My new life starts tomorrow (!)

It's finally here! 

Tomorrow, I get on an airplane (well, actually two airplanes) and travel to my new home on Vancouver Island. Weeks, months and years of plotting, scheming, dreaming and preparation culminate in tomorrow's transition from "old life" to "new life."

Our family will live under one roof again! We can unpack our boxes and crates and suitcases! I can let go of the logistical lists in my brain -- What's packed where? What still needs to be sold/given away? What needs to be shipped when and by what method? What keys need to be returned? Accounts closed? Thank-yous delivered? Good-byes said? Hugs hugged? How will we fit all these end-of-the-school-year items in our suitcases? -- and maybe relax for a day, or thirty, or a hundred-and-sixty-three.

This dream of moving to BC started with Marc's first motorcycle trip out there, and grew during our first family vacation to Nelson. The climate, the lushness, the opportunities to be outdoors without our faces hurting or being bitten by a bazillion bugs, the slow and gentle pace of life, the lack of harshness, of mere survival through several months of the year...it all called to us.

The whole drive home from the Kootenays that summer, we planned how we could move...what would need to sell/unload/downsize, what kind of work we could do, where Chloe would go to school...and by the time we got home to the farm two days later, practicalities set in and we stayed put. We had good jobs. We just built our forever farm house. Our families are close by. Our friends and doctors and vet and massage therapists and hair stylists and favourite restaurants are here. We have a good life. 

Then the next summer, it started again. And the next. Until we decided this was really a thing we wanted to do. So, Marc aggressively pursued employment, turned down a few offers that didn't quite get us where we wanted to be, until the perfect opportunity landed in his lap. He moved and started his new gig mid-September, while Chloe, Morris and I listed the house and farm for sale, purged the stuff, kept the house clean for showings and potential showings, and carried on with school and work and normal life stuff.

Then the farm sold (huzzah!) and things got real. Marc and our awesome, patient, knowledgeable realtor looked at many, many houses in Victoria, and once the cash cleared from the sale, we started putting in offers. We were disappointed when our "aggressive" offer on a great place in a great neighbourhood was outbid. That house went for $101,500 over asking. Yikes. Then, a place that worked for us appeared. Marc looked at it and Facetimed me through it. Then he drove back to the farm to help pack the house up. Through the magic of the interwebs and our awesome, patient, knowledgeable realtor, we put in an offer and had the winning bid. Huzzah again! 

I gave notice at my corporate gig. We had a big house-cooling party. We packed. We purged. We sold. We shipped. Morris and Marc returned to the Island. Chloe and I and four suitcases moved in with family to finish out the school year.

And that brings us to today. Last day of school. Last (full) day of Saskatchewan. It's fitting our move comes on a full moon, the Strawberry Moon. Full moons are times of release and cleansing; times of acknowledging what was with gratitude and then letting go to make way for the new; times of completion and creative closure. 

And so I reflect on my many years living on the Prairies, and how they've made me who I am.

Wide open spaces and endless skies ripe with possibility informed my sense of wonder, of I-can-do-and-be-anything-ness.

The strength of community coming together in times of sorrow, struggle and celebration is a given -- I know I will be caught if I fall or falter, and will create the community I need.

Practicality, hard work and perseverance engrained traits that will serve me well in figuring out a new city and province and what's next.

Connection to and respect for the land and the weather and all nature has to offer will provide me a lovely contrast for learning a new topography and climate and appreciation for the differences. 

This will always be the place I am from. It will remain my definition of home. Its beauty will fill my memories. Its people, MY people, will continue to fill my heart. I hope to be a proud and honourable representative of this place and people in my new chosen community and province. 

And I promise to visit. But probably not during winter. I don't like it when my face hurts. 

Living in limboland

The winds of change are blowing across southern Saskatchewan and knocking all the dehydrated leaves off our trees. Because it has been so dry, they barely had a chance to change colour and they're tumbling across my yard and over the horizon. Fall is all but here, and today I felt the first hints of winter: single digit temperatures and an icy wind. AND IT IS STILL TECHNICALLY SUMMER. But this will be my last prairie fall, or Second Season of the Wind, so I'll take it. 

Our family is relocating.

It's a big change for us: hopping two provinces westward, embracing a different climate (huzzah!), creating new routines, forming new community and shifting our lifestyle. It's exciting and it fell into place after almost four years of tentative dreaming (after each summer vacation: wouldn't it be nice to stay here forever?), dedicated planning (husband working the network to get a new job; purging the house; number-crunching; letting go of our dream farm-future) and starry and planetary alignment (the job offer came on the eclipse!). 

But I'm living in limboland right now, and will be for the foreseeable future.

My husband left yesterday to relocate to our new life. 

I get to stay here in our "old" life, job, house and routines until our home/farm sells.

Then we'll all be reunited on a dreamy island off the west coast of Canada.  

Limboland is a weird place. I'm super duper excited about what's next -- after all, I'm a what's next kind of person (great starter, not such a strong finisher, because LOOK OVER THERE AT THAT NEW THING! I want to go there!), but I have to contain my excitement and not live too far into future, because the current/old life could continue for months, or maybe a year a more. And I will run out of enthusiasm/energy/optimism mid-way. 

So, I'm trying to keep smaller milestones in sight: Get the house listed. Get the man-friend packed up and off on his travels. Get the child settled into another school year. Get the projects done at work. Coach the amazing clients. Make the bed. Empty the dishwasher. Walk the dog. Sell the stuff. Sell the house. And still keep the dream alive. 

It's interesting to notice how I'm NOT COMPLETELY FREAKING OUT, ahem, how I'm embracing the un-planned-ness of my future -- once the house sells and I quit my full-time gig here, I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S NEXT. There is no plan, other than a vague idea of ramping up my coaching practice and then... who knows? There is something totally scary AND freeing in the not knowing. 

I'm revelling in the idea of being a full-er-time coach, being able to walk my kiddo to and from school and kung fu and go kayaking some morning JUST BECAUSE I WANT TO. Maybe I'll host art-based coaching workshops from our new garage-turned-studio space...and teach meditation classes at the local rec centre....and write those other books I've been meaning to write.

Ditching the 8-5 office job seems a critical next and permanent step.

I'm especially looking forward to embracing a more minimal lifestyle. Being a single-car family, living in a smaller home with a smaller (non-farm) yard, enjoying more experiences and time with each other and less stuff. It means I won't need to be tied to that 8-5 grind because we won't be reliant on it. More freedom. 

I'm torn between starting new things here and now, and waiting until I've moved. So, I've tested out a few things to see if they shift the universe (i.e., send a buyer for our place), including:

• Getting new photos with the fabulously talented Michael Bell. The sprucing up of this site will follow soon. 
• Signing up for a kung fu class (my kid is attending one, and there's an adult class at the same time, so there really didn't seem to be a reason NOT to...)
• Collaborating to co-lead a women's retreat next spring in a forest near Vancouver (!!!)
• Buying an ungodly amount of delicious fancy-pants cheese from my pal Aleana at Takeaway Gourmet
• Committing to a new workout routine (Did you see the note about the cheese? Ugh.)

I'll keep you posted on the imminent move, and what it's like in between now and then, and then some. 

In love and light,

Jilly

Farewell Amy, and Thank You

My favourite children's author died today. And it hit me like a tonne of bricks, for some reason.

I was introduced to the incredible craft and beauty of Amy Krouse Rosenthal after our daughter entered our lives. We received a box set of Little Pea, Little Hoot and Little Oink from my brother. As soon as I read these gems, I was in love with her voice. You know when you read something and it sounds like the voice inside your head, and you think, I wish I had written this? Yeah, that. I was connected to the simple structure, humour and universality from the get-go. 

I'm slightly embarrassed to say that I had never visited her website until today. I felt I knew her through her work. I had never sought out more about her; her work speaks for itself. Imagine my delight to find reams of videos and other creative endeavours waiting to be discovered there, and the chance to know her more deeply! 

As I explored her site a little today, I found this, among other things. (I would make one edit, near the end, from "mankind" to "humankind"...otherwise, it makes my heart sing!) It was written and created several years ago, but I connected with her words and message immediately. They reflect my personal journey toward and into a meaningful life for the past several years, and especially lately.  

I was puzzled why I was so upset about her death today. I'd never met her. I wasn't stalking her every move on social media. I hadn't even been aware she was unwell. I haven't read everything she's every written or seen everything she's ever created. So what was up? I sat with it through most of the day, and came to this:

I realize I'm sad that she won't produce any more amazing work to add to the collection of kindness, beauty and delight she brought into this world.

She was only 51. I'm sad that her husband and children and extended family and friends and colleagues will miss her presence. Having recently been through the what-ifs, and the writing good-byes and capturing life advice and making videos as last mementos for my loved ones, I know her reality could have been mine a couple weeks ago. And that hits close to home. I imagine she felt the same things I was feeling about leaving too soon. And my heart breaks for her and her family. 

I'm sad because I will never have the chance to attend a writing class or a book signing or other event and meet her. I realize now, as I look at my vision board about my creativity and writing, which features two of my favourite of her books (Little Pea and Uni the Unicorn), that she really was who I was hoping to become, as a writer, anyway. And now she's gone. 

And yet, I am so grateful that she was here, and that she created, and inspired others to create. And that she left such a gorgeous legacy in her work, which I get to keep exploring. 

And so, because of Amy, I am motivated to Always Trust Magic, Beckon the Lovely, Connect, Do, Embrace the Empty Space, Figure It Out As I Go, and Go To It (from Amy's 7 Notes on Life TEDxWaterloo talk). 

In love and light,

Jilly

Cosmic shifts and now what?

Not dying creates a real problem.

You have to live.

You have to keep figuring life out. You have to decide who you are and who you want to be and how you want to impact the world and what you want to do. 

I was happy to not die. Trust me. I was VERY relieved to wake up. Even if I was puking and sore and bruised and oozing fluids from my ladyparts. Waking up was gross and painful and messy and joyful.

I had such an emotional build-up to surgery and the possibility that I might not wake up (it happens...see Bill Paxton as a recent and very real example), that when I woke up, I realized I needed to REALLY wake up and make a new plan...for living. 

As a typical (over-)planner, I congratulated myself on NOT planning beyond surgery, other than for the worst-case-scenario. I felt compelled to plan for the messy and hard parts of my potential death, as a way to ease the burden that would be placed on my loved ones. Beyond that, I didn't make any definite plans for the rest of the year...when I'd be back at work, only tentative dates with my coaching clients, no for-sure family vacations,  or commitments to playshops or retreats or other endeavours and adventures.

And now I find myself in a state of utter and complete possibility. What a gift. 

And, it feels like I have to get this right, given the chance. The possibility of dying is a wake up call to make better choices. To live life on purpose, on my purpose. In alignment with who I am and what I'm here to do. Living consciously. Living intentionally. Making the world a better place, even if in small ways. 

I don't want to get too far ahead of myself. I mean, I still have to wait for biopsy results and next steps in terms of potential treatment and monitoring, but my intuition tells me things are going to be okay. 

But, the weird solar eclipse/new moon in Pisces stuff that happened a couple days ago created some shifts in my focus. I'm not completely knowledgeable about or even fully believing in the interpretations of the influences of the cosmos on our lives, but there is something to be said for another source of information to enlighten our perspectives. Another framework through which to view our lives, emotions, desires, disappointments.

The messages of the recent cosmic activity are of releasing the old and designing the new; of closing a chapter of our lives and writing a new one for the future; of making up or breaking up (romantic or other relationships, including with ourselves). All good stuff. Truthfully, this could be anyone's focus at anytime, but with the power of Pisces (my sign!) behind me, it feels like the right time to be consciously focusing on these aspects of my life.

So, for the next several months, I feel drawn to focusing on, refining, honouring, creating and clarifying the following:

1. My relationship with myself. This includes giving myself care, real care as I need it, before I need it, to heal my body, grow my love of self, and be healthy in all aspects of the word. This means accepting help. Asking for help. Making priority time for movement, rest and nourishment. Being more than just a mom or manager or coach or wife. Embracing all of me and leveraging my strengths. 

2. My marriage and connection to my spouse. This June, we will have been together for 15 years. There has been magic, and it hasn't all been easy. No marriage is. As we celebrate our time together and plan for the future, I want to be clear about what this marriage is and isn't, what our roles and expectations are, and how we will continue to grow as individuals and as a couple. Better communication. More fun. Amazing intimacy. A true partnership. 

3. How I will serve in this world. I've had so many ideas bouncing around my head about programs and courses and playshops and ways to make a difference in this world. I've wanted to create an online course for people to get clear about their lives. I've wanted to create an in-person women's circle for nourishment and connection. I've wanted to create playful space for deeper conversations between couples and singles, deeper date nights. I've wanted to focus on EOL coaching. I've wanted to lead a meditation group. I've wanted to expand my art-based playshops. I've wanted to write more and publish my book(s). It's time to make these things real. That means creating disciplined creative time, finding workshop spaces with the right feel, building content, learning the technology to share, collaborating with others, contacting the publisher and just going for it. Knowing that my gifts and how I deliver these ideas in my unique way will bring more peace and connection and love to the world. 

So, stay tuned for what's coming next! It won't be perfect, by any means. And that's just fine. It will be raw and real and it will grow into what it needs to be in the world right now. 

Read more interpretations and explanations of the February 26 Solar Eclipse/New Moon in Pisces curated by MYSTICMAMMA.com.   

In love and light,

Jilly

Energy, empowerment and extroverting for the win

I tried a new thing a couple weekends ago: JourneyDance. I attended a workshop led by the lovely and glowing Michelle Brass and met (and danced with!) a group of exquisitely amazing women. 

I didn’t really know what to expect. I was drawn to enrol in the experience prior to learning I needed surgery and I even contemplated withdrawing right up to an hour before the workshop began. Something told me I needed to attend, and I listened.

I allowed my curiosity to lead me; I knew Michelle a bit and was curious about this dance thing she was doing. I also felt called to get out of my head and into movement and into my body this year. And I wanted to say yes to something that pushed me out of my comfort zone AND was completely about and for me – not my day job, my kid, my marriage, my health, my coaching business. A little bit of luxurious self-care just for me.

And I learned again that taking care of myself extends to all the other aspects of my life. Of course.

And that a group of women coming together in community to heal is incredibly powerful. Of course. 

(We did have one lovely man join us for the evening workshop, and it was wonderful to have male energy on the dance floor as well.)

The experience was challenging and so very rewarding. I was challenged to let go of insecurities (there were REAL, trained dancers in the room!); challenged to connect to my body and turn off my critical mind; challenged to trust my body to move me how it wanted to be moved, to speak for me, to express what needed to be expressed and exposed; and challenged to trust a group of strangers to see me, hold me, love me based on how I showed up that day. And to trust I could do the same for them as well.

The beauty and power and rawness of the music, energy, movement and the women – THE WOMEN – who were present was magic. I felt honoured to be able to witness their grace, lightness, heaviness, frivolity, expression, emotion and connection. We held a sacred space for and of each other. Hearts opened, tears flowed, strength emerged. Beauty everywhere.

The entire experience opened up awareness for me into previously dark or perhaps ignored places. What is my connection to my body? How I can I be so appreciative of all other bodies but not my own, not really? If I was accepting of it, why do I feel so self-conscious of its appearance? Its capabilities? Why do I take it for granted? What does this illness create in terms of opportunity to reconnect and honour my physical body? How do I want to be with my body? Why did I get this diagnosis? What’s the message in it? Is it my fault? 

I’m someone who tends to feel totally okay about my body one day – It’s just a physical form for my soul and mind, right? What’s the big deal? It doesn’t matter what it looks like! – despite all the messages our society sends about how women “should” look (and behave…but that's another post), and then another day, I’m completely disappointed in it and embarrassed to leave my house and be seen.

The fact is, I need this body to do the things I want to do in this lifetime. I need it to work for me, to keep me mobile, to be able to communicate and care for my family and to do the things I love to do, like walk in our fields, travel, create. I need it to be healed. 

In my coaching practice, I use "geography" with my clients to get them out of their thinking minds into their bodies and connect them to their intuition. We use the room or space and our physical forms in it in different ways to open up energy and thought and feeling and perspective. We use the body as a tuning fork, or as a satellite dish for receiving notes or signals from our intuition or the universe or god or fill-in-the-blank. I learned through this experience that I can go deeper, into my own body, and therefore will be more available to go deeper with my clients. I’ll have more range and depth to offer them. 

I happened to catch a few minutes of The Nature of Things on Thursday night as well, and it was all about body language. You can watch the episode here. The part that I caught was a brief interview with Dr. Amy Cuddy who talked about research, often called "embodiment," that shows some emotions we experience are hardwired to display in our physical bodies, and the way we move and hold our physical bodies has an impact on our emotions. How many of us have been told to smile and it will help improve our mood? Did it work? Science says it does. 

So, if I dance like no one's watching, will I move without inhibition? With freedom? With truth? Will my true emotions pour onto the dance floor? Maybe. Dr. Cuddy recommends we fake it NOT until we make it, but until we BECOME it. So how might I move on the dance floor, and through life, in a way that I become what I want to be? And how can I help my clients do the same? 

I was talking with my doctor a couple weeks back about the stages of grief…he said I will likely experience anger at some point…I haven’t. I haven’t felt anger toward my body at all. Regret, yes. I have apologized for not listening to it, to not nourishing it as well as I could have, for neglecting it, but I haven’t felt anger toward it, or the illness.

I’m never judgmental about other people’s bodies. I truly marvel at all the shapes, sizes, colours, abilities and differences between all the people I encounter. It’s all so fascinating! How can one species be so very diverse?! The wonder of it all! And yet, the things I think about my own physical form would be completely unacceptable if I said them out loud to another person. Why the double standard? I'm aware of the beliefs around negative thoughts and emotions and cancer. Did I cause this? Did I manifest it? I'm not entirely convinced, so I'm being curious about it.  

JourneyDance opened up a lot of curiosity for me. 

I moved my body. I danced like no one was watching. I likely looked foolish. And that's okay.

I laughed. I cried. I witnessed. I held space. I grew weary and sore.

I even extroverted and told some fascinating women I want to keep in touch with them. I dare say I made new friends. 

If you're interested in exploring emotion and self-awareness through movement, check out Michelle's site for her latest offerings in the Regina area. 

In love and light,

Jilly