Recently, there was a game on Facebook that I chose to play. The idea was to look up the number-one song from the week you were born and then find it on YouTube and post the video as your status update. I couldn’t wait to find out what my song was! I figured it would be a super cool song – either by the Beatles or some other classic artist that stirred my soul.

But it wasn’t. The number-one song on February 2, 1969 was “Crimson and Clover” by Tommy James and the Shondells. Not that it’s a bad song. But I never really cared for it. In fact, through the years, if I heard it on the radio I almost always changed the station.

So I posted it on Facebook and unenthusiastically claimed it as my song. Then I figured I might as well listen to it, in full, since I was putting it out there and sharing it with my peeps.

The shift

When I hit the “play” button, something inside of me shifted. For the first time ever, I closed my eyes and fully let this tune in.

I took a deep and purposeful breath and envisioned my 18 and 19 year-old parents, kids themselves, holding me for the first time.

I imagined feeling what it might have been like to be them in the late 60’s. An independent Jewish girl who marched to the beat of her own drum. And a quiet Lutheran athlete ready to try out college. Both barely out of high school in an unconventional relationship.

As the song played on, I let myself get lost in the melody. I felt such love and respect for those kids who became my parents, and for the first time, it seems that I fully “saw” them. I started loving the song, too. I turned up the volume and let it take me away. I had goosebumps.

And then I started to sob.

Accepting what is

In a matter of moments and with this song as the catalyst, I went from fighting “what is” to accepting and honoring who I am and my place in the world.

It was just another reminder of how challenging it is to go against the flow of life. I initially wanted a different song that I thought was “cool.” But the reality was that this was the song that was number-one when I was born. Plain and simple. I couldn’t skew the facts or alter the Billboard charts. Letting this song in, in its entirety, represented me loving and embracing what is – all the way back to the very beginning. Pretty cool experience.

Just yesterday I had a conversation with a client about living a life that is more ‘congruent’ with who she is. I explained the importance of not only striving for something better…but of also holding the truth of ‘what is.’ We are all free to create any type of life we want for ourselves but not until we accept what is, first. The path to joy is clear, only when you appreciate where you’ve been and fully allow yourself to be all of who you are.

Celebrating life

Today is my birthday! I’m proud to say that Tommy James and the Shondells topped the charts the week Michelle Joy came into the world. I’m smiling thinking of my dear parents who chose to have ME as their very own.

My day today will start out with an individual call to each of them (if they don’t beat me to it!) with a message of appreciation and gratitude.

Lucky me to have the beautiful and blessed life that I do. I’ve always said that I’d never change a thing, because each step along the way has shaped me into the adult woman, rich with purpose, that I am today.

I keep this quote by Sarah Pound close to my heart, and it especially speaks to me on this important day:

“When you were born, God said ‘YES!’”

Amen. Now it’s time for me to go out and celebrate!

Please enjoy the song below that was a part of the soundtrack to my mom and dad’s life the week I was born. It really is a great song.

As you’re listening, you’ll get to take a peek at the life of a young Minneapolis family establishing their place in the world in 1969. Cheers! :)

Welcome to the biggest gap between posts since this blog started almost two years ago. It’s not because I haven’t written; I have. Over this past month I’d force myself to write a post and reluctantly toss it on my editor’s desk (Bill), mumbling under my breath: “Good luck with this one.” And later he’d come back at me with, “Um, I like it, but it’s very confusing.”

I know, I know. Forcing yourself to write isn’t good. And it’s not fun. So I finally decided to just drop it and wait until the time was right.

Here’s where my heart and soul have been this past month: Bill’s father, Larry, has been in the intensive care unit in the hospital, following a myriad of health issues. I’m a big believer in being fully present with whatever you’re doing, wherever you are. So, my father-in-law’s situation became the number-one issue that occupied my brain.

There have been many times throughout the last month where I’d sit in his room in silence. Or in the hospital chapel, staring at the water fountain. Often times at home, Bill and I would sit together on the couch and say nothing at all.

I cancelled several meetings and coaching sessions – and said ‘no’ to many invitations – so I could be available. Available to visit Larry in the hospital. Available to sit and visit with my sweet mother-in-law, Marlene. Or available to have lunch with Bill to just “be” with him during the day. It reminds me of a year ago, being in this same spot in life.

Intense focus

I’m not a multi-tasker, and I only advocate doing its opposite. Even though I had plenty of time over the past month to write, I had zero interest or energy in writing. When I tried to force it, I hated everything I wrote and it never made sense. So even though I previously committed to writing a few blog posts each month, I realized it’s not always going to work out that way. Life happens.

As they say, I was taking my time to “stop and smell the roses.” And I wanted nothing else to take its place.

In fact, every time I left the hospital, I stopped to admire the big bouquet of roses in the lobby. The sign underneath noted that the flowers were in appreciation of the staff who provided “exquisite care to patients and their families every day.” Amen. I witnessed extreme human care taking place 24/7 in that building. Sometimes the gentleness of the care moved me to tears.

So, this past month I put a lot of stuff on hold. And there was simply no space in my soul for writing.

Until this past weekend.

That’s when I wrote a little talk I gave at my father-in-law’s funeral.

Larry took his last breaths with 16 members of his family completely surrounding him in a blanket of love. I’ve never experienced anything so poignant and powerful. Nor have I been in a setting like that where it felt like such a sincere privilege to be included.

Sheer gratitude

When I married into Bill’s family, I hit the jackpot. I gained an additional set of loving parents, two fantastic sisters, nieces and nephews I adore, and aunts and uncles and cousins I think the world of. So in that moment at Larry’s bedside, the gratitude and love was overflowing…as I witnessed the patriarch of the family slowly transition into his place in heaven.

The past week has been incredibly intense. Emotional and difficult, yet peaceful and wonderful.

After Larry’s passing, the writing flowed and it felt like such a joy to put my thoughts down on paper. It was the perfect example of going with the flow and knowing when the timing is right…to write.

Here’s a brief excerpt of what I wrote and shared during the memorial service:

My favorite part about Larry and Marlene was the way they raised my sweet Bill to be the man that he is today. Together, they stood as models for living a full life, serving others, and doing whatever it is in life that needs to be done…while nurturing a charming couplehood all along the way.

By example, Larry showed Bill what it means to be a “real” man. To be soft, sensitive, caring, gracious, appreciative, gentle, loving, loyal, and to be able to do anything…from building a deck and fixing a car, to cooking a fantastic meal and ironing shirts. And for the model that Larry was to Bill – particularly in the way of being a devoted husband who cherished his wife and put her above all else – I am forever grateful.

I remember when Bill and I had our first apartment, and there was a time when we both came down with a terrible flu. We were sitting at the table, looking at each other, unable to move, not knowing what to do. Just then, there was a soft knock at the door. It was Larry, standing there with a smile and a pot full of homemade chicken noodle soup.

This is the stuff I’m talking about.

I’ll never forget backing out of the driveway the morning of the funeral. Just then, John Lennon’s “Imagine” started playing. I don’t think Bill and I said a word to each other for the remaining half-hour drive.

The funeral service for Larry was amazing…so much love from family and special friends. What a reminder to me of how blessed I am to be part of such a loving family.

Deep sadness and joy all at the same time.

What to do next?

That night after everything was over, Bill and I had tickets for a concert we had almost forgotten about in the frenzy of it all. Naturally, I figured we wouldn’t possibly go to a concert on the day of the funeral and dismissed the idea. But then I glanced at Bill and saw him smile and say, “Dad would love it if we went.” I knew exactly what he meant. Live music that we love fills our hearts and brings us tremendous joy.

Why not immerse ourselves in a celebration of life?

The more we talked about it, the more “right” it felt. It almost seemed as though we couldn’t not do it.

So, after carrying everything out of the church, we headed home and changed out of our dress clothes. Then we headed downtown. We stopped in a bar before the show and toasted to Bill’s dad through our tears. At the concert, we were right up in front – center stage – and stood up for much of the show and cheered extra loud.

The last “get fired up” encore song will be etched in my memory forever. That moment was a powerful reminder that life is to be celebrated. With all your being.

I don’t know that I ever danced like I did that night. It was one of those “dance like no one is watching” moments; it was the essence of being alive. I was filled with tremendous joy.

The sacredness and preciousness of life filled me to the top, as 2,000 other concertgoers were up on their feet behind us, dancing and celebrating life with us. Total goosebumps.

My joy partner was right next to me, smiling and dancing his butt off, too. Tears filled my eyes. I was grateful to be alive.

We were definitely “smelling the roses,” so to speak.

And I know that Bill’s dad was smiling with us.

This photo is from a moment I won’t ever forget. It captures one of the formal nights on our recent Caribbean cruise – Bill and I made reservations in the ship’s specialty Asian restaurant, Silk Harvest.

The dim lighting, rich ambience, peaceful atmosphere, and soothing sounds of cultural music with water fountains did me in. And if that wasn’t enough, our lovely waiter, Corsino, waltzed over to greet us and announce that he would be taking fantastic care of us that night. His soft gentleman-like voice, laser-focused eye contact, and welcoming body language spoke a thousand stories to me. It felt as though a knight rode up on a white horse.

For a moment, I wasn’t even sure that I deserved such all-encompassing pampering treatment.

I had to use everything within me to hold back from breaking down as he spoke to us.

As soon as Corsino headed back to the kitchen, though (on his imaginary horse), I lost it.

Bill knows me all too well and didn’t even flinch when I started to cry. He knew what this was all about.

My need to be cared for

There’s something at the core of my being that so deeply appreciates being taken care of. I’m not talking about the type of care where I’d want someone else to do something for me that I could do on my own. I’m not talking about shirking my independence (which I love) or my responsibility for my own life. And I’m not talking about selfishness.

I’m talking about the intrinsic, basic human need to be loved, to be cared for, to be valued, to be tended to, to be honored, to be treated special.

I’m so grateful to have grown up in a family where I felt very loved. So, as Bill Murray’s character said in Caddyshack: “So I got that goin’ for me…which is nice.” And if you’ve read one ounce of this blog, you know that I’ve got the best husband. In the world. So, it’s all good. It’s not like I’m lacking.

So what was the big deal?

Recently I figured out what the crux of all this emotion was for me. As I was leading a time management workshop full of business women, I told the group that often times – especially for women – it’s so easy to take care of everyone and everything else, that we lose sight of ourselves in the process. In coaching my clients, I see it over and over again.

This time when I said it out loud, though, I realized that I’m talking about myself here, too.

Now, I’m pretty good at knowing what my needs are and communicating those needs (Bill will tell you that’s true). But because I’m hard-wired to think of other people, to anticipate their individual needs, to put myself in their shoes, to cheer them on, to genuinely desire for them to succeed – and because my profession focuses on it – I have to pay extra special attention to my need to be nurtured…the way I inherently care for others.

I literally melt when someone goes the extra mile for me. Or intentionally acknowledges me. Or takes extra special care of me. Or goes out of their way to say something nice. Or cheers me on in who I am. Or gives me the thumbs-up on a blog post or leaves a supportive comment. With me, none of it goes unnoticed, and it’s deeply appreciated. These little gestures carry me for a long time.

Did you read the post Opening Yourself Up To Receiving where I got to be a VIP for a day? I have to consistently remind myself to stay open to letting all the good stuff in. I need it. And I bet you do, too.

I love this shot of me early in the morning about to board our flight, pre-cruise, headed for Fort Lauderdale. I love it because the joy in my face is palpable:

Early morning excitement at the airport

In this moment, I knew what lie just hours ahead of me once I boarded the cruise ship – ultimate pampering and being fully taken care of…for a whole week! And of course in Michelle fashion, the tears came as soon as I stepped aboard the Celebrity Solstice. I was welcomed by a crew member who treated me as though I was the only one boarding the ship, and then he handed me a glass of champagne. As I walked further in to the ship, the voice of one of the musicians echoed throughout the atrium as he belted out James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” with his guitar.

Another one of those times I thought I might lose it. :)

We each have a job to do

So. Knowing that this type of ‘care’ is core to my being, it’s up to me to ensure that I get enough of it in my life. I’ve made a list of all the things that speak to that need. I get regular massages – that’s one of my favorite self-care activities. I treat myself to quiet lunches out, just me. And just last night I honored myself by creating a spa atmosphere in our master bathroom: I filled our oversized tub with warm water, lit a ton of candles and turned off the lights, popped in my “Relaxation” CD, and let myself just ‘be’; just be taken care of.

Making spa-time at home a priority; the sign above the tub: “Celebrate Life”

My clients often talk about needing ‘permission’ in order to give to themselves. So this message is for clients, colleagues, friends, and readers:

Give yourself permission to be taken care of and nurtured. Honor yourself and make it non-negotiable. Starting today.

I love this quote by George Bernard Shaw: “Better keep yourself clean and bright. You are the window through which you must see the world.” Perfect.

It’s up to each of us to know what it is that we individually need. It will look different for each person. I LOVE bringing joy to others. And I will continue to do that because it’s what fuels me. It’s what’s central to my being. In order to keep doing that effectively, though, it’s absolutely essential that I give to myself first…so that I’ve got an abundance of reserves to share with others and with the world.

In the ship's solarium, taking time to indulge 'me'

I appreciate all of life. And I’m intentional about every single thing I do. When I write about taking off for the Caribbean, or embarking on a road-trip, or making my favorite concerts a priority – it’s never simply what it seems and should never be taken at face-value. It’s always about me, taking care of me, and tapping into the joy of self-care – so that I can be of better service to the world.

It’s about me following my joy.

And so how about you? What do you need? What will you do to take care of you?

Everyone can examine their life and identify from their past what I call life moments. Some of those memories might be the obvious: Graduation day, a wedding, a vacation of a lifetime, or a memorable birth or death. But often these life moments are less obvious at the time and not even appreciated until later, upon reflection.

One such memory for me came on Christmas Day 1992. And every time I recall this memory, not only do I experience the immense joy of the moment – but I also realize its deeply meaningful significance in my life.

Setting the stage

At the age of 25, things were finally coming together for me. Within the prior two years, I had moved away from home and landed my first “real” job. By the time December rolled around, I had even managed to hold on to a girlfriend for an entire six months. Things were definitely changing!

My new girlfriend (Michelle) and I were sharing our first holiday together. Christmas weekend that year left me home alone, with my two roommates both out of town. Our bachelor’s pad was a central place for our friends to hang out, so it was a very rare moment when one of us guys had the house to ourselves.

Since I worked evenings, our delightful Dalmatian, Domino, had become a special companion to me, as we so often spent late-night quality time together.

Mark, Eric, and me with our additional roommate, Domino

Michelle and I juggled various Christmas Eve and Christmas Day family gatherings. It was now Christmas night and we were ready to lay low. We took a second peek at our presents, and found that one of the stocking stuffers we received was a holiday movie classic that neither of us had seen – a VHS copy of It’s a Wonderful Life . We decided it was the perfect time to see why this was noted as one of the greatest movies of all time.

Preparing for the movie

It was a treat to be alone together in the townhouse. We got comfortable and started a fire in the big fireplace, right next to our Christmas tree. We dimmed the lights and even rearranged the furniture so we could have a front row seat for the feature film. Domino quietly watched us get ready, and then we presented him with his special gift-wrapped Christmas present – a brontosaurus-sized rawhide bone.

So…Domino was content on the floor for a while with his bone, and Michelle and I were all ready to sit back, relax, and watch the movie.

Christmas at the bachelor pad (note the spots in the foreground)

Unsure of what to expect from a movie more than 40 years old, we were both pleasantly surprised. It was truly a timeless and powerful film.

Toward the end of the movie, I sat with my two closest friends on either side of me, after Domino made a rare appearance on the couch – which was normally against the rules. Domino sat still, facing the TV, and seemed to be watching the movie along with us.

It was in this unique setting where one of my great “life moments” took place. During the emotional scenes at the end of the movie where the main character, George, realizes how wonderful life is – I, too, made the discovery.

My life moment

As the three of us sat watching the film credits, I had my left arm around Domino and my right arm around my future wife. Joyful tears flooded my eyes as I basked in the warmth from both the message of the film and my incredibly cozy surroundings. At that moment I not only witnessed what was truly important in life, but I also experienced it at the same time.

Slightly embarrassed as a young man might be with a face full of tears, I still couldn’t help but share my insight with Michelle. She quietly relished in the moment, too, and then suggested taking a picture to capture that moment of the three of us forever. Of course it was a great idea, but I quickly said that no picture was necessary since the experience would be perfectly etched in my mind for eternity.

Looking back, I’m happy I didn’t disrupt the moment searching for my camera.

The meaning of the moment

Reflecting back on this experience today in my mid forties, I’ve tried to pinpoint why, exactly, I always feel such an overwhelming flood of emotions when I think of that evening.

Part of it was the magic of the holidays, especially knowing now that this was the first of many I would spend with Michelle. Part of it was the powerful message of the movie. Part of it was also that this was an essential experience in my development – a pivotal point in my transition from an overgrown partying teenager (see bottles in the photo above)…into a responsible adult man. These all played a part in the “specialness” of the moment.

But what makes the moment most special is the fact that Domino was only around for such a brief period in my life. Sadly, we lost him the following summer at the far-too-young age of only a year-and-a-half.

Domino was a unique and special friend for me – one whose entire life coincided with my brief transition from young man to adult.

We often look back and enjoy all the amazing photos of our extraordinary spotted friend, but nothing will ever hold a candle to that amazing and joyful moment we shared together on Christmas Day, 1992.

“Today is not a day for barbecues and parties,” our Congressman bellowed at the podium. “Today is about reflecting on and honoring the service of our Veterans.”

As I looked around the crowd, I figured my Grandpa Jerry (“Papa”) was there smiling down on all of us. He always had such a tough time seeing our country celebrate Memorial Day with a “day off” or getting great deals at mall department stores.

Papa and I occasionally attended Memorial Day services together. During the holiday, he was always pensive, thoughtful, and full of somber reflection. You can’t blame a guy for being serious; he was in the Army and endured some of the worst of World War II in the Battle of Guadalcanal in the Pacific. He earned a Silver Star and a Purple Heart, and it was rare that he’d share stories from his horrific battle days. When asking him a question, he’d usually respond with: “I just can’t talk about it.”

We kids always wanted to hear the story about why he walked with a limp. I do remember Papa recounting how he was wounded by shrapnel, then sent home on a hospital ship in a full body cast. He was told that if anything happened to the ship, they wouldn’t be able to save him. The few other stories I did hear were outside of the bounds of any reality I can even dare to imagine. So to honor his memory, I know he’d prefer me to not talk about it now.

This morning’s service at the park was picture-perfect with the bright sunshine beaming down through the towering cottonwood trees. From the stage, the community band played a variety of patriotic tunes, and guest speakers offered up prayers and powerful addresses.

My favorite part of the morning was when we were asked to shake the hand of a veteran. I knew exactly who I wanted to target: The three cute elderly men behind me in full uniform who would soon be doing the gun salute. I went down the line to each of them and with lingering eye contact, I shared a deep and heartfelt “Thank you.” When I told the last guy in the row that I’d like to shake his hand, he flashed me a huge smile and said, “Well I’d like more than that!” He opened his arms wide to grab me and gave me a gigantic and tight bear hug and said in my ear, “Love ya.” I told him I loved him, too.

With that, my day was complete.

As soon as I got home I called my Grandpa Roland to thank him, too, for his years of service. He served in the U.S. Navy in World War II where he took part in the Okinawa Campaign as an amphibious craft flag officer. Our family has been fortunate through the years to hear his first-hand accounts of the war. Pretty tough (impossible, actually) for someone like me to come close to comprehending what he experienced back in those days. He always talks about how his heart ached being away from his “pride and joy,” his girlfriend (my Grandma Doris), in those three long years where 1,184 letters changed hands between the two of them.

My two grandpas sacrificed a piece of their life to defend my freedom.

What a poignant reminder for me to know that I am free to follow my joy today because of men and women who fought, and continue to fight, for me. So on this Memorial Day, I pause and give thanks; and honor them with the deepest respect.

Whose service are you honoring today?

We recently honored the 20th  anniversary of our little buddy’s transition to heaven. My godson, Tommy, was born with a rare disease of the immune system and died before he reached his 8th birthday.

* * * * * * *

For seven years, there were four of us. And we were “the grandkids.”

Lucky me, I got to be the babysitter for Tommy and his sisters, Kristin and Maren. We’d play house, doctor, school, hide-and-seek, build forts, read books, walk to the local store, watch movies, and just hang out and laugh.

Tommy was a goofball. I remember one time playing school and Tommy was one of the students. As soon as his classroom role was assigned to him, he sat down at his make-believe desk, raised his hand and said, “Okay, my name is gonna be ‘Egg Whites.’” Huh?!

I also had the privilege of being the community summer playground leader for the three kids. Our days were spent face-painting, playing hopscotch, making ice cream, creating art projects, and playing capture the flag. After Tommy’s mom dropped him off in the morning, he’d run over to me in full summer gear—shorts, tank top, and flip flops—and hand me his lunch to be put away. Then he’d catch a glimpse of his other little buddies and he’d be the first one to shout out: “Come on guys, let’s go!” And they’d be off for the rest of the day playing cops and robbers on top of the hill.

Tommy would play so hard under the summer sun that he’d often forget to eat his lunch until I reminded him. He was an expert at following his joy, ‘cause that’s what kids do.

There are countless fun and good and wonderful memories. And then there are also quite a few visions that are pretty difficult. I’ll never forget seeing my great-grandpa Elmer leaning over Tommy’s bedside at the hospital after he had endured brain surgery. It just didn’t seem “right” for an 80-something guy who had lived a full life, to have to see his great-grandson on a journey toward death. Seeing a kid at the mercy of disease is gut-wrenching.

But then shortly after that poignant scene and after waking up from surgery in his hospital bed, Tommy ran his hand along the big scar on the side of his head. His mom, wanting to make sure he wasn’t alarmed, explained: “That’s from your brain surgery, Tommy.” And Tommy’s response (which made us all smile) was: “Duh!”

His boyish spirit remained alive ‘til the end.

Tommy was certainly a bright light for our family and for the world. He once told his mom, “You’re perfect because I love you.” And I’ve never forgotten that wisdom from our deep and insightful little guy. Yes, we are all perfect—each one of us—because we are loved.

For 20 years now, “the grandkids” has been a team of three. And between the three of us, there’s been college, growing into adulthood, marriage, moving away, finding jobs we love, creating homes of our own, traveling, having kids, and continuing on with the legacies we each want to leave.

And Tommy is always with us. He’s in the cardinal that flies in front of his mother’s path. He’s in the thunder whose rolling echo mirrors the thunder from the night he died. He was in my heart last week when I shot out of bed, wide awake, at 1:30 a.m. wondering what was going on. And then I realized that was the exact moment, 20 years ago, that Tommy died in his mother’s arms.

I just found a copy of the talk I gave at Tommy’s memorial service as a junior in college. Here’s an excerpt telling about one of my babysitting experiences with him:

“At night, I’d lay with Tommy in his bed and read to him. I’d stay with him until he fell asleep. Then, as I’d tip-toe out of the room, I’d watch him; marveling at his sweet face as he clung to his stuffed animals. Those peaceful moments alone with Tommy were priceless.”

So for all of us, let this be a reminder that life is precious. Each moment is brand new, perfect in its essence…and will never come again.

What will you do today to embrace what is precious in your life?

I had the pleasure of being a presenter at the Illumination Event here in Minneapolis. The event’s tagline: “It’s Time to Shine!” What a perfect place for me to share the Following Your Joy message and soak up all the inspiration of the day.

What happened to me there probably wasn’t a big deal to the participants in my session, but it was to me. A few minutes into my presentation, I became so short of breath that I could barely get my words out. I had never experienced this before and was completely stunned—I wasn’t nervous, I had done this before, and I was speaking on a topic I was passionate about.

Why this day was different

To-date, the majority of my presentations had been geared toward business groups and associations, focused on Time Management and Work-Life Balance. Some of what I talked about previously was based on the research of other experts, so it never felt too personal for me; I could easily keep my personal beliefs and ideas at an arm’s length from participants. And in these business settings, people listened to me because they had been encouraged by a supervisor to attend my presentation; it wasn’t necessarily the attendee’s choice of how they wanted to spend their time.

On this day, though, at the Illumination Event, it was different. There was a roomful of 50 or so participants who wanted to be there; they all deliberately chose me for their first breakout session.

The past several months, my Following Your Joy session had morphed and evolved from my previous business-focused “Time Management” presentation into a focus on joy, because after all—living a better life all boils down to identifying: 1) What brings you joy, and 2) How to get more if it in your life.

So right off the bat, it felt very personal. And in a very wonderful way. I couldn’t have had a more supportive, loving, and welcoming group right in front of me. In fact, when I first felt like I might not be able to continue and I had to set my microphone down, one of the women in the back said, “It’s okay, you’re among friends.”

Her words move me to tears even today, because I felt so vulnerable at the time.

Gasping for air

For a few moments, my breath became incredibly shallow. I felt like I was gasping for air and I could barely squeak out my words. The more I talked, the more I had difficulty breathing.

Even though I innately knew that everything would eventually be fine, in those few moments I felt like I was failing. Failing to deliver a great presentation like I told the event committee I would; failing to deliver an energizing morning for the lovely people in the room who had spent their time and money to be there; failing to live up to my own expectation of the joyful presentation I intended to share.

Earlier in the day, a phenomenal keynote speech was delivered by my friend, Joan Steffend, a woman I admire greatly. She talked about the importance of being yourself—unapologetically. That we are each perfect and wonderful exactly as we are. Her honest and compassionate presentation made my heart race that morning. The message resonated with me deeply.

Looking back on my own presentation, I think I know what the source was of me losing my breath.

Somewhere in the myriad of messages in my brain are embedded comments from a couple folks who’ve told me in the past that I don’t know what real joy is or that the joy I speak of is a false sense of joy. Those thoughts have settled in my core and have always been in the backdrop, even as I’m sharing my joy with others. That’s a tough pill to swallow when it comes from someone you love.

Being true to myself

On this day, my presentation was chock full of personal stories and beliefs that are dear to my heart. Thankfully, this was an audience eager to receive the message and share in the joy!

For me, it felt like a ‘coming out’ of sorts, and I didn’t realize the magnitude of it until I was thrust into the moment. I often pause before I hit the “publish” button on a blog post as my stories can feel so personal. But sharing my stories this way—live, unedited, unplugged, raw, unfiltered—made the Following Your Joy concept so much more real.

When I had a session with my coach later and shared what happened that morning, she said it sounded like I was metaphorically jumping off a cliff.

After I paused, took a drink of water, and caught my breath, I was able to continue the rest of the presentation. And it flowed, felt comfortable, and I enjoyed it. I ended up receiving a lot of nice feedback afterwards. :)

Not everyone will always agree with my philosophies or beliefs, nor are they supposed to. And that’s okay. I’m choosing now to focus on the wise words of my friend Joan, along with what one of the women so wisely said to the rest of the group in my session: “We should never apologize for the things that bring us joy.”

She probably didn’t realize that she was speaking directly to me.

Grateful for the gift of shining my light

So a thank you to all of the sweet souls in my session (who may not even remember me tripping up) for holding the space for me to be “me,” for cheering me on, and making me smile with their “oooh’s” and “aaah’s” after hearing my stories of the power of following your joy. What a gift they all gave me!

Later that day, I had the privilege of attending my friend Liv Lane’s Choosing Beauty breakout session. She reminded each of us to pay attention to the beauty around us and how it can often come disguised in ways we might not even realize. I’m distanced enough now from my experience to know that the “beauty” in my stumbling experience was that it was just an additional part of me coming out a little more and shining my light—unapologetically. Definitely something to celebrate in my journey!

To those who inspired me that weekend and to my beautiful readers who each have a brilliant light of their own to shine, here’s a favorite quote by Marianne Williamson:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to manifest the glory that is within us. And as we let our light shine we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Like the concept of shining your light? Here’s a related post on my experience with the meaning of life and understanding why we’re here.

Care to add your thoughts? I’d love it.

Today is my birthday and the perfect day for me to honor, celebrate, and revere life. This past week has been one of the most intense weeks I have ever known, prompting me to reflect a great deal on life and the world around me.

All within a matter of hours, my grandpa had a significant heart attack; and my father-in-law went into emergency surgery as a follow-up to heart bypass surgery—landing him directly into the intensive care unit (ICU).

The next few days were incredibly intense and flanked with uncertainty—spending precious time at the two hospitals, talking through options with family members, jumping at each phone call, barely sleeping, dissolving into tears at the drop of a hat, and on and on.

Intense focus

I immediately cancelled all meetings and lunches on my calendar. While these were all scheduled with people I was excited to see, the need for focus was so strong that I didn’t even give it a second thought. I knew that I needed to clear the space—both literally and figuratively—to be ‘here’ for my grandfather, my father-in-law, my family…and myself.

In my coaching, I work with my clients on stripping away the “extras” in life; the things that distract them from being 100% on-purpose. And I now experienced the most perfect example of this in my own life. Canceling everything I had on my plate allowed me to be laser-focused, intentional, and unequivocally present to the monumental events right in front of me.

Precious moments

The week was full of heaviness, sadness, and uncertainty. And at the same time, it was also full of joy, love, and gratitude. Special times during the week included poignant moments I will never forget:

–Doing crossword puzzles with my grandma, playing ping pong, and sharing oatmeal cookies together in her quiet house as she waited and waited for her sweetheart to recover and come home to be with her.

–Sitting with my mother-in-law in the waiting room while her guy was in surgery—as we both patiently awaited her hospital pager to buzz, signaling it was time to confer with the surgeon.

–Giving my fragile grandpa, a once strong World War II Navy Officer in the Okinawa Campaign, a gentle shoulder massage over his hospital gown as he held my grandma’s hand.

–Standing at my father-in-law’s bedside and breathing in-and-out to match the rhythm of his ventilator; squeezing his hand and telling him how grateful I was to be a part of his family.

–Becoming acutely aware of my own heartbeat one morning in bed, as I put my hand on my chest to feel the rhythm of my healthy, smooth heartbeat…prompting me to softly whisper: “Thank you.”

–Being showered with phone calls, emails, notes, and hugs…full of love, hope, compassion, and prayer.

The power of now

This past week, I learned the power of being where you are—right here, right now—and letting nothing else enter your space. From this place, it’s quiet, it’s peaceful, it’s real. It is to be cherished.

My grandpa is home now with his true love, resting and recuperating and doing well. Whew!

My father-in-law continues to be in critical condition in the ICU, but stable.

I feel very peaceful about both situations, knowing and trusting that there is a bigger plan for all of us. Part of following your joy is also about being ‘real’ and allowing yourself to experience the depth of all levels of life…and feeling every part of it.

For now, there are two polished stones on the center of our kitchen table. These stones were available in one of the hospital chapels for visitors to take after offering up a prayer. So my prayer was one of extreme gratitude for these two special guys, and that they both experience deep peace in their journeys. Amen.

On my birthday today, I’d like to make a toast to…life.

And I couldn’t ignore it like I usually do on vacation. I further broke tradition and was moved to go online now to donate money to the earthquake relief efforts for our brothers and sisters in Haiti. While I’m here, I also wanted to write about the extreme irony of where I sit as I send my money.

We’re sailing the Caribbean on a mega cruise ship where glitz and glamour abound. Most of us onboard weren’t even aware of the massive destruction unfolding in Haiti and continued partying on and enjoying gourmet cuisine, fancy martinis, and live jazz.

I was particularly struck by the moment I learned of the news later the following day. I had purchased a half-day pass to an elite section of the ship called The Sanctuary, an adults-only “pocket of tranquility” they call it. Here, you get your own reserved comfy chaise lounge, similar to a cloud on wheels. Cleverly named “Serenity Stewards” are on-call to cater to your needs (including the menu item titled “Evian Water Mist” for your face!). Really, this place is a brilliant little piece of heaven.

So as I sipped my fruit smoothie upon learning the news, I laid there a while longer trying to imagine the stark contrast of an island just a short distance from where I was. And then I had to get up and leave The Sanctuary because, well, it just didn’t feel right to lay there any longer.

I’m observing all of us here on the ship extra keenly today; where elegance and opulence are a way of life. Don’t get me wrong–I love this experience! And I thoroughly enjoy the extra indulgence and nurturing pampering. But I’m taking a break this afternoon to give my money somewhere it’s needed more.

Maybe you saw my recent post about the importance of “community” and how essential it is that we are here for each other? I hope you’ll check it out and donate in the way that you can, too.

Wishing all of us peace in the world and a spirit of compassionate giving.