Magic forest near our place in Mission.

The questions I have yet to ask gnaw at me. Their invisible teeth grating ever so gently on my conscience. Pressing tenderly in all the right places.

Inviting me to open.

I stopped writing my book almost a year and a half ago. I stopped writing my blog shortly after that.

I have had a few brief spurts of writing since, but they have mostly been a slog, and somewhat forced.

I still journal, of course.

And I have still been writing my life – in big ways, too. I am engaged to be married. I am building a law practice. I am renting an acreage in Mission, BC – 5 acres to escape to every weekend. My own little retreat.

Life is good. Full. Fulfilling.

Yet. Yet. Yet.

The questions I have yet to answer prod me.

Quietly, so that sometimes I cannot even hear them. I feel them whistling in my bones.

When will you write your book? Why have you stopped blogging? Will you start again? What about coaching? What about law? Can you hold it all?

Is there a right time to begin again? Will things slow down? Will there be an opening? Will I open?

What will I say? And to whom?

Scratch, scratch, scratch. Prod, prod, prod.

God, I love to write.

Writing is freedom if I have ever felt it.

Yet I hold back.

For good reason.

I needed to pause. I needed to stop. I needed to rest.

I needed to reassess.

What are my priorities? Are my feet on the ground?

Writing is flying if I have ever experienced it.

Pure exhilarating bliss.

Can I write, and be sure to land?

The questions I am asking are hard ones. Big ones. Pervasive ones.

They permeate all aspects of my life. The consequences are sharp and unforgiving… if I crash.

I will not crash. I tell myself this as I start to get a taste again now, of this flying.

I feel my heart skip a beat, and then catch itself. Like the first days of being in love when the risk still outweighs giving in to the rush. But barely.

I know the love is going to win.

It is just so, so good. The wind. The endless sky. Being up there in the clouds where the pulse of that other world is so near. I can feel its magic. Its beckoning.

I will do this differently, this time. Slow.

I place my feet on the ground now, to make sure I am still here. Tomorrow I will be sharp, focused, and on the ball, in service of my clients.

The fluttering quiets.

I know what I need to do. I always have.

I am on a journey of holding it all.

The choices I have before me are not easy ones. To stay true to my soul my decisions will need to be more measured than my dreamers’ heart would like.

And yet, some questions have been answered. I can do this. And I must.

I can not deny: I am alive when I write!

Xo,

Danielle

Photo by Megan Alcock

I’m going to try to explain something fundamental about the way I create lasting transformation in my life using the metaphor of a warm coat. Bear with me here. I’m not too sure how it will go.

I am someone who’s language is emotion but who lives in her head. I am passionate and idealistic. In my natural state this culture would call me naiive. Someone who has her head in the clouds and wears her heart on her sleeve. A dreamer. A visionary. A romantic. A fool.

A learned the hard way a few times, in this culture, that you get hurt living like that. A searing kind of hurt that freezes you numb like bare skin exposed to a -50C wind chill in Manitoba, and then jabs you again with one thousand needles as you warm up.

So I put on a coat. A really warm, double-lined parka, with fur in the hood. To be honest I went whole hog (Manitoba farm reference there - see how I did that) and also put on snow pants, boots, wool socks, mitts, toque and scarf. Let’s just say I bundled myself up real good, and then went back into the world.

To get the idea, you have to picture this: my whole body was puffed up two times its size. The only thing you could see were my eyes, and even they were narrowed and partially covered by colourful folds of yarn. But that was ok by me. In fact, initially I felt good.

Winter passed with ease. No more hurt. No more pain. No more cold.

When springtime came and the weather warmed, I found I could not bring myself to take off the coat. How could I be sure winter was really over? I asked myself. What if I take it off, and then tomorrow wake to find the temperature has dropped and I have hypothermia?

The risk was simply too much, and so, I endured the discomfort of a warm coat to appease the fear of an unpredictable winter.

Summer came, and I was HOT. I sweated profusely and shied away from all fun in the sun, but still, I would not take off my coat. It has done me well so far, I would retort to all nay-sayers. In fact, it has saved my life! I could not have survived that cold without it. I simply cannot give it up now.

Within a short time it was fall. The air was fresh and crisp and magnificent-coloured leaves began to fall. I was unable to go out and enjoy either in my too-warm lumpy layers, but I could sense cold weather was around the corner. Winter is coming, I whispered to my coat, who was now my friend. I’m so glad you are here.

When winter finally arrived I was of course was ready, but by this time I didn’t really care to go out. I was so accustomed to avoiding the warm weather, it seemed absurd to go out into hostile conditions simply because I had warm clothes!

So I stayed inside with my coat and missed out on all of it: the first snow, the ice-lined trees, the whiteouts and the coldest darkest nights of the season.

At first, it felt great. Inside, with my coat, I no longer had to worry about the weather.

At least not the weather out there.

After a while, I began getting chills without going outside, and without taking off my coat. The chills became more frequent, and brought with them aches. I layered on more coats, but the pain would not break, until I realized one night: I had not avoided my pain by retreating in my coat; rather, I had created the coldest night of the season in my very own house!

I threw my coat down on the floor and stomped the ground. How dare you trick me like that!? I shouted. I’m done with you!

That night was a cold one, let me tell you. By the time morning came icicle tears covered my face and my arms were dead blue.

I rolled over, and put on my coat, as it was the only thing I knew to do.

And so began the season of "Trying to Remove a Warm Coat”.

It is understated how hard a thing that is, to remove a warm coat. It is a warm coat after all, and it really does protect you from cold weather.

In my experience three things can happen when you realize that the warm coat that protects you from frostbite in -50C Manitoba winter cannot protect you from the cold of a closed heart:

1. You force yourself back into denial, and weigh yourself down with so many coats you can no longer think clearly enough to identify the coats as the problem.

2. You try to use discipline to stop wearing coats cold-turkey and beat the crap out of yourself whenever you feel yourself reaching for their comfort.

3. You practice staying aware of the “problem” of the coat (that it is not really helping you stay warm), and having compassion for yourself when you still want to wear it, until the day comes that you honestly don’t.

In my experience most people try #1 or #2. I have tried both, and neither really works. #3 is the only way I have ever removed a warm coat sustainably. The process of #3 goes like this:

After realizing the coat is not solving the problem of the deeper cold within me, out of a need for comfort and familiarity, I reach for the coat. I practice not shaming myself. I honour my process. I trust.

The next day, still remembering that the coat is not really keeping me warm, I set it down. I tentatively try something new - I journal, breathe deep, draw - find some other way of dealing with the pain than the coat.

The next day I panic. The pain is still there. I put on the coat. But at a deeper level I am still aware the coat is not what I need. On days 2 - 5 I set aside the coat. On those days I research ways to deal with pain that are not related to the coat. I reach out to a friend. I express myself through art.

Day 6, I panic: back to the coat.

Months 1 - 6 look similar to days 1 - 6. Yet, there is no doubt, the deeper awareness has not wavered: pain does not go away if I smother it with a coat. I am committed to finding another way that actually heals the pain. Forward/backwards as this process may seem eventually I cross a threshold, and I realize that my days of wearing coats year-round are over.

I might burn my old coat ceremoniously, or simply hang it up in the closet for a rest, until -50C rolls around next winter. Either way, because of the permission I have given myself throughout to choose and the compassion I have shown myself no matter my choice, I know the threshold I have crossed is genuine and the transformation irreversible.

Without my coat, I am free to smell the roses, soak in the sun and jump in the freshly fallen leaves as they say. I can even skinny dip in the ocean on a crisp winter morning, but we’ll leave that post for another day.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, “a warm coat” is a metaphor for the substances and/or habits we use to avoid or numb our feelings. It can be as extreme as an addiction, or as seemingly benign as “being busy with work” or avoiding creative expression or deeper intimacy with loved ones. For me it has shown up as all of the above at different times.

I invite you to consider how it shows up for you, and how you are relating to putting your warm coat down to enjoy the sunshine.

Wherever you are at I hope you are being kind to yourself. I know its not easy. But transformation requires love, not self-flagellation. And you are worth it.

I’m on the journey with you.

xo,

Danielle

I’ve changed my mind about a lot of things this year.

And it hasn’t been easy.

My home. My career. My philosophy. My creative work in the world. My beliefs about politics, government, healthcare, and law. My understanding of who I am and the ways I can contribute to the world. All of these things have undergone a revision. A layer of glossy idealism (and escapism, and spiritual bypassing) has been stripped off to revel the raw tender skin of a fresh start.

I feel like a baby learning to walk, but saddled with an adult mind that wakes up every morning believing her chubby little legs ought to run. The result is repeated stumbling, falling and grabbing on to things for support (some helpful, some not).

This is not a pity post. 2020 has been a tough year for many (most? all?).

I don’t feel sad or mad or sorry for myself. I have many times felt those things this year, don’t get me wrong. But those feelings are more surface level than where I am writing from right now.

Embracing the humility of being a beginner is the thing I have been avoiding. It feels good not to be doing that anymore.

It feels good to be where I am at, and to be honest with myself.

I still have trouble being with all of the feedback that comes from being at the beginning of a new chapter. Can there really be so much more to learn? So much I don’t know?

And at the same time can I still be confident in what I do know, and what I do have to share with the world?

It is embracing this duality that is frankly the hardest. I’m comfortable being the student, and I’m comfortable being the teacher. When the roles are defined and its clear that either I know more on the subject, or you do, I am fine. Either way I do not have to risk anything. My ego can stay unchallenged and my heart can stay closed.

It is when I don’t know for sure that I’ve got it, but I confidently try my best anyways, while keeping my heart open to feedback that is constructive - that is where the teacher and the student disappear, and the leader shows up.

So many people speak about this superficially. Be confident. Do your best. Put yourself out there. Be willing to accept feedback. That is how you grow.

Yada yada yada.

Yes. These things are true. And they are f****** hard.

When someone gives me negative feedback on something I’ve confidently said or done, I find it so hard to not take it personally. Either I make myself right and get defensive, or (more likely) make myself wrong and feel stupid and ashamed.

If I am going to be really honest in this post - and I am, because that is what writing is for me: a place where my truth can find its voice - my inability to consistently receive feedback without crumbling is probably the biggest reason why my staying power in my creative and professional endeavors has been short.

Without confidence and a willingness to grow in front of others, real commitment cannot be made.

This is something I have learned in my romantic partnership. Which I am proud to say has been a safe space for both confidence and growth for two and a half years now, and counting.

Saying yes to committed partnership in my romantic relationship is what created the possibility of me showing up as all of me, and for that to be enough. When I had one foot out the door in my past relationships, that was never possible.

The same is true for my career. Since graduating law school in 2010 I have always had one foot out the door. I am saying yes now. I am committing.

I am still in the middle of the transformation instigated by my ‘yes’. I am not yet secure in who I am becoming inside of it.

Every day asks me to give more of myself than makes me comfortable, and every day I face the reality that I am still a beginner. Every day I practice choosing confidence and the willingness to grow. Every day I choose to have faith in myself and in my choice.

Talking about a thing is always easier than becoming it.

I am becoming a person who has the confidence to speak her mind and also change it in the face of feedback that is warranted. I am not yet her every day, but she is in me.

So, I am hereby declaring it.

Leadership is possible within my ‘yes’.

xo,

Danielle

Sometimes I get angry when I remember that life works in cycles, and not a straight line.

It’s not really the cyclical nature of life that angers me; it’s that we are taught that it is not. It’s that in our Western culture we are taught that if we just try hard enough, and do it right, that we can by-pass the back-peddling and bee-line straight for the heavens. 

I know these false promises well. I have lived them and written about them and tried to let them go for years.

I have also been on the West Coast long enough to know that on the way to the top of a mountain there will be switchbacks. Giving yourself a little talking to for failing to bring the right climbing gear, sure. But telling yourself that if only you had tried harder you would have been able to glide straight up like a gondola. Now that is just cruel.

That is why the red-hot anger rises up my throat when I realize again that I have been measuring myself against an unnatural line of accomplishment.

Can you relate?

I’m sure I’m not the only one who gets angry for finding themselves in the same quandary that they found themselves only weeks or months or years before.

I mean how many times do we need to learn the same thing?! (*throws hands up exasperatedly and looks towards the sky*)

When I get over my anger (which I have), I find it comical that we are so good at telling ourselves (and believing) that trying harder will stop the world from going round, and place us on a staircase that leads only up, to higher and better ground.

It is actually quite a beautiful flaw of humanity that we can believe in such an absurd alternative reality. But blindness (even blissful blindness) always comes with a cost. And the cost of this, frankly, delusional belief, is that we keep trying harder and running faster even when there is no where to run to, or from.

If another species capable of empathy were looking down on us, I’m sure they would see beauty, but they would also be sad. And they would whisper to each other, “With the magnificence of creation existing on this planet all around them, where are they going to, and why are they going so fast?”

Oh my, the truth of this hits me hard. I have caught myself again running.

I have come full circle on another cycle of expansion and integration; I am practicing “holding it all”. But because of the conditioning of our culture running deep within my veins, instead of feeling celebratory and accomplished, I have been resisting and resentful, and judging myself for not being “further ahead” on the imaginary linear trajectory of success.

Well, F--- that.

Mine is a practice of rewriting, and this story of straight-lined success is one that runs deep. So, I will keep practicing to come home to myself in the present. I will keep circling around the mountain, rewriting this story in the depths of me, and reminding myself at every switchback that “I have not gone backwards”: It is an illusion.

You must always retreat, and circle around, to arrive at a higher plane.

I am at a higher plane within myself. I am more deeply connected with my soul. I am more expansive, and more aligned. External accomplishments are not adequate measures of what I came here for.

So here’s what I have learned (and keep learning again):

Some years we go forward, and some years we switch back. Not because we are conceding the climb, but because we are, in our rest and recalibration, cultivating the depth, the breadth and the stamina needed to keep showing up to the journey our souls came here to have.

Life always has been, and always will be, a sacred spiral. 

The straight-line to success is a lie. It is a product of our Western culture that has forgotten that humans are not machines, and success is not separate from Life.

Remembering with you.

Xo,

Danielle 

Today I want to introduce you to someone.

Amelia Washington being gifted harvesting bags.

Her name is Amelia Washington. She is an Indigenous elder, healer, teacher, leader and member of the Nooaitch Band and the Nicola Valley Institute of Technology’s Elders Council in Merritt, B.C.

Before I do, I want to share a little bit about how Amelia came to be special to me and my partner Jason.

To do that I need to take you on a little journey beginning back in early June when my partner and I embarked on 23-day adventure around B.C., living out of our renovated campervan we affectionately named Hedwig.

My partner and I are looking for a home. More specifically, we are looking for a piece of land where we can create a refuge in nature, and invite others to experience a different way of life. I had this knowing that it would be the land itself that would call us in; that we would fall in love with a place and its people, and that the logical mind would not be the one to get final say on this decision.  

So, we decided to explore what B.C. had to offer. We bought a van. We converted it to a camper. We prepared and researched and planned for provisions and safety and weather. We did not decide on a specific route, but we did set some intentions. 

Prior to setting out on Part 1 of our adventure in June, my partner and I both set the intention of wanting to connect deeply with the land, and to, if possible, meet and connect with some people who are indigenous to the places we were visiting, and learn a little bit of their customs and ways.

Given we were in the midst of a pandemic, we did not know how (or if) this would be possible. We both wanted above all else to be respectful, and agreed that we would not enter any community that was not accepting visitors.

Beyond these intentions, our plans were flexible. On June 1, 2020, we set out, heading north on Hwy 99 past Whistler. We knew our general direction: Prince George, Prince Rupert, then (hopefully) Haida Gwaii (although at the time we left the island was closed to visitors, and, spoiler alert, it still is so we did not get to visit), then back east and south, and eventually home.  We knew we had a little over three weeks, we knew our van fully loaded could sustain us 10-14 days, and we had an app that showed us some back-country camping places. That’s it. The rest was up to the pull of the land, and our hearts along the way.

The first thing I will say is that it is impossible to overstate the beauty of this province.

We were completely and repeatedly blown away.

Hwy 16 west of Terrace on the way to Prince Rupert.

The drive from Prince Rupert to Prince George along the Skeena River is heavenly. Driving east into the sunset on a winding deserted road alongside a train track, sandwiched between mountains to the north and the rushing Skeena to the south, I was left speechless and humbled; my heart that weird emotional mix of grief and hope and gratitude that shows up when we are reminded there is still untouched wildness and beauty in this world.

The rest of our adventures up north did not disappoint either. From Prince Rupert we headed east to Terrace, and then north into the Nass Valley, home to the Nisga’a Nation. From the eerily powerful experience of driving through the lava beds, to a middle of the night bear-filled adventure on an old pothole-laden logging road, to an unexpected birthday celebration with an Indigenous man north of Kitiwanga complete with fireworks, to endless campfires, sunsets and stars so bright they make city lights seem dull, the north stole our hearts.

Arriving back in Prince George we restocked on food and fuel, and had a much-needed shower at a Husky truck stop, before beginning our journey east on Hwy 16 towards McBride. Again, there are so many stories I could tell of the adventures we had on Hwy 16 and the little lakes that populate the land in this area, but I’m trying to get to the part of the story where we met Amelia and her family, so for now I will only say this: the magick never stopped.

Past McBride we turned south on Hwy 5 towards Kamloops, and the adventures continued. From being invited to join a bachelorette camp out, to skinny dipping with new friends, to mystical experiences with a local shop owner who encouraged us to make Clearwater area the home of our retreat centre, we were abundantly blessed with nourishing connection and the beauty of nature. Though I didn’t think it possible, I’d say Clearwater (and especially Dunn Lake) stole my heart even more than the powerful Skeena up north.

And then just when we thought it couldn’t possibly get better, it did. After a wonderful visit with my cousins in Chase east of Kamloops, and some exploration of the desert (which was stunning!), we found ourselves at a little recreation site on the Nicola River west of Merritt.

When we found a spot we liked, out of courtesy, Jason went over to meet out neighbour, and ask if he minded if we camped next to him. He was a middle-aged man with a camper and appeared to be by himself. He said sure, and later that evening came over for a beer at our campfire to get to know us.  We hit it off right away. Over the course of the evening he let us know that his wife and her family, who were Indigenous to the area, and members of the band who owned a portion of the recreation site, would be joining him the next day. He encouraged us to come over for a fire the next night and meet them.

Of course, we did. The following day we joined him at his fire, and met his wife, her sister, and “Aunt Amelia”. They were all very welcoming, and I had this feeling like we were supposed to meet them, and get to know them. Over the course of the four days we were camped next to them, we became good friends. We learned a lot about the area, its sacred sites, and the traditional ways of the Indigenous community in the area.

Amelia took us out to pick traditional herbs and medicines. She taught us about the plants in the area and some of their uses. She also made traditional bannock for us, and led a healing ceremony for Jason and I on our parting. Other family members, took us out for a drive on the land and showed us the property they were just starting to develop into a teaching and healing retreat centre, very similar to what Jason and I want to do. There were so many moments of serendipity and profound alignment with life.

We laughed for hours by the fire every night. Deep connections were forged. We were encouraged to come back. And so we will.

Jason and I have just embarked on Part 2 of our van adventure. We left this past Sunday and will be away until early September. We are exploring the southeast of B.C. this time, heading first to Nelson area, then north to Revelstoke, and back around through the Okanagan, before spending the last week of our adventure back in the Nicola Valley visiting our new friends.

We are still open to where we settle, but I can say that a little piece of my heart already lives in the Nicola Valley, and, regardless of where we end up, I am looking forward to visiting again, and will be forever grateful for the experience, and the connections.

I hope my story has given you a good sense of the generous and wise spirit of Amelia Washington.

You can learn a little bit more about Amelia’s history and background in this recent story published in the Merritt Herald (https://www.merrittherald.com/medicinal-garden-honours-elders-at-nvit/) and about her role on the Elder’s council at Nicola Valley Institute of Technology here: https://www.nvit.ca/about/elderscouncil.htm.

If you are interested in learning more about how to harvest and use traditional foods and medicines check out Amelia's Facebook page, Amelia’s Traditional Food Gathering. She is regularly taking groups out on the land to harvest the medicines that are in season.

You can also check out a video of Amelia on a recent CNA - c̓eweteʔ (Wild Celery) Harvest on July 3, 2020 here.

Amelia Washington welcoming their youth onto their land at the canoe launch on Nicola Lake.

Amelia is truly wise, intuitive and generous. She is a gift to all who cross her path. If you are ever in the Nicola Valley I encourage you to join one of the groups she takes out on the land to harvest traditional medicines. You will not be disappointed.

And now, the adventure continues…

Xo,

Danielle

I am a healer, not a fighter.
I make peace, not war.
But I do it by avoiding conflict,
which doesn’t get me very far.

This little jingle popped into my head yesterday as I was walking home. It’s getting kind of annoying. Partly because I can’t get it out of my head, and partly because it’s true.

Conflict has been on my mind a lot lately.

It seems that, try as I might, I can’t avoid it. In the past few years, conflict, and the discomfort it stirs in me, has been a core challenge in everything my soul has called me to create and to do.

I have never been one to seek out conflict. For most of my life, I have done whatever it takes to avoid it, including compromising my values, my integrity and my self-worth. Conflict has been showing up more and more in my life lately, in part because I have become less and less willing to compromise myself in these ways. But that was not always the case.

I learned from when I was very little that conflict kills relationships. As long as the conflict remains small enough, it can be covered up and the relationship can survive by pretending it doesn’t exist. However, as soon as the conflict bursts open and there’s no way to hide it, the relationship is over. I go back to my life, you go back to yours, we pretend nothing happened, and we never speak again (or if we do, it is superficial).

Until a few years ago, I felt like the only options for life were to either be alone, or to be in relationship where I can only be myself to the extent I do not conflict with the other person, or group.  So that is how I lived: alone, or with others hiding parts of who I am and what I believe.

I am not shaming or blaming myself here. (I used to, but I am practicing putting that bat down.) Avoiding conflict at the expense of integrity and authenticity is not only culturally acceptable, it is encouraged.

We are repeatedly fed messages that it is better to blend in than to stand out. (As an aside, blending in does not necessarily mean being quiet; if everyone is shouting about something you should be too.)

Don’t stir the pot. Be nice. Be quiet. Be polite. Be politically correct. Don’t be offensive. Don’t go against the grain. What are you trying to prove? Are you stupid, or naïve? Are you simply an asshole? Stop, you’re embarrassing. You should be ashamed of yourself. No one wants to hear your crazy thoughts.  

Worse than that, is the silent shaming, the judgment-filed glances and the whispers behind backs: “Guess what so and so said/did? Can you believe it? How dumb can she be?”

We now even have a thing called “cancel culture” where someone can be socially obliterated (at huge cost to both personal and professional life) for saying or doing the wrong thing.

As much as we like to pride ourselves on being independent, we all need to belong. If saying or doing something might threaten our sense of belonging, we will think twice before we say or do it.

I have silenced myself and squeezed myself into boxes more times than I can count for that very reason, at huge cost to my own mental and emotional health.

Over the past seven or so years of personal transformation, I have found ways to express my truth, and to go against the grain, many times, in the face of my fear of conflict.

Yet, here I find myself at the table dining with the same old foe.

So, what is the answer? Is it for me to simply toughen up, and get better at being okay with the possibility of being disliked, judged, rejected, or even “cancelled”?

Yes, of course, it is. There is more room for me to face my fears and to grow.

I also believe I’m not alone in feeling like the stakes are higher right now.

Systems are unraveling. Change is being thrust upon us. People are afraid, distrusting and on edge. Tension is in the air at all times. Saying or doing something offside is like adding gasoline to an already lit fire.

There are two default ways that people respond to this kind of environment of the unknown. People like me, who’s default survival strategy is flight (or freeze) will silence themselves, pull back and stop sharing. And people who’s default survival strategy is fight, will start shouting aggressively, and get defensive in the face of anyone who disagrees.

Neither approach is wrong, but neither is helpful if we want to create something different than what already exists.

Recently, I got really sick of staying quiet, so I gathered up my courage and I started sharing about what I believed. I noticed that as I did, I began to feel more and more righteous, and my defenses went up the moment people challenged me. I didn’t like how that felt or who I was being.

I retreated. Partly, because it’s my default, and partly because I could feel that my shouting would not help me to make a difference any more than my silence.

So, how do I show up differently?

How do I speak up, and stay engaged, but not dig my heels in and fight?

This is what I have been sitting with.

One thing I noticed that stays the same for me, both when I am silent and when I am shouting, is my heart. It remains closed. When I am silent it is closed to the heartbreak and the rage that I feel about the injustice in the world. But when I am shouting, my heart is closed to the impact I have by launching my pain into the world.

Another thing I noticed that stays the same is my fear of being with conflict. In both scenarios, it is running the show. I am either avoiding it by not saying anything, or avoiding it by defending my position so hard I am essentially “cancelling” anyone who disagrees with me. In neither case am I willing to be with the tension of conflicting opinions, ideas or thoughts.

I have been thinking about what it would take to truly “be with” conflict. “Being with” in the sense of showing up to the conflict with my whole being: head, heart, body and soul.

Over the past few months, this is what I have been practicing.

I have been practicing keeping my heart open when someone challenges something I say or do. I have been reminding myself that my belonging is inherent, and not something that is bestowed upon me by family, friends, lovers, or groups.

I have been practicing remaining present in my body when my anxiety starts to rise, and resisting the urge to “make peace” at the first hint of a fight.

I have been practicing trusting the wisdom of my soul that knows it is only in standing in the discomfort of our differences that we can sustainably transform this world.

It has not been easy. I have come leaps and bounds from how I used to show up (or, rather, not show up) in times of conflict, but I still have a ways to go to rewrite my defaults of peacemaking and avoidance.

I will keep practicing, though, because I do believe that finding a way to deal with differences and disagreements outside of apathy or attack, is integral for humanity if we want to create a more beautiful world for ourselves, and all life.

xo,

Danielle

My partner and I have been living out of our van for 10 days now.

It feels like we’ve been out here at least a month. The hours go by fast but the days are somehow slow.

One gift of adventure is it demands our presence, and each minute spent paying attention is a minute more to cherish and remember.

I think life passes us by so quickly because we aren’t paying attention. Our culture prefers us this way: anesthetized and working away without questioning - without questioning whether what we are doing is fulfilling us, and without questioning the systemic violence and destruction of life we are perpetuating.

Living in this kind of autonomous state is maintained mostly by not stopping, and by having a way to stay numb to the pain when we do. The most culturally approved way this shows up is overworking, overeating and booze. There are others of course. I know how autopilot looks for me. You will know how it looks for you.

We all have our own flavour of apathy.

In light of COVID-19, the past few months I have been paying more attention. I have been following the news when usually I don’t. I have been concerned with what is going on “out there” because it has been impacting my basic freedoms. These are not usually things I need to worry about.

The past few months have presenced me to some of the freedoms I take for granted. I have become a more active and engaged citizen as a result. I have been paying attention. I have been using my voice. 

In light of the recent murder of George Floyd, and the much-needed global conversation on racism it has sparked, I have intentionally been silent for the past week, both on my social media pages and on here. I have been reflecting on my own privilege and the injustices that so clearly still exist, and learning from the black and indigenous leaders I follow on social media.

I have also been spending more time offline, allowing nature to be my teacher.

The thing that keeps coming up for me is that I need to be even more willing to pay attention, to use my voice and to risk my heart.

As a white, attractive, intelligent, able-bodied, straight woman who was raised in a Christian community, I have had privilege bestowed upon me from nearly every angle my entire life.

In its simplest form, I have the privilege of feeling and being safe. I have had the privilege of knowing that our education system will groom me for success, our workforce will employ me, our health care system will tend to me if I get sick, and our justice system will do right by me, and my family.

I have had the privilege of being protected by our culture from the rough edges of life. I still do.

I have always known this on some level, although I have mostly not thought of it as a privilege. It has simply been my experience of life. To a large degree I have felt entitled to it. To be fair, I have always felt that everyone was entitled to it, but I have done little to acknowledge (or for that matter, work towards changing) the fact that many do not have the basic levels of safety and security I take for granted.

Recent events have reminded me just how privileged I am.

Not only do I not have to worry about my physical safety and security, I also have the privilege of emotional safety.

I have the privilege of being emotionally sensitive. I have the privilege of avoiding or checking out of difficult conversations. I can easily close my ears, my eyes and my heart to the injustices suffered by my fellow humans who are less-privileged, not to mention the injustices suffered by other species and the earth. In fact, it is culturally encouraged that I do so.

I have the privilege of not having to pay attention.

I have the privilege of making myself busy, over-indulging and numbing out.

I have the privilege of not being present to life, and all it beholds.

That I have often exercised this privilege is a hard pill to swallow.

When we who are privileged choose to indulge in the emotional comfort of closing our hearts and going into overdrive with our work, we are literally perpetuating the systems of injustice that are killing less-privileged humans, other species and the earth. No wonder we need so many flashy distractions and substances to numb out our heartbreak.

I’ve been there. I still am to a certain degree.

I’m not standing on a pedestal here. I have further to go in transforming my own inner world before I can say that I am truly in integrity with the kind of world I wish to see (one that serves all life equally).

What I am, is humbled and willing.

My heart is open and I am paying attention.

I have the privilege of apathy. I do not have to care. I do not have to risk anything. 

And that is a privilege I am relinquishing.

From here on out, I commit to prioritizing truth and justice over my own emotional comfort.

Not just in theory, but in practice.

For me, right now, that means paying attention, keeping my heart open even when the heartbreak is strong, risking using my voice even when I might get it wrong, and taking on without apology the work my soul came here to do.

Are you paying attention?

How does your privilege show up for you?

What are you willing to risk in service of the world you wish would be?

Its time to stop wishing.

Xo,

Danielle

Happy Thursday friends!

My partner and I are leaving on a 1-2 month adventure living out of our van, starting Monday. Naturally, there has been a lot to do, and there remains a lot to do, for us to be ready to leave. 

Not surprisingly, my familiar friend, OVERWHELM, showed up this past Sunday. So today I want to share with you a video I made live on Facebook yesterday about how I shifted that energy for myself and how I am creating a more peaceful and fun lead up to our adventure. 

More to come on the adventure itself soon!  

Topics the video will cover include:

• What overwhelm looks like (how it goes for you);

• The consequences of letting overwhelm run the show;

• The destructive interplay between passion and overwhelm; and

• What to do about it (who to be about it).

I invite you to check out the video HERE (or click on the photo below).

xo,

Danielle

Talking About Overwhelm: How It Shows Up and What to Do About It

All I can think about is more joy.

And that, is a big, fat, lie.

My mind has been a great hum.

Millions of voices. Millions of opinions. Millions of things.

Some of them mine. Most of them unnecessary.

We are in the time of the story-tellers.

Each of us with a tale. Beliefs to blast. Opinions to wield in a world grown weary of what is.

As we sit here locked away from each other.

In the solitude of the buzzing online cloud.

“Did he really say that?”

“What does she mean?”

“He must be…” “She is so…” “Why can’t we all…”

“How DARE you even suggest it…”

“I know what’s really going on here. You don’t.”

“I’m right. You’re wrong.”

“$%&# YOU!”

Let me delete you from my life with one press of a finger on this tiny square button.

Ahhh. That’s better.

Easy. Over. Done.

I can’t handle your outrageous delusions. It is simply too much.

My mind is already a great hum.

Millions of truths are screaming at me.

Which one will win?

Will it be the left? Or the right? Or the muddled-up middle?

Am I going way out on a limb here? Or are you?

Will we ever know for sure, beyond the certainty of our own skull?

Might as well shut up. Might as well say what they want us to say. Might as well just put our protective suits on and hunker down until its safe.

On the other hand…why not shake things up? Might as well provoke! A little stirring of a pot that’s already churning. Surely that can’t harm a world that’s literally dying to be woke?

Oh how I laugh to myself.

All alone.

My mischievousness will never be known.

Round and round we go.

And all I can think about is.

More. Joy.

In a world gone mad for lying.

xo,

Danielle