A friend recently stumped me with what is possibly the most fascinating question in the world:

“What captivated you when you were 9? What was it that you spent every spare minute of your unstructured time doing?”

The concept behind the question is that that thing we did with our free time when we were approximately 9 has a lot to tell us about our life purpose. So, let’s jump in, shall we?

When I was 9 I:

• Read constantly. There was a period of time when my mother limited me to reading two books a day. I stretched that limit through starting one book the night before, finishing it plus a second and reading most of a third the next day. Insane.
• When I wasn’t reading, I was outside, running around the farm, creating imaginary worlds and embarking on incredibly detailed and magical adventures with my brother.

In short, I was either inside reading about the adventures of others or I was outside, creating my own.

My grandfather’s ranch:

My mother’s parents lived about a 4-hour drive from us, down in Oklahoma. We would visit several times a year – events that were always greatly anticipated.

My grandparents lived in Paradise – a cattle ranch with acres and acres of open pasture complete with a creek running directly through the middle of it.

The creek was small by normal creek standards and yet it had cut its way deep into the earth forming a mini canyon. Likely only 20 or so feet deep, to my 8 or 9 year old eyes, this canyon was vast and infinitely exciting. And the creek itself  – oh my! The adventures that awaited!

We spent entire days out just roaming about – being explorers of the vast unknown.

Every day led to new delights, new adventures, and new territories to explore.

One year, much to our delight, we discovered a tree that had fallen across the creek and, for the first time ever, we were able to cross the rushing water and begin to explore the uncharted territories of the other side. The excitement! It could not be contained.

Of course, there were hazards to be aware of…

…snakes lurking behind the occasional fallen tree limb, deep gopher holes that could easily twist or break an ankle, the creek itself and, of course, the bulls.

None of that deterred us in any way. We had roles to play, adventures awaiting, new land to explore.

Only hunger would eventually pull us away from our explorations and back to the Land of the Adults.

Looking back, I can see how much I learned from those adventures.

How much those moment have influenced my life now.

Then, we were fully engaged in the moment, always venturing just a little further into the unknown. Stretching our boundaries, exploring our limitations. And yet, we had support. We knew our parents weren’t that far away.

Plus, we had each other. We were each others’ best Allies.

What did we learn?

We learned to:

• take calculated risks: for instance, timing our crossing of the bull pen – scary!
• know where we were in relation to grandpa’s house at all times;
• support each other. There was this complete, though unstated, understanding that we had each others’ back if anything bad happened.
• be a part of a team and collaborate/plan our route together.
• engage and trust our senses – our eyes, our ears, our felt-sense (I recall several times when we changed direction simply because the direction we were going had a ‘bad’ feel).
• be in the moment. We never embarked on our mission with some outcome in mind. We just couldn’t wait to get out there so we could discover what was out there.

Basically, we learned some pretty impressive life skills.

Of course, back then, we didn’t think of it as learning life-skills – we were just kids out in my grandpa’s pasture, which happened to have this amazing creek running through it, exploring the day away.

Looking back, I feel this sense of nostalgia.

I felt so alive and engaged as we explored the creek and surrounding pasture-land.

I long for that sense of engagement, of curiosity, of risk-taking, of being outside for hours/days at a time!, to be more present now, in my daily life.

I can see how these experiences have so much to offer me now.

That sense of adventure, of exploration, is something that I consistently bring into my work with clients.

And, this sense of adventure, of fully engaging with my surroundings, is something I’m slowly re-discovering more and more in my personal life as well.

Comment Magic:

What were your passions when you were 9? Was there some thing or activity that you turned to the moment you had a moment free from your parents and other obligations? If so, do tell!

Portlanders! A new 4-week Shiva Nata series is beginning on May 10^th. We will be using Shiva Nata to help us get out of our heads and into our senses. I’m super excited about this series as it combines two of my favorites things: Senses and Shiva Nata. Check it out here.

The third week of December found me feeling completely overwhelmed and out of sorts.

I had a list (of doom) to complete before taking off for the holidays. So many things on that list were important to me and required huge chunks of my time.

I was in one of those places – those places where the overwhelm is so overwhelming that I could no longer discern what was truly important. Everything seemed equally important and equally impossible to finish.

My morning self-care ritual.

On the 16th of December, I took all this overwhelm and lack of clarity into my morning self-care ritual – where I spend some time sorting through what is going on in my life, asking for support, and invoking the qualities I would like my day to have.

Part of this ritual involves me saying things out loud.

Saying out loud and naming the things I’m struggling with and asking verbally for help and guidance.

This is a new practice for me. One that I’m finding to be very powerful for me right now.

I tend to frequently say things in my head or to write them in my journal – it’s a new and challenging thing to verbalize what I’m feeling and to ask for help out loud.

Of course, I am alone. It’s my time and space to practice honestly and openly speaking about what I’m going through. It’s practice for the real world and for my commitments to a) revealing more and b) asking for help.

That morning I was talking about how stressed and anxious I felt and mentioning the different qualities I’d like to have infused into the next few days – things like flow and surrender and ease. And enoughness.

Then, when I was sitting there quietly, just listening, this realization struck:

It’s all about there not being enough.

Not enough time.
Not enough money.
Not enough space.
My gifts surely wouldn’t be good enough.

It’s about me not being good enough.
Me not being enough.

Hello, pattern. I recognize you.

You’ve been here so many times it’s like… well, it’s like you are just a part of me.

In fact, you are so ingrained I feel you as part of my very structure. In my skeleton. In my bones.

That’s when something clicked into place.

I remembered the importance of the elements to many indigenous cultures. I recalled how it is the mineral element that forms the bones of the earth (the molten core and the rocks of the crust) just like it is minerals that form the bones of my body.

Interlude:

There is a part of me that knows that I am enough.

It’s just, so often, is it so easy for me to get overwhelmed and to forget that and to fall back into old, painful patterns of scarcity and not-enoughness.

I wanted something concrete to remind me of my enoughness. Something to remind me that I don’t have to be perfect.

That whatever I do finish is enough. That I am enough.

An image floated into my mind.

An image of a small rock. Comprised of, of course, minerals.

How perfect! A rock to remind of that I am enough – to help me find that sense of enoughness deep within me – in my structure, in the bones of my body.

And then, Oh! Impending doom!

I envisioned driving to the mountain on a quest to find the small rock that would remind me of my enoughness.

There wasn’t time for that! How possibly could that fit into my already packed schedule?

And then, another click. (Click)

This whole pattern is about enoughness.

I looked down. There, in my hands, was a small rock I’d picked up the previous summer while backpacking Steen’s Mountain. A small, rugged rock with lines of contrasting minerals etched deep into it.

Could it really be this simple?

The answer: It is enough.

And it was.

I carried that rock with me throughout the remainder of the holidays.

Whenever I felt overwhelmed, whenever that pattern of not-enoughness threatened me, I would feel it in my pocket.

I would take a moment and breath deep into my body, into my bones, and the world, somehow, would right itself. The overwhelm would pass and I would be able to walk on, unscathed and whole.

For you:

Enoughness (and lack thereof) are ongoing themes for me. This is one small, external way I’ve found to remind myself (internally) that I am enough.

What about you? Do you have a symbol or an object or something that brings you back to your center, to your enoughness? If so I’d love to hear about it.

Of course, just saying hello is always appreciated also. :)