Only the Lonely: Lessons From an Unlikely Teacher

If there is an emotion that feels truly hollow and hopeless, it has, in my experience, been loneliness.  It’s an ache that reaches for miles and miles and photoshops out any trace of perspective or existing motivation to grab hold of.

This is why, for me anyway, it’s necessary to stuff it, sweep it, and quickly look the other way before the bleakness of its stare can call my flimsy bluff.  The tears would be a storm.  The storm might never pass.  Keep it together, Katie… The show must go on.

This is also why loneliness is currently proven a more dangerous health epidemic than obesity and smoking.  No joke.  On the surface, it’s asymptomatic.  We can hide it famously.  Yet right beneath the surface, its death grip is suffocating.  

Whereas I believe loneliness is not something to mess around with over time, I do believe, like anything, it can create spaces in life to dig deeper into an otherwise hidden ecosystem of awareness and insight.  

Very curiously, loneliness became one of the wisest and most prolific teachers I’ve ever had.  Come to think of it though, she used very few words, if any.  Just like most memorable teachers, she was a real hard ass at first.  Over time though, she softened.  

Today, if you sit in a scary room of loneliness, I want to reach you.  Not to fix you, Lord knows I can’t.  I want to simply say “I see you,” and perhaps in doing so, lessen the penetrating sting of that thick and clumsy needle.  I want to validate your pain, take it out of its dark and shadowy corner, and give it some breathing room.  Loneliness shouldn’t bear the weight of such baggage.  Yes, she’s strong, but not that powerful.  

Plus, the pain of our emotions lifts a bit when we bathe them in light and curiosity.

My loneliness taught me layers of truth and gave me space to dig into the real, unseen meat of my needs and desires.  I hated and resisted her for so long until I held that resistance up against the light.  

Here are the most stunning realizations she gave me:

Loneliness is the human condition.

I remember sitting in my therapist's office one crisp February afternoon.  I was at the bottom of the bottom.  It was not a good look.  My anxiety was so deafening; I couldn’t separate out my words and thoughts from her loud yell.  She beat frantically on the drum of my chest without reprieve.  

I was anxious because of this profound sense of loneliness laced with depression I felt and from which I couldn’t escape.  It doesn’t make much sense looking back now, but man did it feel like fact then.  It put me in the hospital, literally.  

Gail looked at me with her wise and nurturing eyes that day and said,

“Katie, loneliness is the human condition. We all go there.”  

Whereas I wanted a pill or a promise, she gave me that weighty nugget.  I’ve carried it since.  
To know that my loneliness is not unique or special, and is, in fact, a pre-requisite for being human felt like a heavy wave of relief.  

Your loneliness is part of what connects you to the frayed fabric of humanity.

Loneliness is very different than being alone.  

Some of the loneliest people I know are married, have a couple of kids, are well-connected in the community, or have big jobs.  I’ve got a friend who lives in New York City and tells me it can be the loneliest place in the world. 

Despite being surrounded by people, we can still be deeply lonely.  Solitude, even for all you extroverts out there, is a gift worth tearing open.  

I was confusing a season of not having loads of friends and support—being forced to befriend solitude—with loneliness.  I had been so dependent on people to tell me who I was and what I should do that this unfamiliar place of open-ended quiet felt terrifying.  Ironically, this was the season I started to hear the sound of my voice.

We create out of silence.  We can only truly listen in the stillness.  This requires getting alone yet looks nothing like loneliness.  Quiet passages of solitude invite the most valuable connection possible: you and you.  This is when we learn to belong to us.

My fear of loneliness was really about shame.

What I notice in seasons of loneliness, and yes, they still exist, is that I’m really grappling with the shame of inadequacy.  I’m afraid I’ll be rejected or misunderstood or simply won’t have what it takes.  This fear always leads me down the path of trying to fit in or people-please.  I’ve had to call BS on so many of my attempts at being liked instead of being true.  

This is when loneliness tells us we’re on the right path.  I was reminded of that this past Thursday night when I went to hear Brené Brown speak.  Once I got past being totally star struck, I settled into the gravity of what she shared.  

Her research has proven that to truly belong we must often stand alone and risk being highly vulnerable.  Courage and comfort are not synonymous.  

To belong, we must be willing to talk about (and in doing so, reveal) those areas that we are most shameful of.

This process feels incredibly lonely.  Yet, it’s far better to take this risk and own your truth than to fake it on the surface and disconnect from self.  That’s an exhausting detour.

Being truly alive means getting dirty in the arena, not sitting all zipped up in the nosebleeds.

Does the shame of your loneliness (whether that looks like singleness, creative frustration, personal rejection, transition or grief) keep you hustling to keep it together or fit in?  

I can assure you; you are not alone.  

This may be a season to slow down, exhale, and listen to what it’s trying to say.  It tells me I’m alive and on the right track more times than not.  It tells me to lean into the resistance because pain typically signals opportunity.  It tells me I belong, if to no one else, to myself. The most creative and courageous giants stood alone more times than not.  Oh, they got dirty alright.  

Yes, I see you.  Yes, I hear you.  Only the lonely days taught me to reach out and risk the comfort of what’s known for the beautiful mess of what’s to come.

Love & Gratitude,
Katie

Resilience - The Story of You

Every year around this time, I get a bit nostalgic, even sappy.  (Shocker.)

I start to scroll through all the memories, struggles, victories, heartaches, and lessons learned.  Without fail, the year at hand proves a very thought-provoking teacher.  Thanks to scarily intuitive portals, it’s hard to escape montages of these memories—hell, Facebook already made a highlight reel of them complete with a companion soundtrack to take us there. 

Throughout the bleakest years of my struggle with depression, my Dad always knew exactly how to encourage me.  He would take me to dinner and we would talk.  He knew good food and deep conversation were the way to my heart.  I suppose I inherited this from him.

He taught me how to zoom out and see the bigger picture as he’d remind me how far I had come—my winding story up until then.  He would stress that God didn’t bring me here to leave me here; no, God was far too clever for that.  He reminded me of my unique story and that despite the pain I was feeling at the moment,  I was being broken open and forever changed in a good way.  One day this might make more sense.  It didn’t then, but it sure does now.  

I’m not sure he used the word resilience, but now I know that’s what he meant: my willingness to show up, fall after fall, to the call of my life.  

I just looked up the definition of resilience and here is what Merriam Webster gives us:

1: the capability of a strained body to recover its size and shape after deformation caused especially by compressive stress

2: an ability to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change

I especially like the second one.  

Something 2017 has reminded me of in a convincing way is that change is indeed inevitable.  All forms of change, even positive, incurs a loss because when we embrace change, we must let go of something.  

We must grieve loss.  Loss doesn’t occur in a vacuum.  To let go is to change, even if it’s letting go of something harmful in order to experience something better. Whenever we embrace change, we must also grieve what’s been left behind.

As you look back at this fascinating year in your life, I wonder what you'll see?  What emotions bubble up to the surface?  How have you practiced resilience and embraced changed, as fragile as it felt? Did you grieve the losses brought about by change?

No, don’t get hung up on perceived success or failure, that’s entirely too pedestrian for our purposes.  We are talking about your becoming.  Becoming what?  Becoming yours—you belonging to you through the barren drought of testing, loneliness, and doubt. 

It’s about coming to love the quirky beat of your own drum.

I’m leaving you with this Brené Brown nugget of pure gold wisdom,

"True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.”

Resilience allows your sacred and most authentic self to shine through all those cracks you never knew existed, and in doing so, gives the gift of true belonging.  We don’t get there without a refiners fire to burn off the dull and rusted edges of fear we learned along the way.

Bravo, my dear.  You are here.  You’ve worked hard to get here.  You have a story to tell that may never be read by the masses, but it’s your greatest work of art and one no one can ever take it away.  

Own it. Tell it. Keep writing it.  

It’s high time to celebrate this beautiful story that is YOU.  

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

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

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