Hello friends across the globe,

I am not going to use the words unprecedented, unusual, or uncertain from this point forward, I promise.

True: The Google Maps App Metaphor

A metaphor that has helped me in the last several weeks is to think of monitoring the status of the world like having Google Maps on all the time, inside me.  Sometimes I am actively tracking; most of the time it’s just an app running in the background, except I can’t turn it off. This metaphor has been helpful to me because it has made it clear that I need to charge my battery more in order to function well.

When I think of it like this, I pay more attention to how and how often I am charging my battery. I also have a clearer sense of when I’m running low.

Does this resonate for you? 

Also True: Creativity is Abundant

Though this time is draining, a flip side is that I’m loving all the creative openings, the abundant innovation being spurred by necessity. I work with changemakers, people who are up to something good in the world with intentionality. Every single person and organization I’m currently working with is re-examining long-held beliefs and following the question, “What if…?” I feel so grateful for all of you whom I have the privilege to work and learn with directly.

Within my own business, a long-held belief I have been re-examining is my agreement with myself to not do much teaching in a virtual space. One-on-one coaching and small-group collaboration via Zoom have always felt fine to me, but I’ve made a concerted effort to lead classes, workshops, meetings, and professional learning in person whenever possible.

So...after resisting for a while, I tried yielding and letting “What if...?” soften me, warm the putty of my creative mind. And that leads me to an offering I am truly excited about….and also scared to step into but doing it anyhow.

Re-Source: A Series of Gatherings for Womxn

Next Wednesday, May 6, 2020, Alexandra Keller and I will launch a six-week womxn’s circle that will take place virtually. The x is not a typo. It’s a signal that this is an inclusive gathering with the intention to bring together womxn with a variety of perspectives. This includes, but isn’t limited to—different generations, ethnicities, abilities, sexual orientations and gender expressions.  

This is scary to me. Though I have been engaged in diversity, equity, and inclusion work in organizational settings, and though I have read and reflected a lot on the topic, plus been involved in many discussions (especially with other white people about privilege), I feel young at building intentionally inclusive spaces as an individual.

One of the key elements that emboldens me? Alexandra Keller. Alexandra and I met nearly 20 years ago, when she was in middle school. I was by role and responsibility one of her teachers in 8th and 9th grades, and she has also been a teacher of mine since the beginning. She is a passionate, fully engaged human, never one to shy away from asking the next difficult question. Alexandra and I reconnected last fall, and she participated in an in-person winter women’s circle I led that concluded in March. It was wonderful to witness her as a deep and wise adult, to see where her curiosity has taken her, to relish freshly in just how much I have to learn from her.

Three important notes:

• If you want to learn more about the six-week series, click here: Re-Source

• If you’re thinking, “I know someone who might be interested in this,” please share. 

• And if you’re a man who is wondering, “Why isn’t there a thing like this for me, for men?” then please see me raising my hand to act as a thought-partner to you or someone you know who is interested in pursuing what this kind of gathering could look like for guys. I want that to exist!

A Two-Poem Teaser

Two ways I’ve been charging my battery are by spending time outdoors and penning some poems. I’m working on building a collection of my poems on the Only to Grow website, but until then, here are two new poems from the month of April:

Clearing the Garden Beds

We stand and look
several times, over the course of weeks
waiting
waiting for the wind to die down
the temperature to rise
the return of the Great Blue Herons

We admire
the browns and yellows
tans and bronzes
the shattered reds of old–
crisp arms outstretched
or leaning,huddled
or flattened like high mountain grass;
layers of memories

Then the sun dawns Just Right
and the party assembles
wheelbarrows and hoes
clippers and rakes
shovels and gloves
and the mighty Bruce
my earthly partner

 We begin

Last year’s leaves heap
and settle
heap and settle.
Tall stalks snap and lay like pencils
in piles, in piles

 It’s nature’s quiet, which means
birds trill, honk, lustily proclaim.
We are all chorused as we
bend and lift, kneel and fix
the run of soil through our veins
singing us alive differently

These browns and bronzes and shattered reds
now mix in me
greening my heart like a blush
the days filled with sadness and joy
intermingled like this, like everything

I reach into my pocket for the seeds
and spill them in my palm
Today: poppies and bitter greens
tiny specks of hope

* * *

Unlocking

Today: gray,
birds are hiding.
I am inward too,
yet drawn outside
simultaneously bundled
and open

Fog lids the lake
so dense I have to hold quite still, 
train my gaze with intent
to perceive motion
the breath of life
the breath of life

Too easy to miss
when scuttling down city streets
mindlessly cocooned somewhere
or sucked into a screen
hustling, hustling in different ways
always away from here

But every time I remember
to notice, there it is:
in the shiver of last year's leaves
in the squish of soil with every step
in this fog, hugging the lake

Barren trees stand sentinel to
sky’s leaden burden
resilience in their crooked statures
elegant, storied, patient

My gaze draws down
eye caught by sudden
yellow
daffodils to come
straining against green skin

Now I notice
another wonder
alien fists of rhubarb
tiny and new, wrinkled and wizened
punching their way through dark soil

I can already envision their arc:
huge sprawling leafiness
bright pink stalks of sugar and tart,
then seediness and ruin;
sag and sorry brown.

But then the breath of now,
just now.
This little fist is sure the sun will show
herself again soon
the flourishing inevitable
in good time