Midlife Revelation

Today's an important day in history- some people's histories. It's my birthday. It's my preference to mark this with no hubbub. Ask anyone who has thrown me a surprise party. So, why announce it this year?

I'm familiar with the midlife crisis. Read about it. Watched movies about it. Witnessed it as a young adult. When would mine come? What would I do? Tattoos? Have them designed and ready. (Somewhere in the universe, my aunt just had a pang in her chest and doesn't know why.) Dye my hair purple? (My stylist is doing a fist pump and mixing color.) Buy a motorcycle? To be fair, I wanted a three-wheel motorbike a few years ago. (Stylist's husband shakes his head. One wheel too many.) Quit my job, move to Europe, write/coach full-time? (My cats hiss at the thought of quarantine and a decline in income.)

But, oh...that last one. There's something delicious there.

I was facilitating a coaching session with Karen and she coined the term "Midlife Revelation." Hearing that phrase? My body was submerged in an ice bath. I am having a Mid Life Revelation. It's what drew me to blogging last fall. It's what made me take the leap and step into training with Leadership That Works. Tattoos, purple hair, and fancy wheels aside, authenticity is my passport to transformation.

It's important to have vision and secret dreams. Saying them aloud is the first step in achieving them.  I want to develop a network that promotes self care as precious, wanting as powerful, and that the "but" has purpose. There. I said it. What does it mean for my future? I don't know! But every choice I make is made with the dream in mind. 

So, back to my birthday. I brought my thoughts about this occasion to my peer coach and he asked me why I like to celebrate birthdays of those close to me. "Because they matter!" And, then, he did that dirty little coaching trick and flipped the message on me. Clever, clever. He asked me to speak my truth- who am I? I said all true things about my emerging self but felt disconnected from my body while saying them. And, then?

The Red Cardinal Appeared. Again. 

"Those who attract the cardinal as their totem are naturally energetic, love life, and happily help others where/when they can." My ice bath runneth over. The cardinal invites me to step into what I know to be true.

I, Suzie, matter. I deserve to take up space. Happy birthday, Suzie.

Guest Blogger: Welcome to the Universe, Sarah Haykel!

Do you know Sarah?  I met Sarah Haykel when I was searching for a professional Life Coach.  I was intentionally looking for someone who had strength in body awareness.  Through working with Sarah, I learned to trust my intuition with myself as much as I trust it in interacting with others.  That gift was priceless and I am incredibly honored to have her voice in my universe.  Enjoy!

The Most Important Question an Empath Can Ask Herself

At home in your physical body is the key.  

How do you feel in your body right now?

What sensations do you notice as you sit here and read this article?

Is there an opening in your chest, a deepness in your jawline, a frivolity in your pelvis?  

Is there a sadness that is waiting for its time to be felt, to be expressed?

Is there a joy so vibrant you want to jump up and down and scream it from the rooftops, who cares what your neighbors think?

Bringing your awareness to your body and how it feels in the moment can be a tool of self-awareness and even greater, self-empowerment.  

As a very sensitive person, some call an “empath,” I’ve realized that I pick up on a lot other people’s energy, emotions, thoughts, states of being, and at times, when I’m unaware, take them on as my own.  I can act out, feel sad, get angry, judge myself and others, feel jealous, want to scream.  But why, I ask myself?  And more importantly, whose energy is this?  

That last question is one of the most important I’ve used over the past couple of years to free myself from the binds of feeling and taking on other people’s “stuff” and energy.  I know the word “energy” used to be pretty “woo woo,” but now it’s become a mainstream term to describe this feeling we get when we’re aware of what’s happening inside our bodies and around our physical bodies in life.  

Let me clarify one main thing: it’s not that I don't have any of my own stuff.  I surely do.  This question: “Whose energy is this?” allows me to see and understand what is mine to deal with and what isn’t mine, or more importantly, what is someone else’s part to play in what I’m feeling.  This question gives me the necessary room and space to inquire within, when noticing the sensations of my body, and get clarity on what’s mine to deal with, if any of what I’m sensing is mine to deal with (a powerful distinction indeed).  I can also get clarity on whose energy it is that I’m feeling in my body or around me.

Sometimes I notice when I ask myself, “Whose energy is this?” and a name pops up into the center of my chest (where a lot of my “inner guidance voice” speaks from), I feel an instantaneous lightness, like “Ah, that’s whose it is.”  I don’t feel angry or judgment towards this person, I just feel clear, and the part of the energy that’s another person’s or part of the collective energy of many humans, leaves my energetic “field,” which I would call my internal body and the space around my body.  

My main goal in life is to feel good, to feel amazing in fact.  So when I feel energy or emotions in my body or around my body that don’t feel good, that’s a sign to me that I am out of balance within myself or something around me is out of balance or alignment.  This is when I start to inquire, when I get that uncomfortable or disconcerting feeling that something isn’t quite right.

I have to be honest, at times I feel scared to know how much of the uncomfortable energy, emotions or thoughts I’m experiencing are mine because I don’t want to be “wrong,” “bad,” or a part of an interaction or energy that is detracting from joy in life.  This is when I must draw up my own sense of self-compassion, self-love, self-forgiveness and honor for myself and where I’m at on this journey called life.  

At the same time, this awareness also allows me to be more compassionate, loving, and forgiving towards others and honor their journey in this life as well.   Plus, it is one of the most humbling and freeing feelings to take responsibility for my part to play in a funky situation.  It is also equally as liberating to free any energy or emotions that are not mine so others can own their parts to play in these situations. 

Whose energy is this?  A powerful question that can free you both in taking responsibility for your part to play and releasing any energy, thoughts, and emotions that are not yours to deal with, allowing others to be responsible for themselves, their thoughts, emotions, and actions in their own lives.  

Freedom.  I guess that’s one of my other main desires in life!  Free to Be All of Me!

How about you?  

What is one way you can start using this question: “Whose energy is this?” to free yourself to be all of you and add more joy and juice to life?  

Click here to receive Sarah’s Free to Be eBook that’s coming out this summer!  It’s free and will guide you through an important 5 step process so you can be Free to Be!  

Sarah Haykel, aka Salsa Sarah, has launched The Sensual Body Movement for women to reclaim their sexuality, embrace their divine femininity, and express their sensuality from an empowered, intentional, clear and conscious place through dance and life coaching.

As a trained Latin, W. African, hip-hop, and break-dancer over the past 14+ years, and with her own style of freestyle and improvisational sacred dance, Sarah uses her expertise to bring you deeper into your own sense of empowerment inside your body.

As a certified professional Life Coach, Sarah works with one on one client’s and groups through Body Centered Awareness. The body is a tool for providing information, support and guidance to bring you into greater alignment and harmony within yourself and all of life.

Live a life empowered and juicy from the inside out.  Join Sarah in The Sensual Body Movement by going to sarahhaykel.com for information now.

Dear Chaney

It was a year ago today that I got the call.

The day before that was June 21, 2013.  My mother' birthday.  Her 67th.  For her 66th, I sent her a birthday card.  The most beautiful card she had ever received.  I spent 15 minutes picking that one out.  For her 67th, I spent less time because I was sobbing in the card aisle.  How do you pick out what you sense is the last card your mother will ever receive?

For the last 18 months of her life, my mother battled small cell lung cancer.  Yup.  She smoked.  For the last 18 months of her life, I got my mom back.  Yup.  Cancer had a silver lining.

My mother had a mental illness.  No, it's not contagious.  I've checked.  And rechecked.  According to an irresponsible psych professor, my kids would most likely catch it.  Most likely.  I have cats and only one of them demonstrates psychological distress.

[Insert name of mental illness here] made it challenging for my mother to mother.  It made it challenging for me to be a child.  Her healthcare situation made it challenging for her to receive the best help that she deserved and, when she felt fine or off balance, she would stop taking her meds.  So, as an adult child who was too young to intervene but old enough to advocate for herself, I "broke up" with my mother.  For my physical, mental, and emotional safety.  For 10 years.  Or more or less.  I don't really know.  We were geographically divided.  Distance makes the heart grow fonder.  It can compartmentalize memories as well.

I spoke to her every year on my birthday.  Each call ended in tears and I swore I wouldn't do it again.  Until the next time.  I took her calls sporadically.  Read her letters that switched intention mid paragraph.  Always signed by her, her current boyfriend, and the cat- if one was present.  Cards were sent to her for birthdays and holidays.  Generally picked out by my husband.  Occasionally signed by him when merely holding a pen sent me into a tailspin.

Cancer gave us an advantage.  It forced my mother to accept residence in a nursing home.  For rehab after her first surgery.  For help when the chemo was stopped.  For hospice when it was determined the treatment was killing her as fast as the cancer.

For 18 months, my mom had structure and meds and her own village.  Her intake file was intimidating but once she was regulated, the people at the home saw a quiet, funny, gentle, compassionate Chaney.  The mom I remembered from my earliest days.  For 18 months, I flew between her new home and mine with my husband or Chaney's sister.  We advocated for her in person, by email, by phone.  We bought whatever clothes she wanted at Target and I waited until she wasn't around to cry at her ravaged body.

For 18 months, we talked.  WE talked.  Both of us.  She actually asked me questions about my life.  And listened.  And remembered.  She called once and cried asking if she was the reason I didn't have children.  I told her the truth- there were many reasons why I didn't have children and when I think back on our Wonder Woman Raids the Cookie Jar adventures, she showed me the kind of mom I'd like to be.  On a call after that, she told me how happy she was that things were the way they were meant to be.

I called her on her 67th birthday and couldn't get through.  She was sleeping a lot.  I left a message with the nurse and asked her to tell Chaney that I called to wish her a happy birthday.

I was finalizing my plans to travel out of the country for work.  My mom knew this.  To the best of my knowledge, one of the last things she said to hospice about me was, "I do not want Suzie to see me like this.  And she has important work to do in Mexico."  She was proud.  I was frustrated that I couldn't get through and annoyed that I didn't fly down for a quick 24 hour visit.  A breeze rustled the trees in my yard and I was struck by the dark green against the bright blue.  I said, "Happy Birthday, Mom.  I love you.  It's OK to go."

I got the call the next day.  My mom stopped breathing and they respected the DNR.  I don't know if she ever opened my card.

A year later, I'm once again communing with nature.  A perfectly blue sky has clouded up and the temperature has dropped.  It's a reminder that change is inevitable but the ocean still breathes in and out.

I want to thank my village for its support.  Thank you to my inner circle for reading my emails/texts/IMs for 18 months and supporting me from a distance when I wouldn't let you do so up close.  Thank you to my officemate and lunch bunch for the medicine of laughter.  Thank you to my supervisor who made it OK for me to take care of myself when that was something foreign to me.  Thank you to my peer coaches for listening this week and "holding me" with care.  Thank you to my family for loving and not judging.  Thank you to my husband for accepting.

Dear Mommy, 

Thank you for bringing me into this world with love and leaving it the same.

I Remember Donnie & Troy

In honor of Memorial Day, I would like to pause and remember two men.

Desert Storm occurred while I was in high school.  This was before the social media storm and the 24 hour news cycle.  Yes, there was a CNN but, to the best of my memory, most of us had 3, 6, and 10.  Those of us with cable (or with friends that had cable) were more interested in MTV's Downtown Julie Brown than anchorman Bernard Shaw.

We were tasked with writing servicemen letters as part of our history class; however,  I started a long-lasting exchange with two soldiers, Donnie and Troy.  I remember one describing the desert sky at night and the other requesting that I not put my return address on the envelopes I sent for fear it would be intercepted and something threatening would be sent to me.

I do not know what happened to these gentlemen.  I chickened out of meeting one and the letter writing was lost to the rights of teen passage- dating, prom, graduation.  I do quietly and privately think of each of them, on Veterans Day and Memorial Day, hoping that the first occasion is a more appropriate remembrance.

I do not envision that these gentlemen are searching for me in the Google-Age but, if they ever do, I want them to know that as I enjoy my view, I say a quiet affirmation for their good health.  They are remembered.  And thanked.

What's Possible?

I don't know about you- I'm really good at playing the "But, What If?" game with myself.  I don't need any external factors to shoot down my dreams.  I do just fine on my own.  How did I learn this?  How do I unlearn this?

[DISCLAIMER: If you are under 18, call me "Mrs. BT," and happen upon this on a Google search- yes, you!- you are not my target audience for this post.  Kindly click your back arrow.  And...tuck in your shirt.]

I can't help but wonder what my mother wanted for me when I was born.  My best memories of our time together range from reading to impromptu dance parties; my dressing up as Wonder Woman and tying her up with my Lasso of Truth to raid the cookie jar; being allowed to shop for the groceries By Myself while she sat on a bench.  Would my mother have wanted me to have children?  Maybe.

I have children.  It's true that they are on loan to me for ten months, seven hours a day.  But, they are mine.  I take my charge to instruct them seriously.  Above that, I place keeping them safe.  And, above that, I hold teachable moments that integrate life lessons most precious.   I absolutely want them to learn how to infer and determine the central idea.  But, if they remember to slow down and consider the impact of their words on themselves and others, then...Huzzah!  I'm overwhelmed sometimes by holding "What's possible?" for them in a container made out of care and lidded by reality.  I envision that lid is askew so dreams can pop out.

What would life be if I committed to playing the "What's possible?" game with myself?  I've been playing it a lot this year.  A change in assignment allowed me to explore what I WANT versus what I must DO.  The loss of my mother is still too fresh for me write about but these three gems are helping.  This change has really allowed for me to dare myself to dream about the future and all of the possibility it holds.  I've stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.  (It's reduced to a sock.)  I've made smart and safe decisions for so long- it's been a long road back to the kind of dreaming that existed when I played with Barbies and Easy Bake Ovens.

While I'm not looking to live out the life I imagined when I was 8 years old (very disappointed that I can't push a button and put my house in a briefcase), I'm thrilled to honor my teenage dream to write in whatever forum I can without my middle school pen name- Suzanna Skye.  (I know...awesome!)

Will I ever publish a book or pen a column?  Will I participate in space colonization?  Will I win a cooking contest?  Will I travel the world and provide coaching to those in need? Who knows!  I just know that I love asking the questions and not requiring myself to know the answers.  I'll know them when I look back at my life thirty years from now.  Gotta go- I've a lot to make myself wonder about in the future!

Guest Blogger: Welcome to the Universe, Kristin Weller!

I met Kristin years ago through Penn State Lehigh Valley Writing Project and it's been on like Donkey Kong ever since.  I was drawn to Kristin's reflective presence as an educator, writer, and friend.  Plus, she's wicked funny.  Her writing always touches my soul and this piece certainly helps me evaluate how I can work "being present" into my existing routines.  Enjoy!

When Heeling the Dog means Healing the Hurry

Green appeared like brush strokes on a dry canvas today. Cool dew replaced the iciness of morning frost. Birdsong lit up the morning before the sun rose. Springtime surrounds us with her hopeful cloak, whispering sweetly about possibility. 

Me? I’m lacing up my rock-trail shoes, pocketing a roll of blue bags, and loading up my dogs for the first of many weekly road trips. This’ll be year eight for me and Coda, and five for Ladybug.  We all crave the energy of fresh air and collaboration. Our training classes together are a meditation in motion. I spend most of the 45 minute drive trying to find center, to open up my senses, and to feel the present. Buggie sits in the back, alert, excited. She knows where we’re going. She communes with drivers behind me, while Coda curls into a kidney bean… which makes me wonder what they’re all thinking, and just like that, I’ve slid left of center.

It happens all the time. The demands of teaching in a high-pressure environment, of managing home maintenance, a marriage – an aging body. It fills up my mind to overflowing, causing flash-flooding in the wake of torrential planning. A woman’s mind is full of bees; if she’s quiet for too long, rest assured that she’s either trying to calm them, or whipping them up into a frenzy. 

To me, dog handling is the opposite of frenzy. The leash becomes an energy bridge connecting one to the other. The only way to be successful at it, to become a collaborative team, is to breathe, and be present. We warm up. “Heel,” left-foot first, the pack-walk starts. “Left-about,” and we spin to the back. “Right – and under-the-hurry,” we turn and jog in tandem. “Drop the leash,” and we all do. And just like that, the leash gone, yet the connection continues to flow.

I think meditation is heeling with a dog, because if you can walk in the moment, the moment becomes you. You keep moving, and it builds its own momentum, which, when unleashed,  continues to radiate through you into all that you touch. Like spring, it recharges and renews all parts of your being – even those that seemed shriveled as dried leaves. Happy Spring! I’m off to dog class.

Kristin Weller, teacher, writer, and book store enthusiast lives and works in the Lehigh Valley area. Kristin facilitates a local, adult writer’s group called Write Nights on the first and third Monday each month at 7PM at the Nazareth Center for the Arts 30 Belvidere Street, Nazareth PA. When she’s not writing, working, or tending to her home, Kristin meditates with her two boxer dogs through obedience and agility classes.  Click here to learn more about Write Nights.

Dear George Clooney

Dear George Clooney,

Congratulations on your engagement!  I wish you and your beloved nothing but the best.  CNN was kind enough to post an article telling us the most important things about your loved one.  If you agree with CNN's synopsis, I just wanted to bring your attention to my equally compelling qualifications.

1. "She's a well-respected attorney." I wanted to be an attorney.  Correction: I wanted to be the first female Supreme Court Chief Justice.  Or, astronaut.  I am a moderately-respected, mostly-tolerated teacher.  Pretty much the same thing.

2. "Clooney isn't the only one who finds her attractive."  

Many find me attractive.  I get lots of compliments at WaWa.  To be fair, they are silent compliments with stares.  You see, when I smile?  My eyes disappear and it looks like I only have eyebrows.  I attract attention.  I also attract vomit.  Baby vomit.  For some reason, they puke on me.  Could be the eyebrows...

3. "She's a world traveler."

I have a passport.  I've been to the Caribbean and Mexico.  I really want to travel and bring life coaching services to young women around the world...help them find their voices.  But, I'd settle for Epcot.  Plus, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White could use some support.  "What was it about the spindle or apple that was so important?"  "Where did you feel that in your body?"  I know that since they were in long term slumbers that they have had plenty of time to reflect on this.

4. "She's discreet."

Google my name.  I'll wait.  Do you SEE my name linked to any celebrities?  EXACTLY!  (Channing Tatum, Marky Mark, D.B. Woodside, Dominic Purcell, 90210's David Silver after graduation but before addiction, Carlos Bernard, Any of The Doctor Who Doctors- Tennant or Smith especially- pay attention!)   The article lists your bride-to-be as 36.  I have at least 30ish more months of discretion on her.  Do you know the name of my 6th grade boyfriend?  See!  We held hands roller skating and everything.

5. "Alamuddin must be special."

This is implied because you "had no desire to marry again."  I'm pretty special.  I have no desire to marry again.  Neither does my husband.  I tell my husband on a regular basis how happy he is to have married me.  

6. "Her co-workers are happy for her."

I imagine my co-workers would be happy for me.  There's the whole, "We get to meet George Clooney" pipe dream.  People want to know how Carol and Doug ended up.  And, shouldn't Alicia on The Good Wife get a cameo appearance from Doug?  Maybe he and Carol are suing their former hospital for [insert name of ER storyline here] and Alicia is representing them.  EMMY GOLD!  BTW- I get we wouldn't be able to invite my co-workers to our wedding.  Because of charity.  But, my husband?  He has to come.

Good luck, George Clooney!  To you and anyone else in my circle with an upcoming wedding- yes, you!  Remember, the wedding is a day, your marriage is for life.  Hold firm to the one you love.  If you have to punch paparazzi in the face to protect her, good job marrying a lawyer.  (Although, if you married a teacher, you'd be better off.  We'd provide you with alternative thinking strategies to punching someone in the face.  And, we'd be too busy grading papers for the paparazzi to notice us.)