Stretching the wings

Be free all worthy spirits, and stretch yourselves, for greatness and for height. 

George Chapman

(1559-1634)

It's 3am and here I am, either staring at the ceiling or surrendering to the whirring head and getting the thoughts out, in hope of then being able to rest. I've been doing the former since about 2, so now I'm trying the latter.

Yesterday I attended a much anticipated workshop with an expert in the field of public speaking. This guy is one of those global gurus who commands large sums and large, illustrious audiences. The sort of guy whose ilk I would normally not encounter. Through an amazing twist of fate though I found myself, along with a small group of my colleagues, being granted a few intensive hours of coaching with him - a real privilege. 

I had been warned that his methods could be radical. He comes from an operatic and theatrical background so I had visions of being pushed into some zones of discomfort. He has a great reputation for achieving results though and I am convinced by what I see in my own work and personal experience, that the stretch zone's where the best learning takes place. I was up for that. Scared witless. But up for it. 

Except it turns out that I really wasn't. As the day progressed, and I was asked first to sing alone and unaccompanied (completely tone deaf!) and then throw an invisible ball around the group whilst soundlessly and then accompanied by sound (not words) acting out extreme emotions like rage and sorrow and joy, I found that I was becoming increasingly ill at ease to the point of feeling physically ill. I fell at the hurdle of being asked to tap into my inner five year old on a summer's day and dance exuberantly through a sprinkler.... I could not do it. Of course, I could do it. Nothing physically preventing me from it. Intellectually, I understood why we were being asked to do it. I even remember being a five year old and dancing through a sprinkler on a summer's day. But I could not bring myself to do it. I would not do it. Instead, I almost threw up and had to retreat shortly afterwards to cry in the cloakroom for five minutes before returning to the group.

It was downhill for me from there. All the emotional barriers to learning came bouncing up to enclose me in a space that left almost no room to breathe, let alone sing. I felt embarrassed, humiliated (not by being asked to be silly but by my extreme reaction to it), guilty, disappointed and horribly inadequate. I went on to prepare and deliver my selected spoken piece as best I could but my whole heart wasn't in it and I felt I'd been relegated to the "not good enough" pile. The workshop was described as being about discovering one's authentic voice, which is "not about the voice itself but the story it has to tell and sharing that story for affect...". Apparently my authentic voice does not make the grade and does "not have the range to be extraordinary". My authentic self took a beating.

Reflecting on the experience I wonder what I learnt? We were reminded of the 1 degree shift principle (which says that even the tiniest change of course, extrapolated, can have a big impact over time), that flexibility is essential for those who wish to have the most influence, and that managing our inner state is crucial for outer congruence in communication - all of which I believe to be true. The feedback suggested that I have a calm, collected, compelling, and intimate style of delivery; that I'm very expressive and that my story draws people in and along with me and that there's warmth and sincerity and passion evident. All good. But that that's "not enough". That, amongst other things, I'm too controlled, lack resonance, and the ability to jump into the states and physical spaces that are required for the "extraordinary". That I probably won't be commanding large sums from large, illustrious audiences. Probably true. I'm processing all of this. It's valuable feedback and I need to consider what this means for me and what I do with it. This is no bad reflection on the guru - he's brilliant at what he does and I am in no doubt that he gets amazing results for some people. Just not for me. I have definitely learnt a lot from the experience though. That it was painful for me is not really his fault.

What I also learnt though is that I need to pick my stretch experiences more carefully. That putting one's self into a situation where nausea and fear overwhelm is more conducive to regression than progression and that right now, at a time when I'm standing on the brink of taking unaided flight into the unknown, I am at a place of vulnerability that I need to be slightly more aware and protective of. I need to be seeking ways of building my confidence and restoring my resilience and while that doesn't just mean placing myself in situations where only what I would like to hear is affirmed, I also need to be sensitive to how fragile and precarious a position my psyche is in. 

I believe there's a place for my voice yet. It might be quieter and less "extraordinary" than some but that's okay too. It doesn't want to command a large stage.  A small one, compellingly, would do me. Without resorting to a defensive cop-out, I can't help but feel that one man's authentic is another woman's acting, and that perhaps I am more of a supper club crooner than an opera diva?

You win some, you lose some...

...except in the magical world of the blogosphere, where sometimes even when you lose, you win.

a box and butterfly

The Winner

I was recently lucky enough to win a competition held by Denise of Freshly Found, the prize being one of the beautiful origami boxes, which she'd made out of old record album covers. Denise is the queen of repurposed fabulousness and is always turning something old, into something new and beautiful.

I love boxes and drawers (things to keep things in - what could be better?) and was very excited to have won. Although I knew that one was on its way to me, it was a complete surprise which of all the beauties she'd made it would be. And this week, it arrived. Could it be more perfect? A Linda Ronstadt album cover made into a lovely little box for goodies. I LOVE the colours and the cover art. And the base of the box is the back of the cover with the song titles listed, including Tracks of my Tears.

Looking at this (and hearing the echoes of that song in my head) instantly transports me back to my childhood: listening to my Dad's records; sitting on the lounge floor with the album covers spread in a swirl around me; wearing the huge, but then state-of-the-art squishy-cushioned headphones with individual left and right ear volume controls, each earpiece almost the size of my whole head; feeling so grown up because I was entrusted with use of the record player and the precious collection of records, including my Dad's favourites and mine at the time, Nat King Cole and Johnny Mathis. And Linda Ronstadt, with her quintessential sound of the 70s. What a girl.

And clearly, as the picture on this cover illustrates, Linda is a girl who liked her accessories. Just like me. So I'm going to use this perfect little box for some of mine. It's just the right size for my prettiest hairbands and clips. Just right.

Thank you Denise. Thank you!

The Loser

Where would one find a giveaway that included a book, two cigar boxes full of gorgeous handmade paper bugs, and a pair of squirrel underpants, with the prize draw taking place from a boob mug? Yes, that's underpants for a squirrel, and a mug that looks like a woman's breast... you read it right! Only one place, and one person in this blogosphere that I know of who could pull that combination off with any style, and that's Linda Sue. And she did. Brilliantly.

Unfortunately, I did not win the giveaway. I believe that the underpants are now going to be gifted to a squirrel named Fatty, who lives somewhere in New York and is the friend of a friend of Linda Sue's pup, Dexter, called Buster. Buster and Fatty have been friends for a while and it makes sense that, as he is a dog and not a squirrel, Buster pass the pants onto Fatty. Dexter and Buster met through blogging, like Linda Sue and I. True story. In fact, Buster is one of the best bloggers out there. If you haven't read his blog, you should do yourself a favour and visit... He has a way with words, and is a very good artist.

Anyway, I digress. I did not win the giveaway. I was a loser. But just because Linda Sue is Linda Sue - generous and lovely - and couldn't bear to disappoint the losers, she offered us all a prize in the end. Made with her own fair hands, out of beautiful textured and patterned papers... butterflies.

Well, we know I'm not one to resist the allure of a butterfly, and so I said, "Yes please!" and Linda Sue dispatched a parcel to me with instructions to fluff wings when it arrived and the hope that they would find a good home on this side of the Atlantic. There was in fact more than just the beauty above enclosed, and the others have already taken up residence on my desk at work, where they are much admired. They flew all the way here, carrying some fresh summer lavender and a treat for my brain too, and landed safely on the same day that Denise's box arrived.

Another special mail day, courtesy of bloggy lovelies! I feel very lucky.

And Linda Sue, you always make me smile. Thank you! Not that I would love you any less if you didn't make me smile, but you do. Even when I don't feel like smiling. And I love that about you.

So, a box and a butterfly. Perfect prizes.

A winner and a loser. Perfect balance.

Perfect day.

♥

Butterfly spirit?

On my way home from work earlier this week, I was walking along the canal when this little guy fluttered down and landed on the path in front of me. He sat really still in the sunlight and let me get up quite close. So beautiful, but how ragged his wings are I thought. I wondered if he'd had a run in with a bird. Or a cat. Or both. And I feared perhaps he'd escaped only to float down and breathe his last in the sunshine at my feet.

But then he took off and fluttered away over the canal...

I reckon he was off on a new adventure, perhaps a rendezvous in the shade with a friend or lady love, or to explore a flower that'd caught his eye and sup some nectar, or to take shelter in a tree from where he could enjoy the brewing storm. Living his brief life to the full, and not about to let a little wear and tear to his wings stop him.

I like that. Brave butterfly.

Later I was composing the post about my beautiful mobile and wondering about this affinity I have with butterflies. I don't own zillions of butterfly things but there's no denying they are a recurring motif in my life, always have been. I do love them and make no secret of it but, for as long as I can remember, people have gifted me with butterflies - even those who have no prior knowledge of my "thing" for them. And I do find them quite hard to resist. They just make me deeply happy.

After posting on the mobile I was having a conversation with Sarah about about how, if I have a totem animal, then a butterfly is surely it. I don't know very much about totems but if I were going to choose one for myself, I'd probably have gone with a horse (my zodiac and Chinese birth year symbol) or a dolphin or a panther, something strong... But it seems that butterflies have chosen me.

So I went to look up the symbolic and mythological meaning of the butterfly.

This is what I found:

Overwhelmingly, cultural myth and lore honor the butterfly as a symbol of transformation because of its impressive process of metamorphosis. From egg, to larvae (caterpillar), to pupa (the chrysalis or cocoon) and from the cocoon the butterfly emerges in her unfurling glory.

Most adult butterflies live just one or two weeks except for the monarch and angel wing which can live for six months or more. This is very symbolic. It suggests that a person with this totem will experience tremendous soul growth, especially in their earlier years. A difficult childhood is common.

What a massive amount of transition this tiny creature undergoes. Herein lies the deepest symbolic lesson of the butterfly. They ask us to accept the changes in our lives as casually as they do. The butterfly unquestioningly embraces the changes of her environment and her body. This unwavering acceptance of her metamorphosis is also symbolic of faith. Here the butterfly beckons us to keep our faith as we undergo transitions in our lives. Toiling, fretting and anger are useless against the turning tides of nature – and the butterfly asks us to recognize the same.

To the Native Americans the butterfly is a symbol of joy. They remind us not to take life so seriously. They feed on flowers that they help pollinate, thereby further spreading beauty. They represent the element of air, quickly changing and ever moving, with beauty and grace.

Butterflies are also symbols of freedom and creativity. They hold the gift of transformation and soul evolution and a butterfly enters our life as a messenger for change. The butterfly is a messengers of the moment and as they come in a variety of colours, their colour is symbolically meaningful too.

Interestingly, in many cultures the butterfly is associated with the soul – further linking our animal symbolism of faith with the butterfly.

In Greek myth, Psyche (which literally translates to mean “soul”) is represented in the form of a butterfly. Befittingly, Psyche is forever linked with love as she and Eros (the Greek god of love) shared an endlessly passionate bond together – both hopelessly in love with the other.

And Greece doesn’t corner the market on associating the butterfly with the soul. Here are a few other ancient cultures that associated this elegant creature with the soul:

• Asian (central)
• Mexican – Aztec
• New Zealand
• Zaire

Butterflies have a pair of large compound oval eyes made up of thousands of individual lenses. They can see a single image clearly and are able to perceive ultraviolet wavelengths of light. This suggests clairvoyant abilities for those that hold this totem.

Whenever an eco system is damaged, butterflies are usually the first to leave. They are especially sensitive to the balance and harmony of the earth.

Okay then, not just delicate flighty creatures that live brief lives - that's a relief. This is a totem I can live with. Change and metamorphosis are indeed quite central themes in my life to date - often not initiated by me but involving fundamental shifts in my circumstance and psyche nonetheless - no more than some experience but probably fair to say, more than most. And I do look forward to reaching the 'unfurling glory' stage. Something to anticipate with pleasure. Hope it's not too far away, though I'm not feeling an inkling of what form it'll take yet.

What do you think your totem animal is? What does this mean to you? Or do you think it's all just hokum?

I'm really interested to know.

And I hope you have a fabulous Friday!

♥

A little cloud...

...of butterflies has taken up residence in the corner of my room...

...where they float and dance on the summer breeze coming in through the window and make me smile. Every day.

Thank you my friend.

I love them!

♥

On the wings of a dream

I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. 

If we're in each other's dreams, we can be together all the time.

Calvin & Hobbes

I dreamt that I was flying over the Namibian desert. All I could see were the sand dunes below but somehow I knew it was Namibia. I was aware of the amazing thermals rising from the ground and it felt like I was dancing in the air - somersaulting and twirling. It was exhilarating. But best of all I knew that when I crossed the border I would be close to seeing my family. I was still wearing my pyjamas but I was sure they wouldn't mind. I wondered if I would see flamingoes and hoped I might do, so that I could take my sister one of their beautiful coral-coloured feathers. But I didn't. 

Then I woke up. And it was 3:18am.

For a moment on waking I still felt excited and close to the people I love, and full of the joy of flight. It was a good dream.

Today I wore love...

...in the shape of butterfly wings.

When you come to the end of all the light you know, and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen:

Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly.

Edward Teller

1908-2003

My wish for your wings came true!

The rest is up to you...

EL

January 2009

Thank you E, and Happy Friday to All!

Tagged for happy thoughts...

C wearing her pink fluffy angel wings on the outside

I've been tagged. It's my first ever tagging... A blogging rite of passage I believe?

Claire has asked that I celebrate five days of h.a.p.p.y thoughts and I'm happy to play along. They might not be five consecutive posts but between now and the beginning of 2009, I'll certainly oblige. 

My happy thought this morning is brought on by a weekend visit, a caring email, a virtual journey shared, and the subsequent contemplation of my friends - C, E and M in particular, who provided these. Although they now all live far away (two on entirely different continents to me) and I don't have the opportunity to spend as much time in their company as I would like, they are always with me; they share my life, enriching it with their unwavering support and inspirational example even from afar. Incredible women all, albeit in very different ways.

• Women who are a touchstone to my heart.
  
• Women who stand by me even when I'm sometimes hard to reach.
  
• Women who don wings to dance in celebration of my life.
• Women who offer love and laughter as an antidote to hurt and tears.
  
• Women who bring warmth, colour and texture to my inner and outer world.
  

They are family. Family of the chosen rather than related kind. Special women who've known me a long time now but with whom I felt a kinship even after we'd just met. 

You know the feeling, don't you? When you encounter someone who you could share your profoundest dreams or fears with over a cup of tea, or stand in companionable silence with and still feel connected to. Someone who shares a thought, an insight, a smile perhaps, as if reflecting your own reaction almost exactly. Or whose difference offers what's lacking in you and completes the moment, completes you in the moment. Brings balance. 

Sometimes these people pass in and out of our lives quickly. Sometimes the moment lasts only as long as the train journey, the eye contact in a coffee shop, in silence, and then is over. Leaving us nevertheless richer for it. Touched. Sometimes, if we are lucky, it grows into something broader, wider, deeper - fuller. And lasts a lifetime. 

I think we feel it here in the blogosphere too. And although we might never meet in person, it's no less special a connection for it.

And I am thankful for it. I am enriched by it. And, for me, this is a happy thought.

I'm not going to tag anyone specifically, but if you'd like to play along, please consider yourself tagged...

Happy thought Monday to you!

Wishing for wings...

...again!

Maybe in a parallel life I am doing this.  I hope so.

I'm not sure if I think these guys are insane or incredible.  Probably a bit of both?

Either way, I envy them the sensation of free flying.

I won't be jumping off any cliffs or high buildings wearing my glittery wings but if I ever lay my hands on one of those wingsuits, who knows?

Wishing for wings

I was asked to fill in a profile questionnaire at work recently. Something that's going to be published on our Intranet. A little snapshot of who we are, as we see ourselves, to share with our colleagues. And one of the questions was, "If you could choose a superpower, what would it be?".

All the more obvious things, those skills that would allow me to help the planet and the people on it - eradicate poverty and violence and greed; save the environment; see into the hearts of men, and so on - flashed through my head. Healing related powers mostly, I noted. And it's true, I probably would choose one of those if being empowered in this way ever became a reality.

But... if I was to be entirely selfish and choose something just for me, just for pleasure, it would probably be the ability to fly.

I've always wished for wings: to be able to fly unaided.

There seems to be something inherently joyful about being able to launch one's self into the air; climb, somersault and soar on thermals; see the earth that way, so beautiful from above; and travel freely and unencumbered. How wonderful that would be!

Sometimes I even take the opportunity (like if there's a party outfit that needs accessorizing) to don a pair of beautiful glittery wings and pretend. And I encourage people I know to do the same. And many are surprisingly willing to do so. I think it does me good occasionally to imagine that I can fly. It's liberating.