Growing In and Growing Out, Not Up

growing in, growing out

When you hear someone say, “that person needs to grow up,” it doesn’t usually sound like a compliment or even an objective observation.

No, it sounds like a judgement.

They are not mature.

They have not grown up.

They are not a so-called grown up.

Growing up is the term we use in American culture to describe the process of maturing.

This is typically coupled with the aging process. One gets older year by year, and theoretically wiser.

There are so many examples and metaphors of how we equate up with better.

And better with superior.

It creates a sense of better than/less than.

But, if life is a process of maturing, then when is one ever grown up?

Don’t Grow Up

In some aboriginal cultures, one does not age just because there’s been a full rotation of the sun from their birth date.

One ages and celebrates a birthday party of sorts as a rite of passage or once they feel they’ve developed as a person or increased their mastery. Often specifically related to their vocation and role in the tribe.

This sounds more like how Buddhist’s ascend levels of enlightenment over the course of many lives. The ultimate level, where they have finished maturing, is liberation from the cycle of rebirth and death, what we commonly refer to as nirvana.

How do they grow up, er, ascend?

By following the Noble Eight-fold Path each lifetime.

How do they follow the path?

My guess: by growing in and growing out, not by growing up.

Growing In

Growing in, we come into integrity with ourselves.

We gain knowledge and wisdom about who we are, who we have been and who we will become.

In Essential Spirituality, Dr. Roger Walsh describes the three parts of knowing oneself.

I imagine it as concentric circles:

  • The center circle, what’s deep within us, is our truest “self,” our soul.
  • The next circle is our inner self where our secrets, hopes and fears lie, as well as our beliefs and self-image.
  • The outside circle is our outer self, our surface emotions, habits and personality.

Through discernment, the process of obtaining spiritual direction and understanding, we regain a sense of knowing.

In seeking answers or clarity, we often look within through meditation and prayer. And we look without through discussion and study.

According to Walsh, we seek wisdom:

  • in nature
  • in silence and solitude
  • from the wise
  • in ourselves
  • from reflecting on the nature of life and of death

Discernment reminds me of research and experimentation. Testing a hypothesis, a current idea, to grow new understanding.

My discernment has presented itself in this way: as a learning journey, similar to the “personal legend” in Paulo Cohelo’s fable, The Alchemist, toward the next thing I need to learn about being.

Each journey may last a few months or a few years, yet has a cycle beginning and ending at the next learning journey.

Sometimes it directly relates to big life decisions, but often it’s the daily choices related to being in the world as it actually is.

As former First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt said, we decide “to accept the fact that [a person] must be what they are, life must be lived as it is and you cannot live at all if you do not learn to adapt yourself to your life as it happens to be.”

The end of Mary Oliver’s poem “To Begin With, the Sweet Grass” speaks to these journeys of growing in:

I have become older and, cherishing what I have learned, I have become younger.

And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know? Love yourself.  Then forget it.  Then, love the world.

Growing Out

Growing out, we come into integrity with the world.

As Oliver says, we love the world.

“I want to see myself at once at the center of the universe—influencing its course with every word, thought, and deed—and at the same time a minute instrument of the cosmos acting in harmony with others,” wrote Robert Greenleaf in his essay about “The Requirements of Responsibility.”

We can exist in this cohesive state of opposites that Robert Greenleaf describes.

Often, my learning journeys have required some amount of both growing in and growing out at the same time.

And yet, there seem to be cycles to growth that do require one lesson before another.

Or some self-awareness prior to participating in a greater collective state.

For instance, many believe in astrological periods of a Saturn Return, the ~28 years for Saturn to complete its orbit around the Sun coinciding with the time of our birth, relating to cycles of learning journeys.

Some native cultures believe that the first seven years of the cycle are about mother, the next seven about father, the next seven about self, the next seven about community.

Just as growing in connects closely to self, growing out connects closely to community.

We discern, we test and learn, how to love the world through the way we live our life and our choices, as well as the way we show up in it, the energy we are bringing forth through these choices and actions.

Only recently have my learning journeys shifted from having a deep focus on growing in toward an emerging focus on growing out.

With fewer experiences and far less study, I know less about this process.

I sense that just as growing in is more introverted and reflective, growing out is more outgoing and active.

As such, we can seek wisdom:

  • in nature through interacting, not observing
  • in exchange and engagement
  • from the wise
  • from fully living with others

We love the world through our full presence and through engagement in deep community, “a special sense of community that embraces not only every other human but other species and things, as well,” according to Thomas Moore in A Religion of One’s Own.

Photo Credit: Evan Cohan

What Matters Most

what matters most jules speaking to grandmother ocean

This was the moment when I really felt it: this.

“This is bliss.”

“This is what matters most.”

Why?

Because it was a combination of what’s important to me and how my soul glows.

These moments used to be fewer and farther in between. Accidental connections to my truest nature. I wanted more. 

Nowadays, I have found the words to define my personal guidelines for living a whole life. Living wholly and soulfully. Not accidental, but intentional.

That doesn’t mean life is perfect. Far from it. 

I am always practicing and I have a light to guide the way: my personal guidelines for the day-to-day and my inner guide for when things get really tricky.

Everyone has this light, though not everyone has the words.

How does one learn what matters most?

By preparing for the answers: keeping sacred space, knowing your inner guide and asking the big questions, and then, living into them.

Start with Perspective

In one of my favorite movies, About Time, the lead character can time travel.

He doesn’t need a machine like Bill & Ted. He can just close his eyes, focus on a moment, and go there.

The most powerful thing he discovers? He has do-overs.

He can go back and re-do every day, savoring the moments:

  • Acknowledging the clerk at the market with a smile.
  • Noticing the beautiful windows as he’s running to catch his train.
  • Greeting his crying, messy child after work.

Eventually, he stops time traveling and literally only lives in the present.

Feel free to stop reading and go stream it (it’s so good).

Then, you can come back to this post and learn about how to live this way. 

Why isn’t life only about what really matters?

According to the movie, life is only about these precious moments—what really matters—it’s just about our perspective on it.

Yes, and, you might be thinking.

There’s actually a lot in our lives that doesn’t matter. More so for some people than others.

How do we know what does and doesn’t matter?

“To discern what is truly essential we need space to think, time to look and listen, permission to play, wisdom to sleep, and the discipline to apply highly selective criteria to the choices we make. Ironically in [our] culture these things—space, listening, playing, sleeping and selecting—can be seen as trivial distractions,” wrote Greg McKweon in Essentialism about the disciplined pursuit of less.

How do we find space and time and permission and wisdom?

We practice.

Keeping Sacred Space

I find the best time for me to practice creating sacred space is when I’m backpacking, when I’m on retreat and when I observe Sabbath, my “weekly retreat.”

In his book, Sabbath, Muller writes, “Sabbath is an incubator for wisdom. When we allow the rush and pressure of our days to fall away, even for a short period of time, we are able to discern the essential truth of what lies before us.”

Poet Wendell Berry, who has a longstanding practice of Sabbath, wrote:

During the Buddhist Sabbath, lay people and monks gather to recite the precepts that govern their practice. There are hundreds of these precepts for monks, concerning everything from how you meditate to how you eat your food and how you wash your bowl.

But more than the specific precepts, it is a time to reiterate what is ultimately important, sacred. Whether the Eightfold Path of Buddhism, the Five Pillars of Islam, or the Ten Commandments, most religions consider certain precepts to be guiding lights to help us find our way through darker times.

Berry often writes poetry about what’s ultimately important, sacred, on the Sabbath. There is a sense of divine inspiration in his observations of the world and its interconnectedness.

“Sabbath is a time when we retreat from the illusion of our own indispensability. We are important in that we are part of something larger,” adds Muller.

Something larger that’s often hard to comprehend without some guidance.

Knowing Your Inner Guide

“Whether we choose spirituality or religion, we need a system of experiences and beliefs that is true to our own experience. We must once again look at our own lives and discover what we already know,” says Cecile Andrews, author of The Circle of Simplicity: The Return to the Good Life.

Anthropology Professor Roger Walsh wrote:

We know more than we know we know. The inner source has been called by many names: for example, the Hindu’s “inner guru,” the Tibetan Buddhist’s “personal diety,” the Christian Quaker’s “still small voice within,” or the psychologist’s “higher self.” Whatever the name, the implications are the same. We have within us remarkable wisdom that will guide and help us if we learn how to recognize and draw on it.”

Just that simple.

Ultimately, yes, and…

From my experience the learning how to recognize [and listen] and draw on it, is a lifelong quest for the monks and us lay people alike.

Over the years, I’ve come to know and listen to this.

My inner guide is the filter for what is true to me, at any given time, on my path. 

As I’ve quieted and settled what Walsh describes as “the outer self” of surface emotions, habits and personality, and then “the inner self” of secret hopes and fears, self-image and beliefs, the listening grew easier, the voice grew louder and clearer.

This so-called voice lies within our “deep self,” or soul.

For some this conversation comes through deep, committed practices with meditation or yoga.

For me this conversation comes mainly through intentional practices of:

It is in these sacred spaces and times when I’ve become acquainted with my inner guide, my deep self, my still small voice within.

It’s always been there, I just hadn’t asked or hadn’t really listened before.

Asking the Big Questions

Listening starts with asking. The curiosity to receive whatever shows up.

Questions like:

  • What inspires me?
  • What is it like when I’m “in my element”?
  • What is love?
  • What do I believe?
  • What do I fear?
  • What’s always been important to me?
  • What connects me to Source?
  • When do I feel whole?

I’ve been amazed at how often it’s in the most minuscule moment of awe, perhaps examining a worm slithering through the soil, that my inner guide reveals my deepest knowing, the answers to these questions.

“Sabbath honors this quality of not knowing, an open receptivity of mind essential for allowing things to speak to us from where they are,” wrote Muller.

It is a lifelong conversation to recognize our own wisdom.

There is a difference between knowledge and wisdom.

In Essential Spirituality, Dr. Walsh said:

Knowledge informs us, wisdom transforms us.
Knowledge is something we have, wisdom is something we must become.
Knowledge is expressed in words, wisdom in our lives.
Knowledge empowers, wisdom empowers and enlightens.

Wisdom is our deepest knowing.

As such, often our most heartfelt questions are more of a feeling than a thought.

They don’t always formulate into neat, little sentences.

Because it’s not about figuring things out. That’s knowledge.

This is about feeling things out as our being connects the dots and then the answer emerges.

Wisdom.

The wisdom, courage, and clarity we need are already embedded in creation—in nature, in the world, in our lives. The solution is already alive in the problem. Thus, our work is not always to push and strive and struggle. Often we have only to be still, and we will know, wrote Muller.

The Tao Te Ching asks us:

Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?

In other words, until the right answer arises by itself?

Moments Matter Most

Once you start having the conversation, you can discern what is truly essential, what matters most, as McKweon describes.

You’ll know what is important to you and how your soul glows.

You’ll know what this feels like and you’ll be able to start putting the words together to define your personal guidelines for living a whole life.

Once you name it, you can live it even more intentionally. Remembering and practicing these fundamental precepts each week, they become your every day.

“When I am fully aware of clouds moving, birds trilling, insects buzzing and downy feathers floating on the still lake, I lean into the portal from this moment, beyond next week, and into the grand scale of things, weighing the collection of meaningful moments holding my life together,” wrote Shelly Miller.

This is living life to the fullest.


Join others from around the country in the next Sabbath Course as we explore and practice together, inspired by an interfaith, personal approach to this universal tradition. This 7-week course includes fun weekly activities, weekly community gatherings online and your own practice. You’ll experience what students describe as a “positive and significant impact on my personal growth and spiritual exploration.”

The Cult of Busy

cult of busy

I was a full-fledged member of the cult of busy. We all are.

I don’t recall when, but it probably began before I started using a planner in high school (that I designed for optimal homework, goal and activity tracking).

Or was voted “Most Involved” in the yearbook our Senior year.

And it just got worse from there: overcommitted, overachieving, overwhelmed for the next 15 years. Welcome to “adulthood”!

A vicious cycle of apps to optimize my time and practices to mitigate my stress.

Constantly acknowledged with awe and trepidation by others: “I don’t know how you do it all!”

I had become the epitome of a busy body filling in my life with busy work.

But as Henry David Thoreau asked in the 1850s, “it is not enough to be busy (the ants are busy), we must ask: what are we busy about?”

Why was I so busy?

Compulsive Busyness

“…much of the busyness that we see around us everyday is compulsive busyness. Somebody is avoiding something…[The busyness] can involve us in the most worthy of good works only to distract us from entheos and deny us the privilege of being really useful,” wrote Robert Greenleaf back in the 1970s.

That’s a mouthful, but it is exactly how I was living before I started this blog. How?

I was “compulsively busy” – constantly doing to be doing.

Multiple service and leadership commitments, multiple client projects, running a business, spending time with my family and so many friends – all over the country, traveling all the time, personal growth projects and groups, extensive spiritual practices, hyper-organized home, baking from scratch, driving friends to the airport and the list goes on somehow.

Still “Most Involved” in seemingly the most worthy of good works.

Living life to the fullest, right?

Then, what was I avoiding?

Entheos, the Greek word for the God within, the way the divine creative energy moves through us toward what the world really needs.

In other words, my personal mission: I am in the world to change the world with my creativity.

And as Greenleaf says: the privilege of being really useful.

Everything is Work

What does really useful look like?

My sense is it has little to do with time or effort or money. The resources we measure our lives in.

I think it has to do with our other main resource: our energy.

Or as Julian Gresser describes as our “creative emotion or vitality” when speaking to the relative value of these four resources in Piloting Through Chaos (time, effort, money, energy).

In his TEDTalk and book about The Art of Stillness, Pico Iyer shares that after a 30-year study of time diaries, two socioligists found that Americans were actually working fewer hours than we were in the 1960’s, but we feel as if we are working more (underlining added for emphasis).

Perhaps because everything is “work” nowadays.

And/or we approach everything with the attitude that it is work, that it is labor – taking time, requiring effort, costing money. And draining energy.

In preparation for a session about work and spirituality I was leading in 2015,  I audited my own work.

All of it. Paid work, unpaid service, leadership and pro bono work, domestic work (including caregiving and housekeeping) and informal work (including favors). Pretty much anything that didn’t feel like play or leisure.

I was shocked.

Adding in caregiving, housework, volunteering, commuting, grooming etc. and it seemed like 80 percent of my life was “work.”

For some, sleep is the only time they’re not “working.”

No wonder I constantly felt depleted, my energy in frequent flux of high highs and low lows, and completely burning out every few months.

Why did everything feel like work – so effortful, instead of effortless? Or simply neutral?

I was drawing my energy from an empty well.

Like one researcher who studies Christmas Holiday Cards discovered and shared in an interview with Brigid Shulte for Overwhelmed,

“My God, people are competing about being busy. It’s about showing status. That if you’re busy, you’re important. You’re leading a full and worthy life.”

Taking a Break

“Without time to reflect, to live fully present in the moment and face what is transcendent about our lives, we are doomed to live in purposeless and banal busyness…It creates this ‘unquiet heart,’ as Saint Augustine said, that is ever desperate for fulfillment,” said another researcher in an interview with Shulte.

It was a few years ago when I was asked, “But, when do you rest?”

In a quick, instantaneous audit of my life, I could only think of one example.

Going away on retreats every few months.

Cherished times of being, of following the divine energy, of feeling full, of feeling whole.

I saw these times as an exception, not accessible in “real life,” on a weekly or a daily basis.

So deep in the belief that busyness was the way that I was being really useful.

I needed more time to reflect, to live fully present in the moment, to face what is transcendent about life.

I needed a break.

And on a regular basis.

As I started to peel away the worthy distractions and set aside time for not doing each week, it became more clear how I was called to be. How I have always been called.

But, had also come to most fear: creating, writing, designing, teaching.

Resting the Whole, Resting the Soul

“In the 1950s, some prominent thinkers predicted that the post-World War II boom in productivity and the ever-rising incomes and standards of living for Americans and the industrialized world could only mean that we were entering a new age of unprecedented leisure,” describes Shulte.

“All our basic needs would be met. Free from toil, we could begin to savor its fruits. True to the Greek ideal of the good life, we would spend our time cultivating the mind and the soul.”

It was just over a year ago on a Circle of Trust retreat facilitated by The Center for Courage & Renewal when I was asked, “What in your life needs a pause? A break? A rest?”

I had been giving my life a break each week, a whole day of stepping out of the busyness, for several years by then.

The question seemed familiar and yet a completely fresh perspective.

But, this question seemed bigger, broader.

Taking a day off per week away from routine and schedules had started giving time a break. And I had been taking a break from money for almost a year by then. And I had started to step back from commitments and focus my efforts.

So, what in my life needed a break?

My soul. My life force. My energy.

Not a break from being (not sure that’s possible), but a chance to simply be without all the resistance.

I am paying especially close attention to my energy. Devoted to being in the sweet spot.

There is still some resistance, and thus tensions, but now it’s to the rest of the world’s busyness, not my own.

Things are feeling more effortless, including doing my “work.” The other work is still work, though I have way less interest in it, so there’s a lot less of it and now feels more neutral.

Not a one time fix. Now, I commit to this intention everyday.

As Naomi Shihab Nye writes in her poem, Red Brocade, from 1952:

No, I was not busy when you came!
I was not preparing to be busy.
That’s the armor everyone put on
to pretend they had a purpose
in the world.


Join others from around the country in the next Sabbath Course as we explore and practice together, inspired by an interfaith, personal approach to this universal tradition. This 7-week course includes fun weekly activities, weekly community gatherings online and your own practice. You’ll experience what students describe as a “positive and significant impact on my personal growth and spiritual exploration.”

Your Path to Rest

your path to rest

I had been on my spiritual path for nearly a decade and never asked myself this simple question: when do you rest?

The question showed up one day back in fall, 2014.

I had just signed a big contract with Nike for a 3-month gig. I was in the first year of self-employment and this was way too good to refuse.

But, I had three other consulting projects already, plus service commitments and the rest of life. It added up to 60+ hour work weeks. 80+ if you counted housekeeping and caregiving.

I knew something had to give. And it wasn’t the work.

It turns out it was the Rest.

My Path to Jack

Several women in my interfaith women’s group saw the same spiritual director, Jack Kennedy. At first, I didn’t really know what a spiritual director was, but I had seen therapists and shaman, so it seemed in the ballpark of familiarity.

I got his phone number, called to set an appointment and showed up at the house where he rented a room for his sessions.

Nestled into the the antique striped couch at my first meeting, I explained why I’d come to see him and what was on my heart: the heavy work load, running a business, volunteering, family, the upcoming holidays.

He listened for 15 minutes until I reached the end of my laundry list and this question: How was I going to do it all and not get burned out?

“Well, when do you rest?” he asked.

Not power naps. Not quick breaks between meetings. That’s just more doing.

He meant time and space for deep, restorative being in rhythm with my own body, the world around me and something bigger. He meant Sabbath.

I was speechless.

Sabbath Keeping

It was not something I had experienced yet in my everyday life.

But, as he described Sabbath, it sounded a whole lot like my magical times at the coast on personal retreats.

And I could have some of that magic every week? I was in.

That fall and for the last 3 years since, I have set aside one day a week, usually Saturdays like in the Jewish tradition, for rest and renewal.

Sabbath has become my weekly retreat.

An ancient practice, Sabbath is the fourth commandment. “Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy.”

It comes before family, before murder, before adultery and more.

Overwhelm and overstimulation are newer human conditions. But, hard work is not new. Labor is not new.

Many call it a merciful gift. Compassion for all this labor. In other words, it is a day that has been given.

There are many ways that different religious traditions remember or observe the Sabbath, including Christian services on Sundays and Buddhist monks’ recitation of precepts.

Barbara Brown Taylor describes her experience in Leaving Church:

“Observing the Sabbath is saving my life now. For the first time in my life, I can rest without leaving home. With sundown on the Sabbath, I stop seeing the dust balls, the bills and the laundry. They are still there, but they lose their power over me. One day each week I live as if all my work were done…Now, when I know the Sabbath is near, I can feel the anticipation bubbling up inside of me. Sabbath is no longer a a good idea or even a spiritual discipline for me. It is my regular date with the Divine Presence that enlivens both body and soul.”

Finding My Spiritual Path

Just as Barbara says, Sabbath has become a highlight of my week.

It is not simply a day to set everything aside, to stop doing and simply be. But a “regular date” to reconnect with what grounds me and inspires me, something bigger than myself.

My path to rest did not start with this practice in 2014. I think it actually started in 2007 when I went to a spiritual community gathering, the first step toward spiritual development I’d taken since leaving home at 18 years old, seven years prior.

Or perhaps I’ve been on the path my whole life?

I was raised in a “new age” household by a former Roman Catholic mother and a former Episcopalian father (more by label than by practice for both of them) who found more inspiration in the outdoors than in the church.

My parents started their own spiritual journey in their 20’s soon after getting married, leading them to a new, broader sense of spirituality (though heavily influenced by the Judeo-Christian traditions).

Growing up, my only exposure to religion was tagging along with friends and most of it was “too churchy” compared to our hikes and seasonal gatherings.

While organized religion was not to their taste, looking back now I see that ritual, ceremony, values, and beliefs were baked into my very spiritual upbringing.

I distinctly remember in high school having a discussion about this with my parents – about not having any religion. Their response?

We were to chose our own religion.

My response: “Huh, well I won’t be doing that.”

Nowadays, I worship at a Unitarian Universalist church, I commune with the Sacred Fire Community outside around the fire, I find fellowship with interfaith, intergenerational women at BBB, I observe Sabbath, I am again practicing yoga in a nearby studio.

While I did no choose a religion yet, I am religious about my portfolio of communities and practices, along with many tools, that help me navigate the world.

It has been a journey of seeking what’s true to me. As well undoing dysfunctional beliefs that I created along the way.

24/6

Some of the dysfunctional beliefs I still struggle with directly conflict with Sabbath.

  • Rest is earned not given.
  • Taking naps is being lazy or childish.
  • Doing creates a worthwhile day.
  • Living life to the fullest means doing many things at the same time.

These are the beliefs that make me forget Sabbath.

So, how do I remember the Sabbath?

I remember that rest means more than simply being tired.

I remember that rest is a break, a pause.

I remember that rest is an important note in music.

I remember that when I step out of the grind I find space for reflection.

I remember that when I find space, I find perspective.

I remember how I’m connected to everything. Everything.

And over the years of remembering, observing, practicing Sabbath, I have also started showing up differently in the other six days a week.

I am:

  • more present
  • more connected
  • more energized
  • more focused

While the path getting here has not been easy – the path to rest never is – I bet it would have been a lot easier if I had always remembered the Sabbath day by keeping it holy.

Moving forward, I do.


Join others from around the country in the next Sabbath Course as we explore and practice together, inspired by an interfaith, personal approach to this universal tradition. This 7-week course includes fun weekly activities, weekly community gatherings online and your own practice. You’ll experience what students describe as a “positive and significant impact on my personal growth and spiritual exploration.”

My First Retreat

Author selfie on Manzanita beach near Neahkanie Mountain during first retreat

There was a series of decisions that had been quietly forming for at least a year, probably three, maybe my whole life, that lead me onto my first retreat.

Not my first journey. There had already been many of those.

But, my first retreat from the world into my world.

I had lost touch with my soul.

Lost and Found

It’s a rare occasion that a decision gets conceived and made simultaneously. Not the millions of mundane choices we make every day. But the real decisions.

The ones that carve the course of one’s life.

Most of these decisions were made long ago.

As John O’Donohue says, “in out-of-the-way places of the heart, where your thoughts never think to wander, this beginning has been quietly forming, waiting until you were ready to emerge.”

After two cross-country moves in six months followed by a soul-full, but draining, year teaching kids in the outdoors followed by several temp jobs, I landed an hourly receptionist position at a company I unknowingly admired. After all, the founders started their own company and they made beautiful things.

But, this was basically the same job I had the summer before I left for college.

The decision to quit lingered in the initial decision to accept. This initial “Yes” marinated in desperation and impatience.

I was three years out of college already and with no career in communications in sight. Intern, sales associate, program leader, administrative assistant, daycare supervisor…okay, no career in sight at all.

A full-time job with benefits paying slightly over minimum wage seemed like a step in the right direction.

Unfortunately, insteading of seeing The Devil Wears Prada movie that came out that same year, I lived it.

It took an entire year until the “No” was ready to emerge.

And then, the “No” boldly gave two-weeks notice with no plan in place except to be whole again. But how?

Deciding ‘what color of parachute’ to claim? No. Not the career how.

This was the life how.

Retreat and Reset

This was not the first time I had been unhappy or confused.

But, it was the first time I considered that my life wasn’t whole. As it does when you’ve completely lost touch with who you are.

Or realize for the first time that you don’t really know who you are because you’ve been so busy building a life that matches what you think you’re supposed to be.

So how does one start?

By retreating to our core. Tapping into our deepest knowing, naturally attuning, again in harmony with all.

These are the words I use now, 50+ retreats later to describe the “how” to regaining wholeness.

Back then, I didn’t have these words. Nor did I have any practices, tools, resources or answers for how.

Seeking Answers Without

I did have the 2006 edition of “What Color is your parachute?” by Richard Bolles, a gift from my Dad during the grueling job search of those last few years.

This book alluded to wholeness: considering one’s whole life in the job hunt, such as preferred location. And that edition even included an epilogue on “How to Find Your Mission in Life,” that would soon be devoured and dog-eared.

So, during the initial days of deciding and informing those close to me about the decision to quit my job, I asked and received about the how.

Many of their answers were answers: Do what you love. Go back to your passions. Use your talents.

But one, was a path, a way, to wholeness.

After having tea and sharing my news with my retired-therapist-turned-friend, I got a call from her with instructions.

She would be dropping off a bag at my apartment in the next few days. It was supplies for me to bring on retreat at their beach house for a week. She would email me with directions on how to get there and instructions for the house. All I needed to do was let her know which week during the next month I wanted to go.

It sounded wonderful. And necessary. And true. But, what was a retreat?

Was it like camp? Was it like camping? Was it like vacation?

And, what did one do on retreat?

Having traveled a lot with family growing up and and with friends during college, the travel and preparation part was very familiar: Check weather. Research activities. Plan meals. Pack accordingly.

But, that still left the question of what to do? And, what to do by myself?

Having spent endless days playing on my own as a kid and a semester with a single dorm room in college, being alone for a week wasn’t the part that phased me. If anything, that felt like the greatest part of the gift.

But, what to do in order to find myself again? That was the mystery.

Seeking Answers Within

My sister did not feel as confident about the idea of me being alone in a strange house faraway at the coast for a week, so she volunteered to come down for the first night. As a big sister would. And as requested by our Dad, I suspect.

She brought her puppy and groceries. She inspected the house. She walked me into town after dinner for a beer at the pub. She explored the beach with me and her dog the next morning. And then, satisfied I was indeed safely doing some soul searching and not sinking into a depression, she headed back to the city.

And I sunk into my retreat.

I opened the bag that my friend and spiritual patron had dropped off.

Out of it I pulled book after book:

An avid reader, I leafed through these in wonder and delight.

And set them, one by one, on the dining room table next to the pile of books I had packed:

Over the next few days, I explored these books in the way that I explored the beach. In short bursts. Until hunger or tiredness set in. Broadly in general, intricately at parts. Listening. Noticing. Wondering.

It would be many years before I would consume many of these books and be transformed by them. Some I have yet to read or use.

Falling into Consolation

On this first retreat, as with all of them since, it has been about the dabbling, the tasting, the savoring. The connections and co-creation.

It was as Wayne Muller (whose books I didn’t know then, but highly recommend now) describes as “the intimate, fertile conversations between our own heart’s wisdom and the way the world has emerged before us.”

The deep, profound conversations that can be heard and had when things are quiet and still and candlelit and comfy in an overstuffed leather chair and with chocolate within reach. And when its overcast and windy and shells crunch beneath rain boots and there’s driftwood strewn across the shore where the waves are crashing.

When one’s away from the clutter, away from the distractions, away from the demands, away from time and measurement, it is as if one is seeing the world through a child’s eyes. The clarity of these deep, profound conversations is simple, magical, truth.

Spurred by a passage in a book or by making a meal or by a scene in a movie or by artwork on the wall or by the sunset or by the rhythm of the waves, the truths show up and are relished as a gift. Often its one big truth. Sometimes there are ripples.

Basking in these truths, the minutes turn to hours turn to days. Some call this flow.

The spiritual director I’ve worked with for the last few years calls it being “in consolation.” Not the comfort one receives after a disappointment or loss. That’s consoling.

He describes being in consolation as a state of being with the world. Or rather, the world being with us, soothing us, taking care of us. As we take care of it.

For some, as it has for me, this state of oneness goes out of this world and extends from the physical waves and sand and shells into the spiritual, to a feeling of connection with the Source.

Moment of Truth

On this first retreat, I remember getting beers at the pub with my sister and talking to some scraggly local fishermen. I remember making popcorn in the microwave and watching a movie together. I remember throwing tennis balls on the beach and the puppy chasing after them. And, then I remember being on my own and time stopped.

I can’t recall the details of each day that followed and each revelation. I don’t remember changing or feeling the healing happening. Nor do I recall the magic showing up immediately, rather sinking into it as the days passed.

I do recall one afternoon:

I was lazily draped over the overstuffed leather couch, a leg over the side, an arm dangling, with several books strewn around me. My ponytail drooped and the knit blanket sagged off the couch.

The fire had died down in the wood stove since I hadn’t risen in hours to stoke it.

A break in the grey day, the late afternoon sun came pouring in the picture window that faced the deck and overlooked the ocean a mile away.

I set the book down, spine open on my belly, like a hug, and paused, watching the ideas of the past few hours, and days, start to line up.

There were so many pieces of information coming together from my head and from my heart and from the world. It was as if the bits of information started square dancing.

Partnering up to create ideas, and then joining up to promenade, one idea emerging after another. Amidst the clatter and joyful dancing of these ideas, I could hear the caller shout out directions.

And in this moment, I recall feeling/hearing/understanding/making the decision to attend graduate school. Important yes, cosmic no.

This was not one of the universal, soulful truths that has shown up during some of my retreats.

But it was the seed of a decision, the beginning that would start quietly forming until, to echo the words of another beautiful writer, Charles Bukowski: it came bursting out, in spite of everything, coming unasked from one’s heart and mind and mouth and gut.

This decision (one that would emerge unasked several months later) was important, because it was connected to my path, my mission, my reason for being.

A way for the light of my soul to shine through the deeds of my life.

Everyday Integrity

That retreat – the first and most formative – took me away from everything and allowed me into my core. To the place where I am always whole. Where there is no searching or seeking. Tapping into my deepest knowing, naturally attuning, so that I was again in harmony with all.

This is not how I would have described it back then. Far from it.

What I knew then was that I felt good. I felt grounded. I felt in sync. I felt assured.

Over the last decade of retreating nearly every season, for a night or for weeks, I have discovered the “how” to regaining integrity, the state of being whole and undivided. In addition to this practice, I have studied and read and discussed and written and drawn and done all sorts of inner work to learn how to stay that way.

I am not yet one of those people who live in a way that keeps them in a constant state of wholeness. I would venture to guess that there are not many people left in the world who can.

And so, retreats offer a way to practice integrity. As does prayer and meditation and intentions and blessings and altars and cleanses and sabbath. And I enjoy all of those too (often during retreats!).

The power of retreat is not only in its practice, but also in its application – the promise of return.

Integrating that blissful, temporary state of being whole and undivided into our daily lives. Returning to taste, savor, relish and bask in the everyday.