Living with Gretzky

You are co-teaching, co-working, sharing, paddling, gardening, living, married, interacting in some way with someone else who is brilliant. Brilliant at this one thing in particular. They are the Gretzky of permaculture. The Ken Robinson of teaching. The Alex Baisley of life coaching. There is a moment when we realize this. When we get that we are working with brilliance. That this person is shining. Truly radiating out the gift they have to give to the world. And there is a moment when we decide. We decide what to do with that shine. We can go two ways. Support the light. Or kill it. Support them to open up more light. Or get out the black curtains. And shut it out. For if they are brilliant, what does that say about me? I am not. I cannot do what they can do. So I am not enough. I am not brilliant. I am stupid. They were right in school. I am pretending. And people will notice. They will see through my ruse. This person is a threat, in fact. Unless I take their brilliance down a notch. Take their shine off a little. Or a lot. As if there is a limited resource of light in the world. A limit to brilliance. Not quite enough to go around. And if that person has it, then there's got to be less for me. So we slow our partners down. We keep our kids in check. So they don't run past us. We put an arm out. We trip them. They stumble, and we're there to support them get back up. And we look good. We look great. Until they catch up again. And each time, we have a choice. To blow oxygen on that flame. Or snuff it out. And if we add sticks to their fire, we may indeed discover that love is not a limited resource. That brilliance breeds more light. If we let it.

Forest Mentors

Rowan: Dad, animals don't go to school in real life. Do they?

Me: Real life?

Rowan: Like, in the forest. They don't go to school, do they?

Me: No.

Rowan: (pause)

Me: How do you think they learn?

Rowan: From their Moms and Dads?

Me: How else?

Rowan: I don't know.

Me: How else would they learn how to do things?

Rowan: From their sisters and brothers.

Me: And who else would they learn from?

Rowan: Their friends. Maybe they learn from the older animals.

Me: What would they learn, do you think?

Rowan: I don't know.

Me: Want to go to the forest and see if we can find out?

Rowan: Yeah! (pause) Now? (pause) What about school?

Secrets

A wife and husband share a razor. A declaration of war for some. Kids using me as a climbing gym while I'm taking my morning dump. We each have our own personal bubble. Our Do Not Cross Line. Crime Scene being investigated. Don't touch me while I'm sleeping. A king size bed for one. Or spoon while I'm sleeping. I can't sleep without someone. Lines. Personal boundaries. A blue shield. A filter. Porous. Or solid. A brick wall. Cement. Bullet proof. Or a membrane. Goretex. That breathes. Keeps the water out, but allows us to breathe. Letting people in. Or blocking them out. Letting some in. And others we keep on the outside. To stay safe. Protected. From what? From being hurt. Again. I refuse to feel that again. That pain. I will not go there. And so we block. Keep Out. Do not Enter. We filter. We let a few in through the pores. To get to know the real us. Who we really are. Our sadness. Deep sorrow. Fear. Our fear of everything. Failure. Doing it wrong. I can share that with you. But not you. And what do we keep entirely to ourselves? That part of us we don't reveal to anyone. Not even our partners. Not even the person we will spend the rest of our lives with. For fear they will leave. Judge us as not who they married. Who is this person? We fear. And so we keep secrets. So many secrets. Only we know who we really are. Only I know the real me. The dark me. We keep them close. These secrets. Hug them. Caress them. Feed them. Because we need them. We need them to hold us in place. They prove to us who we think we are. The stuck version. This is just who I am. And what if we were to release them? To make a release-the-secrets date. Valentine's Day maybe. Here are my darkest secrets. I need to tell you. And see what happens. If they truly love you. Unconditionally. There are no conditions. They will love every bit. Every dark corner. And there will be more depth. More of you out there to see. More humanity. More flaws. More power. To love. And you may be surprised. A lightness can come. A release.

Billion Bacteria

Resilience. Elasticity. Flexibility. Ability to cope. To feel grounded. Cultivating rich, healthy soil with billions of living organisms. Billions. How do we create the soil for our own life? Building over time with dark compost that crumbles in our hands. Nurturing friendships. Feeding nutrients. Weaving connections in community. So that there is somewhere to plant seeds that allows them to grow. And waiting. Patiently waiting. Tending. Supporting. Watering. Creating space in time for new ideas, for something to emerge. Something coming out of nothing. Creating art, writing an email, making a film, building a project, planning a presentation, anything that requires generating, must first come out of nothing. And we so often try to navigate through our life planting seeds in cement. In dry soil. In drought. Wondering why nothing grows. Why we keep hitting against a surface. New possibilities grow in soil. In dark, rich, soil that is alive and thriving. And we must hold that space open, despite the anxiety and fear that wants to rush in. We hold the space, trusting, standing grounded, having faith that something will emerge. And it is in that space where we find ourselves, our own vulnerability, and our own strength.

Bounce

Scape Goat

The power of story to get out who we are. To release. Letting out. Allowing energy to flow. Out there. Into the world. Being vulnerable. Out of our control. Public. Not holding on to this character we play. Allowing the character to play on stage. Pulling back the curtains. Stepping out of the green room. And the fear that rushes in. What will people think of me? Of this character standing there. Naked. Will they judge? Evaluate. Make comments. Throw things. And what do we do with those tomatoes? Catch them. Gently. Like a juggler bringing in a new object. Mixing it into his routine. We can cushion those flying vegetables and weave them in with the kitchen knives and bowling pins. And listen. Listen to the thrower, as it is not me they are judging. Listen to their own story, their own complaints, and really get it. Really hear them. So their story is heard in the world. Out there. And they are invited up onto the stage. To be naked. Standing there. Juggling their own collection of apples and flaming sticks. Open to what happens when we put ourselves out there. And holding that space. Standing grounded. Firm. And allowing people to be drawn in. To connect. To feel their own weakness. To remember the time they were cut from a team, lost their first love, left the job that was everything to them. And then, there is an opening. A space to connect. To feel. To be in each others' shoes. To not be alone.

CFRU 93.3 Pioneer Radio Mark Conrad
Interview with Mike Craig Monday Feb. 4th, 2013