Being Patient through Transformation: Trust, Change, Believe

By Andrea Johnson,

“We are all faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as impossible situations.” ~Charles R. Swindoll

Ever noticed a chrysalis hidden within its cocoon? The final few moments before it emerges as a butterfly compose what science terms as metamorphosis, a transformation.

If you have been lucky enough to observe this process, which I highly recommend watching, you’d notice it has to struggle quite a bit before it gets all the attention for being the magnificent creature it is.

It’s long and painful. However, while watching it, you may be tempted to clip off the outer covering of the chrysalis with a pair of scissors. And you might do it, thinking you’re doing it a favor. But when it finally emerges, you’d be sorely disappointed.

The chrysalis’ covering holds within its shell vital fluids that are important to its wing formation. But your act of kindness, of clipping that outer shell deprives it of that, and as a result, the butterfly that emerges is crippled, deformed, and nothing like the butterfly it was supposed to be.

On the other hand, if you can muster up the patience to watch this metamorphosis take place, without any intervention from your side, you’ll see one of the most beautiful miracles of nature, and one of life’s best lessons.

Our lives are journeys to this same type of metamorphosis, to find a sense of purpose in life. We cannot achieve this without the difficult situations or the pain that life often brings in generous doses.

Each one of us has had to let go of a dream, compromise, and experience pain and the entire gamut of emotions that an undesirable change can bring. But by no means did it ever spell the end of all dreams.

I graduated from law school with big dreams to help the world, to fight for justice, and to make a difference with my education, because I considered myself fortunate to have had an academic training— unlike the millions of other kids who haven’t had a chance to study at all.

I joined the non-profit sector with high hopes and zero expectations of financial rewards, because all I wanted was to make a difference. But life had other plans, as it always does.

Eight months down the line, I quit my job over the lack of work ethics. I couldn’t stand to compromise my principles, or to allow myself to be manipulated for what I held to be good and true. That was the end of a long cherished dream. It was a difficult decision because it certainly didn’t look good on a resume!

My family was disappointed with me, and when you don’t have the support of your loved ones at times like this, it hurts. I knew I had broken their dreams in the process, too, but I had to stand up for what I believed in. The weight of their expectations—and my own—was too much to carry. I had barely started my career when it ended. (Or so I thought at the time.)

And yet, in those eight months, I learned everything I possibly could about the field I had chosen because I was passionate about it (and the learning continues). All was not lost. I could still try for another job or back up and try something else.

I always had a flair for writing and editing. I loved the English language and all the nuances associated with it, so I was entrusted two manuscripts for editing that I’d religiously try to complete in my free time.

In the time after I quit my job, I took my editing work on the manuscripts a lot more seriously. And quite suddenly I had a realization about what I was supposed to do—I felt liberated me from all the anxiety and stress I was feeling regarding my future career plans.

I quickly drew up a plan of the options I could explore. Self-employment was beginning to look like an attractive option, and I was excited by the possibility of making the best use of my creativity, talents, and varied interests.

Today my heart is at peace because I am doing something I enjoy and staying true to my heart’s calling. I didn’t realize it before, but this is the metamorphosis I was headed to all along—I just needed to allow myself time to emerge.

The seemingly “impossible situation” of quitting a career that barely took off might have plunged me into the deep abyss of hopelessness; but looking back now, I remember the chrysalis going through the struggle to emerge as the beautiful creature its meant to be.

If you stay true to your conscience and live your life the way you believe it should be, you can be rest assured of this:

Every bad experience, painful relationship, and compromise you’ve ever made in good conscience will somehow transform into a beautiful inner reservoir of spiritual gifts and blessings.

Life wants you to take notice of three things when you’re going through a difficult time that may seem eternal:

Trust life. There’s a higher purpose behind every seemingly impossible and difficult phase. You’ve just got to hang in there and know that it’s for the best.

Change. If you find yourself feeling bad a lot more often than not, take time out to reflect on whether or not you’re happy deep down with what you’re doing.

Believe. Believe in yourself, even if the world around you doesn’t. If you don’t, who will?

Hold onto what you believe in. You’re meant to emerge as a beautiful butterfly from your chrysalis. Always remember that, with a smile, and give yourself a chance to delight and revel in the mysterious workings of the universe.

Sometimes the Safe Path is Not the Right Path

By Jen Picicci,

“As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

When I was a kid, I wanted to be an artist. I loved to draw, especially, and even took art classes on the weekends when I could. For fun.

Obviously, being an artist isn’t a viable career (or so everyone in my life told me in subtle and not so subtle ways), so instead of going to college to delve deeper into drawing or painting or sculpture, I went the safe route: art teacher.

Well, after a few semesters I decided I didn’t want to be an art teacher, so I went another safe route: graphic design. Unfortunately, I didn’t enjoy graphic design that much, most of the technical/pre-press stuff was way over my head (and interest level), and I turned down the one full-time job I was offered after college.

Since I was only twenty-one, adventure seemed appropriate. I moved to Vermont to work at a ski lodge, I drove cross-country, I lived in a tiny apartment in Montana, and then I lived in a tent for a while. It was awesome.

After that I went back to the safe stuff. I worked in an office here, I worked as an event coordinator there, then back to another office job.

I don’t want to make it seem like I’ve always just automatically chosen the thing that felt the safest, the most conventional, since the travels of my early twenties, because I certainly haven’t.

I quit a “good” job because it made me miserable and I wanted to get trained as a life coach.

I quit another well-paying job (that made me absolutely batty and went against all of my core beliefs) in order to stay home with my daughter, even though it seemed like there was no way to afford to do so. (We made it work.)

I started making art again, with real gusto and zeal, even though it doesn’t really make any sense beyond my own deep desire to do so.

Recently, though, I faced what feels like my biggest What-My-Heart-Wants Vs. Take-the-Safe-Path challenge ever.

After going in circles and wondering if I should bother trying to make art my main “thing,” I decided that I should apply to graduate school to become a school counselor. Because you can’t make a living as an artist, as you’ll remember.

Counseling has always interested me, I like kids, and I would have the summers off to do the thing I really like, which is, well, you already know this: art.

I spent a while researching the career and working on convincing myself I’d be able to find a job and that it would be the right fit for me. I applied about six months before applications were due and then pretty much forgot about it.

That is, until the deadline rolled around. I knew I’d hear something shortly after February 1st, and then there it was, an email inviting me to a four-hour group interview.

I can sum up the way I felt about going to this interview with one word: Ugh. I texted a friend and told her if someone else was in my position and felt the sucking feeling I was having, I’d tell them not to go.

I kept thinking, though, that I should go, “just to keep my options open.” You know, to be safe.

Before I went, I hooked up with a coach to talk me through some of what was going on in my head. What stands out to me the most about our sixty-minute conversation is that I said going to school felt like the safe option.

When she asked me what really, truly felt safe to me, in my soul, I said I felt the safest when I was in my living room, art supplies set up, light flowing through the windows, creating something.

Still, though, I went to the group interview. I was surprised by it; I enjoyed meeting the current students, the professors seemed lovely, and I was impressed with the program.

I also learned how competitive the program was—of the eighty something people there, only about thirty would get in. I didn’t think I had a chance.

I was wrong about that. In fact, I was included in the first round of applicants; a top pick. That made me, or at least my ego, feel really good.

My husband was out of town for work at the time, and we agreed to discuss it when he got back. After a lot of back and forth, I decided to accept.

I mean, I’d be taking on probably $18,000 in debt, but I’d have an almost guaranteed job when I finished! And I’d have a state pension! And I’d have summers off!

The other thing? Multiple people who have known me for a very long time told me what a great fit school counseling was for me. I used other people’s excitement about it to continue to believe that this was the right thing to do.

But then some weird stuff started happening. Conversations with my husband would often end with him saying, completely unprompted, “I wish you didn’t have to go to school.” Spiritual teachers who mean a lot to me started popping up on my Facebook or Podcast feed telling me things that I needed to know, like how to really follow my soul’s calling.

I felt like the Universe was trying to tell me that going to school was not right for me, despite seeming like the safe option. I understood that if I went, I’d be giving up what I had dreamed for myself and even my family, and that I’d be one step farther away from listening to my true self.

So I decided to withdraw.

I knew I wanted out, but every time I went to send that official email, I got scared. I kept thinking about what I’d be giving up (Stability! A pension! A “real” job!).

Finally, after a month, I did it. I sent the email from my phone while I was sitting on the floor in the living room, light pouring in the windows, a painting I was working on in front of me. I did it before I could think too hard about it.

Since then I’ve felt a variety of things. Sometimes fear, sometimes joy, sometimes worry, sometimes nothing much.

I wish I could tell you that in the month since I withdrew I’ve become a beloved artist who makes money constantly. I wish I could tell you that everything is working out perfectly. So far, though, I’m just practicing going toward what feels good and away from what feels bad.

I have faith now, faith that I’m following the right path for me. That picking something because it looks good on paper is absolutely not a reason to do something, even if other people tell you it is.

When I look back on this journey, what I see is a woman who wants what’s best for herself and her family, so is following the steps that she thinks will bring her what everyone else will see as success, and I can’t say I blame her. I’m just glad she changed her mind.

I want everyone to know that the safe path isn’t always safe, and it isn’t always right, and that only you know what’s the next step, but only if you listen closely. Here are some ideas for tuning in.

1. Listen to your body.

I just can’t understate the importance of this one. I’ve known for a long time that bodies are way better guides than minds, but sometimes I lose track of it.

I knew, for sure, that school was wrong for me because every single time I thought about starting in the fall my body, especially my chest, clenched into a tight ball. A message like that is the body saying loud and clear “wrong direction.”

2. Stop listening to your thoughts.

Just as you want to start listening to your body, you want to stop listening to your mind and your thoughts.

I know, it seems weird, because our brains are supposed to be all rational and smart and stuff, but so much of what goes on up there is completely based on fear. We worry about money, we worry what our family will think, we worry about dying alone. Those fears are just words, and if you let them lead you away from what you truly want, you’re going to be in trouble.

3. Do it a little at a time.

If you’re enmeshed in a career or relationship or financial situation that’s been going on for years and years and you have tons of people relying on you, it probably doesn’t feel so easy to just say, “Eh, I don’t want to do this anymore.”

That’s why you do one small thing at a time. If your body is giving you ulcers because you hate your job so much, but it feels like a fluttering butterfly when you think of taking a photography class, take the photography class. Try one small thing at a time, building toward the life that you really want.

4. Never buy into the idea that the safe way is the right way.

If you find yourself thinking anything along the lines of, “Well, that’s boring, but it’s a smart career to get into” or “He’s from a prominent family and would be a smart choice,” run! Or at the very least, slow down and check to see what your body and heart are telling you.

I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it again: This whole being human thing is hard. I believe that it can be delightful and joyful and wonderful, but it takes work.

We have to push against societal norms that tell us we should do things a certain way. We have to get clear on what we want, and be willing to pivot when that changes. We have to be flexible; we have to be aware.

My goal is to choose what feels good for me. I hope that you’ll do your best to choose what feels right for you, too, even if it’s not what other people think is safe.

The First Steps Toward Creating a Life You Love

By Joanna Huliin

“My goal is to build a life I don’t need a vacation from.” ~Rob Hill Sr.

The other day I had an interesting conversation with a friend, who asked me the question “Who is the happiest person you know?”

Ask yourself this question now. It’s difficult to answer, isn’t it?

There are certainly people around me who seem to be happy, but the happiest person I know? I couldn’t easily come up with an answer.

The conversation with my friend proceeded with him saying, “You seem happy, but it’s so easy for you; you live in Cornwall by the sea, you work for yourself, and you have all the freedom in the world because you’re single.”

It made me smile to think about how people perceive others’ lives. If you ask the next person they might say the absolute opposite: “It must be hard for you living so far away from anything, starting a heart-centered business from scratch with nothing. You must be so lonely being single and doing it all on your own.”

And the truth is, all the above is true. I feel each and every variation of the above on occasions because I’m human! I think and dream just like a regular employed person, I love just like a married person, and feel and breathe just like a city dweller. We are all the same.

But the conversation made me reflect on my own happiness. What does it mean to be happy? I feel the happiest I’ve ever been right now, whether I look at my life with glass-half-full or half-empty eyes. I asked myself why, and the only answer I could think of is, right now I feel authentic.

I wake up each morning and my work feels like a joyful adventure, so I don’t have to drag myself through days, questioning the point of what I’m doing.

Feeling complete deep down for the first time in my life soothes the loneliness of not being in a loving partnership right now, and walking the beach with my dog every morning watching the sunrise, instead of being on a packed London commuter train, makes my heart burst with happiness.

This isn’t a recipe for happiness in any shape or form. These are just my things. My choices leading to the life I am creating for myself, from a place of authenticity.

I have started to understand and accept that my life is up to me—my choices, my creation. The life I am living right now resulted from the choices I made before now, and yet they are no longer important; only the choices I make right now are. Right now I am free from the past but have a choice in creating my future.

So often we look outward and feel trapped by things that aren’t real. For me it was my past, my CV, other people’s perceptions, my own fears, and those pesky little shoulds, from myself and others. Or we think that we’re slaves to the choices we made in the past. But the beauty of life is you always have a choice.

I understand that some things in life we literally can’t change—maybe you’re a parent or caregiver or have other responsibilities that limit you—but you still have a choice.

You can choose to resist and focus on the negative, the struggle, or you can choose to see differently, create opportunities for change, and ask for help. No matter what your life looks like right now, you can still create a life you love.

I believe that everyone can dig deep to find out what feels right for them, be honest with themselves and others, and align their life with that place of authenticity.

Perhaps you’re wondering, how an earth do I go about creating an authentic life? Where do I start? Well, this is obviously vastly different for everyone, but my advice would be to just start somewhere, and what better place than where you are right now?

By that, I mean start by looking within.

A simple daily meditation practice has changed my life, and I truly believe it can help anyone.

Meditation, for me, is about carving out a few moments each day to sit quietly, breathe, connect with myself, and recognize my part to play in a bigger whole.

Even if it’s just a few moments after I wake up or before I hop into bed at night, this is time free from distraction, free from the roles and responsibilities I identify myself with, free from the complications in life that I might identify as stress. It’s time for just me, to connect with myself and my truth.

Creating a life you love is really about aligning your life with your own core values—those things that are most important to you personally. Regular meditation will help you discover what those are.

It might also help to think about the activities you loved doing as a child and find some time to do one of those things one day soon. Express yourself and be creative—journal, draw, sing. Join an activity group, take a class, volunteer, be of service. Move your body with exercise or yoga.

The point is to listen to yourself and take action on what you discover. Connect with how you really feel and use that as your guide when making choices so you can create a life you truly love.

If you do this, you may eventually realize, as I did, that it doesn’t matter one teeny, tiny bit who the happiest person you know is; all that matters is that you’re happy with yourself and the life you’re living

How to Be Like a Tree: Still, Strong, and Uniquely Beautiful

By Meredith Walters

I was hugging trees long before it was cool.

Recent research suggests that spending time in nature can reduce your blood pressure, heart rate, and stress level, not to mention cut down your risk of type II diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and premature death.

But when I began hugging trees, it was an undeniably weird thing to do.

I risked the odd looks of strangers, however, because trees felt so calm and welcoming to me. When I wrapped my arms around their broad trunks, it felt like I was being gathered into the protective embrace of a beloved elder, as if their steadfastness imparted strength, and their rootedness helped me find my own solid ground.

Recently, however, I’ve realized that their benefits extend far beyond momentary stress relief; it’s from trees that I’ve learned the most powerful lessons about how to deal with chronic depression and anxiety.

Here are the biggest and most unexpected things I’ve learned so far from trees:

1. When in doubt, don’t do.

Every time I hug a tree, I’m struck by how still it is. There’s a silence, a spaciousness, and a total lack of movement that boggles my mind.

I mean, it can’t be easy to be a tree. If you’re not getting enough sunlight, you can’t just pick up and walk a few steps to the right. If some animal builds its home too close to your roots, you can’t do anything to move it.

I, on the other hand, respond to any perceived threat by jumping into action. That’s the nature of my anxiety; when I’m afraid, I want to do something—anything.

But because I’m not acting out of clarity or wisdom, and because listening to fear makes the fear grow stronger, almost every action I take just makes things worse.

Like the time when I was anxious about leaving my therapist because I was about to move back to Atlanta after fifteen years away. Jumping into action, I decided to go off my anti-depressant medication before I left so I would have her help, but I did it at a time when I was also changing careers, starting a business, and getting ready to move cross-country. Needless to say, it made a difficult time even harder for me.

When I don’t get the results that I want, I feel even more out of control, my anxiety grows—along with my compulsion to act—and the negative cycle reinforces itself.

Trees show me how to break this cycle by demonstrating the value of not doing.

When I’m smart enough to imitate a tree, I get still. I feel. I listen.

When I do this for long enough, one of three things happens: Either the problem resolves itself, or a wise response becomes clear to me, or I realize that it wasn’t really a problem in the first place.

2. Support all of life.

I’m often awed by how much trees give to the creatures around them, from the moss that grows on their bark, to the birds and squirrels they feed and shelter, to the humans who breathe their oxygen and enjoy their shade.

When I’m depressed and anxious, I usually feel both overwhelmed by my own misery and guilty that I don’t have the resources to give more to others.

It’s another negative cycle whereby my misery makes me unable to focus on anything or anybody else, which causes me to feel horribly self-centered, which makes me feel even more wretched and less able to give. What makes things even worse is that supporting others is one of the few things I’ve found that reliably helps me feel better.

The effortless generosity of trees offers a way out.

When trees have something to give, they share it with everyone, no matter how small or undeserving. But they don’t beat themselves up for not having acorns in the spring, or leaves in the winter. They simply extend whatever’s there to extend.

Sometimes all I have to give is an apology for not being more considerate. Other times it’s a smile, or appreciation for someone’s support. Over time, if I give what I have, I have more to give, but the key is never to believe that it should be more than it is.

That way, I can support all life, including my own.

3. Don’t be afraid to get big.

I’ve never been one to take up too much space.

I’m talking physically: I’m over six feet tall and always felt awkward jutting up above most of the people around me, so I subconsciously slouched and made myself smaller.

But I’m talking emotionally and relationally as well: I never used to like to call attention to myself, ask for what I needed, or speak up about my opinions. I went out of my way not to negatively impact anybody else, even if that meant sacrificing my own happiness or well-being.

After years of always making other people’s needs and opinions more important than my own, it was hard not to feel depressed, helpless, and hopeless. By that point, however, making myself small wasn’t so much a choice as a well-ingrained habit.

When I began to hang out with trees more, I started to notice how unapologetic they are about the space that they take up. They don’t worry that growing tall will cause somebody else to feel inadequate, or that stretching their limbs out wider will mean they’re taking up too much room. They just are who they are. When I stood next to them, I could feel their expansiveness begin to bloom in my own chest.

Acting on this newfound sensation, I gave myself permission to get big. When I needed something, I asked for it. When I had an idea, I shared it. When I wanted something, I moved toward it. Not worrying about how others might perceive me, I stood tall and enjoyed the unique view.

The best part is, after a long time of feeling powerless over anxiety and depression, I finally saw that I was bigger than either of them.

4. Being crooked is beautiful.

I’ve made plenty of wrong turns in my life.

I used to feel ashamed that I had ten jobs over ten years before finally finding one that felt like a fit. Or that I had so many failed relationships before getting married nearly a decade after most of my friends. Or that fear made me wait twenty-five years to write a second novel when I knew after finishing my first at age twelve that I was born, in part, to write.

Most of us (including myself) tend to think that the straight path is the best one. We beat up on ourselves for our false starts and slow progress.

But have you ever noticed how beautiful trees are? And how crooked?

I’ve come to believe that it’s precisely because of their odd angles and unexpected curves that trees appear so graceful. A tree made of straight lines would hold no appeal.

Looking back, I can see that every job I had taught me more about what I wanted and brought me one step closer to work that I loved. Every relationship prepared me in some small way to be with the man I would eventually marry. And every time I negated my desire to write, that desire grew stronger, and I had more material to work with once I finally was ready to say yes to the call.

We can’t undo our wrong turns, but we can appreciate their gnarled beauty.

5. It doesn’t matter who you are.

When I was younger, I thought that it was what I did that made me worthy. I pushed myself hard to do well in school, excel in sports, and achieve as much as I could.

Eventually that strategy led to an unsavory mix of perfectionism, anxiety, and depression. Desperate, I got help from others and re-evaluated my beliefs. I soon concluded that it wasn’t what I did but who I was that mattered.

At first this new belief seemed helpful, but eventually it brought its own set of anxieties. I was trying my hardest, but was I really calm enough? Or kind enough? Or wise enough?

Then one day when I was hugging a tree, I tapped into a truth that made such questions irrelevant.

I’d just gotten curious about what a tree’s energy felt like. Opening up to it, I was immediately flooded by a sense of expansive serenity. Peaceful as it was, it was also vibrant and strong. Welcoming and warm, it pulled me in. Suddenly I felt as if I were filled with, made of, and surrounded by sunlight.

The energy was coming from the tree, but I realized that I could feel it because it was stirring something already within me. In other words, the tree and I shared the same true nature. Beneath my body, beneath my personality, and beneath my small identifications, I am this beautiful energy. So are you. So are we all.

Unified in this way with every other living thing in the world, even I have to admit that the idea of being unworthy doesn’t make any sense. It’s not only irrelevant; it’s impossible.

That’s when I realized that the magic lies not in what we do or even who we are, but in what we are, and how often we remember that.