessness will ripple into the future seasons of our lives.
Let us have the courage to pause. Let us stay here for a time and do what must be done during these final hours of this winter. Remember, this is the only winter we have until the next one; it will never be ours again.
Let’s do this. Let us keep it clean and let us move forward with our integrity intact.