Believing Mirror

'7 Crows, A Secret Never To Be Told' detail--Cat Fink
7 Crows, A Secret Never to be Told (detail) — Cat Fink

Thursday I had my last session with my coach.  Yes, I am a creativity coach-artist-writer-blogger who has a coach.  I should say, had a coach.

For this past year we have been talking, every two weeks.  Sometimes emailing in between the talking.

I’ll tell you how I feel right now.  Sad.  I am going to miss our biweekly conversations.  I am also elated, excited, pleased with myself.  I keep hearing ‘I did it!’ popping into my thoughts.  I am grounded and balanced within myself and my life.  I feel like I just graduated from a Master’s Degree program.  I feel like I just ran a whole marathon.

So what did I do that has me celebrating?

Last April I got very honest with myself.  I looked at my nineteen years as a professional artist.  Looked at my writing and my blogging.  At my book with the half-completed second draft.  At the creativity workshops and coaching I was doing.

I loved all I was doing and creating, loved the connections and community I was building.  But I had no focus.  It all felt very random, with no clear path ahead.  My usual way of working was feeling chaotic rather than organic.

This is where I am, I said to myself.  Where do I want to go?  How do these pieces of my creativity fit together?

I am the kid who always says ‘I can do it myself’, and does.  Not this time.  I need help, I said to myself, and Source heard my request.

Enter Linda.

Linda is a Master Coach.  Yes, the capital letters are deliberate and appropriate.  She coaches CEO’s and entrepreneurs.

Linda listened to me with her heart and her head.

I have a bad attitude around business, I said.  Business and art don’t belong in the same sentence.

We can do this, she said.

Over twelve months we shifted me, my life, and my creativity into focus.  We talked about the nuts and bolts of what I was doing, the energy and feel of what I was creating.  About where I was and where I wanted to be.  We used our heads and our hearts.  Feeling and knowing what was right for me, and what was not.

Two (of the thousand) things I learned from Linda:

Feel and think.  My heart carries my dreams and inspiration and path.  My head carries the organizing and details, the process, the nuts and bolts of building.  When I connect all of this, the whole of me, I see clearly the next step in front of me.  I feel the energy of the people I am connecting with, and what they are asking for.  I see how this matches my inspiration, the workshops and coaching, the words and drawings I will create in response.

Use everything.  Instead of pushing away what I don’t like, I get curious about it.  What does this feel like?  What is it telling me?  Why is it showing up?  How can I use it?  I am fascinated at how there is always a way to turn something around and let it inspire me.

Linda has been my Believing Mirror.  She met me exactly where I was, and saw the future me as I wanted to be.  Step by step she walked with me into that place.  Transformation.

What is best?  I am now my own Believing Mirror.  I see where I am, and I see where I am going to be.  That vision of where I will be pulls me forward.  It creates the space for me to walk into, and the steps to get there.

Thank you, Linda, Master Coach, Believing Mirror.

_______________________

In this post:

‘Believing Mirror’, page 47 in It’s Never Too Late to Begin Again, Julia Cameron, TarcherPerigree, 2016, http://juliacameronlive.com/

Linda Caducoy,  Executive Coach,  https://www.linkedin.com/in/lindacaducoy

Play, says Raven

7 Crows, a Secret Never To Be Told
7 Crows, a Secret Never To Be Told

 

Last Thursday night, I dream of Raven.

He arrives out of a red gash in the earth.  A hillside, the earth, cut open with an ax, a large square piece flying away like chips of wood from a chopped tree.

Out he flies.  He doesn’t look like Raven.  He looks like a red parrot.  In the dream I try to give him to my husband.  But no, Raven claims me instead, flips back his parrot disguise like a cape and looks me level in the eyes.

Tells me, Play.

Then he hops onto my shoulder.  He should feel heavy, sitting there, grinning and clacking and gurgling at me.  My body is prepared to feel weight tipping my balance sideways.

No.  No weight.  Play has no weight.  Play is feather and cloud and dance.  Play is all Raven.

I wake.

I am not playing enough.  I have been much too serious the last few weeks, and have forgotten play.  I have slipped back into my old pattern of duty and work.  A grim perfection of doing what needs doing before I allow myself time to do what I love–write and draw and imagine and read.

No wonder I have been waking each morning grouchy and out of sorts with the world and my life.  I choose and move myself out of this mood each morning.  I remind myself that happiness is a choice, and that I choose happiness, love, and joy in my life.

I have been forgetting to add that I also choose play, fun, and laughter.  I do get to these sometime during each of my days, but not enough.  Not soon enough and not for long enough.

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