Tag Archives: Connection

Connecting, Connection, Life Experiences, Valuing Differences

It Still Comes Back to the Waiting Room

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When Ben and Jock started Haven, it grew out of something they had discovered in their medical practices:

Healing was often happening more in the waiting room than in their offices.

Their patients were very different—elderly people and teenagers—and their backgrounds included acupuncture, emergency medicine and psychiatry. Yet it wasn’t necessarily their medical expertise that was making the most transformative difference in people’s lives.

It was what was happening relationally.

People were talking. Sharing stories. Seeing themselves in one another. Feeling less alone.

Ben and Jock wanted to take that further. Eventually, they let go of their medical licences to focus on group dynamics, relationships and embodiment.

By the time I arrived, relational programs had been happening for years, and the work had found a home on Gabriola Island at a place called The Haven.

Some of the core programs from those early years are still offered today—from Come Alive and Couples Alive to month-long programs devoted to personal development, relationships and leadership training.

The leadership month was called New Horizons. The name reflected its exploration of new and cutting-edge ideas in psychology, science, philosophy and medicine, alongside both Eastern and Western ways of understanding human experience.

What I remember most was the spirit of the program:

Touch on everything. Then blow up every theory and structure.

Not to dismiss what could be learned, but to crack the structure open. To help the mind grasp that there isn’t one right way.

There are pieces—fractals of truth—in all systems and theories. What makes them living is how they respond to the actual human being who walks, talks, breathes and relates out in the world.

What we believe matters. But it doesn’t have to become permanent. It doesn’t have to become “right.”

Of course, Ben and Jock had strong opinions, as did the many people who led and worked alongside them. But the highlight of New Horizons was when each participant pulled together and shared their own living model.

In some ways, each of us was being asked to create our own waiting room—a place where people could gather, experiment, discover and meet one another more honestly.

Then people would go back into their lives. Some returned to intern, assist, lead and contribute to the ongoing educational process. They brought what they were learning from their own lives back into the room.

Not every way of relating or working was agreeable to Ben and Jock. Some people found their feedback confronting. At times, I did too.

But there was also something deeply enlivening about it—and, for me, incredibly valuable.

No matter how often I got knocked for being a victim or acting entitled, I still wanted to come back.

I wanted to understand.

I wanted to throw my opinions into the room and hear what came back. I wanted to encounter different experiences and different ways of coping, loving and living in what often seemed to me to be a very harsh world.

Over time, I became less afraid of the bumps, the bullies, the righteous certainty and even the hate.

I began to recognize that much of what frightened or angered me was another person’s attempt—sometimes clumsy, defended or harmful—to be loved, accepted and to belong.

That didn’t make every behaviour okay. It didn’t mean there was no need for accountability, boundaries or repair.

It meant I became more interested in what was happening between us than in proving who was right.

I am so grateful I kept coming back, even when it seemed I wasn’t very good at empathy or at getting beyond my own pain and blame.

I kept coming back.

And slowly, I learned to lead more with my heart and with my best human self.

I made mistakes.

I learned.

I repaired.

And I kept weaving those experiences into becoming more human, more real and, actually, more loving.

Along the way, I gathered all sorts of skills and training—from family systems, somatics and emotional release work to psychotherapy, Satir Family Reconstructions, addiction work, business consulting, coaching and equus work.

There was mystical and spiritual work, too. So many programs, theories, books, teachers and resources.

I value all of it.

But for me, it still comes back to that waiting room and the relational tools.

Life isn’t fair. Horrible things happen. People hurt one another, sometimes knowingly and sometimes while believing they are doing the right thing. No amount of training can promise that we will never cause harm—or create a space in which nobody will ever feel hurt, unseen or misunderstood.

What we can learn is how to stay present.

How to listen.

How to speak honestly.

How to notice when certainty has closed our minds and hardened our hearts.

How to take responsibility for our impact, repair what we can and remain in relationship long enough for something new to become possible.

Expertise can inform us. Knowledge can expand us. Training can help us recognize what we have not yet learned to see.

But no amount of expertise or knowledge means much without heart and connection.

That is what I believe Ben and Jock discovered in the waiting room.

And after all these years, it is still what I believe makes transformation and yes maybe healing possible.

Communication, Community, Connection, Leadership, Valuing Differences

Finding Truth In The Chaos

There are many roads to travel.
Lately, I keep trying to find a thread that isn’t all ache, rage, or worry.

There’s a lot of that these days.

I don’t want to be someone who simply looks away while my country feels like it’s sliding toward something darker—something closer to a dictatorship than a democracy. And what unsettles me most is not just what I see, but how unsure I am about what to believe.

The news.
The scrolls.
The certainty with which everyone seems to know exactly what’s happening—and exactly who’s to blame.

In my world of connection—real conversations, eye contact, shared meals—people are concerned. They’re worried. They’re tired. And yet, walking down the streets in Oregon, through airports, sitting next to strangers, listening to their fears and stories, I’m not encountering the same apocalyptic certainty that fills my screens.

That dissonance messes with me.

I know the history. I know the comparisons people make—Germany, other moments when horrifying acts were sanctioned while everyday life continued and people didn’t act soon enough. I don’t want to be that person. The one who says later, I didn’t know or I thought it would turn out differently.

I just finished a Louise Penny novel that felt uncomfortably close to our current reality. I’m rewatching The West Wing—loving the idealism, aching for that version of leadership—while also noticing how even there, politics slide so easily into sides, certainty, and storylines that leave little room for real collaboration.

So I keep asking:
What does all of this actually mean for me?

Yes, I can call my senators.
I can voice my concerns about a government that seems increasingly unaccountable, a Supreme Court that feels overtly political, a justice system that appears uneven and sided.

And I do believe those actions matter.

But I’m also deeply aware of another truth I live by: I am not separate from the world I’m critiquing. I am participating in it—through my fear, my projections, my righteousness, my silence, my love.

I believe that beneath all this separation, we are connected. Not as an idea, but as a lived reality. And I believe in love—or something divine, or intelligent, or larger than me—that I don’t get to own, define, or control.

That belief doesn’t let me off the hook.
It actually puts me more squarely on it.

Because if connection is real, then the work isn’t only “out there.” It’s also in how I listen. How I stay curious. How I resist the urge to collapse people into villains or heroes. How I choose presence over numbness and relationship over retreat.

I don’t have a clean conclusion.
I’m not offering certainty or a solution.

What I have is a commitment—to not look away, and also not harden. To stay engaged without letting fear be the only voice at the table. To keep choosing connection as a form of responsibility, not avoidance.

Maybe that’s the thread I’m following right now.

Not certainty.
Not righteousness.
But relationship.

And the willingness to keep asking:
How do I want to be in this moment—while the road is still unfolding?

Communication, Community, Connecting, Connection, Life Experiences, Vision, Vulnerability

Forgiveness

I’ve never been particularly comfortable with the word forgiveness.

Yet here I am considering it my word for 2026.

Here’s a popular definition of forgiveness:

Forgiveness is the conscious, voluntary decision to let go of resentment, anger, and vengeful thoughts toward someone who has wronged you, freeing yourself from the pain of the offense rather than condoning or excusing the act.

It sounds reasonable.
Even generous.

But I get stuck on one idea:
“toward someone who has wronged you.”

Because as long as forgiveness is organized around they wronged me, it stays trapped inside a courtroom.
Someone is right.
Someone is wrong.
And someone has to rise above it.

Real forgiveness—at least the kind that actually changes something—doesn’t live there.

For me, forgiveness begins when I’m willing to question my certainty.
Not erase my experience—but loosen my grip on the story I’m telling about it.

I don’t actually know what the other person intended.
I don’t know what they were seeing, hearing, or feeling in that moment.
I don’t know what shaped their choices or what fear, pain, or blindness might have been operating.

When I truly own that, something shifts.

The work of forgiveness stops being about them
and becomes about my willingness to step out of righteousness and victimhood.

What I’ve discovered is that suffering is real—but blame only hardens it.

Forgiveness happens when I stop insisting on being right
and start telling the truth about what I cannot know.

In those moments—when I land there in real presence—
my heart opens, but my spine doesn’t disappear.

There’s clarity.
There’s connection.
And there’s a surprising strength in not needing anyone to be the villain.

It doesn’t feel passive.
It feels liberating.

Which is why I don’t think forgiveness can be thought through or performed correctly.

Forgiveness is experiential.
It arrives in moments of curiosity rather than collapse,
innocence rather than innocence lost,
wisdom that comes from letting a rigid story soften into something truer.

And when it’s real,
the freedom moves both ways.

Communication, Community, Connecting, Family, Life Experiences

Carrying What Matters

A year-end reflection

This past year held a lot.

I said goodbye to my mom—at least to her human form—and discovered that grief doesn’t arrive in a straight line. It comes as an undertow. Quiet at first. Then suddenly pulling up old family currents I didn’t know were still alive in me.

It was also a year of aliveness.
We returned to Finding Your Mojo in Montana.
We launched Pop-Ups for People.
Worked with new and old clients in new forms.
Traveled, taught, learned, loved.
Studied together. Studied Apart. Created. Said yes to what was alive.

And somewhere in the middle of all that living, my body slowed me down.

An extended stretch now of being sick.
No skiing. No Peloton. No real movement.
At first, I didn’t care.
And then—when the fog lifted—I noticed something surprising.

I wasn’t rushing back to the discipline I usually rely on to “keep myself in check.”

Instead, I found myself reaching for comfort:
Mochas.
Craft beer.
Pizza.

Not because I don’t know what supports my body—but because sometimes comfort feels like a small shelter in a world that feels loud, divided, and relentlessly intense.

Recently, in a Tarot reading, the card that landed in the physical position was Burden.

I realized how much I’ve been carrying:
Grief.
Concern for the world.
The desire for connection without always knowing how to create it consistently.
The tension between what nourishes me and what soothes me.

And yet—here’s the other truth. In this seeming world of rage.

Up close. Face to face. In real conversation.
I’ve experienced genuine connection with people who hold very different views.
I’ve found common fears. Shared hopes. A longing for understanding.
That part gives me hope.

Still, the headlines keep coming.
And some days, that part is hard.

As this year comes to a close, I find myself asking quieter questions:

  • Where was I touched and changed?
  • Where did I show up with my full heart?
  • Where did I hold back?
  • What actually mattered?
  • What no longer needs to be carried into the next year?

This season—of lights and darkness, tradition and reinvention—seems to invite both grief and possibility.
Promise and pain.
Joy and uncertainty.

Maybe that’s the work right now:
Not fixing.
Not resolving.
But noticing what we’re carrying—and choosing what’s worth bringing forward.

So I’m curious about you.

What touched your heart this year?
What feels heavy—and what feels essential?
What are you ready to set down?

May this season offer you moments of peace.
May the questions that rise lead you toward connection.
And may whatever you’re carrying be met with kindness.

Communication, Connecting, Embracing Unknown, Life Experiences, Valuing Differences, Vulnerability

Fear, Love, and the Risk of Reducing Aliveness

I recently came across a research abstract suggesting that Virginia Satir’s experiential family systems approach might be “integrated” with models like Emotion-Focused Therapy. The intent: give her work more structure, theory, and replicability.

It stopped me in my tracks.
Could Satir’s profound body of work—rooted in presence, creativity, and relational aliveness—be reduced to “mere creative techniques”? Sadly, yes.

And it’s not just Satir. Many programs born of humanistic psychology have been distilled into measurable techniques, slotted neatly into systems that can be studied and standardized. Relevant, yes. But at what cost?

When we prize only what can be researched or proven, we lose something vital. Aliveness. Creativity. Connection. We flatten the very field where transformation emerges.

Creation vs. Consumption

What I long for isn’t consumption of another “evidence-based” tool. It’s creation. Taking an idea and living in it—moving, playing, risking. Not applying theory with rigid gestures, but engaging the unpredictable edge where life actually shifts.

Evidence-based living too often traps us in right/wrong, safe/unsafe. The result? A shrinking space for wonder, possibility, and connection.

What Haven Taught Me

As part of The Haven Faculty, I’ve witnessed again and again the raw, alive field where healing happens—not through protocols, but through presence. Haven’s roots were never built on the theoretical. They grew from two physicians—one working with teens, one with elders—who noticed transformation simply by bringing people together.

Of course they developed models to support learning but they also made presence and connection the bottomline.

What drew me to Haven, and originally to Satir, wasn’t a model to be replicated. It was the power of human beings meeting each other without guarantees, without smoothing over, without management.

Haven has always been about leaning into conflict, discomfort, intensity—not to retraumatize, but to discover. To find more of ourselves and more of each other than we thought possible.

The Trouble with Safety

When frameworks and protocols become the defining lens, the focus shifts. The energy becomes about safety, prevention, containment. Safety matters—but transformation doesn’t live in managed safety. It lives in risk, in storm, in staying connected when it would be easier to retreat.

True safety is born in presence, not control. In the messy, unpredictable space of being human together.

The Larger Gift

Yes, trauma walks through our doors. It always has. And we hold it with care. But I refuse to let trauma—or the management of it—define transformation.

Satir’s gift, and Haven’s, is larger: a space that is alive, not managed. A space where fear and love meet, and in that meeting, choice becomes possible.

Communication, Community, Connecting, Life Experiences

From Scroll To Soul

I find myself struggling in this moment. I want to be productive—yet I don’t know what to work on.

Here’s the possible To Do List:

There’s the garden; I could go out and pull up weeds, harvest what’s ready.
I could go for a bike ride—it’s beautiful outside.
I could read. I could write.
I could even reach out to the folks I’ll be leading with later this month to start building our connection.

Indeed, there is much I could do.

And yet, here I sit. Scrolling, then thinking. Scrolling, then thinking.

Recently, in an intuitive session, I was told something that stuck with me:
Maybe I don’t need to be “creating opportunities.” Maybe I need to let them evolve. In my business, when I push to “make it happen,” I may be missing what’s already right in front of me.

That message echoed during our Find Your Mojo in Montana weekend. On the final morning, we went out to the pasture together. Each woman was asked to connect with a horse and bring them back to the arena.

Of course, in my mind, the “real” work would happen once we were back in the arena. So I charged ahead, intent on finding the herd.

But Bobbi, who owns and lives on the ranch, reminded us to slow down.
Not to beeline to a horse. Not to treat them like a task to complete. Horses sense us long before we reach them, and it matters how we enter their world. To notice. To listen. To respect the herd before engaging.

That moment stays with me.

So often, purpose on a given day looks like a to-do list:

  • Go to the store.
  • Walk the dogs.
  • Write the blog post.

The focus is on getting it done. Which means I miss the trees swaying overhead, the sound of paws on leaves, or the spark of an unexpected idea.

What if I didn’t narrow in on just the task or the outcome?
What if I stayed present in the unfolding of the moment—curious about what else might want to emerge?

Writing is much the same for me. It takes time to settle. I’ll meander—scrolling Facebook, reading a few pages of a book, playing music, even bouncing on the trampoline. Back and forth I go—writing a bit, wandering away, then circling back.

And then, at some point, something shifts. I drop into a current. The words begin to flow. My focus narrows, not in a forced way, but like sliding into a slipstream.

I’ve learned to appreciate both—the wandering off-road and the ease of finally being carried by the current.

Maybe that’s the real invitation:
To trust the meandering.
To let go of forcing productivity.
And to remember that sometimes the most important thing is already happening—if I just stay present enough to notice.

Connecting, Connection, Life Experiences, Valuing Differences

Love More Than Fear

I catch myself scrolling. Some of it is work—travel arrangements, bookings for Mojo, helping with CrisMarie’s travel. But much more is Retriever reels or Taylor Swift updates. I know it’s not healthy. I’d be better off reading, writing, or going for a bike ride. Yet here I sit, telling myself I’ve got something important to say.

And maybe I do.

Because here’s the truth: women are signing up for Find Your Mojo in Montana. It’s happening. That could be enough to pull me out to the ranch, to the horses, to the fresh air. Instead, I’ve only gone as far as researching lodging for those who want to stay outside of town.

So what gives?

This morning I was inspired by a channeling podcast—part of the Course in Miracles work we’ve been doing. Yes, channeled information. From what the speaker calls a collective of beings, including Jesus. Maybe that sounds strange. But is it stranger than believing we’re the smartest species in the universe while destroying our planet and waging endless wars?

Here’s the challenge:
What if wisdom comes from beyond our five senses?
What if reality isn’t limited to what our culture insists is “rational”?
What if we’ve been so busy rejecting what we can’t measure that we’ve blinded ourselves to the very love and intelligence keeping us alive?

The message I heard this morning was this:
Clear your mind. Step out of ego.
Get out in nature. Listen deeper.
See beyond the surface.

Because the deeper truth is this: we are not separate. We are connected. Survival mode is an ego trap. Our cultures are built on it—fight, compete, win, dominate. But what if that’s upside down? What if we’re eternal beings and this earthly classroom exists not for survival but for remembering? For returning to love?

Despite everything—our arrogance, our denial, our wars—we are still here. And it’s not because of our brilliance. It’s because of the heart. The pulse of love inside each of us, in the animals, in the earth itself. That love keeps erupting, interrupting, rerouting us toward something greater.

Fear contracts. Love expands.
Fear isolates. Love connects.
Fear clings to survival. Love opens to possibility.

Yes, we have free will. We can keep choosing fear, fighting to exist. Or—we can take the harder, braver path: to love more than we fear.

Extinction is one option. Awakening is another.

That’s my quest now. To live less from fear, more from love.
What about you?

FYI: I am on my way out to the ranch!

Community, Connecting, Connection, Life Experiences

The Heart of The Haven: Grief, Growth, and The Power of Connection

Over the forty-plus years I’ve been involved with The Haven, countless people have become woven into the fabric of my life. Many of them for decades. Some are still here, though too many are now gone—some far too young, some older, and some who simply seemed to complete with what they came to do on this earth. When I pause, the grief of those losses still rolls through me.

And then there are others—the ones who are alive but no longer return to The Haven. I don’t always know why. For me, every time I’ve come back—whether to lead, to participate, or simply to reconnect—I’ve found nourishment and meaning. Yet, for some, that return no longer calls them.

The Haven itself is in an evolutionary process. Things change—and they need to. Still, I hold deep belief in the core programs, especially Come Alive. It is a rare and beautiful invitation to wake up to ourselves, to one another, and to life. I also believe in the training process that helps people grow into facilitators of deep connection—learning to relate, collaborate, and create across differences of culture, background, and experience. That work is transformative, and it matters.

But I also recognize that it may not be enough, on its own, to sustain The Haven as it has been. Others will have their own visions of what needs to emerge. At our recent faculty meeting, I loved hearing our new Executive Director speak of the “miracle moments” that have unfolded on that small piece of land. It’s true. So many miracles have happened there. And yet, the miracles didn’t stay confined to Gabriola. They traveled outward—carried by all of us—into families, workplaces, communities, and the wider world.

I now find myself part of many communities: Dr. Joe’s circle of coherent healers and advanced meditators, a Course in Miracles group, the Herd for Equus Coaching community, and many more. Some gather in large numbers, some only online, some with connections that ebb and flow. Yet all remain in my heart, part of my resonance field.

What I notice is this: the communities that nourish me most are the ones that hold space for difference, where connection matters more than credentials. At the same time, I’ve come to appreciate that every community needs some structure or resource to sustain itself—whether through credentials, program fees, or gatherings that draw people together. Without that, even the most meaningful communities can fade.

The Haven has always been, at its heart, about people daring to be real with one another. That feels as needed today as it ever was. What shape it needs to take going forward—that is still unfolding.

I too, am unfolding and evolving. Next up for me: Find Your Mojo in Montana and we are bringing back after some time away with some new vibrations. It’s a great combination of Haven and Equus . Join us in October!

Here’s a little taste:

Business, Connecting, Embracing Unknown, Leadership

Community Through a Life of Pop-Ups

Leadership – Living it, Loving it, Learning within it
Pop-Ups for People
Pop-Up Communities

I think this is my work—my calling.

For a long time, I judged myself for not being a “good” community member. I thought that meant having lifelong friends, deep roots in one place, and strong ties to where I lived or worked. But my life hasn’t followed that pattern.

I’ve never worked in one company for decades. I don’t have children. I lived on Gabriola for ten years, Whitefish, MT since 2008. My longest-standing commitment may be be to The Haven, where I arrived in 1983. Over the years, I’ve been a participant, cleaner, registrar, intern, assistant, leader, part of the Education Steering group, and now the Education Council. But I don’t live there—and I still remember Ben saying, “This is not a community—it’s a business.”

Thrive! has been my longest work engagement—since our 2002 launch—yet it has evolved through many versions of clients, services, and ways of working.

I transformed my life at Haven, learned loving in my relationship of 25 years with CrisMarie but community I still struggled to figure out why that seemed so hard.

Recently, after a coaching session, I started thinking about “community” differently. I realized I’m very good at creating pop-up communities.

A pop-up community can be anything—a project, a start-up, a couple, a family, a movement, even a counrty. The United States itself began as one: people united around the idea of freedom. When Washington became the first President, he didn’t want the job, but there was a group of people determined to create something new, free from Britain and the Church. They had to figure out how to operate as a community. The Declaration of Independence and their efforts to separate church and state were attempts—imperfect but remarkable—to protect freedom.

The two greatest challenges to any community or organization are time and size.

  • In the early days, when the vision is fresh, energy flows and possibility feels limitless.
  • Over time, those with history become protective or defensive of what they helped build.
  • As size grows, a few leaders end up trying to defend and direct something that may need to evolve.

Every project, business, or relationship has to keep changing—recognizing both its strengths and its growing pains.

For me, that’s where leadership comes in and down to three things:

  1. Living – Not just creating something, but staying connected to the aliveness within it.
  2. Loving – Not clinging or defending, but loving in an active, trusting way—even when you don’t always like something happening.
  3. Learning within it – Staying humble, knowing there’s always more to discover, and being willing to listen and see new possibilities.

Leadership isn’t a title—it’s the choice to show up fully. Communities “pop up” everywhere, all the time. The people may change, but the energy of community is constant. It’s like a spiritual frequency we can tune into.

When we lose that trust and connection, what was alive can fade. But when we stay open, community—like communication—becomes eternal, even if no single form lasts forever.

I used to want to be like an old-growth cedar—deeply rooted and unchanging. Now, I see the wisdom in being more like bamboo—flexible, resilient, able to spring up anywhere.

Ultimately, it’s about knowing how to show up and engage in the moment. That’s what allows a community to truly commune. It may not be forever—but it is eternal.

Communication, Connecting, Connection, Leadership, Valuing Differences, Vulnerability

The Power — and Challenge — of Being Immediate in Community

When I’m in the middle of a rich, real community moment, I want to be all in. I want to name what’s happening, address it, and keep the connection alive right now.
That urgency can be a gift — and sometimes, a challenge.

I’m a very immediate person.
Sometimes that comes across as pressure or like it’s “all about me.”

At the recent Haven Faculty meeting — a deep, rich, and swirly experience — I threw myself into what I call a “pop-up community.” For me, the Haven is the best place to strengthen my skills in real, relational, and self-responsible living. It happens in programs, leadership, weekend meetings, and even online. But it takes intention — being present with what’s visible and invisible, owning mistakes, laughing, crying, and practicing patience.

That patience is my growth edge. In the moment, I often feel a strong urge to address issues right away, fearing they’ll grow if left alone. I’ve learned to speak my truth, then step back if others aren’t ready, leaving with clarity when I’ve invited full exchange.

Not everyone processes instantly. Sometimes insights or tensions surface later, away from the group. As a leader, I want to get better at supporting that — whether through a follow-up process, online sharing, or other ways to integrate after the fact. It’s one reason I’m developing Camp Connection.

I left the weekend with a few incompletes, so I’m reaching out, reflecting, and staying connected to that community energy as long as I can — to integrate, to strengthen both the branches and the heart of Haven, and to keep showing up real, relational, and self-responsible.