Advent of the Soul: Get Ready for Your Brightest Year Yet

When you get to where you’re going, where will you be?  

I ask myself this question often as I easily confuse busyness with productivity.  I imagine you fall into the same trap as well.  Consider this, how many times a week do you ask someone how they’re doing and they respond with a slight sigh, eye roll, and an arsenal of reasons there’s just not enough time in the day.  “Life is just so busy these days!”  I’m definitely guilty of it.  I tend to wear exhaustion proudly like a badge of honor just so you don’t have any qualms or confusion in your mind about my level of productivity. 

I’m pretty sure shame is the culprit here. Last year, I read Shauna Niequist’s book, Present Over Perfect, and was rocked to the core by her level of honesty regarding her addiction to productivity and responsibility.  

She shares,

“We all have these complicated tangles of belief and identity and narrative, and one of the early stories I told about myself is that my ability to get it done is what kept me around.  I wasn’t beautiful, I didn’t have a special or delicate skill.  But I could get stuff done, and it seemed to me that ability was my entrance into the rooms into which I wanted to be invited.”  

In my case, I find myself hustling for acceptance by constantly going, achieving, producing.  It feels really good, until the payoff just isn’t enough anymore.

We all do this to some degree.  There is a lack of perceived deficiency as well as a need for acceptance, so we buy into narratives of belief about ourselves that were validated by someone important to us at some point along the way. Eventually, subconsciously, these beliefs build out a life blueprint of identity.  I believe discovering and aligning with our truest self is absolutely crucial in order to thrive and throw off the thin storylines we’ve bought into. They don’t hold up anymore.

We must take time and space to ask ourselves this vital question: Where am I going? 

There’s no better time than now to ask.  Stop addressing those Christmas cards, just for a minute. Chances are, if they’re getting a card, they also care about your overall well-being.  

According to the Western liturgical church calendar, the season of Advent is upon us.  I’m not concerned whether or not you consider yourself a religious person or church-goer, what I am interested in is your desire to stay grounded and committed to a vision for your life that’s evolving— flourishing. 

Advent simply means ‘coming'. It’s an anticipatory time of preparation for hopeful things yet seen.  In church tradition, this thing is the birth of Christ, a savior.  It includes all these beautiful, sacred practices enrolling candles, wreaths, songs, smells, and colors.  I often attend an Episcopal church that’s super liturgical and relic-heavy.  They do ritual really, really well and I absolutely love it, largely because I need all the reminders I can get. Rituals create infrastructure and order within to practice life-giving reminders.   

You and I have the opportunity to apply these same rituals this season to the interior spaces of our lives and daily experience.  I call it the Advent of the Soul.  That’s a really woo-woo way of describing our own sacred processional of time and space leading up to the birth of unique dreams and desires for the coming year. The community we want to build, the business we want to start, the relationships we want to attract, the cities we want to explore, the joy we long to cultivate, and on and on. 

The cool thing about this process is just how much power unlocks as we tap into it and access its truth.  Other bonuses include: you don’t have to dress up, leave the house, or fight the cold of Sunday morning.  Traffic’s never an issue, oh, and the doors are always flung wide open, ready to welcome you in.  

This advent takes place in the most exquisite cathedral—your very own heart and it’s offered all day and every day, wherever you are.  Disclaimer: this largely depends on our decision to stay present and awake instead of checked out with Netflix, a vat of Chex Mix, and a tumbler of Chardonnay.  

Rituals are meant to ground us, and that’s exactly what I need this time of year: a strong tethering to hope and a steady guide into truth.  This ritual of advent locks into my favorite daily practice: writing.  Don’t worry; I’m not heaving more homework on your already crazy schedules.  This will only take ten minutes, (of course more if you’ve got it!) 

Answer these three questions:

1) What have you gained in 2017?  

2) What is your word?  

Pick one word that is meaningful and representative of this new season and write it down.  Take a minute to unpack the story behind that word.  For example, I spoke with a man the other day who described this heaviness he’d carried the past several months due to lots of family drama.  He desperately wanted to put that unnecessary extra baggage down and decided  “Levity” was his word for 2018.    

3) What narrative or belief are you willing to let go of that’s holding you back?

Write that sucker down and see what comes up.  Try not to judge it, just notice what’s there.  

Now commit to these truths, over and over and over again.  This is the stuff of that magical, sacred journey called rebirth— the Advent of our soul.  You will forget, stumble, and fall into those dusty dark corners of old familiar voices time and time again.  That’s not the point.  The point is you keep daring, keep reaching, keep walking, one foot in front of the other, into what will come.  It’s a courageous path to forge, and most settle for a lesser resistance.  

You, my dear, are not most.  

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

Your Grace: Practicing Abundance in Relationships

There’s something worth noting about relationships: when stress levels and daily busyness rise, patience and grace for those closest to us take a sharp nosedive.  It’s like a scientific law or something.

The holiday season is a double-edged sword: on one side, it’s lovely and ushers in ample opportunity for joy and celebration. On the other side, it can drain us of every last ounce of peace we thought we’d hoovered up during the “off months” leading up.

Let’s face it, if there is a time that relationships fall prey to resentment and conflict, it is surely now.  

We hemorrhage money, we play the comparison game, we over-plan, we tend to indulge a wee bit, and we flat out go go go.  

Do you relate?  I’m curious, do any of your relationships take a hit this time of year?  Perhaps you notice a slightly deflated reserve of patience for friends and family that otherwise wouldn’t phase you?  

I know I do.  

Perfect example:  Thanksgiving Dinner was at our house this past week.  As much as I adore hosting dinner parties, this was my inaugural Thanksgiving Dinner.  I was stoked, to say the least.  

Now, as a recovering perfectionist, I swing slightly towards the control freak side of the spectrum.  (Ok, maybe "slightly" is generous.)  I drive a tight ship when it comes to culinary experiences and ensuring those present thoroughly enjoy their time.  This past year, I finally embraced the motto: Go big or go home.

I’d timed everything out just right: arrival at four, sunset aperitif and hor d’oeuvres at four thirty-five, and dinner around six.  I’d stayed up until midnight the night before designing the table and brining those poor birds.  I was all in.

Well, as you can probably detect, my perfect little plan didn’t quite fly.  I mean, it did, but in a way I hadn’t engineered, naturally.  My siblings missed the sunset, the appetizers weren’t ready on time, and I developed a big fat attitude.  

“I mean, where are they? They’re missing the best part! How rude.” 

My very lovely and kind mother looked straight at me and said two words very sternly, “GRACE, Katie!”

Those tiny words shook me, resetting my entire outlook faster than a costume change on Broadway.  

Grace…

The rest of the evening was so special, not because of anything I did or didn’t execute, but because of each person there and the unique gift they brought to the space and conversation that could never have been orchestrated by me or Martha Stewart for that matter.  

Here is a question for us this season: how can we practice abundance in our relationships and in doing so, extend more grace?  

Sure, we think of the holiday season as full—abundant.  What if we could build that picture up to include the practice of abundance with people?  

Practicing abundance in relationships may look different for you and me, however, here are a few quick ways to beef up our game:

• Choose to believe the absolute best about people when they disappoint or hurt your feelings. Try not to make assumptions about them.
• Intentionally cultivate positive, life-giving thoughts about people throughout the day whether it be a spouse, parent, co-worker, or friend.
• Draw boundaries for yourself both physically and emotionally throughout the season so as not to grow tired and clumsy with those closest to you.  Clear, firm boundaries allow us to love from a far more authentic space in relationships.  
• Be generous and intentional with your words.  I have a friend who always says, “If you see something beautiful in someone, speak it out.”  Our words are powerful and carry gravity in this relational and energetic world we live in, let’s practice abundance instead of scarcity with them.

Miguel Ruiz, author of The Four Agreements, got it right when he succinctly wrote,

“Be impeccable with your word.  Don’t take anything personally.  Don’t make assumptions. Always do your best.”  

Grace is something curious—exquisite.  In my understanding, we don’t earn grace, yet we’ve all received it at some point along the way, without merit and without cause.  Perhaps you know someone who extends grace to you in a way that feels expansive and incredibly safe.  Draw from that light, create that welcoming space for a weary soul who needs a soft landing pad.  We simply don't know the struggles those around us face, especially when we're wrapped up in our own little world.

Practicing abundance with people isn’t just for them, it is for you and me as well.  Grace is a legacy never forgotten.  This season, let’s pay it forward and give the gift of grace,  just because.  

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

xoxo

Thanksgiving & Your Relationship with Food: 3 Ways to Make it Better

Thanksgiving is upon us.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: it’s my favorite holiday, hands down.  There is a waft of generosity and anticipation in the air without the added pressure to fill up stockings or run around on a mission to find just the perfect gift while fighting back the road rage.

Often, there is an excuse to spend the afternoon with friends and family (read: FOO or FOC…*family of origin or family of choice).  Oh, and the embrace of crisp, clean air beckons a cozy fire and hall pass to straight chill.

Am I missing something?  Oh right, then there’s the minor, insignificant detail of the day: FOOD.

You know, that give or take, decadent Thanksgiving meal that wouldn’t be complete without turkey (we throw in duck, too), dressing, pumpkin pie, and all those very comforting sides that I eat for days in various creative renditions.  I mean, who says you can’t have pecan pie with your coffee for breakfast?  (Maybe leave off the heavy whipping cream… or just go ahead and repurpose it in your coffee, you choose.)  

Sarcasm aside, food is hands down the main event of the day.

It should be easy, right?  A rich and delicious meal, good people, gratitude…?

Not so fast.  My guess is you may have had some not so friendly dealings in your day with food as a result of body image challenges.  I know I have.  

In fact, I’ve worked really hard to enjoy food at Thanksgiving.  My relationship with food was once hateful and toxic.  I developed anorexia nervosa when I was 15.  One day, I stepped on a scale and the number staring back at me was in my estimation, too high.  So, I did what I do, and I took control, or so I thought.  I began running and eating super clean.  

Like so many extremes, this one started off pure, with a desire to be healthy and feel good about myself.  It went downhill fast, and pretty soon, at 5’6”, the number staring back at me was an emaciated 88 pounds.  NOT a good look.  

I was in a critical health crisis, and my doctor swore she’d throw my butt into inpatient care and stick feeding tubes in me faster than I could say kale chips if I didn’t agree to her plan of action.

The fact that I’ve cultivated a loving relationship with food is a glorious miracle I thank God for daily.  And, my oh my, do I love food.  I’ve come to love it in a way that respects it instead of manipulates it.  

Think about it, what if you treated a friend in a way that felt manipulative and scarce as we often do food?  What if we had thoughts about a loved one as we have about food?  

“I’m going to starve all day Wednesday so I can binge on Thanksgiving.”

“If I lose ten pounds, I’ll be beautiful and worthy of love.”

I mean, seriously, I can’t imagine my relationships with people existing of such controlling and relentless behavior.  I definitely wouldn’t be my friend.  

So why do we treat food and our bodies with such fear and manipulation?

Mean Girls aside, as you glide into the homestretch of Thanksgiving Day fixin’s and the ongoing feast of the season, here are three simple tips for you bring to the table.

1) Focus on the connection, not just the consumption.

My favorite thing about a dinner party, or family dinner, or lunch date with a friend isn’t entirely the food, although that’s a fun piece of it.  It’s about the connection happening in the midst of it.  A humbling practice I learned in recovery is this beautiful notion of letting a meal be more about connecting with yourself and others than solely about consuming food.  

Thanksgiving’s central focus is gratitude; the meal is a mere vehicle of this.  As you fill your plate to the very edge this Thursday and sit down to enjoy, remember to lean into conversation and connection around you.   This allows us to really slow down and I promise the food will taste that much better.  

2) Taste your food.

This may sound basic, but it’s actually a lot harder than you think.  In our microwave society of instant gratification and epic consumerism, slowing down to taste food is a rare art form.  To fully enjoy, we must connect with our senses, and this takes a bit more awareness and time than does shoveling stuffing down the hatch.  

Immerse yourself in the experience: the smells, the texture, the spices, and maybe even what it reminds you of, if anything.  Allow yourself to be all in, again, not simply inhaling in order to get first dibs on seconds.

3) Listen to your body.

We must honor our bodies and our food by slowing down enough to hear when we’re approaching food coma status.  (And we all go there from time to time!)  

It takes 20 minutes for our bodies to register fullness.  I am queen of eating so fast I think I may need a stretcher and the ER because I’ve just inhaled entirely too much food, (Mexican food does it every time).  I didn’t give my brain enough time to tell my stomach we were maxed out—no bueno. 

Sure, we typically overdo it on Thanksgiving, and that’s okay!  It’s good to allow ourselves the grace to do so from time to time.  My hope for you and this Thanksgiving is that you will simply embrace it with open arms and a hungry heart (as well as belly).  Loosen the grip of fear that wants to control and manipulate, and bring your whole being into the occasion.  Let gratitude blanket your experience as you marinate in the richness of connection.  

Now, I’m officially hungry!  

Happiest of Thanksgiving to you and yours!

Gratitude & Love,

Katie

xoxo

Take Me to Church

I grew up in a LOT of church.  For years, I even played music professionally in church both as a singer and worship leader.  

We grow up learning to value and live by belief systems passed down to us from the cultures we grow up in.  For me, this was steeped in Evangelical church culture as my parents were both involved in ministry for as long as I can remember.  This was my “first structure,” as Richard Rohr defines it in one of my favorite books about the spiritual journey called Falling Upward.  This initial infrastructure for belief informed most of mine and our family’s early life. I’m eternally grateful for it.

However, part of the self and truth-discovery process always involves holding those first, hand-me-down values up to the light to grapple with and establish our own set of convictions and beliefs.  Often they are an extension of those early establishments but sometimes, they take on an entirely different tone.  Stepping into our truth is an ongoing process and one that involves doubt, questioning, discomfort, time, debate, and a generous helping of self-compassion—on repeat.  

I say all this only because my spiritual landscape has not included church much at all in the last several years.  Instead, I’ve found a soft landing pad in the arms of rest, nature, loving relationships, and plenty of downtime time (involving books, a journal, and the glorious drip of caffeine).  Going church-rogue has honestly felt expansive, and at the same time like I’m missing out.  On what?  Keep reading….

So the same is true for live shows and funerals.  I know, weird. Despite the fact that I didn’t grow up going to a ton of concerts or funerals, I’ve developed a bit of laziness around both.  I mean come on, you may know exactly what I mean if you spent most of your twenties and early thirties at a late night show in a packed, dark, and often smelly venue somewhere in Nashville.  

Maybe I’m just getting old and cynical, but these days I’d rather stay home, cook dinner, take a bath, and get some serious shut-eye.  Don’t get me wrong; music is a big part of my life…it’s with the getting out part that I’m on the struggle bus.  

I may have a pounding shame hangover after admitting this next one, but I shy away from funerals too.  Of course, not if it’s a family member or loved one (I’m not a monster.)  I’m talking about the ones where I wouldn’t be missed if I didn’t show.  My thoughts regarding these are typically, “I don’t want to crowd or add any additional stress for the family” and “Do they really want me there?  I’ll just be in the way.”  

And then there is that obvious element of deep pain and fear I have surrounding this minor little fact of life called mortality.  Let’s face it; it’s easier to simply opt out.  

Or is it?

Why do church, concerts, and funerals matter so much?  In an oversimplified nutshell, here’s why:

Beyond belief, beyond preference, beyond discomfort, we MUST find ways to show up and place our unique thumbprint on this undeniably grounding root system of collective human connection by touching moments of joy and pain.  

There is enough bad news cycling each day thanks to 24-hour news.  You get it; good news is slim pickins’.  But the worst thing in the world is for me to throw my hands up, peace out, and judge the world through my disconnected lens of comfort, isolation, and cynicism.  

 In Braving the Wilderness, Dr. Brene Brown renders,

 “We’re in a spiritual crisis, and the key to building a true belonging practice is maintaining our belief in inextricable human connection.  That connection-the spirit that flows between us and every other human in the world-is not something that can be broken; however, our belief in the connection is constantly tested and repeatedly severed.  When our belief that there’s something greater than us, something rooted in love and compassion, breaks, we are more likely to retreat to our bunkers, to hate from afar, to tolerate bullshit, to dehumanize others, and, ironically, to stay out of the wilderness.”

She later shares the key to maintaining this belief and connection to humanity lies in our willingness to show up for collective moments of joy and pain so that we can witness this stunning human connectedness.  

We brand into our bones the hope of human connection when we show up for moments of joy and pain alongside fellow travelers.  Sure, we’re all unique when you zoom in close, but if we zoom out with a wide-angle lens, we see the remarkable footprint of humanity—a desire to belong.

It’s being moved to tears beholding a stadium full of people singing the National Anthem.  It’s holding the hand of a grieving stranger sitting next to you in the pew on Sunday morning. It’s screaming “with or without you” at the top of your lungs when U2 comes through town.  For me, especially around this time of year, it’s leaving the Nutcracker ballet for the twentieth time completely inspired alongside all the other frustrated ballerina’s in the room that will dream of Sugarplum Fairies for days.

These moments all feel like church to me.  I’m going.  Who’s with me? 

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

Letting Go of Extremes - To Embrace the "Both-And"

I remember sitting in my therapist’s office several years ago.  Gosh, it must have been about twelve.  Her name was Gail, and she’s everything a brilliant therapist is in my mind: accepting, compassionate, wise, firm, seasoned by her own broken story, and the kind of listener that makes you feel like you’re the only soul on the planet. 

I was in the chapter of my life I refer to as the “falling” stage.  Everything around me seemed to be crumbling, and my job was to let it do so against every ounce of my will.  She held the sacred space for that painful fall to unfold.  At every break, she simply wanted to better understand me, not try and fix me.  Gail saw me.

Have you ever been in that frustrating place where the best and safest thing to do is NOT break the fall?  I’ve often heard this with surfing and skydiving, for example (two pastimes I have zero experience with). In my understanding, there are actual ways we must learn to fall—to lean into the plummet. 

Resisting with tension, grit, and that secret stash of Xanax bars you snaked from your mama aren’t included.

Gail patiently taught me how to fall, over time.  Something she said to me one day, in the vortex of my despair was this: “Katie, it doesn’t have to look a certain way.  You get to choose.” 

This stuck with me perhaps more than anything she ever said.  Funny how that works isn’t it?  We remember much more poignantly how people make us feel, not necessarily what they say.  However, I carry her words with me to this day.

You see, so much of my struggle was existing in a world of extremes, all-or-nothing thinking and the “either-or.”  Either I'd be alone and depressed my whole life with little hope for anything resembling joy or I'd be a hyper version of myself,  feeding heavily on perfectionism and people-pleasing. (Clearly, this was before I came into my own combination skin: quirky, stubborn, and embracing my inner introvert.)

Looking back, I’m so grateful that zipped up idea of success stayed just that, an idea.  

Falling for me meant moving from this dualistic or binary way of extreme thinking and leaning into the open relief that life, in fact, didn’t have to look a certain way.  It could be “both-and.” 

I could feel majorly depressed and understand that hope was possible.  I could feel lonely, longing for relationship and community and know that it very well may look different in several weeks time.  I could long for certainty and lean into the unknown.  Richard Rohr calls it “holding creative tensions.” 

Holding the tension between a longing and its unmet fulfillment is indeed a creative, tight place.  It looks a whole lot like faith.

Does your extreme thinking feel exhausting?  Do you find yourself awfulizing situations by projecting worst-case scenarios onto perfectly neutral possibilities? If so, I feel you; it’s a relentless habit. 

Take heart though! That old way of “either-or” that is judgment-heavy and rigid is a habit worth breaking so we can wake up to the lovely landscape of balance, curiosity, and “both-and.”  

Next time you get stuck in either-or, simply notice it, honor it, and let it be.  Then ask yourself what you need at that moment.  Is it hope, acceptance, a friend, time, or provision? 

Find the space in that very moment that allows for the lack as well as the possibility.  “I’m overwhelmed with deadlines, and, I know there is light at the end of the tunnel.” Or it might sound like this, “I’m so angry with my friend and how she’s treating me, and, she may be really struggling right now.”  

Lean into the contemplative, creative space that invites possibility.  When we rush into our old judgmental patterns, we snuff out hope with our need to control.  Loosen the reigns a bit. Let go of that death grip.  There’s a bright world of life in those tiny spaces.

Love & Gratitude,

Katie