Category Archives: Voice

Communication, Connecting, Uncategorized, Voice, writing

What Makes A Life

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The Hands That Touch Our Hearts

There are so many ways to gather input about a life.
Pictures, stories, social media, music, movement, art—these days, you could probably even feed it all into a prompt and ask AI.

And maybe that becomes the sum of a life.

But is it?

There’s so much about living that stretches beyond our sensory space and time.
Yes, I can gather loads of data and information about a business—and in many ways, that’s enough to create a strategy, a game plan that can determine success or failure, worth or value.

Maybe you can evaluate a company, or even a country’s government, that way.

But not a relationship.
Not a family.
Not a community.

Because of hearts. Emotions. Conflicts. Hidden agendas.
Constructed personalities that only slightly conceal our raw vulnerability.

All that messy middle—that’s definitely missing from a Facebook post or a LinkedIn update. Missing from business strategies and financial results.

A life—
A real relationship—
Is dynamic. Moment to moment. Always changing.

And we are so uncomfortable with that.
We want to control the narrative.
To limit the unlimited.

But that’s only possible when we finally surrender—
To the unknown.
To our ego.

And we don’t do that well.

Because surrender requires trust. Faith. And that is…

LOVE.

We want love to be different.
To be neat. Predictable. Manageable.

But what love is—
Is simply pure consciousness.
Which just is.
Everything.

That’s way beyond our sensory, dimensional selves to grasp.
And our intelligence?
It keeps us from letting go and trusting—energy, God, purity.

We keep thinking we can know it. Capture it. Control it.

But we can’t.

The closest we come is when we surrender.
When we drop to our knees and cry because we don’t know what else to do.
When we sit beside another and simply be—
As they shake, or rage, or cry. Or just be.

When, in a flash, we let go of our righteousness and allow the light—or new information—
In.

Those are the moments I think we come closest to knowing ourselves.
And each other.

Those moments, I believe, are what truly make a life.

The rest—
Is dust.

Communication, Connecting, Embracing Unknown, Voice, writing

Helpless and Held: Parasails, Politics & Paws: Day Three

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A swirl of moments—captured through free writes and Feldenkrais. This piece began with a reflection on the year: three events and some sensory explorations. I followed, unsure where it would lead.

Forty minutes later, I found a path—one that offered comfort and clarity in a time of deep chaos and pain.

The events: parasailing, Couples Alive II, and a crisis at home—threaded together by a political landscape spanning three countries. Two I call home. One I visit often.

It begins here:

I didn’t know if I’d be alone or with others. Just two Spanish-speaking men on a boat, a parasail, and me. No conversation—just gestures. A few motions to get me buckled and set. Sunscreen. Sunglasses. A nod. And then—release.

The rope pulled taut. The wind lifted me slowly, then all at once. Up. Up. Away. The boat shrank. The shore disappeared. The air held me like nothing else ever had.

I could sing up there. I could scream.
I did sing. I did scream.
Arms wide open. The wind caught me—tossed me, popped me forward and back.

In a plane, that would’ve terrified me.
But here, dangling from a sail—I felt free.

More than free. I felt possible.

There was a moment—I touched the clip. Thought about unhooking. Not out of fear, but out of desire.
A strange call to fly solo.
And also… a pull to stay.

Not for safety. But for the two men below.
I didn’t want to cause them trouble. That mattered.

That same push and pull—between rising and staying—echoes now.
Just weeks ago. Days before the election.
Up north with Couples.

The Haven. Safe. Then the call—ZuZu was hurt.
Far from home. But wrapped in something solid.
A circle of friends.
Steady eyes. Open arms.

My heart raced. My jaw clenched.
I tasted metal—but I wasn’t alone.
I felt helpless. But also held.

I watched CrisMarie pace the floor, phone to her ear.
The possibility of ZuZu gone.
Or our dogs separated.
The surgeon’s certainty: if she survives, they can’t be together.

Others spoke. Stories of dogs. Of grief. Of connection.
Pain, yes. But it was shared.
Held.

Helpless. And held.

While back home, ZuZu recovered.
Friends gathered. Held the fort.
Until we could return.

Now, I’m back in the U.S.
ZuZu curls in my lap. Rosie snug at my feet.
Everything back to normal.
Close. Safe. Cozy.

And yet—helplessness stirs again.

Not about the dogs this time.
It’s my country.
The headlines. The rage. The noise.

That same bitter taste in my mouth.
That same rising panic.

But no circle of friends here.
The Haven still exists—but distant now.
What surrounds me is the cluttered, chaotic hum of a nation at war with itself.

Still—I remember the parasail.
Mexico. The beach.

I remember the moment of lift.
Rising above the mess. Not to escape—but to see.

There is a way to be with terror without becoming it.
A way to hold chaos and not unclip.

I can scream. I can sing.
I can let go without falling.
I can remember the air. The sky.
The clarity that comes when I stop gripping so tight.

I don’t have to drown in the headlines.
Or disappear into helplessness.

There’s a space between it all.
A pause between breaths.
A widening above the noise.

I can carry that space with me.
Back down.

Because this is still home.
The weight of ZuZu. Rosie curled at my feet.

The dogs are here. My heart is here.
And maybe—if I remember the wind—
I don’t have to leave to feel free.

Connecting, Connection, Voice, Vulnerability, writing

Felt, Not Held: Day Two

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I fear I won’t get my piece out for today and yet I have particpated more fully, taking a couples classes – one live and two of recorded through that all access. pass

One piece seems too personal to share as a blog post so I am holding on to it. Instead I’ll share this other piece – written and then crafted into a poem. The class was Writing Self-Intimacy – very intriguing to me. Here’s the poem:

Such an interesting question—
how does intimacy ripple?
Something in me doesn’t quite grasp it—
and yet, as I write,
a hush moves through my chest,
a soft bloom of sensation—
could this be the ripple itself?

Inside, it’s all motion:
breath as messenger,
bringing in the new,
carrying out the dissonance—
a surrender to the stirrings
that chaos brings.

When I imagine this inward pulse
moving outward—
it feels like waves,
sometimes gentle, like a whisper across skin,
sometimes wild, like wind tearing through still water.

My relationships feel this—
my dogs know the rhythm.
My wife feels the shifts too,
though fear sometimes stirs in her—
then, I feel the quiet plea
for control, or help,
as if my wave might wash too far.

Community…
That’s more elusive.
Sometimes I skip the people close by,
and instead, let the wave
spill into music, into words, activity
into distant spaces in Zoom windows
where I may be felt,
but not held too tightly.

And maybe that’s why
intimacy in community
can feel like a shore I can see
but haven’t quite reached.

Communication, Connecting, Embracing Unknown, Leadership, Voice

Refusing To Hide: Finding Strength in MLK

How can I move forward and not hide.

I can—hide – because my life and liberty aren’t immediately threatened by today’s seizure of power.

But that doesn’t comfort me. It doesn’t erase the fear and pain my brothers and sisters are feeling.

I feel bile rising in my throat as I read the news from DC —I can’t even imagine hearing it spoken aloud.

What have we done?

I’ve been meditating daily, working through A Course in Miracles and following Dr. Joe’s teachings. But none of it feels like enough to carry me through this moment.

I want to move. I want to run. But not to hide.

I could hide. I could pretend that the deportations and disenfranchisement happening now are for the “greater good.” I could lie to myself, imagining that God sides with power and privilege—that Christ would support this madness.

But that’s not the truth. That’s not who we are, and I can’t betray what I know to be right. I can’t hide because I care.

I care about my brother, born to parents who crossed borders to give him a chance at life but are now being told they don’t belong.

I care about my sister, who might one day need an abortion to save her life—and the laws won’t protect her.

I care about this fragile planet that needs us to unite to save it.

I understand we have problems. I know the concerns of people in middle America are often overlooked or dismissed.

But Trump isn’t fighting for us. Maybe for himself and his allies—but not for us.

I’ve listened to his words today. There’s no humility. No heart. Just fear and division.

I hope I’m wrong—I’ve hoped that many times before. But time and again, he’s proven me right.

Tearing families apart and throwing people into detention camps isn’t justice. It’s cruelty. Ignoring the Constitution and appointing cronies to positions of power isn’t leadership—it’s dangerous.

And yet, here I am, unsure how to respond. That’s his greatest weapon—forcing us to react, to lash out in anger and fear.

But I won’t give in. Today, on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I will remember his legacy.

I’ll stay nonviolent. I’ll hold my anguish close but let it drive me to action where I can have an impact and touch hearts.

I know I can not change minds with fury and force. But I hope I can reach hearts and that we can find strength again together.

I’ll refuse to hide.

Communication, Connecting, Life Experiences, Vision, Voice

My Political Roller Coaster: Reflections on Recent Events and Real Power

Wow, what a whirlwind it’s been lately. In such a short time, we’ve seen an assassination attempt, a fleeting call for unity, and then back to the usual political attacks. People putting bandages over their ear in some type of solidarity—how surreal is that? President Biden initially stood firm, refusing to back down, but just this past week, he stepped out of the process.

And then there’s VP Kamala Harris, now endorsed to lead the Democratic ticket. Honestly, my phone is going crazy with messages. It’s been an assault on my senses, but in some ways, I’m relieved Biden stepped down. Do I believe Kamala Harris can defeat Trump? Absolutely, and she should.

I say this because I don’t see Trump as genuiene, honest, or powerful in any way. My biggest issue with Trump is his ego. He rants, he’s mean, and he viciously attacks anyone who calls him out or challenges him. I’ve never heard him apologize or admit to any wrongdoing.

I don’t get the fear and fight that underlies so much of what I read. Yes, I want a strong country, but I also want relationships with people from different backgrounds, different countries. I don’t want to gloss over our mistakes—like slavery, the long battle for women’s rights, LGBTQ+ rights, and racial equality. These are critical parts of our history, and people have fought hard for their rights. We can’t lose those stories. Even when the stories make us look bad , those shouldn’t be forgotten or untold.

Education needs to be available to everyone and needs to be a space that allows for differences and develops young people into discerning individuals where there can be conflicting views and young people see a future that includes them.

Trump seems to equate fear and rage with power. But real power isn’t based on fear or threats. It’s about clarity, commitment, and the willingness to listen and evolve. It means moving beyond our limited beliefs and small-mindedness to something greater.

Honestly, I’m not sure if the Democrats have what it takes to be truly different. But right now, we’re in a moment of chaos, and I think that’s good. It’s a place to start. We learn when we’re thrown into the unknown. Let’s embrace this uncertainty and see if we can become a different country. We don’t have to be mighty; we can be strong and compassionate. Now, wouldn’t that be something?

Who is writing or running on that platform? I know we’re not there yet, but I believe we could be.

Leadership, Uncategorized, Valuing Differences, Voice, Vulnerability, Women

Iron-Fisted Power Is Not Leadership

Many years ago my friend, Susa Holt, told me I had to meet CrisMarie Campbell, an Olympic rower.  I could hardly wait to hear first hand what it was like to be an Olympian!

Yet, when I asked CrisMarie about the Olympics, she almost bit my head off, saying “I don’t like to talk about that – I was a loser!”

I was a bit stunned.   I know all to well how our heroes are often the masters of self-hate!  Fortunately, I met her as she was just heading into a Come Alive, and I figured this was a ripe area for her to do some great work.

She did.  Over the years, I have been a witness to CrisMarie’s reclaiming her Olympian.

_I8P7019-EditShe now uses her rowing stories as great examples of the difference between simply a boat of champions, the 1988 Olympic boat,  and a Championship team, the 1987 World Champion silver medal boat.

Today is a new chapter.  Her collegiate and national team coach made the headlines this month.  His long tenure at the University of Washington ended when the current team of rowers challenged his leadership style.

Here is the link to the Seattle Times article:  Firing of UW Rowing Coach

CrisMarie caught the news and wanted to reach out to the rowers.  The headlines presented a story line that seemed to imply the biggest issue was “an age gap” between the coach and his rowers.  The paper even went so far as to imply may be the rowers were pampered.  Really?

Well, CrisMarie had a long history with Bob and wasn’t about to stay silent. She wrote an opinion letter to the sports editor of the Seattle Times. He opted not to publish it.

I like that CrisMarie spoke up.

I like that she reflected both the brilliance AND the iron-fisted misuse of power that is all to often called leadership.

Mostly I love that she challenged the real issue, Bob did not want feedback and that is simply not leadership.

Below is her opinion. It is one woman’s story and perspective.  Regular readers know, that I am a big believer that there is never one side to any story.

However, I also believe silence in the face of popularity and power are deadly in so many ways.

 CrisMarie’s Opinion Letter, December 11, 2015

I am compelled to speak because of the apparent prevailing opinion that Bob Ernst was an excellent coach who deserved a better send off. No doubt Bob made Washington rowing more successful; however, as a leader of people, he failed.

First let me speak to my own direct experience with Bob. I rowed at Washington from 1982-1986, won the ’84 and ‘85 National Championships, and was the ’85 stroke and Team Captain. I went on to a silver medal win at the 1987 World Championships and then to the 1988 Olympics – all with Bob as my coach. I was, by many people’s standards, a winning rower. I was strong, smart, disciplined and hard-working. I credit Bob with making me a successful rower.

Bob is brilliant and was a revolutionary rowing coach– but not because of his leadership style. While he advanced Washington and Women’s Rowing, both at the collegiate and national level, Bob was not an effective leader of people.

In my six years of rowing, I only lost two official competitive races, and yet I walked away feeling like a loser. Why is that? My experience with Bob was that I was only as good as my latest win on the water. His strategy included blaming rowers for losses, and when we did lose, treating us, I felt, as unworthy human beings. He also used ultimatums to drive compliance.

When I injured my back training for the Olympics I considered missing one practice of our regular “two-a-day” sessions.  Bob yelled: “either she’s in the boat every day or she’s not in the boat at all!” I got in the boat. While the choice to get in that boat was mine, it is important to underscore the power a coach has over team members to make them perform. And when we lost at the Olympics he blamed me for losing the race by getting in the boat with injuries. Really?

His pronouncement of blame was demoralizing in 1988, and I was shocked to hear him repeat it ten years later. When a coach or leader devalues the team his power becomes abusive and the coach ceases to lead.

As a result of my experience with Bob, I have dedicated my career to helping business leaders produce high performing teams that are both smart (“winning”) and healthy (people matter). Team success is often a result of the leader’s willingness to step out of the “command and control” style and get feedback from the team. This drives team engagement and better team results long-term.

In reading the details of what transpired with Bob and the team, he seemed unwilling to be either vulnerable or curious with the team. Bob could not find a way to use the conflict to create a better outcome both for the team and himself. It wasn’t the job of the UW Administrators to do that, it was his job as a leader.

Marlow Mizera, the coxswain who spoke up to Bob, is a hero of mine. She is a leader. She had the courage to stand up to the most powerful coach in Washington Rowing. These women wanted to give their coach feedback on the impact of his style; they wanted to work with him. Unfortunately, he was unwilling to lean in and hear the feedback, which is sad. They did something I wish I could have done 30 years ago.

This is not about an age gap between Bob and the new generation of rowers. This issue has gone on a long time – it’s about confusing iron-fisted power with leadership.

I do wonder if Bob had been willing to hang in, hear, and honor some honest feedback, whether he and the team could have turned this conflict into a win for both him and the Washington Women Rowers.

CrisMarie (aka Chris) Campbell  Co-founder of thrive! inc., works with leaders and their teams to transform conflict into innovative results. Her TEDx Talk is: Conflict – Use It, Don’t Defuse It!