photo credit Curtin1

Remember this telephone? When I was growing up in the 1950’s – 1960’s, one of these phones hung on our kitchen wall. If I could reach right into the photo, I’d still be able to dial my home phone number: Windsor 4-4587.  No area code of course. My grandmother’s was Rogers 4-3191. My dad’s business was Hopkins 7-1874. My cousin’s was Hunter 4-0015.

When I called my cousin I would dial her number — her house phone number, that is, because there was no cell number to call back then. If a person at her end was using the phone, I’d hear the *beep beep beep* of the busy signal. No notification that I was calling and no voice mail. I’d just hang up and call back later. If I did get through, I had no idea who would be picking up the phone. It could be my cousin, or her brother, or my aunt or uncle. It was usually the person closest to the phone. And they had no idea who was calling them. There was no Caller ID for them to check.

So what you had were two people – the caller and the callee - who had no clue as to who would be on the other end of the phone line. Now while you might say, today, that this process seems to be a time-waster, I would beg to differ.

Yes, I was calling my cousin, Sally, but how long had it been since I’d spoken to her brother, Richard, or my Aunt Marilyn or Uncle Morty? By having one of them answer the phone before Sally, I would have the opportunity, if I wanted to, to catch up a bit with the Marcus family as a whole, which could be an efficient, fun thing to do.

Fast forward to 2010. If I want to speak to more than one member of a family living in the same house, and they don’t have a land line (which is on its way out) it isn’t going to happen unless someone passes their cell phone around. Which occurs of course. But what’s more likely to transpire is that I’ll call my daughter, for example, on her cell phone, and if her husband isn’t there when I call, I don’t get to say hi to him. And I may not get to say hi for awhile unless I find a good time to call his cell phone or he decides to call me.

What we’ve done is eliminate an entire level of casual conversation and connection from our lives. There’s no serendipity here anymore. And while I’m not arguing against progress, I have to say that I miss that old equivalent of chatting across the backyard fence.

Again – I wouldn’t want a return to the days before Caller ID. Of course, back in the ‘50’s and ‘60’s we weren’t subjected to tele-marketers, so it was less stressful to pick up a ringing phone. And I really prefer having the option to leave a message rather than being subjected to that angry –sounding busy signal.

But I wish I didn’t have to be so darn “intentional” when I pick up the phone. I can call, and reach, only one person at a time. Yes, there’s speakerphone, but I still associate that choice with the advent of tele-conferencing which makes me feel too formal. And yes, I can conference in more than one number at a time, but it still feels too much like an arranged meeting. Same with Skype.

It’s kind of like the difference between letting your kids out in the neighborhood to play for the day, as opposed to arranging scheduled play-dates. I accept that it’s a different world now than when I grew up, but I loved being able to naturally live more in “flow”.

So what can we do to allow more of that natural flow into our lives? How do we create the conditions that encourage synchronicities to be abundant? Intention does play a part here, in that we have to “intend” for this to come about. We have to be open to living at least part of our lives in a less programmed, more fluid way. We need to understand that unplanned connections are essential for things to unfold in a way that we didn’t see could happen.

There is such joy to be found in spontaneous connection. You know how you feel when you come across that special book or movie that you never realized was so powerful and moving? Planning is good, but there is much goodness out there which can’t be planned.

One wonderful creation that didn’t exist in my younger years is the internet, and in particular, Facebook and Twitter. I’m beginning to think that these may be the “party lines” and even land-lines of our parents’ generation. They provide a way of tuning into the larger picture and making connections that probably wouldn’t be made without the advent of social media.

I do look at that phone above with nostalgia. But, truth be told, I’m glad that I can now make a call without putting my finger into a hole and dragging it around the dial. I’m glad not to be holding a receiver that weighed so much. Of course, there was one big advantage to that big ol’ telephone on the wall compared to today’s iphone: You couldn’t lose it.

How’s that for a title?

At some point in my life, I’ve had problems in every one of these areas as have many, if not most people. And I’ve learned something:

It’s not about the money, politics, religion, sex, or family.

These are the issues that call up the lessons we need to master. The lessons occur in these familiar arenas so that we have a context in which to work. If we can learn that the issue is not about what it seems to be about, we can move more quickly on our way.

Let’s take family for example. My daughter and I are working together on planning her wedding in October. For the most part, things have gone smoothly but every few weeks we seem to have some sort of communications problem. We will mis-hear an intention or a piece of information and experience the frustration that comes with feeling misunderstood.

But what is really going on? Is it about the flowers? The menu? The location of Dollar Stores in Brevard, NC? I don’t believe so and it’s been such a relief to figure this out.

I can trace virtually every misunderstanding we’ve had to some sort of fear – on my daughter’s part or on mine. My fears usually come down to either: “Can I do it? Can I do it well enough?” or “Am I being a good enough mother?” Now these aren’t rational fears; they’re perfectionistic concerns that have always been underlying factors for me in these types of situations. But before I remember the “real” issues, I tend to be sucked in by the masked marauders.

I’m getting better though. I understand that Lauren just wants to know that I’m here for her. She most assuredly does not want to come off as Bridezilla. It’s actually fascinating how much of what we argue about has little to do with what we’re arguing about. There are subtle power struggles going on that are reflections of our basic fears: “How will it all get done? Who will do it?” This is in spite of the truths that we’re all doing the best we know how to do, and that in all likelihood it will be a wonderful day regardless of the imperfections.

No, we fall into the trap of believing that it’s about the problems we encounter.

How about the money one? Again, money arguments often revolve around fear – questions about our own worth and our ability to provide for the ones we love. This recession has done a number on all of us and for our family, the wedding budget definitely took a hit. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing because it forced us to have some very productive discussions about values and priorities. But it also meant that dreams were scaled back.

Even religion came up, not as a problem, but as a factor because of  the different religious backgrounds. My daughter and her fiancé want to be sure to include the most sensitive and important traditions for both. Discussions about religion, of course, can be landmines of emotion because of the nature of belief. While I was not privy to their personal discussions, I went down this road myself when my husband and I got married seven years ago. We made it a point to state in our vows that we wanted to honor and respect each other’s backgrounds and individual beliefs.

And each other’s politics. Roy and I don’t always agree on the subject and we’ve learned, painfully sometimes, not to go there when we fundamentally disagree. We realize that what we most want from each other is personal respect and acceptance and that that doesn’t require identical positions on current events.

I don’t think that I’ll muse about anyone’s sexual issues here. The point remains the same, that sex is just an arena, as are the other areas, in which to work out whether you’re coming to a situation from love or from fear. If you understand what’s motivating you or blocking you, you can see where the challenges are in your life. Ask yourself, “Is this mostly a matter of preference or is there something that I’m actually afraid of?”

Going back to the wedding…I’m pretty darn proud of all of us. There are actually 3 sets of parents involved in the planning (because the ceremony and reception will be held at the groom’s parents’ house), along with the wedding couple, and we’ve all chosen to look at the opportunities inherent in the challenges we’ve had so far. It’s been a choice, each step of the way, and we know that it will always be a choice.

I believe that it’s working because we’re all focused where we should be – not on the problems that may come up, but on celebrating Lauren and Eric’s new beginning in life.

 “Without music, life would be a mistake.”

                                         –  Friedrich Nietzsche

I don’t know when I first heard this quote but it has always resonated with me. I once had one of those horrifying “Sophie’s Choice”-type conversations with a friend: “If you had to lose either your vision or your hearing, which would you choose?” Well, loving to read the way that I do this decision seemed almost impossible until I realized that “reading” would still be available to me through Braille or someone else’s voice, but music? I simply can’t imagine life without music.

Maybe this is because music serves so many purposes in my life. It’s not just entertainment. It’s language and memory. It’s a way to time-travel and a way to center myself. It’s a mood-producer and mood-enhancer. Given this love affair with music, one would think that I’d be endowed with some talent in this department. Oh, I can play a little piano-by-ear but that’s about it. Perhaps I was a great composer in another lifetime but this time around I’ve just been given a huge fascination with the subject.

I love reading about song-writers, particularly those that composed during the decade in which I grew up, the 60’s. I’m captivated by the lives of people who have music running through their brains, and this love of the lifestyle has led me to some very interesting places.

For instance, in the early 60’s I adored the harmonies of Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys. I found that the combination of their voices on songs like Surfer Girl, In My Room and Warmth of the Sun calmed me in ways I couldn’t describe. (Since I didn’t understand the harmonic attraction, I attributed my feelings to the looks of their drummer, Dennis Wilson). Although I didn’t stay a fan through the 70’s and 80’s, I found myself coming ‘round again in the late 1990’s. I was becoming familiar with the internet, and someone suggested that I try looking up sites connected with old interests.

So I searched out The Beach Boys and Brian Wilson and wound up in a chat room. Not only did I learn a lot about the production of music, I also (incidentally) met my future husband there. I’ve actually come to believe that it wasn’t incidental at all; rather, that those seeds were planted in the early 60’s (or who knows when in cosmic time) so that when the hour came, Roy and I would recognize each other through our mutual love of this sound, and have the opportunity to build on that.

Obviously we’ve all been attracted by different kinds of music and artists and bands but how much of that attraction has wound itself into our life stories? I’d be willing to bet that it’s a large amount. Not only the people we’ve met along the way, but the way music helps us process these relationships. (Aside: my daughter is about to marry a hugely talented musician.

For me, music is a special doorway into the past that is powerful beyond my comprehension. It unlocks memories and emotions that I can’t get to any other way.

I’m currently working on a memoir of sorts and I find it interesting what I can recall and what stays stubbornly just out-of-reach. When I get stuck, I play some songs from the time period I’m working with and it’s as if the key suddenly appears and smoothly turns the lock on the door containing those memories. And even if I can’t remember the specifics, I can still feel the emotion of that time. Tracking the emotion often gets me back to what I’m after.

Have you ever been plunged into a forgotten phase of your life just by hearing a song from those days? It’s an amazing experience. I have such a vivid recollection of when I was maybe 5 years old and was in the den with my father. He was listening to Ravel’s Bolero on our new stereo and I was “marching” to the music around and around the coffee table. I was mesmerized by that composition and the way it kept getting louder and more insistent. I believe that it was one of my early major “flow” experiences. And I remember being in 6^th grade music class when a very inventive teacher suggested that we close our eyes, listen to Peer Gynt’s “In The Hall Of The Mountain King” and then draw whatever the music made us feel and see.

I have such respect for musicians (and of course other kinds of artists) who work intensely for years, honing their craft and then creating out of the best their imaginations can offer. We’re all so fortunate to be able to enjoy their creations, and then take those gifts and use them to inspire gifts of our own.

Me? Thunderstorms. I head straight for cover when one is coming. If I were a dog I’d be shivering and whimpering and hiding under the bed.

This always puzzled me because when I was growing up, my parents and brother loved thunderstorms. They’d open the door to the front porch and stand by the screen door and watch the rain pour off the gutters in sheets. My dad used to say “Here comes Liberty Dam!” (our local reservoir and dam). I remember the wild smell of rushing water and the excitement of the cascade. But of course I was standing six feet back and cowering.

One day I asked my parents if they had any idea why I was so afraid of thunderstorms. My dad thought for a minute and answered, “Well, maybe it was because Nana was afraid of storms and when she used to baby-sit you, she probably took you into the closet with her when she went to hide.”

Oh.

Roy and I went to see some Native American history movies a few weeks ago and they showed some shorts produced by children with the help of a technology grant. One film in particular fascinated me. It was created by a ten year old girl and was about the beauty of rain and thunderstorms. Her narration told of the magic of storms and how they bring land and spirit together. She talked about how grateful she was for the storms that come in the summer and bring the land back to life.

Summer is monsoon season in Arizona, and it’s a season I’ve managed to avoid until now. I like to head back east for the summer months but this year we’re staying out here a little longer because we’ll be in North Carolina until October, for my daughter’s wedding.  So I’m facing my first full Month of Monsoons.

Monsoons are thunderstorms on steroids. You can see them coming from miles away and they power through followed by dangerous flash flooding. These storms are custom-tailored to invoke terror in a phobic like me.

Fortunately I recognize an intervention from the Universe when I’m presented with one. This summer is my big chance to face my phobia head-on. I came across a quote in a magazine that I cut out and posted prominently on my desk:

“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass.

It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”

I’ve been talking with some friends who love storms and I’m really trying to listen when they describe the wonder and positive thrill of the experience. I also talked with a friend who is a phobia-treatment specialist and I took notes on how to deal with the biggest part of my fear – the sudden loud cracks of thunder overhead. Apparently a lot of my anxiety has to do with the anticipation of the noise.

I seem to do better when I can use flashes of lightning to prepare me for the coming big bang, so last week I went out on my covered back patio to watch an oncoming storm. I sat way back in the corner so I was protected from the wind and rain and tried to focus on this demonstration of the Wild West at her natural best.

I practiced my deep breathing and refused to give in to my inclination to high-tail it to perceived “safety”. I rode out that thunderstorm on the patio, singing the Doors’ “Riders on the Storm” to myself and whatever wildlife was around to listen.

I wish I could say that that was it, and I’m now at peace with thunderstorms. No, but it was a beginning. I’m determined not to go through the rest of my life at the mercy of a fear I’ve had since before I was three. It’s time to make a change.

We don’t have to be held hostage to fears that have controlled us in the past. The first step is to realize that fact, and make a choice to work with whatever is frightening us. Our choices have power. Even such a simple decision as not to give in to a knee-jerk reaction of flight. I may still be a distance from “enjoying” a thunderstorm but I also don’t have to respond like a three year old either.

After all, life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.

“People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.”
– Author Unknown

This quote has always fascinated me, from the moment I realized it was dead-on.

I used to try to hang onto people and relationships, even if they weren’t sustaining me, simply because I didn’t know how to let them go. I couldn’t understand what to do with relationships that were once indispensable to my well-being. Should I put them on a shelf in case they came to life again? Should I file them under old memories? Should I nurse a grudge because of how they ended?

I’ve done all of the above as I searched for ways to handle feelings of loss, abandonment or rejection. The problem, as I saw it was that some people in my life were severing ties that I wasn’t sure I wanted to sever. But then I realized that it wasn’t only one way. I was pulling back from others and feeling guilty as a result.

What did this all mean? Did it imply that the relationships weren’t originally as solid as I thought they were? Or that I was no longer desirable as a friend? I went through some intense mental gymnastics trying to figure why things had gone “wrong”.

But then I came across the quote: “People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.”

A Reason…So very many people have come into my life — for a minute or for years – to show me something I needed to know at that time. Sometimes it was found in a book that appeared on the shelf in front of me. Other times it was heard in the casual remark of a person in line behind me. And then there were those chance encounters that produced significant new friendships. It often wasn’t until years later that I gained enough perspective to see that during that first moment of contact I was being thrown a life-line.

I love going back and tracing the arc of that kind of friendship. “This” led to “that” and so on and so forth. If “that” hadn’t happened then a whole list of other things wouldn’t have occurred. These were the synchronicities that required my recognition so that I would be able to take advantage of the experiences that were waiting for me. There were definitely lessons to be learned from these relationships.

But as it turned out, these have also been the friendships most vulnerable to change. If and when the reason that brought us together was no longer operational or integral to our involvement, gaps started appearing. Suddenly we were engaged in distancing maneuvers. Whatever had needed to transpire had done so and it was time to move on.

A Season…Some of The Reasons became Seasons. Some friends stayed with me through developmental stages – attending schools, raising children, choosing career paths. We learned from each other, shared with each other, and held onto each other for various periods of time. When the “season” ended, so did the relationship.

A Lifetime…Family and lifetime friends. They can leave too, but usually and sadly they leave through death. These people have presented me with life lessons learned over the course of many years.

But even when I understand why I’ve been drawn to certain people, and why it’s time to let certain relationships go, it’s still difficult for me. I would love for everyone to just skip along together merrily until the end of time. That way just feels more natural. But because I do understand the meaning of the quote, I’ve been working on my ‘letting go” skills.

First and foremost, I have to let go of blame and regret. If a relationship has outlived its usefulness or built-in expiration date then those are the facts; it wasn’t meant to be a life-long experience. That’s not to say that I won’t treasure what was, and miss that person, but there’s no use trying to prolong it. Secondly, I need to understand what it was that I gained from the relationship – whether it was helping me get through a tough time in my life, or teaching me to see humor or beauty in the world, or simply giving me the opportunity to give of myself to another.

Letting go of the people who have been with me for a lifetime is my hardest challenge. Death is a very final goodbye, but it’s part of what we’re here to do and there’s no point in denying that. Here, too, I believe that I will be most successful in transitioning if I appreciate what I was fortunate to have and/or what I learned from the inherent challenges.

It’s amazing that we can experience, and hopefully enjoy, so many different kinds of connections in a lifetime. And wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could utilize each one for the highest good of everyone involved.

Once upon a time I was a five foot tall professional organizer with brownish hair. I was also a daughter, a mother, a wife and a friend.

Fast forward a few decades. I am still five foot tall (give or take ¼”). My hair’s now blondish. I still do professional organizing, although I would no longer say that this is my primary work. I was a daughter until my parents passed. I’m still a mom, wife (to a different husband) and friend (to more people). So…who am I today, really?

This is a strange business, this process of redefinition through time. After all I’m still me albeit older, and wiser (I would hope.) Truth be told, I don’t have a problem with getting older. I would much rather be 57 than in my 20’s again. (A singular pass through one’s 20’s is more than enough.) And although I’m not crazy about the aging process itself, I’d rather look like nature intended me to as opposed to having a face that’s been made surgically taut and unlined. But that’s me.
Other folks have different ways of defining who they are through the years. And transitions can be harder if you identify strongly with your physical appearance or athletic ability at a younger age. Job-loss, too, can be especially tough if you relate personal success to career progress. If you’re no longer the person you were when you were out in front of the pack, who are you?

The first idea that you need to deal with is the one that has you tied into only one dimension of being, i.e., “I AM my looks, my ability to run, my position in my company, my role in my family.” Secondly, you have to recognize that you live in the present moment only, which means that you are not the person who has come before and you’re not the person who has yet to come. So what do you do with that awareness?

I would say that you begin by acknowledging that you’re multi-dimensional and that your potential for redefining yourself is almost unlimited in every moment. It comes down to choice; how you elect to work with the possibilities.
I’ll start with myself…I know that I’m the sum total of my experiences and capabilities and that NOW is always my choice point. How do I choose to see myself in this moment?

I choose to feel at least competent, if not masterful.
I choose to be proactive as opposed to reactive.
I choose to be kind and see humor whenever possible.
I choose to respect my abilities and align them with my values as best I can.

Again, you can only choose in the present moment, but if you make each moment as meaningful as you possibly can, the rest will take care of itself.
This line of reasoning can be applied to any number of practical realities.

For example, I’m currently in the process of re-designing my website. This site will take advantage of new Wordpress technology and will enable me to control far more of my site than I was able to previously. Which means, of course, that I will have to empower my inner geek, a choice I’m willing to make in order to save money and gain expertise.

Also, as part of this re-design, I have to come to terms with my “inner social worker” who believes that professionals in my line of work don’t ask for business up front. Interestingly, I thought that I had moved past this block when I started coaching, but apparently not completely. Now that I’m offering a new mentoring service I get to re-visit it.

Even my mentoring is a new definition of self. I resisted the concept for awhile because I didn’t think I was old enough to be a mentor. I realize now that part of me will always feel like a kid, but that in reality, I’ve had many, many years of experience that can be beneficial in helping clients avoid the roadblocks that slowed me down, both personally and professionally.
Yes, I’m redefining myself all the time. In the next 6 months I will get to plan for being mother-of-the-bride. (And at some point, grandmother?) I’m still mulling the right volunteer opportunity for me as well as stepping more fully into my writing. And of course, this year I leaped off the high-dive into the world of scrapbooking.
Redefining yourself never has to end. Your soul has more to do than can be accomplished in this lifetime, so enjoy the trip!

I was talking with a client last week who was trying to explain to me why she has hung onto a jar of her children’s saved baby teeth. “Well,” she said, “I was so happy when the kids were little. And then my marriage went south and I wondered if the time of the baby teeth might be as happy as my life would get.”

I was surprised at how this statement resonated with me. There was a time when I, too, had wondered the same thing. Was there a limit on how much happiness I could ask for?

I grew up with parents who believed that “coping” well with life was the best that one could do; that fielding the balls batted at you was the aim of existence. And they did have reasons for that belief. They grew up in difficult times and were always trying to manage in ways they felt were right. But as a result, they weren’t able to prepare me for a lifetime other than the one they had known.

It wasn’t until I was in my late 30’s that I became aware that there were other possibilities open to me. I started to believe that maybe happiness wasn’t doled out in increments. Maybe there were things I could do to increase my level of happiness. Maybe I had more control than I realized.

I had thought that my happiness was completely dependent on external circumstances. If my partner was happy, if the sun was shining, if there was money left over when we paid our bills, I could be happy. And then I read about Victor Frankl. He was an Austrian neurologist and psychiatrist as well as a Holocaust survivor. His book, Man’s Search for Meaning, chronicles his experiences as a concentration camp inmate and his method of finding meaning in all forms of existence. He said, “The one thing you can’t take away from me is the way I choose to respond to what you do to me. The last of one’s freedoms is to choose one’s attitude in any given circumstance…When we are no longer able to change a situation – we are challenged to change ourselves.”

So I began to change myself by changing my attitude. I entered into a period of time where I fully explored the nature of Me. Exactly what strengths did I have that I could draw upon? What talents and abilities did I possess? Who was I when I wasn’t defining myself in terms of others?

I became stronger and surer of myself. I started stretching my capabilities to learn how to create happiness from within. Most importantly, I was coming to understand that there was no pre-existing agreement for how much happiness was allowed into my life other than the one I designed for myself.

The more I accepted the concept that only I controlled my ability to be happy, the better I understood the nature of the choices I had made in my life. Many were compromises, made out of a desire to please and make others happy. Wow. So what do you do with an insight like that?

You use it to make more informed choices in the present.

“Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace and gratitude.”

Denis Waitley

By living with “love, grace and gratitude” I began to make the choices that were right for me in the present. I didn’t judge myself for decisions made in the past; I learned from them. And I opened myself up to as much happiness as the universe could possibly offer me.

Which bring me back to baby teeth. Sometimes we do save too many things as reminders of beautiful moments gone by. The impulse is a natural one. But we also should know that those happy moments are part of the fabric and flow of life and that there are more available for the taking. Save the memories with a photo or a journal entry and let the physical items pass on. You don’t have to cling to happiness and in actuality, you can’t.

My client is now making room for the new happinesses in her life. She’s freeing her space for the memories that have yet to be made in an unlimited future.

It was March, 2004. My husband and I were taking a belated honeymoon to a place I had read about and yearned to visit. Roy had never even heard of it but was willing to go. The place: Sedona, Arizona.

We arrived on a Monday afternoon and spent the rest of the day relaxing. The next morning I was just waking up when Roy came in off the balcony where he had been sitting, watching the sunrise over Thunder Mountain. He sat down on the edge of the bed and announced to me, “I think I could live here.”

I was certain that I was dreaming. Had my husband, a native of Long Island, NY and a lifelong surfer, just told me that he could live hundreds of miles away from the nearest ocean? I asked him to repeat what he had said, but even when he did I just shook my head. Granted, we had a magnificent view outside of our window, but how did that translate into a trans-continental move?

We went on a small tour that morning and found ourselves listening with interest when the tour guide mentioned the median price of houses along with the various types of cactii. Later Roy went looking for a real estate booklet but couldn’t find one. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday passed quickly with a trip to the Grand Canyon, massages, great meals and a hot air balloon ride.

After the balloon excursion we rented a Harley and went for a drive around town. We stopped to get a T-shirt for a friend and then tried to exit the parking lot back onto 89-A. We somehow missed the exit and wound up in the lot of a real estate agency. Hmnn…Since we were already there, we decided to go inside and check out the cost of property. When we entered we were greeted by a lovely woman named Amy who asked us what sort of property we had in mind. We had absolutely no idea since we had never discussed any of this. She said, “Were you thinking of West Sedona or the Village?”

“What’s the Village?” was our reply. She gave us directions and told us that she would meet us there after she picked her kids up from school. So off we went, riding through some of the most beautiful scenery we’d seen yet. We came around a corner into the valley community she must have been speaking of, pulled off at the first street and looked up and around.

This was It. We weren’t sure what “It” was, but we were completely enchanted by our surroundings. We met Amy again and she proceeded to show us some houses that were on the market. (As we drove around in her car, we both had the feeling that we were playing make-believe.) She first took us to a somewhat broken-down rental property, probably to gauge our level of interest. We told her no thanks, and that we’d rather see something more modern.

She checked her listings and then drove us to a place that hadn’t been for sale very long. We stepped inside and both of us drew a breath. Somehow we’d walked into our dream house. (Roy’s brother and sister-in-law had the exact same lay-out in their home and we agreed that one day we’d like to have that design, too.) We toured the house, together and separately, and I knew when I saw the room that would be my office, that I’d come home. Roy and I came together again in the kitchen area and quietly stared at one other. He said, “Do we have to look any further?” I said, “No.” Amy just stared back at us.

My heart was pounding as we drove back to her office, and while she put some papers together, we did the calculations. Yes, with some help with the down-payment, we could do it. Oh my goodness – we could actually buy our future retirement house. Then again, we didn’t exactly come prepared; we didn’t even have our checkbook. “Do you take credit cards?” Roy asked.

This happened 5 years ago, and in the intervening years my mother passed away, my kids went to college and Roy retired. We moved to Sedona full-time in 2007.

Somehow, we had known almost immediately that this was the place for us. Somehow, we both understood in our hearts and souls that we were “supposed” to be here. If you had told me this story in 2003 I would have had a good laugh. I could never imagine leaving the east coast, although I figured that a time would come when we might want to live in a place other than our historic little New Jersey community.

There are many factors that impact a choice of location, but I’ve learned that one that shouldn’t be discounted is the yearning of my soul. I believe that we were “called” to this place and the truth is that we’ve never been happier. There are things that we’re meant to do here.

I would say to those of you who have mulled over such a move – consider all the variables, but listen to what your gut is telling you. There are no accidents. And there most definitely are places in the heart.

The directions sounded simple enough:

1. Download Quicktime
2. Attach a microphone to your computer.

   But I was already beyond nervous. I was ready to record the audios for my first on-line scrapbooking class and I was reacting with my familiar math anxiety (i.e., if you see anything remotely related to numbers or technical instructions, run the other way). Running away, however, was not an option because I very much wanted to teach this class.

   Complicating matters, nothing seemed straightforward. Downloading Quicktime: Did I want the free version or would it be better to buy something with more bells and whistles? Attach a microphone: I didn’t have a microphone. What kind should I get? I pondered, and asked for advice, and then decided to straighten my office (translated: run the other way).

   The clock ticked down and the deadline for submission moved nearer. I downloaded Quicktime and ordered a microphone. I plugged in the microphone. I read the next set of instructions:

3. When you open up Quicktime, select “New Audio Recording” under the file menu. OK, check.
4. When the window opens up, click on the red button and start talking. Unfortunately, there is no way to pause, and no way to edit on this free program. WHAT?

I was horrified. Were they saying that I had to speak for 5 or 10 minutes with no opportunity to edit as I went along? No way. I started to argue with the instructions and then realized that the clock was still ticking and that I had five audios to record.

I began. And began again. And again. And again. It took 15 tries before I could take the leap and go for a whole recording. The second one was easier, as were the 3rd and 4th and 5th. I only had to re-record one of them. I was exhausted, but absolutely triumphant. I had conquered technology.

I am not the biggest fan of change. That may be because I’m a Cancer/Moon Child or just because I get real comfortable in routines and familiar ways of doing things. Change, however, has become the rallying cry of this time in our history and I do realize, for myself, that change is where all significant growth takes place.

So I’ve opted to live on my growing edge, wherever that takes me. As of the moment, it looks like it’s taking me back to re-visit some old phobias and self-imposed limitations. I’m acutely aware these days that I’m constantly being presented with opportunities to move forward, if I choose to do so. There is no shortage of challenges.

I like what Neale Donald Walsh has to say about these kinds of challenges and how to approach them:

1. Observe what is so.
2. Observe what you think about what is so.
3. Then ask yourself, “Why am I thinking that?”
4. And more important, “What would happen if I thought something else?”

It’s interesting to experiment with new ways of thinking, and I enjoy the process of turning assumptions on their heads. In the technology example, I would say this:

1. Observe what is so
- There is new technology to master
2. Observe what you think about what is so.
- I have trouble learning this stuff. It makes me feel stupid.
3. Ask yourself, “Why am I thinking that?”
- I accepted years ago that this doesn’t come easily to me and so I try to avoid it in order not to feel stupid.
4. “What would happen if I thought something else?”
- If I stopped worrying about feeling stupid, I could use that energy to learn what I want to know

I think that a limitation is only a limitation if I believe it’s so. I will work on this one because there’s a wonderful world of technology out there that I’d love to know more about. And I need to learn more about it in order to do some of the things I want to do.

That’s not saying it will be easy. I have a very long-standing habit of letting this fear control what I attempt to do. But that’s what a growing edge is for. If I acknowledge that there is a certain level of discomfort in having a growing edge, and that I need to be patient, self-loving and above all have a sense of humor, I can deal with this as I’ve dealt with so many other challenges in my life. I need to remember how far I’ve come.

Your growing edge is your future. It’s where your creativity lives and flourishes and everyone can benefit from learning how to surf those waves of change and ride the exhilarating edge.

It’s a New Year’s cliché, of course, but getting organized for the new year can be profoundly satisfying if you do it right.

And getting organized can include anything from kitchen drawers to vision boards, clothes racks to bucket lists. What’s important to establish from the outset is that you have a goal in mind before you begin. Maybe you need to be able to make things fit in that junk drawer that won’t shut anymore. Or perhaps you want to plan sequentially for the next six months. Having a goal will keep you from having to deal with the following dreaded scenario: You decide to better organize the hall closet. You open up the closet, take everything out, feel totally overwhelmed, put everything back in the closet and shut the door.

The point of having a goal is that you know when you’re done and can feel successful about what you’ve accomplished. The goal may be as simple as working for 15 minute increments until a job is completed. Or you may just take an evening and get as far as you can. Regardless of your approach, you should have an end point in mind that is realistic and achievable.

Winter in the northern hemisphere is a wonderful time for organizing because you can take advantage of your natural inclination to nest. You can see how comfortable your routines feel and if anything is missing that would make life simpler or easier.

Take filing, for example. Longer evenings can provide a good opportunity to dive into neglected piles and see what’s lurking there. I would suggest, though, that you begin at the bottom of a stack rather than the top. Starting at the bottom re-introduces you to papers you haven’t seen in quite awhile and thus gives you a fresh perspective. Also, you’re less likely to be emotionally attached to items that are more removed in time.

Doing my filing recently caused me to discover that I’m much more of an Everything Out person than I realized. I had been organizing my 12 x 12 scrapbook paper, by color, in portable closed files. Problem: it seems that if I don’t see it, I don’t use it. So I switched to a system that also stores vertically, but does so in transparent vinyl pockets. Problem solved.

My winter organizing project this year will be more conceptual than physical. It’s been over a year since I’ve re-done my inspiration bulletin board and I’m interested to see what I come up with.

Important Note about Bulletin Boards: Don’t mix your functions. Many people use their boards for posting information, along with inspirational quotes, cartoons and notes. What happens is that everything begins to blend and you have more of a decorative background than you do a visual alert system. Keep posted reminders separate from decorative features.

My inspiration board combines elements of dream/vision boards with favorite pictures, color combinations and decorative embellishments. The board as a whole lifts me up and gives me energy when I need it. I start by separating elements out of my To File pile that pique my imagination or curiosity in some way and then tack them up on the board. I move things around until the arrangement is pleasing. Over the year I’ll add new pieces until I run out of room. I like a hodgepodge look, but you might prefer a more orderly display.

Wintertime is also the best season for going through old magazines. It’s fun to check out issues of the past year for pictures that might work on your inspiration board. But more importantly, you need to create room for this year’s accumulation. And maybe you’ll find out that you’re not really keeping up with old subscriptions anymore. Your interests might have changed or you prefer to do other things with your time and money. It’s always a good idea to step back and see if you’re using and enjoying the things that you save.

Maybe your recipe collection is getting out of hand. (Isn’t it funny how we clip recipes from magazines and somehow feel like clipping them is the same as actually cooking them?) Try putting your clippings into page protectors and storing them in binder categories. It’s always easier to cook something if you can find what you’re looking for quickly.

Even if you don’t feel like organizing, take advantage of the cocooning effects of winter. Settle in and think about the stuff you save and store, and why you save and store it. You may be ready, when spring arrives, to undertake a major clean sweep.