Dead on the Vine

Dead on the Vine

by | Oct 19, 2015 | Featured

The remaining blackberries are raisinlike. Shriveled. Birds have picked over them, leaving them to winter’s dormant dream.
*
And this is how it always seems to go for blackberries. I’ve got to assume they are ok with it. They likely don’t yearn to be plucked and devoured in the warm sun, shared in pies, or sprinkled on your late night bowl of ice cream.
*
But you. You human. You do not do as well when your own fruit dies on the vine. When what you so desperately desire to share shivers away, unheard, unseen, unharvested. Unoffered.
*
I walk past this patch of berries every day, all year long. They remind me so much of our human urge to create. There’s that initial germination of an idea. Then the focused sun of our attention ripens it til it glistens with juicy fullness. The moment that stirs us to offer. To extend our hand. To raise our voice. To hit “send.” Then that sweet instant in which it is consumed.
*
Then, there are the other times. I know these well. The times when I’ve held that nearly ripe fruit so close to my heart and not let it go. When I haven’t extended my own berries to one who might be hungry. When I waited… til I was clearer, better, stronger–different. The moment of offering passes by. And to hold onto what are now wizened, wrinkled berries just seems overprotective and sad. So I drop them and pretend they were no big deal anyway. They sink back into the earth.
*
Every single one of these dried-up berries I’m looking at today was such an offering that no human, bird nor bear accepted. And that is fine.
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But what about your fruit?
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My wish for you is that the moment you sense its ripening—the moment the sun is high and the message is full—you breathe in courage. And breathe in awareness that offering it to someone is the PURPOSE of your fruit. THIS is the reason you imagined the fruit in the first place. To nourish or, maybe, delight others.
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May you let it be easier. May you reach out your hand and say, “Here’s a berry. Please take it if you like.”

What Happens When the Truth Stinks

What Happens When the Truth Stinks

by | Feb 6, 2015 | Blog, Featured

What Happens When the Truth Stinks

 

I recently woke at 3 a.m. to a woman screaming under the bed. I soon realized it wasn’t a woman—it was Simon, the skunk who’d been living beneath our house the last few months.

The peaceable arrangement we’d enjoyed with him seemed to be over.

And, the story, as I liked to tell it, was over, too.

Here’s the way I liked to tell it: 

We tamed a skunk! He eats from the same bowl as the cat. He waddles over when we shake the kibble bag. He stands still as we pass him on the way to the car.

He’s SO amazing!

   

And here’s the way it actually is:

Twice now, we’ve burrowed under the covers as an oily, eye-burning, stomach-wrenching cloud seeps into the bedroom. Simon is just doing what he does when under duress. As for me (also under duress), I’m not quite clapping for a dancing skunk. I’m washing the floors with vinegar, burning incense, and hanging our clothes outside in the trees.

Part of me still wants the story to go a certain way. (We tamed a skunk! He’s awesome!)

The truth is, though, I’m sleeping with a lavender-doused bandana wrapped around my face while John loads peanut butter and cat food in the Have-a-Heart trap. I love this line from the author David Foster Wallace:

“The truth will set you free, but not until it is finished with you.”

If you’re like me, there’s a way I WANT to tell a story, but then the truth of it ends up to be a very different matter by the time it’s finished with me.

One of the most common things I hear from business-owners who want to share their story, is that they don’t know where to start.

So, here’s a handy little exercise, inspired by Simon, as you’re working with yours.

What’s a story you wanted to tell one way… then the truth kept coming around and telling you something different? Take a peek at your relationships, career, or just your long-held-onto-expectation that something in your life was supposed to be a certain way, until it was clear that it wasn’t that way anymore.

I promise, there is some good juice in there.

And if you’re ready to learn more about what to do when you’ve got it, just click here to sign up for a 30-minute complimentary clarity call, so you can see how this story relates to your business and your message. Here’s to the truth, no matter what it smells like, Madeleine
How do I get out of this?

How do I get out of this?

by | Oct 6, 2014 | Blog, Featured

How Do I Get Out of This?

  I just read the War of Art by Steven Pressfield. What a perfect book. He writes about Resistance, something at which I consider myself an expert. Hand me a great topic to write about that would move me forward, and watch me run outside to rake leaves or vacuum the car. But it’s been my desire to work on the issue, and this year, life doled out a few experiences to do just that… and the book got me thinking about what it all means. Here are a few moments from my resistance highlight reel: Resisting jumping into the jungle. In January, I went to Mexico with my good friend Joanne and her daughter, Manami. Joanne was in the final stages of cancer (I was really resisting that) and this trip would be her last. Manami and I went zip-lining one day. We hiked a few miles, then from high on a rickety platform, we peered down into an endless and dense jungle. Monkey-mind starts Ziplineworking: This is so high and so rickety. I am so going to plunge right into that jungle. There’s no way in freaking hell I’m going to be able to do this. This was a huge mistake. How do I get out of this? Mind you, I was standing in gloves and helmet, tied to the cable, with a line of people raring to go behind me. I wanted only to sit for an hour, getting ready to get ready, but could only resist so long. I closed my eyes and jumped. Gravity took care of the rest. It was really fun and so free. And every successive (12 of them) jump was fine. Resisting writing a eulogy, part 1. Joanne asked me to speak at her funeral. I really wanted to show her what I was going to say before she died, but it wasn’t finished. OK, it wasn’t even started—I was totally resisting writing it. The memorial service got closer and closer and I knew the story I wanted to share, but something was missing. I wrote in the car on the way to California. Not it. Not yet. JoOn the morning of the service, I still didn’t have it done, and went walking by the ocean in San Rafael. I found a trail she’d once shown me. Oh, hello, monkey mind: What the hell am I doing going for a hike? There are going to be a TON of people there. This has to be something she would love. Help me, help me, help me. OMG, I am so not the person to do this at all. This was such a mistake. How do I get out of this? I kept walking into the mounting panic. Then a poem I read when I was in my 20s dropped into my head. I got back to the hotel and Googled it. It was the perfect missing piece. I put it in. Before I got up to speak at the service, my heart was pounding so hard the friend sitting next to me said he could hear it. Then when I was up there, Jo smiled down from her big picture on the screen behind me. It all went just fine and felt so good to talk about our long friendship. And I think she would have gotten a kick out of it. Resisting writing a eulogy, part 2. Two weeks after Jo’s service, my dad died unexpectedly. We had a complex relationship and part of me had already been PRE-resisting giving his eulogy for years.Dad Though writing the obituary (thank you, newspaper deadline) and sharing stories about him was a good warm-up, on the morning of the funeral I still didn’t have a clue what I was going to say. Cue ol’ monkey mind chorus: There must be some mistake. Who am I to do this? How do I get out of this? Blah-dee-blah–dee-blah. Then, in the shower, the whole thing just dropped into my weary brain. Four qualities, four stories about him that showed the gruffness that covered his generous and tender heart. Complete. And again, heart pounding, I stood up there with my prompt words written on an index card—and it was fine. I think he might have liked it, too. In all this, here’s what I learned… Resistance to speaking the truth, taking the next step, starting the new project, etc. is very real. But that Big Moment is also real—the urgency that so many people I talk to seem to be feeling right now. A time of no turning back. The moment when your little zip-line trolley leaves the platform, when the audience’s eyes all lock on you… and there is no stopping. My mentor Heidi calls this “crossing the border” and I think that’s a perfect description. It goes something like this:
  1. You get the inspiration to create something, share your story, launch that project or just go beyond a previous limit.
  2. Welcome to the border. Resistance steps in. Monkey-mind refrain begins: OMG, how do I get out of this? Get me out of this. This was such an enormous mistake.
  3. The Big Moment. Gravity/stepping on stage/pushing “send.” Whoa, whoa, whoa. It’s happening!
  4. Ahhhhh, ok. It’s fine, I am safe, and this actually feels really good.
Now, I wish I could say that everything has changed since this summer. That resistance is gone and I’m just living in the flow. But that would be a lie. For instance, it’s taken me a solid week of procrastinating to write this article. Here’s another passage from The War of Art: Resistance is directly proportional to love. If you’re feeling massive Resistance, there’s tremendous love there too. If you didn’t love the project that is terrifying you, you wouldn’t feel anything. The more Resistance you experience, the more important your un-manifested art/project/enterprise is to you—and the more gratification you will feel when you finally do it. Today, shards of resistance glitter all around me. The internet connection is funky. I am second-guessing writing about Joanne and Dad. The newsletter program keeps giving me an error message. I have a ton of client work to do. It’s the last sunny Sunday before the rains and I would much rather hike. There is so much that feels MORE urgent.  But I know that writing this is part of a bigger dream that I love… even more than hiking. And I know it will be fine once I just press “Send.”   Feeling resistance about telling your story? Podcast2 Just click here to watch a quick video, 5 Ways to Getting To Your Story that will help you move beyond it. This snippet is from an interview I did on the Paycheck to Passion Podcast (which you should definitely subscribe to.)

How Your Story is Like Fairyland

by | Sep 15, 2014 | Blog, Featured

How Your Story is Like Fairyland?

 

Fairyland

 

I’ve had this photo pinned to my office wall all summer. It’s a snippet of a very long diorama–a rainforest fairyland that we stumbled across in our last moments at Oregon Country Fair in July. It stretched about 100 feet, every single inch teeming with crafty, miniature, elven life.

I could have stared at it for hours, because in each little piece was a glimpse of a whole world… A tiny parcel of an entire story.

This weekend, I was writing something about telling our true story. Why it’s hard and why it’s so compelling…. And it suddenly occurred to me why this fairyland had me so obsessed.

Like your story, this fairyland:

  • Offers a ton of possible entry points.
  • Is riveting and complete even if you look at it from just one spot.
  • Communicates the whole in a tiny sliver.

Most of the people I work with struggle with the how of telling their story.  Where to begin. Where to go next.

Any of us could tell our story by beginning with what we ate for lunch just now, or how crushed we were when we were had to miss the 2nd Grade Christmas Pageant in which we were supposed to be singing Up On The Rooftop.

All of it matters. All of it counts.

curlicue1-new

Here are two ways to discover your story, inspired by this fairyland.

1. The trick of it is just to dive in… anywhere.

Find a place that feels good by scanning your life like I did this fairyland. I walked up and down and then just sat down at a spot that felt good—and examined everything that was going on. In this one picture, for example, you can see mushrooms, a tiny blue pond, glimmer lights outlining a mysterious cave, purple birds swarming a rock formation, ferns and moss and tiny trees….

When I have a Golden Thread session with a client, I always like to start with a single, simple story from childhood. Almost without exception, a lot gets revealed in this one story. So just think of one story from when you were small–one that you like to tell (or one you hate to have told). I bet there will be some juice there.

Here’s an example: A client told me how she loved to ride bareback with her little friends when she was 9 or 10. She felt so incredibly powerful and free. It’s a feeling she can still conjure in her dreams. And, you guessed it: Her business is helping women unblock their power and feel more free.

2. Let your story stand… it’s enough and you’re enough.

You really don’t need to explain. You can help your reader or listener by giving them a few hints and helping them connect the dots, but I promise you don’t have to give the whole blow-by-blow, first-this-happened, then-this-happens kind of tale in order for someone to get a good sense of you. (Just like I could get so much from one tiny section of the fairyland without someone telling me what else was there .)

Try it. Choose one of your key stories from childhood, then look at what your business is about at its core. See if a few of the dots don’t just automatically connect. Notice if what you felt or loved or got punished for as a kid has any connection with the offering you make today in your business. Does it?

 

Screen Shot 2014-09-14 at 3.17.09 PM

 

You know what the main thing was about this fairyland? It really was pure magic. And so is your story.

 

Have fun. And if you have questions about your story or are interested in diving deeper…

Just click here to schedule your 30-minute complimentary
Golden Thread Clarity Session.

Story Resistance

by | Jun 27, 2014 | Blog, Featured

Story Resistance

The other day a new client was walking me through her vision for her latest project.

“This sounds fantastic,” I said. “All that’s missing is you.”

“Oh, sh*t.” she said. “I have to tell my story now, don’t I?” She lowered her head into her hands. “God… I knew I’d eventually have to do this.”

Story resistance like this is common.
But it’s also futile.
Because if you’re a business owner
who is the face of your service business,
the time to tell your story is going to come.

Here’s why you want to be ready…
As she told me her story over dinner, a couple of things happened (that frequently take place in the presence of good storytelling):
1. I started telling her my story as it relates to her very specific expertise-interrupting, laughing, cutting her off and jumping in with anecdotes.
2. I realized deep down I wanted to be her client (I’d never before considered this) and sign up for her next program.
The truth about sharing your story…
It’s intimidating.
It can be scary.
It’s easy to resist and work on other things instead,
like your SEO and website colors.

But when you share your story powerfully and compellingly
with your ideal audience, amazing things can happen.

You give them the permission and possibility to recognize something in themselves they may not have let themselves see before. (HUGE.) And you show them the power and magic of the transformation you provide. (It’s a lot harder to do that with website colors.)

If you’d like to get a better handle on sharing your own story in a soulful, compelling and hard-to-forget way, come spend the day with me on June 20th.

In the sparkling high-desert air of Bend, Oregon, let’s get clear on the gold that’s hidden in your story.

Join me for the Find Your Golden Thread one-day retreat.

  • Strengthen your marketing message by discovering
    how to tell your signature story.
  • Connect the dots between your business, your past and your purpose as you discover your unique theme (that plugs right into the big, universal ones).
  • Learn to speak and write from the soul of your story.