Janice Hunter's Sharing the Journey — soul food and support for coaches, writers and homemakers

Writers Write (Revisited): Your Comments are Part of Your Writing Mosaic

by janice on March 5, 2010

Last year, I wrote a post called Writers Write: Your Comments are Part of Your Writing Mosaic. I’m even more convinced this year, after a blogging break, that our authentic selves often show up in our comments, regardless of what we present in well prepared posts. My tentative return to blogging has been subdued, to say the least, but I’ve felt myself starting to reconnect and engage again in some familiar comment boxes. Here’s an extract from that post; I enjoyed revisiting it:

I take thirty words to say what genius poets and great thinkers can say in a heartbeat! I think that’s why I’m so drawn to quotes. Some have a kind of distilled essence that comes from having been lovingly shared and passed around for years, like a worn wedding ring or a sea tossed pebble. ~Janice (in a comments box somewhere…)

Are you tired? Do you regularly find yourself wondering where you’re going to find the inspiration for your posts? Maybe you don’t realise that your comments on other blogs - and the replies you write in your own comments boxes – contain gems, the seeds of whole posts. They’re your spontaneous writing, your honest, authentic, initial responses to the writing prompts that are other people’s ideas and feelings.

I’ve had beautiful comments in the comment boxes here, pieces of writing that make the boxes a blog within a blog. Some blogs hint that people shouldn’t write long comments because it’s not good netiquette; when I’ve emailed bloggers to check, every single one has told me they’re touched to see that their posts have moved someone to say more than “Great post!”

It depends on which blogs you visit. That’s the key. Go where you love the work, enjoy the person and feel appreciated.

That way, the comments, whether they’re a few words or a paragraph, will flow unbidden and reveal the real you, piece by piece, like an online jigsaw coming together.

One of the reasons I get tired is that I enjoy reading my favourite blogs and checking out new sites, but I also like to comment if something moves me or inspires me. That takes time, but writers write and it’s all a jigsaw. We learn as much about ourselves from the comments we write as others learn about us. And it’s all practice. Here are some of the comments that gushed and flowed out of me, unedited, on other people’s blogs this week alone.*

(*I’ve removed the comments that formed the original post and replaced them below with some I left at colleagues’ blogs last week. Making occasional mosaics out of your comments or responses can also be a refreshing way to send link love to the bloggers whose posts have evoked those comments.)

I’ve always thought in terms of evolving, making the most of the seeds inside me and trying not to change my essential nature. I prefer, instead, to work on changing my supportive environments wherever possible, by providing the best soil, sun and water to nurture those seeds and getting rid of weeds and anything toxic that may throttle growth. Recently, I’ve also learned from nature that some of us are more deciduous than evergreen, and have distinctive and noticeable periods of dormant growth before blossoming. I’m also getting better at spotting ’squirrels’…

To Mary at Goodlife Zen

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In all aspects of life, not just in threatening situations, as soon as we stop blaming others and take responsibility for our own choices, happiness, health, language use and safety, as soon as we learn when to stay silent, when to be curious, when to ebb and flow or accept what we can’t change, that’s the miraculous moment we claim our power.

To Lori at Think Like a Black Belt

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I’m old school and techno challenged a lot of the time, but I still believe that if folk put as much effort into living authentic, fulfilling lives as they do reading loads of how to have it all and get rich quick now posts, they’d write better, be happier and ’success’ would be a by-product.

There’s a side of blogging reminds me of the story of The Emperor’s New Clothes – so many folk willing to believe what they’re told rather than listen to their own common sense.

To Barbara at Blogging Without a Blog

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Seeing life in terms of memoirs is such a powerful tool on so many levels. It reminds us that we’re here on earth to leave a legacy and that everything’s meant, even if we don’t ever get to see how many threads we’ve woven or lives we’ve touched. Sometimes it’s only when we look back that we can see all roads were actually leading to something we were unaware of; sometimes, our interests as youngsters were actually the first signs of our gifts and of our destinies. It’s always empowering to see ourselves as the authors of our own lives and experiences.

To Bo at The Calm Space

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And here are some replies I wrote to a variety of wonderful, supportive and thought provoking comments in the boxes here at Sharing the Journey last week.

Oh how I wish I could lie and tell you I went into the garden wearing a flowery apron and carrying a trug and some gardening shears, deadheading and selecting the dewiest blooms….But, nope…I bought them from our equivalent of Walmart. My garden’s full of flowering evergreens and perennials because I’m an intrinsically lazy gardener. I like creating and arranging, but maintenance? Not so much.

I’m so glad you liked the flowers. One of the things I’ve always done with my blog – and one of the reasons I take frequent breaks – is that I always ask myself what I have to offer anyone taking the time to visit my site when there are so many out there to choose from. Even if the answer’s as simple as a coffee and chat with a friend and some cheery flowers to brighten a blogging day, I feel I’ve contributed something.

(…responding to Brenda )

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I’ve been craving scent and colour recently – as well as soup – and it’s almost as if I’m being guided back into my full-on senses way of operating. Sometimes I get so overloaded with sensation, inspiration and engagement that my synapses feel fried, but after a restorative rest, it’s always intriguing to see how life lures me back in! (…responding to Evelyn )

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Your words warmed my heart. I went to a hermit aunt’s funeral yesterday, to support my elderly dad. I was surrounded by a small group of family members; some of them I only see at funerals, and some I hadn’t seen in 35 years. They didn’t know me back then and they certainly don’t know me now. I found myself thinking how my friends and blog readers from continents on the other side of the planet know me much better through listening with open hearts to my written words than many of the folk in my ‘real’ life do. I work on improving my life every day, but I never cease to be grateful for comments like yours and those above. They restore my faith and keep me writing from the heart, even when I’m ridiculed and sneered at for doing it. (…responding to Ciaran)

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Have you had a good look at your comments on other blogs recently; the replies in your own? Try cutting and pasting a week’s worth into a document to see what your online jigsaw looks like. Are there any seeds of spontaneity there that you could build whole posts from?

Any comments...?

Writing Snow

by janice on February 25, 2010

We are not powerless specks of dust drifting around in the wind, blown by random destiny. We are, each of us, like beautiful snowflakes - unique, born for a specific reason and purpose. ~ Elizabeth Kübler-Ross

I was woken at an ungodly hour by the arrival of a text message; school was cancelled due to heavy snow. I got up and looked blearily out of my bedroom window to see two feet of snow. I padded into the kitchen and found it eerily bright as I trudged over to the sink to fill the kettle for coffee. Through the kitchen window I saw our ten-year-old laurels bowed down and broken by the weight of the snow on their branches. They’d formed the privacy hedge at my small back garden, and I felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

I grabbed a sweeping brush and rushed outside in my dressing gown, trying to save as many remaining branches as I could.

I thought back to old Coaching Moments posts I’d written, phrases I’d used. This is an extract from War of the Words, about the language we use with our loved ones:

I created this piece in my head as I stood at the kitchen window, watching the falling snow bend our trees in the eerie orange glow of a street light in the middle of the night. I’d gone to bed mid-argument, couldn’t sleep, my husband came to bed, I got up, so I’d decided to go and make some camomile tea. I stood at the window, mesmerised by the swirling orange snowflakes and wondering how something as delicate as a snowflake had the power to bend and break the branches of trees. As I stood watching, I saw one supple branch rebel under the weight of the thousands of snowflakes heaped upon it, catapulting its burden with surprising defensive venom. I went outside in my bare feet and dressing gown and gently swept the snow off the remaining trees with a broom, knowing it was too late to take back the thousands of tiny thoughtless comments I heap on my husband over the days, weeks and months until he feels he has to lash back at me about my lack of appreciation and my seeming obsession with perfecting details. I hoped I could at least save some of our branches.

In this extract, from Shaking off the Shoulds, I use a snow metaphor to describe the freedom we experience when we free ourselves from the burdens of self imposed ’shoulds’, and learn to see the world and all its promise and wonder through children’s eyes:

While I’ve been sitting here writing, it’s stopped snowing and some of the snow has thawed. I’ve just watched a laurel branch bounce back from under its burden of snow, launching it like a catapult.

That’s how I feel as I shake off the shoulds, the rest of my snow day beckoning me like our snow covered front garden, silently waiting to share its treasure when the kids come home.

And in this extract from a comment response I wrote, the snow becomes a symbol for overwhelm and despair as we struggled to dig a way out for my friend’s car so she could get to her chemotherapy session.

Because of the snow, my friend has struggled to get into hospital for her chemotherapy. That’s helped me gradually regain my sense of perspective. One day, as a few of us were digging the snow from her drive, I felt that if I could just keep digging and clearing until there was a way out, somehow, it would all be OK.

I also used a snow metaphor in The Sound of Music to describe the period of my life when I lost my ‘voice’ and almost drifted into depression:

I sang my way around Europe when I worked as a language teacher and translator; my voice was a vital part of who I was and what I did. After I had my kids, I moved back to Scotland and slowly, imperceptibly, I stopped writing, stopped singing, stopped playing the guitar and even stopped speaking the foreign languages I was fluent in. Silence gently settled around my soul like snow.

When I drifted into life coaching, on my journey out of what I now realise was low grade chronic depression, my passion to tell the whole world about it bubbled up, spilled over and finally gushed out in the torrent that helped me rediscover my voice.

Snowflakes are delicate, astonishing things. Every one is unique and fragile yet, silently, just sitting there side by side… still… simply being, their lives are extended and their power is immense.

The polar ice caps are the breath of the planet, a delicately balanced element in the health of the oceans’ currents and conveyor belts.

But snow can also devastate, crush, wreak havoc, block roads, bring down powerlines and sever communication.

Like stinging snowflakes in a blizzard, each unkind word spoken to our children and loved ones, if left unchecked, can pile up until something precious is broken under the weight.

Every sadness we accept with an unquestioning sigh can build up until, without realising it, our hearts are shrouded in drifts of silent, snowy depression.

Every lack of clear communication can lead to drifts of misunderstanding that ultimately shut down all channels of communication.

Every piece of junk mail we leave lying around, every book we can’t part with or memento we don’t know how to deal with can become an avalanche of clutter.

But snow can’t co-exist with warmth, and even if snowfall is inevitable, we can be prepared and vigilant, and take small steps towards doing what we can. I could have brushed yesterday’s first snowfalls off my treasured bushes and small trees. If I had, they might not have broken under the weight of last night’s gentle but consistent snow fall.

We haven’t had blizzards; it’s been snowing softly and gently. But it hasn’t stopped, and that’s the lesson I’m taking away with me today.

One kind word doesn’t build a kind, loving relationship.

One written word doesn’t make a great piece of writing. One post doesn’t make a great blog, nor does one article make a successful newsletter.

One essay doesn’t make a degree, one lesson a teacher or one training course a life coach.

One cleared pile of paper clutter doesn’t let your house breathe.

One beautiful memento doesn’t make a home, just as one memory doesn’t make a life.

But our uniqueness as human beings, the gentle consistent, accumulative power of every loving deed and word, every smile from a stranger, every supportive comment left on a blog, every small triumph, every tip that transforms a life, every photo that inspires, every little success, every step or decision that takes us in the right direction, – they do make a life. A good life. We’re not just snowflakes. Together, we’re snow.

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I’d love to be the kind of snow that makes children’s eyes wide with wonder and Christmas magical. I’d like to be as strong as the kind of snow that supports the Winter Olympics. Some days, all I can manage is grey slush by the side of the road. What does snow mean for you? What’s your unique strength as a snowflake?

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(Update: It’s still snowing, and for the second time in two months, we’ve had about thirty inches of snow. Miraculously, though, we still have an internet connection!)

Any comments...?

Thermal Writing

by janice on February 24, 2010

our snowed-in car

The notes I handle no better than many pianists. But the pauses between the notes — ah, that is where the art resides. ~ Artur Schnabel

It’s snowing here in Scotland today – again – but the glow of gratitude I got from last week’s glimpse of spring and from welcoming friendly faces back to my blog has kept me thawed and glowing inside. The snow has already blocked roads, and my daughter’s long awaited dental appointment has had to be cancelled. But it’s all happening for a reason. I’ve no idea what that reason is, but it’s at times like these I play a toned down adult version of Pollyanna’s ‘glad game’, looking for the blessings in what seem like bummers.

The snow has given me the excuse to stay in and post a few photos of the freak weather from December and January that had us snowbound.
My article in The Kitchen Table Space last month describes a snowy day a few years ago when I actually loved being snowed in. If you haven’t rooted around in my archives or downloaded my free ebook, this old article is one of my favourites, a perfect tonic if your heart feels snowbound or you need a boost to get some spring cleaning done.
I was at a funeral yesterday, supporting my dad. It was pretty bleak, and even though there were uplifting life lessons in it for me, I’m glad it snowed today and not yesterday. It wasn’t a place I’d like to be snowbound in.
I’m feeling happy that I celebrated the sun and the stirrings of spring last week when I had the chance. I could so easily have missed them and the inspiration they brought.
The snow back in December and January was so heavy and prolonged, today’s snowfall seems somehow manageable. (That’s our car in the photo above.)
One day’s snow doesn’t create lethal icicles!

Writing about spring feels like a talisman, one that’s kept today’s bout of bleak weather from blowing my wee blogging boat off course as I tentatively start to sail set sail again.

This isn’t what I planned to post today, but what do you know…I now have some posts in reserve! Going with the flow hasn’t brought the sky crashing down on my head, either.

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Does your writing ever act as a talisman to warm your heart? What – if anything – do you use it to ward off?

Any comments...?

9 Simple Solutions for Procrastinators – and the Scent of Spring…

by janice on February 19, 2010

freesias Spring is definitely stirring. Woven through the frosted days and chilling winds, we’ve had days of weak, wintry warmth and seen sneaky wee snowdrops peeking through the loam, smiling shyly beneath the bare trees and bushes. The tiny green shoots of brave, determined daffodils have pushed through to greet the first warm rays of spring, and it feels like time to do the same and welcome the season into my home.

Freshly painted in soothing shades of jasmine white and linen, sea shells and sandy beaches, with painted wood cladding on the walls and a rustic wooden floor, my living room and hallway now form the perfect canvas for me to express myself year round.

During the winter months, shades of cranberry, rusty-red and Christmas green added warmth. I didn’t have the energy to be very creative, but that was OK. My Christmas decorations have a life of their own and all we had to do was to bring them down from the attic and they brought the cheery warmth and spirit of the season with them.

I bring in the spring by filling every container I can – teapots, jugs, teacups, treasured old mugs and vases – with bulbs and spring fowers. I echo the yellows, cornflower blues and sage greens in my wall hangings and ornaments, cushion covers and garlands. It’s an easy fix, but one that lifts the spirit.

coffee table spring flowers I’m especially fond of hyacinths and freesias. I have hyacinths in the kitchen and freesias in a jug on the living room coffee table at the moment; the fragrance fills the house. I love the structural elegance of freesias, the way their stems arch and the buds along the stem open in sequence, guaranteeing perfume and flowers for days to come.

I’m enjoying being uplifted by the scents and sights of spring, the birds suddenly louder at dusk and the promise of longer, warmer days and brighter spirits.

I’ve been writing again, suspending some commitments until I can go back to delivering quality, and rooting around in my files and archives, ready for a shake-up and a spring clean. I’m clearer than I have been in months about what I have to offer and how I want to connect. Most reassuring is that I’ve gone back to reading with a pen and quotebooks; after weeks of wondering when the tide would would turn, I feel a sea change coming.

If you’re inspired by spring to make changes but find it all a bit overwhelming and don’t know where to start, do what nature does. Grow and blossom a tiny wee bit every day. Fill a jug with spring flowers today, breathe in inspiration and share your gifts with us on an outbreath of joy.

I enjoyed this article in Christine Kane’s newsletter recently and thought you might find it useful.

9 Simple Solutions for Procrastinators
by Christine Kane

Irony: As I started to write this article, I thought, “I’ll just go play one Sudoku game first.” I caught myself in the act and marched to my laptop.

People who say that procrastination is about laziness are probably the same people who think that anorexia is about not eating enough.

Procrastination isn’t about laziness. It’s about fear. It’s about perfectionism. It’s about overwhelm. We all experience it, and there are some tricks to help you get moving again.

Here are 9 ways to break the procrastination habit:

1 – When you get an idea, do some little thing to begin.

When I read Stephen King’s book On Writing, I noticed something. I noticed that when Stephen King gets an idea, he writes it. Immediately and imperfectly.

Most people get an idea. Then they sit there. They wonder if it’s a good idea. Then, they wonder if it’s a good idea some more.

Got an idea? Begin it now!

2 – All hail small chunks of time!

Lots of us complain about having no time. My guess is that we all have lots of time. It just doesn’t happen to be all at once.

Are you waiting for many hours of spare time to begin your idea, your project, or your taxes? Stop waiting! Learn to use the spare half hour that comes up here and there. (I gave myself 45 minutes to write this article just to take my own advice.)

3 – Agree to do it badly.

Set a goal to do it badly. Set a goal to show up. Let go of doing it ALL, or doing it WELL.

Some of my coaching clients’ biggest victories have a lot more to do with getting over perfectionism and fear, than they do about getting it all done perfectly.

4 – Commit aloud.

Call a friend and say something like this: “I’m going to spend the next half hour working on my Law School Essay.” Then go do it.

Call the friend after the half hour and make her congratulate you. Repeat daily.

5 – Define quantities.

Nebulous goals make for nebulous results. “I’m gonna get my office organized” is a lot like saying, “We oughtta do something about Global Warming.”

Most procrastinators have a hard time defining quantities. We think everything needs to be done NOW.

When are you going to do it? For how long? Which part of your office? The file cabinet? Or your desk?

Define the goal and acknowledge its completion.

6 – Install this System Upgrade into your Mental Hard Drive: Less is More.

Have fewer goals. Have no more than three priorities for a week.

Why?

Because you’re not lazy. You’re just trying to do too much.

Find out what it feels like to accomplish one thing instead of not quite getting to everything. Wow – what a difference this makes!

7 – Do it first.

My first coach made me write songs first thing in the morning. He told me to schedule the 2-hour chunk as my first activity upon waking.

Why?

“Because you’re telling the universe that this is your priority. And then the universe lines up everything to align with your priority.”

Action grounds your priorities. It makes them real. It also makes your day easier because you’re not wasting energy thinking about this thing you’re supposed to be doing.

8 – Avoid nose-bleed activities.

Email, voicemail, web stats – any activity that bleeds itself into your whole day becomes a non-activity. It becomes a nose-bleed.

When you do it all the time, you never complete it. You just let it slowly drain the very life force from you. Define times for these activities. Then, turn off your email, your cell phone, your web stats, until that time comes.

9 – Don’t ask how you “feel” about doing the activity.

Have you ever committed to getting fit? And then when the alarm goes off, you lie in bed thinking, “Do I really feel like going to the gym?” (Like you even have to ask!)

Change this pattern. Make your decision the night before. Commit to getting up and going right to the gym, the computer, the blank canvas. Don’t have coffee and sigh and think, “I’ll probably feel more like it at lunch time.” You won’t!

If it’s a priority, don’t waste time asking yourself how you feel about doing it. Feelings are an easy out.

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There. I did it. I wrote this article. And now, I don’t even want to play Sudoku! How about that?

Performer, songwriter, and creativity consultant Christine Kane publishes her ‘LiveCreative’ weekly ezine with more than 11,000 subscribers. If you want to be the artist of your life and create authentic and lasting success, you can sign up for a FRE*E subscription to LiveCreative at www.christinekane.com.

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What’s the weather like where you are? Do you have any projects stirring, waiting to blossom in the next few weeks? Is procrastination a problem for you? Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. After years of battling perfectionism, and the overwhelm that often accompanies prolific wide-ranging creativity, I specialise in coaching creative folk who thrive when they take things one wee step at a time.

Any comments...?

Caldo Verde

by janice on February 4, 2010

caldo verde

Don’t rush through the process but enjoy the mindfulness, or the Zen, of cooking. Isn’t the fragrance of homemade soup wonderful? It makes you glad to be alive or at least at your own house for dinner. ~ Sarah Ban Breathnach

Remember I once told you I had a private ‘practice’ blog a year before I launched Sharing the Journey? Well here’s a wee post I did back in the autumn of 2008. I’ve guessed from the response to my last post that I’m not the only one who has an almost spiritual reverence for making a pot of stew or soup.

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Vegetarian caldo verde

It’s very cold today. Passers-by look drawn, pinched and tight faced, huddling into the winter clothes they’ve been avoiding for as long as possible. Although it’s a bright blue day, people don’t seem to be sharing my delight at the autumn colours or the drifts of leaves. The cold is all pervasive, slicing its way through clothes and into the conversations I’ve overheard.

Here’s one of the soups I serve my family on days like this. It’s very loosely based on a soup I loved when I lived in Portugal, caldo verde (green soup.) We’re not vegetarian, and the original soup has slices of spicy sausage, pepperoni or chorizo in it, but the kids don’t notice if I don’t add meat because I substitute the spices and flavours used to give European sausage its distinctive smoky tang.

caldo verde ingredients To a large soup pan I add water, some sea salt, 200g of shredded curly kale, 1kg of small, scrubbed but unpeeled new potatoes chopped into chunks, a glug or two of extra virgin olive oil, two cloves of garlic and two or three teaspoonfuls of smoked paprika. I boil it all until the potatoes are cooked, whazz everything together with a hand blender and serve in earthenware handpainted bowls with homebaked seeded bread.

Smoky, heavenly soup with a high smugness quotient! Mmmm…

(If you’re not vegetarian, you can throw in 100g of thinly sliced chorizo before you boil everything, saving a few slices as a garnish.)

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I have lots of favourite recipes from my years abroad; please let me know if you’d like me to share some more of them here.

Any comments...?

A Patchwork Post: Soup, Song and Hyacinths

by janice on February 1, 2010

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
~ T.S.Eliot, from Little Gidding

As you know, I’ve been having a break from public writing while I attempt to get some balance back into my life. I only write well if inspiration overflows from a life filled to the brim with presence, insight, love and creativity and I discovered last year that too much time spent reading and writing online detaches me from the real world, the source of all my soul-fuel.

The blogging world is an inspiring, stimulating place, full of friendships and opportunities, but blogweariness can drain the life-blood from my writing if I let it. These last few months, I’ve been refilling the well and getting the balance back.

My husband and I have been making slow but steady progress clearing out and renovating our house. I clear cupboards and drawers and fill bags with stuff most days, and the house is feeling more spacious and serene as a result. We were given a few boxed sets of DVD’s at Christmas – 24, Supernatural and Cranford - and after long, productive days, we’ve been enjoying cosy winter nights by the fire enjoying them.

My kids’ school days are going more smoothly and we’re back to having home-made, nutritious snacks, meals and soup every day. There was a time, right in the middle of my most OCD blogging phase, that the freezer saw more use than ever before, but there’s nothing quite like making soup – washing, peeling, paring and chopping a rainbow of colours and textures – to make you feel healthy and grounded.

music for healing2 I’m also in the middle of putting five decades worth of music onto my MP4 player, and that’s involved converting cassettes to MP3 and hardest of all, classifying and editing them. Music’s always been a important part of my life, and it usually means there’s a mini bout of depression on the horizon if I stop singing and listening to music. There’s a deeply rooted connection, too, between my writing voice and my love of music. When one fades, the other often joins it.

I wanted to write you a piece about music, but couldn’t manage it. But that’s OK; it heartens me that I wanted to and tried. Everything will fall back into place when I’m ready and my writing voice is refreshed and rested.

In the meantime, here’s an extract from a piece I wrote a few years ago, about how I got my writing voice back when I discovered coaching. I re-read it today, and it reassured me that we spend our whole lives spiralling upwards. We may feel we’re stuck in a loop, back where we started, but we’re really always evolving; if we can see the patterns for what they are, we can rise above them.

extract from The Sound of Music

I love hearing silence used beautifully. The perfect pause that reaches out like ripples around a pebble in a dark pool. A poem where the unspoken word can say more than the most carefully crafted chapter. The silence between the notes that makes the music.

I went to a Scottish folk concert last night and sat in awe as the fiddles and pipes had a spirited conversation, the flute became a voice, the guitar wrapped itself around them all and the drumbeat turned into a heartbeat, a handclapping, footstomping hall full of joy and applause. As I sat listening to the band, watching the stage lights pick out their foot tapping, swaying forms in beams of changing coloured light on the dark stage, I remembered how I used to feel performing my own songs in the heat of the lights, savouring the silence between the fading of the last note and the start of the clapping.

I sang my way around Europe when I worked as a language teacher and translator; my voice was a vital part of who I was and what I did. After I had my kids, I moved back to Scotland and slowly, imperceptibly, I stopped writing, stopped singing, stopped playing the guitar and even stopped speaking the foreign languages I was fluent in. Silence gently settled around my soul like snow.

When I drifted into life coaching, on my journey out of what I now realise was low grade chronic depression, my passion to tell the whole world about it bubbled up, spilled over and finally gushed out in the torrent that helped me rediscover my voice.

I’ll be able to write again in the next few months; I’m sure of it. Inspiration is always there, like hyacinths blanketed beneath the snow, biding their time, waiting to wake, blossom and fill the air with their fragrance. Until then, I wish you all good things and look forward to connecting with you again someday soon.

Any comments...?

Merry Christmas!

by janice on December 24, 2009

Thank you for all the joy you’ve brought this year by reading, subscribing or commenting. Until I log back on, I’d like to leave you with a coach’s thoughts on The Christmas Story. I wrote it a few years ago when I was helping coaches develop the skills they’d need on their journey towards coach certification.

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A Coaching Hallelujah ~

These past few days, I’ve been looking back over what I’ve done with my home life, my coaching and my writing since I started working online, taking stock of the year’s unexpected joys and challenges as well as the dreams I’ve had to let go of. You may not be a Christian or even celebrate at this time of the year, but please bear with me, stay open and join me in a coach’s exploration of a well known story.

Thinking about my abandoned goals usually leads to me moodling about George Bailey from the film ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’; this time I found myself wondering about Joseph. Were his dreams of a simple family life turned upside down when he heard the momentous news about Jesus? How quick was he to recognise the perfection in the situation or was he simply stunned for a while, following his own instincts as well as trusting the guidance given to him by a greater power? What we do know is that he was supportive and loving and that he didn’t give up and walk away when things got tough and scary. But in this story, it isn’t just Joseph who embodies the qualities that we can use to strengthen our work and enrich our lives.

Imagine in the dark, frosty crispness of night, a bright band of angels bursting into glorious song, the most perfect example of matching the radiance, joy and vibrational energy of the occasion. And what a triumph of clear communication and channelling too! In any choir – even the angelic kind – it takes all kinds of unique voices and a love of synergy, resonance and harmony to create the kind of soul music that fills you from your heart to your toes with amazing Aha!’s.

Imagine too the humanity of the shepherds, their hearts and minds filled with a tumult of human thoughts and emotions as they grapple with shock, overwhelming panic, awe and hope in the face of an astonishing new reality. Then there’s the little shepherd boy, bringing his gift of childlike innocence, wonder and curiosity to the tableau in the stable.

And while the shepherds remind us to love the simple dignity of our humanity, it pleases me to think of the hardworking ox and ass instinctively providing warmth with their bodies and their breath, standing there powerful yet still in the silence, breathing, looking on, listening, understanding…

I also like to think of the innkeeper (and his wife?) contributing practical solutions and resources – shelter, blankets, food, a jug of fresh water and directions to the well – all of this while bustling around, tending to an innful of guests, reminding us that people still need to have their basic needs met, no matter what life changing events are taking place.

And imagine, silhouetted against the starry night sky, gliding along on camels, the three mysterious magi, following a shared dream, a vision, never stopping till they reach their destination and deliver their gifts. Gifts which remind us that value is subjective and that our skills and senses are to be cherished: gleaming gold, bringing with it the power to do great good if it’s used wisely and with compassion; frankincense, its heady, smoky fragrance evoking the power of holy places, prayer and contemplation; myrrh, the balm that reminds us to treat our bodies with love and respect and to tune in and enjoy and them while we can. The three kings also bring the gifts of magic and mystery, wisdom and knowledge, intuition and synchronicity. They travelled together, sharing support, solidarity and resources on their long journey towards the unknown, reminding us that if we remain open, alert and responsive, we have a lot to learn from the wisdom and experience of others, from people of all cultures and faiths.

But behind this rich tapestry and the birth of one special child, let’s not forget the tragedy that arose from Herod’s terrible personal agenda born of power and fear, his quickness to judge and his conviction that he was right. We all have the power to hurt or help each other, to react or respond, to forgive or let ourselves be consumed by fear, pain, bitterness, anger and overwhelm; but we also have the power and skills to ask the right questions.

And the answer to them all, the simple answer that glows like a hallelujah in the silence? Mary, serenely holding the greatest gift we’ve ever been given. Love. Pure, unconditional love.

Wishing you a season filled with miracles and love, wherever you are, whatever you believe in…

Any comments...?

Angels at my Table

by janice on December 8, 2009

When hearts listen, angels sing. ~ Anonymous

I’m very lucky that I still get to write columns for my coaching association and for The Calm Space, a lovely magazine style blog that has a drop in and enjoy some quiet ‘me time’ ambience.

I tried hard to fulfil my writing commitments this month, but wasn’t able to create the quality Christmas pieces I’d dreamed of indulging in. However, because I haven’t been particularly well or chirpy, I was allowed to contribute one of my favourite older pieces over at The Kitchen Table Space. I hope you’ll pop over and check it out. You may have read it in my archives already, but this is the first time it’s been posted properly on a blog and it’s the kind of seasonal piece I love writing.

Thank you for bearing with me. I’m hoping to pay you back in the New Year with writing that’s worthy of the time you take to read my words. I’m also planning to spend some quality time over at your blog-home catching up and commenting with a cheery disposition and a coffee in hand.

Up, Down and Grateful

by janice on November 26, 2009

The greatest gift one can give is thanksgiving. In giving gifts, we give what we can spare, but in giving thanks we give ourselves. ~ David Steindl-Rast

I wanted to do a Thanksgiving piece that would be good enough to express the depth of my gratitude for all your support and kindness over the last eight months, but I haven’t been able to. My life has been a rollercoaster ride recently, and when I started to feel buffeted and battered, like I couldn’t get off, I did what I always do; I logged off and focused on my family and on every living breathing detail of my offline life.

But I had to write today; I’ve always believed there’s a difference between being grateful and actually doing something to express that gratitude. Whether it’s thanking God, the Divine or the Universe for the gifts we’re given every day or simply taking the time to say a heartfelt Thanks! to someone, there’s power in voicing our gratitude, in giving thanks.

I was so brimming over with gratitude and relief last week that I almost posted to share it with you, but real life intervened. The day after my own cancer test came back negative, when I was giving my friend the house keys before our trip down to England to visit friends and family, he told me his wife’s cancer had returned, this time in her spine. (She went through limbo – then hell – last Christmas.) I’d packed my laptop, planning to write a seasonal piece full of gratitude and hope about how she’d inspired me last Christmas with her fortitude, resilience and passion for life, but after this news, I just shut down.

The laptop stayed locked in my suitcase, all urges to write wiped out by an overwhelming longing to love my family well and fill every moment with awareness, presence, gratitude and love.

I’ve been logged off for a long time now, but I know that if I get back into my old patterns of immersing myself daily in the sites I support, I’ll get sucked in and find myself drowning again. So I clean, I cry, I cook, I cry, I wrap myself around my husband and cuddle the kids and watch DVD’s and Everwood reruns and I shop and have coffees with friends and I try to do all the things my friend is terrified of losing and desperately fighting to keep.

Having a baby within months of my mum’s death stripped back the layers of my soul and left me vulnerable to all of humanity’s pain as well as life’s infinite pleasures. Sometimes it all gets too intense and I just have to shut down. Sometimes writing helps; sometimes it doesn’t. My best writing recreates the experiences that move me most.

I know you read lots of blogs as well as writing and living your own life to the full, so I didn’t want to use this space to constantly offload. But I owed you an explanation and really wanted to connect with you this Thanksgiving, the first one we’ve shared. I will be blogging again – I love it too much to stop – but for now I’m just relieved that part of me managed to push through and write this.

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This is the piece I wrote back in October for my coaching column last month. If you haven’t got time to read all of it, please scroll down to the last part of the epilogue.

Up, Down, Amazing and Grateful

The state of your life is nothing more than a reflection of your state of mind. ~ Wayne Dyer

My daughter’s fourteenth birthday was a day full of assumptions, both hers and mine. She didn’t know her best friends were throwing a surprise birthday party later in the week, and her sadness at not receiving presents or cards from them, on the morning of her birthday, seeped through her gratitude for everything else. I stayed quietly positive and cheerful throughout the day, assuming she would rather have the eventual surprise than the truth.

We went to the cinema in the afternoon, and as she couldn’t make up her mind which film she’d like to see, my husband bought tickets for the new Disney Pixar film, Up, which had received great reviews. One look at the poster - a house flying through the air suspended by balloons - had her assuming the film would be “babyish.”

We settled into our seats, the lights dimmed, the adverts blared across the screen in the darkness, and soon we were surrounded by the sounds and smells of popcorn, hotdogs and nachos.

I loved the first five minutes of the film. The music was poignant and moving, and through a sequence of short scenes and vignettes, we saw the quiet, quirky child grow old and grumpy as, one by one, he shelved the dreams of his youth.

Thud. My seat jarred forward as it was kicked from behind. I turned to see a boy of seven or eight sitting next to a stony-faced man, a weary washed-out looking mum and a gum-chewing sister.

I decided not to say anything. The simple act of turning around is usually enough.

The film surprised me; in turns bizarre and surreal, touching and funny, it was strangely mesmerizing. The two main characters, a lonely, overweight boy full of childhood exuberance, and an irascible, heartbroken widower, became unlikely companions on a road trip. The difference in their ages gave the film great breadth of scope and depth, while the themes of disappointment and frustration, stubbornness and letting go, redemption and hope were woven throughout with compassion and wit.

Disney films enchant me. The colours are glorious and they evoke memories of watching them with my saucer-eyed kids. A quick glance to the side showed my husband laughing with my son and my daughter giggling, devouring every detail.

Thud…thud. I fought the urge to turn round, scared that a negative reaction from the boy or his parents might embarrass my daughter and spoil her birthday film.

I took a deep breath, knowing the wriggling kicks were a distraction I had to overcome. My kids have always been very settled and courteous in cinemas, but as I’ve got older, it seems like fewer children can sit still for the length of a film without eating, wriggling or talking.

The sounds of laughter, music and talking dogs filled the warm darkness of the cinema. Glorious multicoloured balloons, bright plumage and jungle scenes filled the screen, and I tried my best to simply let go and fill my heart with compassion.

The credits rolled and we were the only two families who stayed to watch till the end.

As the lights went up, from behind me came a “Wow! That was amazing!” The mum and dad said nothing. “Dad, that was the best thing I’ve ever seen!” “Don’t be stupid,” said the dad. “It was the best film I’ve ever seen, Dad. It was amazing!”

His joy was contagious and I turned to smile at his mum, expecting to see her happy at the pleasure they’d so obviously brought him. She looked sad and distant as the man put on his coat in silence, and the older girl pulled her mobile phone from her pocket.

I left the cinema curious about who they were and what was going on in their lives. I wondered how long the boy’s delight in films would last and I was glad I hadn’t said or done anything to ruin, what for him, was the most amazing film ever.

Epilogue:

A few days later, my daughter came home to a room full of bright banners, balloons and birthday party food, all bought and prepared by her best friends. The cries of “Surprise!!” brought her hands to her face in shocked delight, then sudden awareness as she looked at me with tears and comprehension in her eyes. The long, tear-filled hug she gave me was full of gratitude and appreciation for my part in the surprise, which I’d known about for weeks. Laughing and giggling with her friends, she blew out the candles on her cake and made a wish for the second time that week; I could see that all of her sadness from the previous days had disappeared.

Surrounded by friends, good food and the determination to celebrate, it’s so much easier to feel grateful. As we all prepare for the coming season of gratitude and goodwill, blessings and bounty, I’d like to take this chance to thank you. I wish I could convey in words how much pleasure it gives me to belong to this community, to know you’ve taken the time to read my words.

I can’t offer you food, or tokens of peace and friendship, but I wanted to let you know that I’ll be thinking of you on Thanksgiving Day and giving thanks for the Internet, for the coaching we share and for the wonderful universe whose plan brought us together. I’m not American, but I shamelessly adopt rituals and celebrations from all over the world, special days that make smiles brighter and hearts warmer, days that bring people together in shared gratitude for life, love and blessings, wherever we live, whoever we are. Thank you. My life is better because of you.