Naked Freedom!

Today I invited someone from my previous life to sit across the table from me and share a meal.

In truth I asked him to share more than food; his ideas about God, sin, guilt and shame too, and not only with me, but my university class as well.

It's been almost ten years since I last saw my former professor, and while the pain and betrayal I experienced in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America was not associated with him, inviting his theology and teachings still rooted in that doctrine to be on my turf and in my presence, was liberating.

YA-HOO!

Autonomy of forgiveness is important to me; choosing from our inner wisdom what it means to forgive and when we are ready to release the anger, pain and hurt received from the actions of others.

Over the holidays I had numerous dreams filled with characters who had made choices that harmed me. For several nights in a row they appeared, not as the perpetrators of their negative choices, but as normal, even friendly people.

So I tuned-in to my body and asked: Am I ready to release? I heard a full body yes. RELEASE!

Since ritual is in my blood and bones I knew I wanted to ritually honor the release. But how?

Around that time I had been drawing a lot of gorgeous, full, lovely lips. Lips that had, in the middle of their pout, intricate designs of nature; swirls, eyes, feathers, stars, wisps of light. I loved these active, feminine speaking lips. I decided they would be a beautiful gesture of release.

I reproduced them and wrote underneath “Peace and Love in 2014” and signed my name. I meant it.

I put them in envelopes addressed to locations I hoped were still accurate, and released them to the U.S. Postal Service.

And I felt – SPACIOUS! I had sketched, created and sent those Lips in Love of me, letting go of any negative power any one previous act by another had over me. The result was more room for new adventure, risk and giggly, silly, buoyant joy. Oh ya! This affect was in no way dependent on the response or actions of another – it was all me. I had the power. I owned the responsibility.

Sitting in my classroom today with my former Professor and openly discussing our differences while claiming our common ground, was beautiful. Another act of clearing out and making room.

Over lunch I told him about my Spring Teleseminar series “The Narrative Closet" - of course he thought it ROCKED!- where I talk with incredible women visionaries about the closets we all have, filled with stories we have been told about who are, who we ought to be and how the world works. Stories of being wronged hang in their too.

We all have these closets of stories, the very recognition of which is the first step to getting naked and claiming our authentic power. Goose-bumps Galore!

“We have the Power!” and responsibility, to clear the clutter from our narrative closets and make space for new designs that fit who we are and who we want to become. Including those stories we keep hanging around about the old hurts, wounds and deep pains.

What about you? What old story about a hurt do you keep hanging around? Try this: take it out of your narrative closet and try it on. Listen to your body. Pay attention to your wisdom-gut response, the beat of your pulse, the heat in your cheeks. You will know when it's ready to slide from your shoulders. Maybe you are even ready to release it for good.

Either way, you can do a Spirit-Shimmy! A Big-Woop-to-me-Boogie! Because just seeing the closet of stories is the first step into your naked unstoppable power.

Valentine's Day 2014

In honor of the holiday I have never appreciated - even while in the ripe juicy blossoms of love – this Valentines Day Blog will be about…drum roll please….

“How it’s Good to Know You Don’t Want to Die”.

Not very many weeks ago, a member of the faculty at the university where I teach, died. Suddenly. Unexpected. This was not foreseen in any cards or medical reports.

I later learn that it all started with “one of those flu bugs” making the rounds among us. It turned into pneumonia, and, well, he died.

Not five days later, I am hit hard by “one of those flu bugs” and before I could fling the arm of my intellectual critical thinking up to block and deflect it, it happened. The tale of my impending death swirled and spun around me. And. I. Died.

And for one moment I was enveloped in the beautiful darkness of sweet clarity.
“Why did I ever think there was anything more necessary than hanging with my kids?”

“Why would I ever want more than loving with my wild succulent husband?”

“What could ever be so embarrassing…What failure could ever be so big, that I would rather remain quiet, small, unannounced and “safe” – instead of experiencing it?”

And then it was over. It felt like 30 seconds, but I suspect it was more like 10.

10 seconds of PURE Fiery Wisdom.

It is good to know you don’t want to die – and WHY. This 10 second spin into my early death has now lasted weeks. It has become a new tool in my story telling kit. Here’s how it works.

When I was feeling tentative and shy about putting myself out to ask my Shero's and Mentors to play with me on a FREE Teleseminar I am hosting (I am inviting the stars baby!) I reached into the envelope of dark, ready wisdom and brought out the story of my death.

“Would you rather die wrapped in the perceived safety of silence instead of risking the feelings from receiving an “F' No, I don't want to have anything to do with you”? Wouldn't you rather hear “F'No!” than hear nothing at all and die bunched up and small, afraid to have been rejected?”

Whizz. Bam. Boom! And I mean it! The body response I felt to that juxtaposition had kick-back! I landed on my proverbial spiritual back with the same sense of seamless clarity staring down at me.

Of course I didn't want to die not knowing, not risking and not being able to say “I put myself OUT there! I announced my DREAMS! I REACHED for the Moon and Howled!!”

Telling my story this way, there was no question. Immediately: what I had conjured in my mind as fear of rejection became Anticipation of Feeling the Pulse! What had felt like risky behavior to expose my heart and hopes, suddenly morphed into Courageous Tall Bad Ass Power! The actual response from the stars I invited took a back seat. It wasn't the driving force anymore. My reverberating blood flowing vision became FRONT and CENTER!

I am infused with this new story-telling tool. It is not a focus on death. It IS a fresh lens that cuts through all the crap of lies with laser-like precision that does not allow me to hide from my own habit of complicity. Yup. Complicity.

The old stories we wear, the ones we put on every day that say “are you sure you want to ask that? What happens if they say “yes” - can you handle it? Are you ready? Are you really able to do this? Better think twice. Wouldn't it be safer if you waited?” - they remain on us and in our Narrative Closets because we let them.

Ick. That's an uncomfortable truth. I don't like it. And – I LOVE it. It hurts so good. The sweet juice of naked liberation is inside and when you risk starting there – you begin the journey to clear out the clutter and zoom in to the clarity.

The Laser Beam Tool of “I don't want to die because...” holds your deepest loves and desires. It will open up the stuck doors of your Narrative Closet and beckon for you to enter with fierce permission to GO! and look inside.

Take this tool for a spin! Look through that Lens and SEE!

P.S. Keep your EYES PEELED for my delicious FREE Teleseminar “The Narrative Closet!” Guests from the Amazing Amy Ahlers to the Unabashed ColorFULL SARK  and MORE will be joining me!! It all starts Thursday, March 2

Unreasonably Passionate!

When I was little, I was LOUD, lovely and Bold! I laughed BIG, exclaimed fearlessly, cried out emphatically, and spoke with passion and energy. I was FULL of myself and I believed it was ALL beautiful!

That began to shift when the “shush-ing” started. The worst was at the dinner table.
Growing up, dinners were required. We ate at a table-clothed, milk-in-a-pitcher, cloth napkin-ed table with lit candles every night. There were almost no excuses to miss. Dad would be home for the meal and it was the one time each day we came together as a family and had Dad to ourselves. I am heartened that cell phones were yet to be inflicted on us. For almost an hour each night, our family attention was on, well, our family. No interruptions. It was pretty awesome.
Except when I got shushed. I hated it the most when my Dad, trying to get my volume to an “acceptable level” would, in response to my exuberant dialogue, speak slowly and almost inaudibly to me. It was humiliating. I remember feeling like I wanted to screech and scream at the top of my lungs but instead, as my face grew hot with shame, I shut up.
And I learned. My authentic voice was unacceptable and what I needed to do was alter it to “fit” into the parameters given to me.
This is one of the many stories I was told as a child about who I needed to be and what it meant to be a good girl. It didn't change as a young woman or adult, and I worked hard to be small, quiet, unseen and calm, none of which came naturally. The toned-down volume of my authentic self flowed through my veins and I became known as “intense”, interrupted by occasional bursts of laughter that could be heard across the quad. I tried to downsize myself and actually got so good at it, I very nearly agreed to live in the strict confines dictated by that story.
Very. Nearly.

But Hell No. Uh-Uh. Turns out, I LOVE my laugh. And, I discovered, we – you, me, each other, the WORLD – need more willingly intense, unreasonably passionate, wildly dancing to the beat of our own-and-different-drum individuals!!! We need to go for it!

When was the last time you connected with your deep-down-slightly-wild-organically irreverent voice? Have you laughed loudly, danced feverishly, or spoken with passion?

Do it this week. Promise yourself to listen...to YOU. The deep-down-inner-fire-before-you-learned-to- “be appropriate” YOU.

This week – make it your mission, your challenge, your playful task - to be gorgeously loud about something you feel deeply about! What is it in this world, in your world, that needs the ring of your particular voice? Is it an injustice that you see? A stand for your own value? An insistence for joy? An open receiving of LOVE and ABUNDANCE? An expression of anger?

Listen for Yourself. Re-member You. You will not be alone – and if you lean in – trust that you will hear my voice joining yours! Yup. I am THAT big!

No More Frozen Super-Powers!

The last day of the first month of 2014 is upon us, and it feels... Frozen!

Over these last hours, days and weeks, I have been dreaming, deciding and dedicating myself to the kind of year I want to have for me and my family. Mentors, guides and Goddesses have patiently, and with vigor, infused me with encouragement, tools and practices to integrate into my business, passions and daily life. All of it intended to get me to where I want to go and be the person I am meant to be!

Ah, the hard part. Where is that again, and who is she?

Smack in the middle of all of this beautifully gritty inner work, my cursed iphone beeps with a text. I have a love-despise-you-demand-too-much relationship with my technology, and text messages are a big part of it. “Mom!” my tech-savvy-loving kids chirp, “You got a text!”

“Okay,” I mumble under my breath, hoping they'll move on and leave me in peace. Under my nose she holds it; that annoying phone attached to the most lovely 11 year old arm that leads to the sweetest and mischievous smile that I adore. “Don't want you to miss it” she says spunk-ily.

I look down at the text and – am – surprised. Happily and pleasantly elated. A text from a former student who was one of those unique ones with whom you build a lasting friendship. His mother had died unexpectedly the year before he was in my university class, and we connected deeply. Since his graduation we have kept in touch; he knows my kids and husband and whenever we are near, we grab a beer together.

Text: “Please tell me you've seen Frozen!”

“Really?” I think, “that's what he wants to know?” Not a huge fan of the Disney “princesses-please-handsome-prince-save-me-movies” I groaned. I had already said there was no way I was going to see what looked like a plot-less, insipid animated film about a goofy snow man. Uh-uh. Nope.

Text back: “Why?” That's all I wrote.

Tick-tock. Beep. I grab the phone.

Text: “Because I thought of you through the ENTIRE movie. You HAVE to see it. I won't tell you why, but trust me and let's talk after. This movie IS YOU!”

Hmmm. A silly, princess Disney movie is me? Harumph. I did trust my former student. He knew me well. There had to be more to it. My kids did want to see it. Alright, it was set. We were going.

I laughed, I cried. Seriously, I did. After the film, I sent a text to my former student.

Text: “Just saw Frozen. You were so right! I am Elsa!”

Tick – not-even-time-for-a-tock. Beep.

Text: “You are SO Elsa!!!”

A few weeks later I am relating this story to my not-blonde hair-stylist (she wanted to be sure I made that clear) who I have know for over a decade. She has witnessed the evolution of my life, belief system and of course, my hair. She knows me. At the “I am Elsa and You are so Elsa” part of the narrative– she laughs quizzically. When I see her a few days later, she jumps in immediately.

“Alright, this has been bothering me ALL weekend. Why on earth would your former student think you were Elsa? I totally do not get it. Please, tell me what he meant! Why are YOU – the energized, social, funny, stage-loving AmyJo - like Elsa?”

Here's why.

Elsa is the symbol of the “good-girl” who is told (and agrees) to suppress, hold back and reduce her great, amazing, incredible and magical super-essence-powers for the comfort of everyone around her. She does it to maintain the system in which she was told was the "right way" to live. If she allowed herself to feel her powers, she was told, and let them freely expand and be used, there would be fear and danger. For the sake of keeping everything in line within the expecatations of the old story, Elsa, as do "good-girls" everywhere, complied. Until she couldn't hold it in any longer. And that's when things get juicy!

Frozen is about anything but! It is a narrative of defrosting and exposing the truth. It is about the prescribed “good-girl” finding her freedom in the love of a good man. Oh wait, sorry. Years of Disney and religious programming. No, no, no. That is NOT how this story ends!

Elsa is released into the FULLness and universe-tingling connection with HER super-powers because of her sisters LOVE! Oh ya! Uh-huh. That's right! Sister LOVE and Sister POWER!

Message: Women - We are sisters one-and-all! We are ALL Anna and we are ALL Elsa! As we openly LOVE each other, AFFIRM and CELEBRATE each others' powers – we are personally released to live in them FULLY! And when we do, we melt away the fear of failure, the anxiety of being good enough and the idea that we need to measure up to the perceived perfection of another. We are FREE to write our own story, claim our super-essence-powers and LOVE the world, our kids, spouses, friends and most poignantly, ourselves.

No more Frozen Dreams or Dormant Powers! Turn up the HEAT of your inner super-essence-powers that are already part of you and experience the soaring melody of the bad ass POWER you already possess AND melt away anything that keeps your from connecting with your inner fiery licks of power!

To quote Elsa, “Let it Go!”

Text: “You are SO Elsa!!”

Transformational Author Inspiration!

Amazing time on retreat in the San Francisco Bay Area, then in Baltimore, Maryland! Now I am just integrating all the amazing learnings and experiences.

The Goal of Getting Good; Comparisons Suck

When was the last time it happened to you? I am gonna go out a limb and guess it was some time this week. At least once. Maybe twice. Perhaps even more than that. I know because it happens to me too. It used to happen more than it does, and still, in all the amazing progress and freedom I have achieved, I run into it. Bam! It hits me square in the face, or more typically for me, in the abs, legs, or bank account.

The more vulnerable I am, the more easily it occurs. Vulnerable in the sense that I am not rooted in the complete truth of my own amazing good core. Vulnerable because I am open to the suggestions that on  my own, as I stand now, I am not enough; not good enough, fit enough, pretty, smart or successful enough.

We are trained to engage in the game. I call it “The Wheel Of MisFortune.” The more we allow ourselves (because we do) to run on that wheel, the faster it spins and the harder it is to get off. The cycle of comparison continues to go round and round, conjuring up a variety of people, aspirations, targets and goals for us to measure ourselves against. The harder we run on the Wheel, the greater the rate of MisFortune, where you and I look at the lives, looks and goodness of another against which we will never win. Ultimately we are exhausted people, pretending to be all that we think we should be, while believing we are none of it.

The reason we do it is simple. Since we were young we have been told a story about what it means to be a good person, an upstanding American, a desirable woman and solid man. Our stories differ slightly depending on religion, culture and traditions, but much of what we have been told is the same. I call these stories our “Shape-Scripters;” powerful narratives that literally shape us. They tell us how we ought to look, behave and think about who we are, and who other people are, and if they are good.

The main theme connecting all of our Shape-Scripter stories is that you and I have to do something other than simply be who we are, to be considered good, desirable, acceptable and whole. On our own, in the skin we were born in and the bodies in which we exist, with the mind we conduct and the spirit we continue to nurture – we are not enough. We need something else from beyond our basic selves to prove our worth and value to the world. We need to be thinner, wealthier and more popular. The cars we drive, the clothes we wear, the restaurants we frequent and the sports we and our children play all contribute to what is assessed and judged on “The Wheel of MisFortune”.

Yuck! Enough already! Time to slow down the Wheel of MisFortune, get off and discover a new way!

You can decide to get off. Here's how to begin. The minute – the moment – the exact second you decide that You Are Good, the wheel will slow and you can turn your attention from others to your Good Core. The more you practice and rehearse owning your Good Core, the less the Wheel turns until you get to a point where it slows enough to get off completely.

I know this is true. I know it works. I have done it myself, coached hundreds to do the same and observe daily how it transforms the lives of my own family and children. It takes practice and commitment to rewrite your Shape Scripter and let go of the memorized idea that on your own you are not good. And it can be done. Are you ready?

Today – for this moment and time – start here. Before you get out of bed and before you go to sleep, say this: I am good and have the power to make more good for myself and others.

That's it. If it's too long, keep it to three words: I am good. I am good. I am good.

It is not sacrilege nor is it hypocritical. (Interested in what Jesus thinks of your Good Core? Find more here). It is perhaps the most authentic truth that can “reveal-utionize” your life!

Take the Journey to Your Good Core!

Flutters to the Tummy

I want to write. I need to. The will to do so is eking out of my fingers that are itching to get words flowing from my mind to the keyboard and on to the screen. It’s been too long; too much time reading of papers written by students and not enough time writing my own.

It is good to read the voices of others. To hear the vocabulary chosen by someone you know only as student, yet who share some of their deepest thoughts, questions and hopes. It is an exercise in listening – even as it’s done apart – physically away from the speaker. Writing gives room to mull over the sentiments and ideas expressed; space we don’t find when we are face-to-face.

Reading the work of others feeds my writing spirit and after a while, it demands something of me. Requires I stand to attention and give into the urge to be the one putting down the thoughts swirling in my mind that can flutter down into my heart, spirit and sometime, stomach.

When the wings of thought reach my tummy, they can transform into the proverbial butterflies of unknown anxieties, or, those I know too well. Those narratives of old stories I have learned since childhood: you know, the ones memorized growing up, the “old tapes” my parents would call them. The phrases that sometime echo unwittingly from my brain and move effortlessly to finally morph into the fear in my gut. The “you can’t really do this” or the “it will never happen for you” followed up by the “did you really think it could?” sentiments that play and rewind, play and rewind.

I was asked recently, if I were to write a new story for myself, what would it be? The idea was to replace the old that doesn’t work. I thought about it a lot. Again. It’s not a new concept, this rewriting my narrative that tells me who I am. In truth I have done more editing of my learned story than most: having moved from an ordained pastor to an avowed atheist who continues to find beauty and meaning in ritual, litany and spirit work. I have changed plenty. And still, I ponder the question because I find that those old routines and systems can be dogged. They come alive at moments when I am most anticipating something good: a new opportunity, a completed goal, an affirmation from an unexpected place. That’s when the terrible growling of the historic negatives rise up from the deep place of old, their ugly melody reverberating in my ears.

So I wrote it down, my new story. The one I was going to be telling with bold confidence in place of the other. It went something like this: I attract abundance. Good things happen to me. People are drawn to me. I am a powerfully positive presence. I impact whatever I do with intellect, grace and energy. I am capable, experienced and highly qualified. People want me on their team. I am strong: in body, in mind and in spirit. I am a people person. I easily build relationships. I am adventurous; risks are worth taking.

As I read back over it, my eyes moved to the writing in the upper left hand corner of the page. It said simply “New Story”. I closed my eyes and breathed deep. Something was off. It wasn’t right. I knew what it was. Turning my pencil on end, I rubbed the eraser over the word “new” and wrote in bold, strong letters “MY”. My story. This is my story and it has always been my story, how I have lived and experienced the world.

The truth is I don’t need a new story. The one I have lived consistently throughout my life is more than enough. I merely need to reclaim it. Reclaim it from the realities of the world and from what honest and open living does as we grow and learn. Experiences can have the affect of altering our perception of self, of trying to replace our own voice with another, and sometimes the shouts from the surrounding world can be harsh and loud. Too often, it is the words and narratives of others who shape the story we tell ourselves about what we are capable of and how we interact. In truth, however, those can only continue as my story, if I concur.

And I do not.

My story is about an incredible woman with a rich, diverse life that has experienced the most amazing acts of human good and progress and endured the harm inflicted by the insecure, threatened and awkwardly powerful. The result is a wise, skilled, authentic woman who is all those good things of strength, capacity, brilliance, energy and charisma, wrapped in the most elegant blanket of knowledge and experience.

Waiting for affirmation of this from others is often where the old flutters turn into anxious butterflies. So don’t. Don’t wait. There is no reason for it. The trappings of societal proof that our story is real is one of the big lies we think we need to have to authenticate our story. And here is the good, FULL news: our story about who we are, how we live, what we are capable of, and how we want to offer the fullness of ourselves to the world, stand true as long as we say it does.

It does not matter if we have a twitter following the likes of Ashton Kutcher or Facebook traffic that shoot off the graphs. It does not change our story if we get the job, are invited to speak or sell thousands more books. Our story is ours to own, to claim and to live FULLY into. No. Matter. What.

That is worth writing about! Write your story. Reread it often. Listen to the words you chose to describe your power and knowledge, the discoveries you have made and the joys and hurts you have experienced. Be bold in telling it like it is: with all of what has given you the complex, complicated, beautiful, dynamic and wise person you are. Take the space your written story gives you to ponder the character you have developed in you – and Celebrate It Now!
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