Seize every moment

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Autumn’s gentle chill nudges summer’s warmth, transitioning long, hot nights into distant memories.

With fall’s approach, the calendar fills with seasonal activities. For my grandson and countless others, the first day of school arrives, painted with the hues of excitement for new adventures and a tinge of longing for the carefree days of summer. For me, it’s time to deadhead garden plants and rummage for sweaters, donning gloves for my brisk morning walks with Beaumont.

This shift occurs annually, yet each year, I find myself ensnared by “what if” musings, as sticky and persistent as bubblegum on a sunbaked sidewalk. Such thoughts seem futile when I consider the inevitability of autumn and the winter chill soon to follow on the howling breath of Arctic winds.

The fleeting nature of summer always evokes a wistful smile. Such is the human dilemma—wanting to resist change, the cascading leaves, the impending frost, and the ever-present march of time.

It’s the progression of age that amuses me most—though the amusement isn’t always light-hearted.

Last Saturday, my daughter and I took Beaumont and her two dogs for a mountain hike. It was a day full of warm sun bathed fresh air, shaded trails, and canine antics. Beaumont insisted on leading the pack, while Martha darted around, eagerly showcasing her discoveries with joyous smiles. Then there was Wilma—ever the pragmatist. At just three, she knows the value of conserving energy, choosing to trail behind at her own pace, as if living by the motto, “We’re all headed the same way, I’ll just arrive without the exhaustion.”

Aging, for me, is most evident in my feet. They register every step, reminding me of the miles they’ve tread through years of wandering hiking paths and ski trails. While in the past the return trek felt inconsequential, now every step resonates, urging me to reconsider the distance, as if I can make it shorter by my thoughts alone. Always, despite the slight (and sometimes not so slight) betrayals of age, I yearn for resilience.

That Saturday hike, a blend of laughter and reflections, was a reminder: life isn’t measured in years but in moments. And irrespective of what my feet might suggest, I plan to seize every one.

The Fall
by Louise Gallagher

The leaf does not plead with the stem, 
hold me, I’m dying.
Just as the stem does not
 beg the branch, don’t let me go, 
I’m afraid of falling.

In nature’s eternal way, 
when now becomes the time 
the branch releases the stem,
the stem lets go
and the leaf falls 
knowing nothing
but the fall
has arrived
and letting go
is all there is.

And I Wonder…

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I know where I am standing when I take the photo.

The corner of Thurlow and Robson Streets waiting for my daughter who has dashed into the Starbucks to use their washroom.

I know they won’t object. She’s pretty. Polite. Looks clean. Healthy. Not of the street.

I know the person lying in the alcove of a boarded up store front, their body huddled under blankets while a big gentle looking dog keeps watch lies beside them, rump tucked into the curve of their belly, eyes watching the passers-by, I know they wouldn’t receive the same treatment.

Our tolerance of our shared humanity who have lost their way increases as more and more people fall beneath the weight of this world.

And my heart aches.

I stand looking at the telephone pole littered with stapes, their emptiness evidence of the posters removed long ago. Amidst the staples, one torn corner of a page that was ripped too quickly from its perch remains, a bookmark to the past.

Devoid of messages of all the goings on in the community I wonder if this pole is a symbol of a new city ordinance forbidding posters stapled to telephone poles.

And I wonder where will the body under the blankets find a place that welcomes them in with consideration and compassion, so they too can relieve themselves far from prying eyes full of pity or condemnation.

And I wonder if my eyes showed compassion as I walked by. Did I hide my grief at witnessing the state of their life journey that has led them here, to a cold, hard pavement, while the world carries on, indifferent.

And I wonder, when will we stop building skyscrapers to symbolize our prosperity and progressive ways and start building better more compassionate pathways on the ground that will bring home those who are lost to the streets and keep others at home before they become lost?

__________________________

About the poem.

This morning, I was captivated by a line from poet and novelist Adrienne Rich: “I dreamed you were a poem, / I say, a poem I wanted to show someone.” The way her words weaved left an indelible mark on me. I felt the muse pushing me to pen a poem of my own. I thought it would be a love poem.

Instead, the muse lead me onto memory lane. Back to a street corner in Vancouver, where I’d stood waiting for my daughter and been fascinated by the telephone pole covered in staples. Hidden in that memory was a haunting tableau of countless individuals, their lives reduced to huddling on the sidewalks, as the world bustled by.

Penning this poem was my attempt to grapple with the profound sadness these scenes stir in me. Through words, I hope to lend a voice to those silent moments that speak so loudly of our shared human experience and the disparities we often choose not to see.

STAPLED 
by Louise Gallagher

I dreamed I wrote a poem
without words
and stapled it to a pole
wanting desperately to
fill the spaces
between the sounds of silence
of the song that dies with every note
left unsung
as we walk on by
the bodies 
lying huddled 
along the sidewalks
of the cities we built 
with ladders to the top 
only the privileged few
can climb.

I dreamed I wrote a poem
without words
and no one listened.

Scorched

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C.C. and I set out late one afternoon for the west coast. We didn’t know what the drive would be like. Fires burned throughout the interior. The news was grim. Had we left the next day, we’d have been forced to take a long detour as the Highway closed due to one of the fires swooping down from the mountain side, jumping the highway and cutting off access.

We couldn’t see the numerous fires burning all around but the air was heavy with the smell and feel of smoke. The sky ominous. Apocalyptic.

We made it through to the coast and spent ten wonderful days with family in Vancouver and on Gabriola Island. C.C. was happy to spend the week on Gabriola with my sister and her husband — gracious hosts they share their beautiful home on the mountainside overlooking the ocean with open arms, hearts and kitchen. Despite having broken a kneecap two months ago, my sister never fails to cook up delectable and copious amounts of vegan fare.

In Vancouver, I savoured time with my daughter and her family, my grandchildren filling my heart to overflowing with joy and laughter.

On Monday, the highway once again open for passage, we drove back beneath smoke-filled skies while fires continued to burn out of control, though not as pressing up against cities, villages and homes as before.

When we reached the area where the fire had jumped the highway, it was grim.

Burnt out trees. Downed powerlines. Shells of cars littered driveways where once a garage stood in front of a home that was now vanished.

The devastation was both surreal and terrifying.

I stand in awe of the courage shown by firefighters and those families who frantically safeguarded their dearest belongings, escorting their children and pets to safety.

A friend relayed a harrowing account: ash and smoke blanketed the sky for days. They were away when the winds changed, steering the fire towards their home. News of their community’s fate was scarce, leading to an agonizing night of uncertainty. Miraculously, the fire forked around their property, sparing them and their neighbors. But not everyone was as fortunate. On their side of the lake, 170 properties were either damaged or devoured by the flames, with another 139 in West Kelowna also lost.

And still, the fires persist.

Driving through the fire’s path, witnessing its unyielding march to the lake, was both a humbling and heart-wrenching experience. The scale of the devastation was overwhelming.

But in the midst of this tragedy, I find solace. No lives were lost. I’m grateful for the brave souls who confront such perils head-on, ensuring others find safety. And I’m relieved that our friends have a home to return to.

Namaste.

Scorched
By Louise Gallagher

Red hot
forest
earth
scorched black
grasses seared
grimy soot scattered
beneath billowing clouds
pregnant
with smoky vapors
wafting
on the wind
like ghostly messengers
telegraphing 
Mother Nature’s losses
to distant horizons.

Far above, soaring
swoops
of blue-sky sail
effortlessly to infinity.

In every ending 
a beginning
opens the door
to new tomorrows.

Today I Choose Me.

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I have been away. Mentally and physically.

The mental absence came first. Summer. Heat. Smoky skies. Long days. Short nights. They all intersected as I slipped into summer doldrums, taking leave of fingers skimming keyboard amidst my morning ritual of writing.

In summer’s lingering days, I return. Slowly.

Last night, in the writing circle I share with Ali Grimashaw and four other women poets, I wrote a poem I’ve titled, I Am Not Lost.

I was not lost to this space. I was somewhere else, living, breathing, being present, in all my messy liveliness. Warts. Bruises. Beauty and all.

Fashion blogger and new age spiritualist, Audrey Kitching writes, “Take a break and give your soul what it needs.”

I wonder if my break was my soul’s need or my critter mind’s desire?

Only I have the answer.

I choose to beleive my break was necessary. A needed rest from putting fingertips to keyboard and letting the words fall out.

Last night, I wrapped my fingers around a pen and let the words flow onto the lined pages of my poetry journal.

It felt…. soul-refreshing. reviving. Like I was pouring cool spring water down my throat at the end of a long journey across the desert.

Perhaps my break was the desert? Perhaps, my critter mind did have control, willing me to step away from doing what I know feeds my soul every morning.

I smile.

The mind is a facile place when questioned on its intentions.

Good, bad, indifferent – I get to choose how I label everything in my life.

Today, I choose labels that nourish and sustain me. Today, I choose labels that fill me up with possibility, hope, and the gift of being present within all that I bring to this moment, right now.

Today, I choose Me. Right here. Where I am..

I Am Not Lost.
©2023 Louise Gallagher

It’s called Kintsugi, she says
holding the round bowl towards me.

I savour it on my tongue,
press my lips against its smooth
delicious consonants and vowels.

Kintsugi, I breathe.

I cup the bowl in my hands,
my fingers etch the golden strands 
linking the broken shards of pottery.

Kintsugi, I whisper, pressing my lips against the word
holding it tight within my body.

You are not broken, she says. 
You are mended fragments of light
surrounding the broken spaces
where once you believed
you were lost.

You are not lost.
You are here, holding this bowl
that once was broken.

My hands cup its smooth surface.
I trace the cracks and feel the light
returning.

I am not broken.
I am not lost.
I am here.

Is Your Personal Baggage Allowance Exceeded?

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At the beginning of his book, “The Power of Regret: How Looking Backward Moves Us Forward,” author Daniel Pink shares a quote from American essayist and novelist, James Baldwin:

“Though we would like to live without regrets, and sometimes proudly insist that we have none, this is not really possible, if only because we are mortal.” – JAMES BALDWIN, 1967

When I worked at an adult emergency homeless shelter, I had the privilege of sitting with numerous individuals as they traveled the final steps on their life journey. Every one of them expressed the desire to leave this world unburdened by regret. Mostly, their regrets stemmed not from the homelessness they’d experienced, but the broken relationships with the ones they loved.

In some cases, as the end neared, they reconciled with lost family members. In others, the lost ones wanted nothing to do with their wayward family member. I have often wondered if the lost ones regret their decision.

When my mother took her last breath three years ago, I felt regret’s sting upon my psyche. There were so many things left unsaid, wounds unhealed, forgiveness neither asked for nor given.

I had to do something with those regrets. Surprisingly, it was my deceased mother who helped me most.

For about six months after she died, a vision of her visited me regularly (I know that sounds airy-fairy, but it’s the only way I can explain what happened). My mother didn’t appear as the quiet, reserved, compliant woman I knew but as the spirited Holly Golightly, Audrey Hepburn’s iconic character from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” Other than dark hair and eyes, about the only other trait they shared was a certain inability to identify with other people’s feelings.

In life, my mother insisted she could do no wrong, and insisted she didn’t. As her youngest daughter, I insisted she could and did. And that was the chasm that lay between us.

It was my therapist who gave me the key to healing that relationship in the afterlife. “Some relationships,” she said, “can’t be healed until the other person is gone.”

And then, my mother was gone.

And then, she appeared one day while I lay in the bath and told me she was sorry for not being a better mother. For not being able to see me in life through the lens of love, not regret.

She also told me I didn’t have to keep adding bubbles to my bathwater in the hopes she wouldn’t see my naked body. “I’m spirit,” she told me. “I can see right through you.”

As in life, I ignored her and kept pouring in the bubbles.

According to Pink, regret is not only healthy and universal; it is a valuable self-development tool. It can spur us on to learn from the past, grow in the present, and lighten the load of what we carry into the future.

Harnessed wisely, regret can help us do and create better on our life journey.

For me, my regrets around my relationship with my mother stemmed from my desire for having ‘the perfect mother.’

Being a mother, I realize there is no such thing.

Yet still, I wanted my mother to see and know me, not as that ‘bratty’ child I used to be, but as the wise, compassionate woman I strive to be today.

Over the course of the months she came to visit me from the afterlife, I realized my greatest regret was that I was neither very wise nor compassionate in my interactions with her.

To quote Dan Pink:

“Regret makes us human
Regret makes us better”

To let go of my regret and ultimately to grow as a human being, I had to choose to undo and reframe my regret so that I could forgive myself and let go of any remaining vestiges of regret I held about my mother. Fuelled by the grace of forgiveness, I am able to make wiser, more loving decisions today.

Every moral’s journey of life is marked by choices, paths taken, and roads left unexplored. Regret is an integral part of this journey, a bitter-sweet reminder of our humanity. However, it doesn’t have to weigh us down. My experience with my mother taught me that regrets can be reframed and even embraced to foster growth, healing, and compassion. Whether it’s a relationship with a parent, friend, or anyone else, we have the power to transform our regrets into wisdom. By doing so, we create space for forgiveness and love, not just for others, but for ourselves.

In the end, perhaps that’s the greatest lesson regret offers: a chance to become better, more compassionate human beings.

Rainy Days and Fridays

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Over at David Kanigan’s blog, he shares an excerpt from an article by Frank Bruni, “A Personal Summery Note” (NY Times, July 27, 2023).

Bruni invited others to send him their stories of summer’s they remember.

Bruni also inspired me to remember summer’s past in my response to DK’s post. My memories are tinged however with the current reality of wildfires raging and Mother Earth pleading with humankind to do something different to prevent the destruction of our planet.

Sigh. I think my mind is soaked with dread or… perhaps I just need to quit reading and listening to the news. Good think we no longer have a TV in our home. It could be worse!

It’s already a welcome kind of grey sky day here so I thought I’d dampen it some more with what I wrote along with a photo of Sir Beaumont of Sheepadoodle who looks equally as woebegone!

Thoughts of summer days burned deep into my cellular memories scuttle away from the starkness of current reality where 1,000 wildfires rage across the country. Of flash floods dragging lives into their undertow. Of children crying for lost pets and homes drowning beneath Mother Nature’s twistied winds and scorching heat.

Once upon a time, summer was full of carefree thoughts and endless days spent lazing between pool and lounge chair. Melting ice cream dripping down the sides of a sugar cone onto hot, but not too hot concrete. Of sitting in the car while the gods bowled in the skies above, because somewhere in my child’s mind, I beleived the car was the safest place to be when lightning strikes.

I don’t remember lightning igniting forests across the land. I don’t remember broadcasters droning on about warming seas and melting permafrast or storms that ignited forests,

In these modern climes lightening strikes carry fear-laden clouds of dread devestating boreal forests beneath their wrathful strikes. News feeds roll on and on with stories of tragedies falling upon strangers lives like the one about an elderly woman in Phoenix tipping over in her wheel chair onto too hot concrete that seared her skin to the third degree.

I yearn for those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer where the northern hemisphere seemed to slip easily into slow gear with the arrival of the Summer Solstice. Under a Solstice moon gravity cradled me in comforting thoughts of Planet Earth held steadfast in its orbit around the sun burning away lingering memories of winter’s harsh winds blasting.

I am lazing in bed today. it’s a misty, drizzly kind of morning and yesterday, because I chose to wear shoes I know don’t work well with my feet, my right foot is a tad (very) sore today. My own doing. But… along with the grey skies, it makes for a good excuse to R&R for a bit and ignore the list of chores I had planned to do.

Ahhh…. those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer.

Namaste

PS. I do highly recommend hopping on over to David’s place. It’s an enchanting read today

Change: Are you willing?

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This morning, in the quiet of meditation, a profound question surfaced. “Aside from what Mother Nature creates, everything else on this planet Earth that we call our home has been built by humankind. If we don’t like what we’ve created, what are we willing to do to change it?”

We live in a world that is largely our own creation – a complex tapestry woven from the threads of human ingenuity, creativity, and ambition. It’s in our nature to be creators. From the simplest of tools used by our ancestors to the sophisticated technologies of more recent decades, we have always found ways to shape the world around us, molding it to better serve our needs, desires and aspirations.

Yet, our creations aren’t always perfect. We’ve built towering cities that touch the sky, but at the cost of pristine forests and ecosystems. We’ve developed incredible technologies that connect us instantaneously, yet we often feel more isolated than ever. We’ve striven for efficiency and convenience, only to find ourselves bound by the chains of consumerism, a consumerism that too often gives rise to a deep-seated dissatisfaction with what we have, and what we have not.

Which brings me back to the question that arose in my meditation. “What are we willing to do when we don’t like what we’ve built?”

It’s not an easy thought. There are parts of me that are willing to let go of things, ways of doing and being that don’t serve the world. But, let’s be honest here, there are also parts that don’t want to let go of the things that make my life easier. The things I really like. Like electricity, driving my car, flying places, new clothes, a well-stocked fridge, a mindset of discarding things I don’t need only to replace them by ‘newer, better, bigger’..

This morning as I gaze out at a perfect blue sky day, I wonder, “What am I truly willing to change?”

In August, C.C. and I will be driving to the west coast to visit family and friends. Taking gifts for my grandchildren fills my heart with joy. Yet, they already have a wealth of toys, books, clothes, THINGS. Am I willing to forgo my consumerism to simpy be present within the joy of our connection?

Am I willing to change for the better of the planet?

Given the state of the world today, do I have a choice not to?

Embracing the idea of change can feel unsettling, but it’s crucial for our planet today, and for my peace of mind.

In this world of floods, raging wildfires, war, hunger and starvation, isn’t it time to challenge the status quo and push our boundaries? Isn’t it time we all advocate for sustainable practices to conserve our environment, promote genuine human connection over virtual interactions, or resist the incessant pull of mindless consumerism?

If not now, when?

Individually, there is a lot we can each do. And if we each start doing similar things, we have a chance to create collective action that does make a difference. Because, the kind of changes Planet Earth needs us to make do not occur in isolation. It’s going to take a collaborative effort, requiring us to bridge our differences, pool our resources, and unify our goals. It may demand sacrifices and require us to forgo certain comforts, but if the end goal is a world that is sustainable, a world that aligns more closely with our true desires for life on earth, then the effort is surely worth it.

Which brings me back to the question that arose from my meditation: What are we willing to do to change the world we’ve built if we don’t like it?

It is not just a passing thought. It’s an urgent call to action. If we can learn anything from our past, it’s that we are the architects of our own reality. We have the power to dismantle the structures we’ve built and create something far better in its stead.

Our willingness to change is the first step towards a more harmonious and sustainable future.

Are you willing?

Namaste

Awash in Gratitude

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This past weekend was overflowing with illumination and personal understanding, courtesy of Discovery Seminars and my choice to step outside my comfort zone to explore what’s possible beyond its limitations.

I first took a leap of faith into the world of Discovery Seminars back in April 2006. At the time, I didn’t know I was about to plunge into a four-and-a-half day journey of introspection, ready to challenge my self-limiting beliefs and the self-defeating games that consistently made me live smaller than I deserved. I thought I was doing it for a friend who had asked me to support them on their journey.

It was nothing short of a mental revolution.

Those four and a half days, plus the following two weekend sessions, opened a realm of possibilities for those of us who were skeptical about change and stubbornly wished that everyone else would change while we remained the same.

Back in 2006, this life-altering experience was known as ‘Choices.’ However, the pandemic prompted a rebranding and rejuvenation, transforming it into an even more potent opportunity for self-discovery.

To quote a former boss of mine, “Change is here to stay.” And, while the people at the front of the room have changed, and some of the processes have been refreshed and reworked, the biggest change remains what happens to those who walk through the doors to discover that, while change may be an inevitable part of life, it doesn’t have to dictate our path. We possess the power to take charge and shape our own journey through it.

For me, a significant change this weekend  came through my Saturday morning contribution to the seminar.

Ever since my early thirties, I have championed movement as a form of meditation or therapy, having been inspired by Gabriel Roth’s 5 Rhythms practice during a week-long course where, guided by a certified 5-Waves practitioner, we explored the fundamental principles of this practice and learned how to impart its gifts to others.

Years rolled by with me actively participating in and leading workshops on the 5 Rhythms. But, somewhere in my late fifties, I found myself retreating from group practices. I still danced and practiced embodied movement alone in my studio, but I distanced myself from the communal experience.

This past Saturday, however, marked my return to leading a session, and it was profoundly moving.

For 40 glorious minutes, about 40 of us, all of whom were participants in the Discovery Seminar, allowed our bodies to inform our movements in sync with the music I had curated for the session.

The beauty of embodied movement lies in its ability to connect us with the deep, healing silence of stillness. Throughout the session I only provided a gentle guidance to shift with the rhythms of the music (the 5 waves), allowing each individual to move at their pace, dancing their personal dance with the rhythm.

“Everyone and everything is welcome in this space,” I assured the group before we began. “There are no right or wrong steps. There’s no singular way to move or to feel the rhythm. The only guiding force here is the way your body yearns to move, the path it chooses to guide you along.”

It was an utterly liberating experience to witness over 40 individuals, fully immersed in their personal journeys, moving with their bodies’ calling, and defying the inner voices of self-doubt whispering discouragements like, “You’ll look silly,” or “You don’t know what you’re doing!” These are the devious hissings of our ‘critter-mind’ pulling us into playing small, encouraging us to hide from the light of our own magnificence.

The freedom to move according to your body’s calling, to delve deeper into its core, is an experience that’s profoundly liberating and healing.And gratifying. To have a participant tell me they hadn’t felt peace like that in a long, long time, filled my heart with joy.

I am awash in gratitude. Leading that workshop was a beautiful awakening to what is truly possible when I let go of the things I tell myself are no longer so.

I am grateful for CH and BM for trusting me, even when they had no idea what the workshop was about. I am thankful to those who turned up to listen to their bodies calling them to move to their own beat and their encouragement to ‘Do this again.” I am grateful for the music and the rhythm of life that moves me to dance.

I am so blessed.

Namaste.

Expect the Unexpected and You Won’t Be Disappointed

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It’s been strange kind of two days.

Yesterday morning, in the midst of completing a project for work, I heard the whisper of the wise voice within calling me to pay attention.

“This one’s for you Louise,” it said. “You want to do it. It’s only fear of the unknown holding you back.”

Huh?

I do?

I knew what of the voice was whispering.

For some time now I’ve been pondering what I want to do for my upcoming 70th birthday that would be a celebration of life, adventure and the fierce woman inside dancing in her own light.

Heeding the voices whisperings, I waked upstairs from my office, walked into the bedroom, woke C.C. and said, “I think I’ll book a flight to Ireland.”

Okay. Full disclosure. I had the airline app open on my phone and was about to press, ACCEPT.

From his sleep-addled mind, C.C. replied, “Oh.”

I waited.

“Okay. Good for you.” After which he promptly rolled over, closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

I pressed ACCEPT.

On Sep 30, I fly to Dublin for 10 days doing something, I’m not sure what, in Ireland. It is my father’s motherland and it feels… right.

Entering this new decade I want to live by the adage, “Expect the unexpected and you’ll never be disappointed.”

And that’s just the first of my trilogy of unusual happenings.

Later, C.C. and I were talking about dinner and out of the blue, I said, “What about dinner and a movie?”

I had my writer’s group so whatever we were doing, it had to be after 7:30. Which is why we ended up becoming members of the Cineplex VIP club. At 8pm, we were comfortably ensconced in our lounger chairs in front of a ginormous screen, eating dinner, chatting and waiting for our movie to begin.

What made it so unusual is the fact dinner and movie nights were a regular feature in C.C. and my calendar. This, however, was the first movie we’ve gone to since COVID’s reign. And the first time we’d experienced the VIP treatment. It was AWESOME!

The third thing is not quite so refreshing.

This morning, while sitting at my desk in front of our big picture window that overlooks our backyard, and the stretch of woods between it and the river, I smelled smoke, and then saw smoke rising from somewhere in the trees.

I immediately jumped into action, yelling at C.C. to “Get up and come see!” After a few minutes of deliberations, I hit 911 on my phone and told the operator what was transpiring.

Within minutes, a fire truck arrived, three fire fighters walked along the unmarked (and seldom trod in the summer as the woods are so dense) trail along the river and found someone encamped, warming themselves by a fire.

“You can’t light a fire in the woods,” one of the firefighters told the individual. And the fire was extinguished.

I appreciate that living and sleeping rough is hard.

I also appreciate that we have both a drug and housing crisis in our country.

However, we also have a wildfire crisis. A fire in the woods behind our house is terrifying.

My heart rate has come back to nomral, my mind has stopped racing. I feel empathy and compassion for the individual in the woods. I don’t mind having him camped there (though I’d prefer if he used a shelter.) Sleeping rough is risky, particularly if drugs are involved.

However, lighting a fire in the woods behind our house is not acceptable. I shall stay vigilant.

C.C. and Beaumont have gone back to bed. I continue to sit at my desk, savouring the beauty of this glorious July morning.

I have adventures afoot.

Perhaps these two days are the invitation to get used to living within a world of unexpected’s. Perhaps, it’s the invitation to let go of fear and dive into adventure!

Namaste

Boundaries: The Difference Between Yours and Mine

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Boundaries – a line that marks the limit of an area, a concept we grasp as physical demarcation between one space and another. But when it comes to our emotional landscape, these lines become blurred, complex, and often invisible. Yet they are equally, if not more, significant for our wellbeing.

The absence of boundaries is like trying to hold water in your hands without a container – you lose yourself in an unstructured space, susceptible to the whims and influences of others. You become a canvas upon which others paint whatever they want, with little consideration for your emotional integrity.

This realization dawned on me many years ago when I found myself telling someone, “I’m getting tired of you crossing the boundaries I refuse to set.” The stark truth of my words hit me hard. It begged the question – Are my boudnaries like that proverbial tree falling in the forest with no one around to hear it fall? If I don’t set boundaries, is anyone crossing them?

Sometimes, we find ourselves blaming others for overstepping our boundaries, when in fact, it’s our responsibility to set and honor them. Like a lighthouse in the fog, our boundaries guide us to safe harbors, away from the rocky shores of emotional distress.

The challenge is, you’ve got to know your boundaries to set them. For me, because mine weren’t clear, it was really hard when I first began this work to get clear on what I wanted, allowed and didn’t allow in my life. It required scrupulous self-reflection and difficult conversations. But it was crucial to my emotional health and in ensuring that my relationships are respectful and reciprocal.

And the bottomline is, I’m worth it. I’m worth doing the work of knowing myself deeply and honouring my own needs. So are you.

The question is, how do we define our boundaries? What makes a boundary healthy? They aren’t lines drawn in anger or fear. They’re created from self-understanding and respect for our own needs and limits. Healthy boundaries involve clear communication of our expectations and the consequences if these lines are crossed. They are firm yet flexible, allowing for growth and change.

Acknowledging our feelings, needs, and values is the first step in establishing our boundaries. These can be as simple as setting aside personal time for relaxation or as complex as articulating our expectations in a romantic relationship.

And here’s the thing. Setting boundaries is only half the journey. Upholding them requires strength, courage, and consistency. We need to understand that it’s okay to say no, that it’s acceptable to prioritize our needs, and that standing up for ourselves is not selfish but self-preserving.

Remember, each time we compromise our boundaries, we’re not just bending rules – we’re subtly telling ourselves that our needs, our wellbeing, aren’t important.

Embracing boundaries as a fundamental part of who we are is a lifelong journey. The first step is understanding that boundaries aren’t limitations, but definitions. They define who we are, what we need, and how we want to be treated. They’re not walls, but markers of respect – both for ourselves and others.

In the end, we cannot control how others behave. We can control how we respond. Respecting our own boundaries, calmly, firmly holding them in place with tender heart and hands, eases tension while creating joyful, loving spaces that honours and celebrates the differences between us. In those differences lies a sea of limitless possibilities for life to blossom in all its living colours.

Oh! And to the individual to whom I said, “I’m tired of you crossing the boundaries I refuse to set”… Thank you for laughing with me at the realization of how ludicrous my utterance was. I’m grateful for your compassionate care as I walked into experiencing my truth coming to light.