Writings & Thoughts
Reflections
These writings explore various dimensions of being between worlds and the ongoing journey of opening into the unknown – interweaving vulnerable personal stories, poetry, and reflections at the intersection of self, soul and society. A good place to begin is Releasing Love to Create, which offers a window into the vision behind this work. Subscribe to receive updates whenever new posts are shared.
My intention in expression is to create meaningful impact as a catalyst for transformation. The process of writing supports me as I surface and articulate what swirls within me, and I hope it reaches others, especially heartfelt leaders who may be longing for deeper support and a sense of belonging in their own transformation journey. With this intention, I asked a dear friend whom I greatly admire, Eileen Kwesiga, to reflect on the impact my writing has had on her (#PoetryInPractice).
Who am I? This perennial question keeps resurfacing in my life, and my relentless desire to find answers has driven many of the choices I have made, consciously and unconsciously. While the question continues to arise, I am learning that my relationship to finding the answers to who I am has changed.
Facilitating among leaders, especially other facilitators, is not an easy place to be, because although we know to arrive curious and supportive, we can still carry subtle habits of comparison and judgments about how transformative the experience could be for us, having “been there and done that.” Or at least, I admit that I did. .
A few weeks ago, I had the idea of highlighting the voices of leaders who are using poetry (mine and others) as a gateway to deeper contemplation (#PoetryInPractice). I decided to start with my friend Ted Howell, who is a respected lawyer, a mentor to many small business leaders, and an early reader of my book. I thought he would respond to my request with a few pithy reflections that could serve as quick soundbites on Instagram, but to my delightful surprise, what came back was worthy of its own essay.
Lately, I have allowed the desires of my mind to mostly be in charge: running around in the worried frenzy of doing sprinkled only with brief moments of resting in my soul’s desire for stillness of being.
Reemerging into my social circles after a period of reclusion was often awkward. Conversations would typically start with, “So what have you been up to?”. I would take a deep breath and look into the person’s eyes, trying to sense if they really wanted to know the answer.
I am sitting here in wonder, reflecting on a piece I performed at a small club a few days ago - a weaving of vulnerable storytelling, social commentary, poetry and dance. What I am playfully pondering is how I got here and why am I continuing this wild journey into the unknown?
As I am writing these words, I feel my chest tense and my breath so shallow it’s almost imperceptible. I sense fear attempting to hook my thoughts into believing that I don’t have another decent essay in me.
After years of what I called a social media fast, I am not only reemerging in cyberspace, but am also attempting to build an intimate following (gasp).
Social norms had conditioned me to rote mindless greetings limited to hello or hi, but lately, I’ve been called to address people in strange new ways that seem to lure their hearts closer to me.
I don’t recall many times when I truly expressed myself with full abandon.
A few weeks ago, I met an old friend, Randy Martinez, for coffee. He had just published his book The Art of Transformation, and although we had not seen each other in years, it did not take long for us to recognize how closely our lives had been moving in parallel—through loss, reckoning, and courage.
My intention in expression is to create meaningful impact as a catalyst for transformation. The process of writing supports me as I surface and articulate what swirls within me, and I hope it reaches others, especially heartfelt leaders who may be longing for deeper support and a sense of belonging in their own transformation journey. With this intention, I asked a dear friend whom I greatly admire, Eileen Kwesiga, to reflect on the impact my writing has had on her (#PoetryInPractice).
Who am I? This perennial question keeps resurfacing in my life, and my relentless desire to find answers has driven many of the choices I have made, consciously and unconsciously. While the question continues to arise, I am learning that my relationship to finding the answers to who I am has changed.
Facilitating among leaders, especially other facilitators, is not an easy place to be, because although we know to arrive curious and supportive, we can still carry subtle habits of comparison and judgments about how transformative the experience could be for us, having “been there and done that.” Or at least, I admit that I did. .
A few weeks ago, I had the idea of highlighting the voices of leaders who are using poetry (mine and others) as a gateway to deeper contemplation (#PoetryInPractice). I decided to start with my friend Ted Howell, who is a respected lawyer, a mentor to many small business leaders, and an early reader of my book. I thought he would respond to my request with a few pithy reflections that could serve as quick soundbites on Instagram, but to my delightful surprise, what came back was worthy of its own essay.
Lately, I have allowed the desires of my mind to mostly be in charge: running around in the worried frenzy of doing sprinkled only with brief moments of resting in my soul’s desire for stillness of being.
Reemerging into my social circles after a period of reclusion was often awkward. Conversations would typically start with, “So what have you been up to?”. I would take a deep breath and look into the person’s eyes, trying to sense if they really wanted to know the answer.
I am sitting here in wonder, reflecting on a piece I performed at a small club a few days ago - a weaving of vulnerable storytelling, social commentary, poetry and dance. What I am playfully pondering is how I got here and why am I continuing this wild journey into the unknown?
As I am writing these words, I feel my chest tense and my breath so shallow it’s almost imperceptible. I sense fear attempting to hook my thoughts into believing that I don’t have another decent essay in me.
After years of what I called a social media fast, I am not only reemerging in cyberspace, but am also attempting to build an intimate following (gasp).