I think maybe Life must have known that I needed some anchoring, something really juicy to bite into, once I returned home from my time away.
Within a very short time, I was served a really special, delicious invitation.
Some of you may have heard me talk about The Pollination Project, over the past few years. A deeply heart-based organization which provides "seed grants" to people who want to get a special, world-sweetening project off the ground, TPP had founded some of my projects twice, and I have grown huge respect for their team, and anything they did in the world.
So when they asked to talk to me over a Skype session, I was elated for the opportunity to connect with them, whatever the reason might be (I did not even ask).
And when they invited me to be part of their latest goodness-making program, The Global Kindness Team, I gave a resounding YES before I even knew what I was committing to.
Some things are just YESes and that's that.
A few weeks into it, I am beyond happy with my instantaneous YES.
Here is what this means, and it includes an invitation to you:
For the next nine months, My teammates Chris, Greg, Liz and I (all of us living in different parts of the world) will be on the lookout for anyone who is dreaming, creating or running a project based on Kindness. Then, having found these projects, we will nominate eight of them and get busy both supporting them however we can - and granting them $1,000 each.
In my world, this is a little bit like being asked to play Tinkerbell for nine months, you know?
So, the invitation to you. Here it is:
Who do YOU know who is involved with a project that brings Kindness to the world, and could use a boost (from being a TPP grantee myself, I can confidently say that the $1,000 grant is only the icing on the cake of being affiliated with this organization)? Tell me!
During my travels earlier this year, I have seen several examples of heart-melting, humbling Kindness at work and it is possible that one of these might make a great potential grantee. I would love that. And there is still room for more.
What about you? Who can you send my way so that together we may be able to grow someone's dream?
In the midst of difficult news, in the midst of heartbreak and seemingly insurmountable challenges, I am grateful for being able to bring this invitation to you.
Let's do it?
PS: for those of you reading this on your email, see the Kindness video here.
Most mornings I wake up to a Whatsapp message from my friends Manan and Mhasa.
It is the beginning of my day here and the middle of theirs, in the Greek refugee camp where they currently live. We say hello and I get to check in on how their minds and hearts are doing that day. Lately, I usually get a photo or two I requested of whatever Mhasa has eaten so far that day, since there has been some serious health concerns about her not eating enough of the challenging food they get offered three times a day.
My vision is to help get them to a place where they are able to start their new lives, eat real food, start healing and building. Just about every day, I make a move in that direction, sometimes to just hit a wall and bounce back towards another potential avenue. As of last week, I am upping the ante and getting a little more creative and bold. Let's see where my request with a staffer in our Senator's office gets me.
So, during our morning catch ups, we talk about that. The legal part of things, the patience needed, the focus. And food. And music sometimes.
As times passes, they share with me more and more of their story - a middle eastern mix of The Godfather and Romeo and Juliet - and a sweet tapestry weaves itself between us, one ping of the phone at a time. A French woman living on an island in the US and two 20 year old Afghani kids in Greece. I am grateful for technology.
Today, as I send Mhasa some photos of my garden, I realize that in the early days, I was not fully hearing them when they asked me (every time) "How are you?" and then often ended our conversations with "Please take good care of you and be careful." I would often respond with a quick "I am good," and then bring the focus back on them.
Part of me thought that the importance how I was really paled in comparison to how they were. I mean... I wake up in a warm bed, have a clean bathroom and a fridge I can help myself to any time of the day. Also, should I choose to, I can cross into another country's border within 90 minutes. Of course, I am good, and it seemed almost silly to talk about me. As for "taking good care of me," that also seemed unimportant. I am not in danger of deportation (I don't think), I keep my doors unlocked most of the time, and if I get stopped by the police, I will most likely not get beat up. These are things I used to take for granted and these are things which now I see as a privilege which I did nothing to earn.
But they ask. A lot.
"How are you?" and always: "Please be careful."
Finally, I heard it. They really do want to know how I am. "What are you doing today?" So I tell them. I send photos, too. And links to music. And for a while, our conversation is light and away from talk of UNHCR and the ever changing Greek laws.
At the end of our morning chats, I now also hear them when they ask me to be careful. And so I promise. As I learn more of their story, I understand more about the loss, the dangers and the traumas that would make them ask me to take care of me.
There is no telling how the rest of this story will be written. On this side of the world, nor on the other. There is no knowing why our lives intersect when they do and what will come of that. There is only responding, showing up and truly hearing. One day at a time.
For now, they are teaching me generosity. The true generosity that comes from sharing ourselves, not just helping ourselves to the satisfaction of contributing to someone else's life.
For this and more, I am grateful.
When I found out that Glenn Frey had died, I was surprised by how much I grieved for a bucket list item I did not even know I had.
Seeing The Eagles live.
Ever since Hotel California hit my heart when I was 13 years old, I made a quiet little spot in there for most of The Eagles' songs. I did not understand the lyrics, and yet I got the Essences. I got the mystery, the open road, the love, the wildness. I would first sit for hours with a pen, paper and a dictionary and try to figure out the words so that I could sing along. When that took too long, I just went the phonetic route and for anyone who did not know English, I think I sounded as though I knew what I was singing. I did not.
They accompanied my teens, my twenties and beyond. They added layers to road trips, long walks, showers and the fabric of my life. Eventually, I understood the words and had to work hard at forgetting the phonetic gibberish.
And then, it was as though it was all gone. Never would I stand in a room with them and hear them sing live.
I was wrong.
When I learned that The Eagles were touring, very little was going to keep me away from being there, and nothing was going to stand in the way of me taking it all in fully.
Last night, it happened.
Great seats, the opening band did not go on forever and pretty soon, there they were.
When the first notes of the first song wafted up, I became so still I could barely feel my breathing. My eyes transfixed on Glenn Frey's 25-year old son Deacon, I was filled to the rim with a powerful cocktail of elation, emotion, and gratitude.
The show went on.
Song after song, short story after short story. For me, there was a constant awareness of generational holiness. The aging artists with their bodies not as easy to maneuver as they used to be, still letting their gifts make their way out of them and into the audience. These men who had gone through much together, who were missing one of their brothers (a haunting, huge black and white photo of a softly smiling Frey appeared mid way through the concert and beamed over the stage) and always, almost mostly, this beautiful young man, singing his dad's song surrounded by his honorary uncles, with his eyes closed as though each song was a prayer for healing.
My tears fell, my feet moved, I laughed and I left as though something in me was just ... complete.
Then on my way home - the concert was in Vancouver, Canada - I showed my passport to the border officer who welcomed me back to the US. Which reminded me of my huge privilege of being able to cross borders so easily. But that's another story, another compartment.
I am grateful.
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