Yesterday we were dealt a nasty blow to our dreams. The possibility of leaving Las Vegas by January has ended. The idea of two or three extra months here shouldn’t leave me in tears on the floor, but it did.

I don’t want to be here. I resist it with every fiber of my being. I make it clear to everyone I speak with that I’m only visiting. That this is not my home. I don’t feel good here, I don’t feel whole or fed or at peace here. I feel needy and desperate and lonely and empty. It took me 28 years to escape this the first time and seven months later I’m here again.

I don’t want to hear that there is a reason, that there is a message or a lesson in all this. I don’t want to hear that I need to let go, that I need to trust. I know it, but I resist it anyway.

Why? Because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of feeling trapped. I’m afraid of some giant cosmic hand telling me I’m “supposed to” be somewhere that makes me unhappy. I’m afraid of losing what I’ve found or finding that I didn’t deserve it in the first place.

In this past year I’ve wholeheartedly embraced a fear that has had me paralyzed for decades. I’ve lived in fear of Too Good Too Last, and I carefully kept my life and my joy at bay. I kept myself from loving or living unconditionally to protect myself from the pain that follows loss. Does that even make sense? I’ve felt that anything good will be taken from me, so I keep things two degrees off Good just to play it safe.

I thought through this amazing journey that I had conquered all of that. But as soon as Justin broke the news yesterday I felt that crushing fear, that desperate grasp for safety, those fortress walls springing back around me, my chest tightening and my joy slipping through my fingers. I heard that old familiar voice, “See? I told you it couldn’t last. Something was bound to come along and tear our dreams apart. This is it. It’s going to fall apart and you’re going to be trapped. You don’t deserve anything more.”

Ouch. I know it doesn’t even sound rational. It doesn’t feel rational either. It hurts. And it’s scary. It’s rubbing up against beliefs and thoughts I’m not ready to examine and it’s not accepting my attempt to put it off. It’s challenging me and it’s forcing me to stretch and grow. And all of that is good. I know it’s good. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I want to face this. I want to push through it. I want to be handed a challenge and fly over it. I want to feel energized and more determined by it. I want to keep smiling, keep holding onto my joy. I want to embrace my fear with compassion.

I want to say I’m not in tears, hiding my face in my pillow and guarding myself against anything that feels good. I want to say I’m not pushing away the love I’m handed, letting go of the dreams I have for fear of more pain. I want to say I’m not questioning my spirituality, questioning whether Gd really is the bully with the magnifying glass burning holes in my heart.

But I can’t say any of that right now. It wouldn’t be real, authentic.

In this moment, right now, I hurt. In this moment, I feel a suffocating fear. This moment is messy and ugly and demanding tears. This moment is not allowing me to move.

So I’m doing the only thing this moment is asking me to do: I’m sitting in it. I’m allowing myself to cry or feel afraid or guarded. I’m allowing myself to resist. I’m embracing the messy and the vulnerable and the whiney. I’m playing the victim, and the Blame Game, and the big baby. I’m wallowing and hurting and questioning. I’m distracting myself. I’m wavering between sobs and angry outbursts.

No, it doesn’t really make sense. No, the details aren’t really that big of a deal. But this is what Life has handed my heart: not another three months, but a giant serving of Here’s Your Opportunity with a side of It’s Time To Face This Already.

It’s never about the details. It’s never about what happened or what’s going to happen. It’s about the messages we have hidden in our hearts, the stories we listen to, how they affect us, what we feel and what’s happening inside of us. It’s the bigger picture, when we can see it…and when we can’t.

I can’t see it. I can say it, but I’m too deep in it to really know it to be true. I can look at the words and reread them and still I hear that cynical, biting voice in my mind. So I’m holding onto the only two things I really do know to be true: I can be nothing but authentic. And life will ebb and flow, all things will pass.

This is me, authentic. Waiting for the fear to pass, for my ability to let it go.

Do you have key words that symbolize life lessons; maybe ones that permeate every struggle or underline every experience, whispering to you the same message that you constantly forget?

My mom long ago named one of my biggest life lessons: Balance.

It’s all about balance for me. It’s been the word that haunts me when I’m staying up too late working on something when I think I should be sleeping or feeling pulled toward work when I’m trying to spend time with my guys. It’s what rings in my ears when I’m gung-ho in any direction, idea or project. It’s what I need to be reminded of when I neglect my body or abuse it.

That’s why when I saw Lisa’s e-coaching over at VisonaryMom* I honed in on her Balance course. I’m working on several business projects right now and between work, travel and physical limitations, balance can be seriously lacking.

Lisa personalizes these “e-courses” to each person and I’ll admit I went into it hopeful, but pretty dubious. I’ve been juggling so much for so long I wasn’t sure I hadn’t already exhausted every possible time management trick in the book. How perfect that the first thing Lisa told me was that balance does not equal proportionally doled out chunks of time to the various items on my To Do list.

There have only been a handful of times in my life when a person’s words have instantaneously transformed my thinking, when their message just “clicked”. Three of them happened with Lisa.

Looking back over the four week coaching with her, I can’t recall every assignment or every word. But in each and every “session” together she would hit me with something so incredibly insightful, seeing the things I needed to see or I didn’t even know I knew. It was as if I was having a long conversation with a dear friend, one who could tenderly and honestly see to the heart of the matter, could read between my words and could tell me exactly what I needed to hear (even when it wasn’t what I wanted to hear).

She’s taught me:

• That balance is something that can be accessed only through acceptance
• To understand what rhythm really looks like
• To acknowledge perceptions as just that
• To view my actions through a very different lens
• To value and honor the seasons life brings

The transformation in my life is both minimal and monumental. Minimal because very few “details” have changed. My days look much the same. But monumental because the way I approach, appreciate and feel about my days are radically different.

For once in my life I feel balanced. (Well, maybe not physically yet. *ahem*) I feel connected, reaffirmed and at peace with our days and our rhythms, my work and my play, my passions and my roles, my family and mySelf.

I’m so incredibly impressed with Lisa, her ability to speak to one’s heart and her amazing service. I’m equally impressed that it’s not a small fortune to access her gifts – and I mean that, she truly has a gift. She is an amazing woman who offered up so much of herself and her time during this e-course. She made herself available to me fully, unconditionally and endlessly.

That’s why I feel privileged to support her as she builds this career. She changed my life and I want to help her reach others. If you haven’t checked out her site, her e-courses or her free e-course going on now, I highly recommend doing so.

Stay tuned in the next couple of days for a giveaway and special offer from Lisa!

*This is NOT an affiliate link. I’ll receive nothing by your choosing to work with Lisa.

Zeb’s always enjoyed plunking around on the piano, creating his own songs or following along in our Teach Yourself Piano book. Until just a couple weeks ago, when he decided he wanted to really learn but didn’t exactly like the thought of “lessons” with a stranger.

That is until I mentioned asking GG to teach him. His face lit up and his eyes sparkled and he loved the idea. We called GG, who agreed if he was ready to learn that she would love to teach him.
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His first lesson was today. He had some basic knowledge of the keys, and showed her some of the songs he already knew. She worked with him on finger placement, scales and taught him the difference between “Every Good Boy Does Fine” and FACE. He listened intently, followed her fingers and later told me he intends to practice daily. (Even if our piano is slightly out of tune.)

I sat and soaked up the moment. It was just too great to see her pass on her piano knowledge to her grandson, encouraging and smiling and enjoying each other.
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I recently commented on Idzie’s blog post Teaching vs Learning about how I wasn’t opposed to the word “teaching” when it’s not used to describe coercive learning; when it’s about that “passing on of knowledge” from one wise person to an eager learner like I saw today. It’s the true definition of the word, in my mind, regardless of the sometimes warped definition we see today.

I don’t know how much Zeb will choose he wants to learn. I don’t know whether he’ll practice daily, as he says. I don’t know that he’ll take this anywhere. I just know that he was happy to share the experience with someone he cherishes so deeply. I know his Grandma is in full support of him having fun and leading the way. And I know he’ll remember his lessons with GG forever.

(This post is part of the Moms’ 30-Minute Blog Challenge. Can you believe it?)