What are you Attached to?

Attached with a capital A.

As in, what might you be potentially-bordering-on-unhealthy Attached to?

In my case, I’m Attached to my kid. To him being okay day-in-and-day-out. To his success.

I have watched one too many movies on airplanes lately. They help to pass the time on business trips.

In one overdramatic tearjerker called The Choice, a character quoted their grandmother.

I just returned from a visit to South Dakota.

A colleague and I spent a beautiful weekend at the Crazy Horse Memorial.

If you have not seen this giant sculpture in progress on sacred Lakota ground, you must go.

Ever notice how some things sap your energy?

Certain people.

Places.

Or activities.

We can be plugged in to people or things—and they can drain us, or fuel us.

The perennials are poking through.

Showing up like the great surprise they are.

One moment, only brave points of green stalks in the dirt, and a week later, they are a foot high. The hint of blossoms then emerge, and within a few weeks, daffodils and day lilies trumpet their stories.

I pulled into my driveway, just getting home from the airport from another work trip. It was a Friday night around midnight. As I backed into the garage, the headlights of my car landed on the peonies in our perennial garden. They stood straight and powerful like sentries, gathering their energy to bloom.

For a long time, I never watched or listened to the news.

I don’t want to dwell on the sensational. Or the negative. I don’t want to immerse myself in the vibrational frequency that most news is highlighting. 

Instead, I want to fuel life with positivity. Expansiveness. Possibility. And

One of my colleagues recently cleaned out her closet.

Really cleaned it out.

As in, eliminated at least a third of her clothes.

She was inspired after reading the book The Fourth Quarter of Your Life.

I crossed paths once with a board member at a non-profit I was working with. We ran into each other in town. When I saw him, we both stopped, and I said, “It’s good to see you!” 

Without further ado.

This is a useful expression.

It means no more foolish blabber. No fuss. Get on to the thing you are here to see.

The phrase has been around since the 1300s. It first appeared in written form in Shakespeare’s “Much Ado About Nothing,” which he wrote about 1598.

As you look back on your life, what transitions do you remember?

What significant moments—or demarcations of your path—took you from there to here?

And of those turning points, which ones did you not plan or choose? What actually foisted itself upon you?

I have two minds about this.

Ever say that?

I was just reminded of this in a recent training: Humans can hold two diametrically opposing ideas at once.

Two ideas that conflict with each other.

Two values that conflict with each other.

I just went to the end of the world.

 Ushuaia, Argentina.

 The southernmost city, or capital, of the Tierra del Fuego archipelago.

 It’s known as the end of the world. And it’s in the land of fire.

This small city is at the end of the Pan-American highway, which spans 19,000 miles. The highway is known as the longest road in the world—connecting the Americas. It starts in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, and ends in Ushuaia, Argentina.

They say we’re wired to look for danger.

This comes from the primitive part of our brain. See danger: Run.

And this world is damn scary.

In Syria and Turkey, over 46,000 people died in the earthquake. And this earthquake devastated an area that was already in humanitarian crisis.

Sometimes, when I wake up early, I think, “I have some time. I’ll pop on Facebook for a few minutes.”

An hour later, after cycling through that, Instagram, Linked In, and email, I suddenly think, “How did it get to be 7:30?”

And a growing sense of anxiety is gnawing away in my belly.

I wish I were brave enough to ________.

How would you complete that sentence?

Where do you wish you had more courage?

A colleague is heading out in a few weeks for a 10-day silent retreat. 10 days of complete, utter silence.

Nature brings us to our edges.

Too much cold, too much sun, too much snow, too much drought, too much rain, too much wind—it can bring any person or community to the edge.

Or planet for that matter.

And nature brings us to edges we probably don’t want to cross.

I’m a Chrome girl.

Pretty loyal.

I have all the web sites I regularly use bookmarked in neat folders titled by subject matter.

There's Health. Coaching. Writing. Resources. And more.

(What can I say? I’m an organizer.)

My theme for 2023: This or better.

The idea is to honor what’s amazing in life so far—what you have today (this)—but at the same time, remain open to what might be to come (better).

I love my this.

What's here now. What I have. Who I am (for the most part).

But I'm open to what might be better.

I bought some funny cocktail napkins at Christmas.

Two women holding martini glasses.

One says, “It’s a little early for a cocktail. When did you start drinking?”

And the other answers, “March 2020.”

Yes, that’s about right.

It’s been a great run. Almost three years.