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My friend tells me about an exercise he did while on a week-long popular self-improvement course in the '70s.
He recounts that after having spent a week with a group of participants, each person was assessed by the group, one at a time, as being either a Giver or a Taker. One word only: Giver or Taker. Over and over again until each one had rendered their judgment. Then on to the next person. This was after having experienced each other in various—and I am guessing—intense situations for several days. I squirmed just imagining it. I squirmed, but in the back of my arrogant little mind, I knew that most, if not all, of my mates would have labeled me a Giver. Actually, I had assumed the same fate would have landed on my friend. But no, he said. There were more “Taker” verdicts than “Giver.” Freaking brutal. Listening to this while sipping my hot cacao under a sky full of stars, it doesn’t take me long to receive a bit of quiet insight. Just 15 minutes ago. While walking through the village for a last evening stroll with my dear girlfriend, who had been visiting me, I spotted one of the street musicians who usually sits on the corner of two main streets. He plays a mean rendition of most Billy Joel songs, strumming his (very) well-used guitar, and you have to pay close attention to catch the heavily accented lyrics. Or you can just let yourself get transported away with the exotic charm of a song you thought you knew but are meeting again. I had been looking for this man for a few weeks because I had a print to give him. A customer had asked me to paint his portrait, and as I always do when I paint someone’s portrait, I make sure that they get a print. But every time I saw him, I didn’t have the print with me. I had started carrying it in my car, and of course, ever since I did that, I never saw him. But not that night. Oh no. That night, there he was, strumming his guitar, and my car was parked just a block away! We sped-walked towards the very dark, very overgrown parking spot we had found, retrieved the print, and hurried back to the street corner, hoping he would still be there. He was. Singing with his eyes closed a unique and passionate version of Queen’s "Mama." Oh, I was excited. After weeks of looking for him, there he was. And I had his portrait in my hand. I couldn’t give it to him soon enough. Because you see, when I hand someone their portrait, they light up really big. They “see” how beautiful they are, they see their Essence, and well… the whole thing makes me really happy. Yes, me. It makes ME really happy. Hmmm. I stood next to him with the print in my hand, and what I really wanted to do was touch him on the shoulder so that he would open his eyes, stop playing just long enough to see his portrait, to let me give him his gift. What stopped me was… I don’t know. Something. Something important that came with whispered mind words. The words said: “Hey, hang on a sec. What makes you think your art is more important than his? What makes you think that you can interrupt him from giving his gift to the community so that you may have the pleasure of giving him your gift?” Freaking brutal again. I am so, so, so grateful for whatever angel of wisdom whispered in my ear at that moment. Maybe it’s maturity. Maybe it’s the last few years of being humbled over and over again … I don’t know, but I hope it sticks around because I feel that I dodged a huge ugly bullet. I waited, my back to the wall. I enjoyed his song immensely, I sang to it with whatever words I made up, and once he was done, really done sharing his art with all of us at the street corner, I shared mine with him. Yes, he was enchanted, yes, I got to see his smile and feel that now-familiar feel-good hit. It was great. And none of it would have mattered if I had interrupted him to do it. So when a few minutes later my friend brought up the Giver or Taker question, I knew just how complex that topic is, how subtle. How easy it is to think we are Giving when we are, in fact, Taking. When I interrupt you because I have a great suggestion that will surely enhance what you are saying, I am Taking. When I tell a child not to cry, I am Taking her right to feel sad, all the way sad. When else am I Taking? I have been asked lot of questions these past couple of weeks. About options, possibilities. This is something I wrote three years ago as I had been living here for a huge year already. Maybe it will resonate with you. 🧡 *** Yes Way The first time you hear about it, it seems impossible, insurmountable. No way you can do this. You don’t know how. You don’t know the people who know how. Even if you did, it would take forever. No way. Too much. Too hard. But you want it. So one day, when the No Ways are napping, you look into this a little bit more. Maybe you brew a nice fragrant pot of tea and sit down to some online research. Maybe you invest a hundred dollars in asking someone the exact questions you need to feel less scared, to feel bigger. Maybe you dare to make a plan. A timeline. Maybe you take the next tiny right step. Then another. Then one more. Little by little, you get to know this thing and you find that when you talk about it, it feels familiar, manageable, almost friendly. Possibly fun. The next step. Then the next. Almost no fear left, just a little tingle of “holly s** I’m doing this,” once in a while. Mostly, not much. Just some good steps, some solid steps. You’ve up leveled. It feels good, it feels real. It feels like you. And the next time the No Ways try to whisper in your ear, you may just answer: Yes Way. The weather has been divine. But wait, there’s more. In the midst of this word intensity of late, I would not dare ask for your time to tell you about the deliciousness of the cool winter tropical breeze. As I said, wait, there’s more - and you may like it. Let me start with a funny little story my Greek grandpa Jacques used to tell me. It was the story of a little hen who was riding in the front seat of a car as a passenger and was very very thirsty. She kept telling the driver how thirsty she was, making him a little batty. “I am so thirsty,” she would say every few minutes, “I am so thirsty.” Finally, they stopped somewhere and the man bought the little hen (why, oh why, was it a little hen?) a nice big glass of cold water. She drank all of it, smiled her little hen smile, thanked him, got back in the car, and within two minutes she was sighing and starting to tell him over and over again: “You know, I was so thirsty. I really was so very thirsty.” Why that story stuck in my mind, I am not sure. But then again, maybe this is why: The temperature over the last six weeks has gradually stepped away from its sticky heaviness. No more sweating most hours of the day and night, no more looking at the clock wondering if it’s too late or too early to go to the beach or on a walk. Basically, it is exactly what I have been waiting for since spring. No, no. Not waiting for. Longing for. Yearning for. Fantasizing about. True, this last summer has felt particularly difficult for me for a combination of reasons. I did not dance well with the hot season. I complained a lot. I think I may have whined, too. And then I complained about whining. I counted the weeks. But this is where it gets rich: here we are. In the place I have been counting toward, fantasizing about. It is delicious. We can walk out of our home anytime we want. My clothes barely smell like mushrooms anymore. I sleep with a blanket. I take a little shawl with me at night. And I drink hot cacao before bed. We have arrived. Which in theory should translate to: I can rest. But I don’t. I don’t, and I am irked that I don’t. The truth is: I don’t trust it. Somehow I am able to simultaneously be almost high on the comfort of the current temperature and both still caught in the sticky memory of the past summer and the sticky knowing that “it” is coming back. In a nutshell: I am fully, embarrassingly non-present. Yuk. How does this translate? Like this: every day for the past six weeks until just a few days ago, I have been looking at my escape plan options for the coming summer. Yup. Instead of basking in the delightfulness, or rather WHILE basking in the delightfulness, I have been auditioning a myriad of cooler summer options, some of them bordering on the silly. In JANUARY. Of course, I have fully observed myself doing this mad dance. I have also observed myself talking way too much about “how-hot-it-was-last-summer.” Good grief. WHO CARES?? Yeah, it was hot but guess what? It’s not now. And as far as how-hot-it-will-be next summer… WHO CARES?? Do I even know for sure that I will be alive next summer? No, I don’t. Thank goodness, I was finally able to catch this, realize I was full-on doing a Thirsty Little Hen routine, and was able to put an end to this pain bath. How? Well, first I had to be nicer to me. I had to stop telling myself how crazy I was, how I would be able to help any of my clients with this, and why I couldn’t help myself. I had to admit that yes I had been a Very Hot Little Hen and that it was ok. AND that it was now time to make some changes. So I looked into my coaching toolbox, moved around a few tools, and found just the one I needed. The Date Tool. Which, while not as fun as it sounds, is super effective. I made a date with myself - or rather, I made a date with this thing/question that was making itself a nest in my head. I thought about it for 12 seconds and decided that May 1st would be a perfectly adequate time to sit down and make a summer plan. Not too late, not too early, May 1st would work just fine. After having enJOYed - really truly enjoyed - months of lovely, gentle tropical breezes, by being present. I made a date and so now, anytime the questions pop up all I need to do is remind them that we already have an appointment to address their concerns. It works. I am 90% better. And of course, this is not just about the temperature. Of course. It rarely is. It is about boundaries, about timing, about knowing what we can take in and when and why. It is about deciding how much news I let in today (and they come in through all kinds of sneaky, harmless-looking little ways), it is about knowing the difference between what I have control over and what I don’t - and then choosing to put most of my energy where it may matter. It is about reclaiming our thoughts, our energy, the way we use our brains, our words, and our hearts. It is about the Essence of Sovereignty at a time when we need it so very much. |
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Laura - I always read your posts and am touched by your vulnerability , courage and honesty. Thank you for sharing from your heart. It is a rare gift in this world. A gift we humans are in desperate need of. You put out so many heartfelt blog pieces that touch my heart and move me down the right path at the right time. Pure beautiful magic girlie. I love you for this. Thank you for digging in there and finding the gems of wisdom and then just sharing them out as if there's an endless supply ... which with you, there is." Archives
February 2025
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I write because this is the way I am able to taste life more deeply. |