Tag Archives: susanbclarke

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.

Life Experiences, Vulnerability, writing

From Survival to Story: Day One

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I signed up for an online program called Healing Through Writing—a four-day firehose of classes that blend somatic practices with creative expression.

From the start, I could see the challenge. Live sessions, bonus workshops, all on Zoom—it was intense enough to convince me to go for the all-access pass without hesitation.

But now that it’s begun, I’ve found myself drifting toward excuses. It’s surprisingly easy to avoid sitting down, tuning in, and doing the actual writing.

So, I’ve set a gentle but firm intention: to post a blog each day, sharing something I’ve learned or something that stirred me—even if it’s small.

Because for me, this isn’t just about writing. It’s part of something bigger. A path I’m carving toward a more abundant life—one that feels whole, connected, creative, and deeply alive. The ink heart is my symbol for that journey ( remember I’m a writer not an artist).

Symbol for My Abundant Life – A little journey I am on and this course is a part

Day one, and already I’ve landed somewhere meaningful. My biggest takeaway? Just sitting with the question: What does healing mean to me?

Turns out, that’s a powerful place to begin. And maybe the first step toward the life I’ve been quietly reaching for all along.

Here’s my quick take:

Healing, to me, is the shift from survival mode into a space of creation. It’s when I begin to reconnect with life, with others, with myself—not just intellectually, but viscerally. It’s when I feel that connection is present, even if my senses or internal narratives try to convince me otherwise.

There’s a deeper knowing beneath all of it—that I am still connected, always.

When that sense becomes rooted in my everyday life, when I can live from that knowing and move with love and intention—that, to me, is healing. It’s living. It’s loving.

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Snowboarders and Skiers: A Lesson in Differences

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Snowboarders and skiers—it’s a bit like Republicans and Democrats.

I’m a skier, though not a hardcore one. I’ve heard all the stories about how snowboarders have “taken over” the slopes, making things chaotic and unbearable for skiers. But honestly, the only reason I’m a skier and not a snowboarder is simple: at 56, I was told snowboarding would be much harder to learn. So, I picked up skiing instead.

I grew up in a family of Democrats. Republicans? We didn’t like or trust them. Sound familiar?

Then, I met a good friend in my women’s ski class—an avid snowboarder who recently started learning to ski. Through her, I’ve come to appreciate the snowboarder’s perspective. They don’t see the mountain the same way skiers do. They move differently, interact with the terrain differently, and even take their breaks differently—sitting on the slopes in groups, something I sometimes envy.

Sure, sharing a chairlift with snowboarders can be a bit of a challenge. And yes, I hear plenty of grumbling from skiers about them. But let’s be real—it’s mutual. Snowboarders aren’t always thrilled about skiers either.

It reminds me of today’s political climate. It’s become nearly impossible for Republicans and Democrats to engage in meaningful conversations. They stick to their own groups, just like skiers and snowboarders often do. And then there are the smaller, less mainstream groups—the skinners (who hike uphill) and the telemarkers—who bring their own unique perspectives, much like independents or third-party voters in politics.

But here’s the thing: mountain life, like a functioning society, thrives on diversity. Resorts depend on all types—skiers, snowboarders, telemarkers, skinners. Just as communities rely on different viewpoints, experiences, and ideas.

Maybe it’s time we embrace our differences instead of fighting over them. After all, the mountain is big enough for everyone.

Communication, Connecting, Connection, Life Experiences

Returning Home: Heart Full, Eyes Open, and Embracing the Unknown

Come Alive Team

Just returned from an incredible and deeply fulfilling time at The Haven. First, Couples Alive, then Come Alive—both filled with meaningful moments shared with dear friends and new connections. My heart is full.

Now, I’m settling back into life in Montana. Fresh snowfall made for some exhilarating powder skiing on the mountain, which helped ease the transition.

A special milestone—my mom turned 97! We celebrated with her siblings via FaceTime, sharing a brief but precious moment.

Tomorrow, I’m setting up a fun celebration for my love, CrisMarie—incorporating art, community, and joy.

In the midst of it all, I’m juggling work commitments, confirming dates, wrapping up our annual report, and ensuring all the tax details are in order.

I find myself moving between joy and uncertainty—holding both the beauty of life and the challenges of being an American in a time that feels so disruptive. Thankfully, music helps keep me grounded, open, and clear.

A few standout moments from Haven:

  • Couples Alive was incredible, with Bob, Ruth, Susa, and Bryan creating an amazing support team for 10 fully engaged couples—truly inspiring.
  • Come Alive had more men than women, a unique and powerful dynamic.
  • Several participants returned after working with CrisMarie and me, eager for more growth.
  • My dear friend Leona (86) was there as support, offering so much more than just her presence.
  • Singing and chanting together as a group moved me deeply.
  • Important clearings reminded me that connection often comes when we truly locate ourselves—even if that means acknowledging distance.

I know more will unfold if I stay present and allow the unknown to flow in. I have resources to help, and for that, I’m grateful.

Breathe. Listen. Locate myself. Stay curious.

This approach works for skiing, for relationships, and for life.

Loving it all.

Communication, Connecting, Connection, Leadership, Life Experiences

When Old Patterns Pull You Back

There are endless programs, methods, and strategies for shifting from a victim mindset to one of growth. They’ve been around for decades—I know because I’ve been working on that shift for over 40 years. And it has truly been life-changing.

But here’s the thing: I still get caught in spirals. The crises may not feel as dire as they once did, but that almost makes it harder. Without the proverbial 2-by-4 of life smacking me, it’s easy to stay stuck in discomfort instead of pushing for change.

Maybe it’s a lack of steady clients or income. Maybe it’s tight jeans, restless nights, or feeling stiffer and less flexible. Little discomforts pile up until they feel like a wall.

And then, bigger waves hit—like elections. I want dialogue, exploration, connection. Instead, I often find polarization, fear, and attacks. There are glimpses of deeper conversations, but not enough to break the storm.

Post-election, messages pour in urging people to fight, resist, battle. And while I understand that drive, it’s all too familiar to me. Fear and rage, blame and combat—they’re paths I know well, but they aren’t where I want to go.

Here’s what I’ve been sitting with: We’re in a river of change and uncertainty. It’s bigger than any one election or person. I look at the government now and see a massive shake-up. Where it leads—democracy, autocracy, something else entirely—I don’t know.

But fear? That’s a choice. So is fighting.

What feels like a real change for me is staying present. Staying here. Meeting my community—neighbors, friends, strangers—with curiosity and care. It’s like stepping out after a storm, checking who’s okay, seeing where we stand.

These moments can forge deep connections if we let them. I want to meet them with vision, not old survival patterns. And yet, I feel that familiar pull: to blame, to rage, to scream. I catch myself in it. I take a breath.

Yes, we elected a bully. A liar. It’s infuriating.

And yet—stop. Breathe.

What if something can come out of this?

I think back to when my doctors told me there were no options left for me. That was a wake-up call. This moment feels like another quake. It’s clear now: the government—just like the medical system—isn’t going to fix me, my community, or our unique challenges. Systems don’t do that. People do.

Maybe I thought we were ready for big, systemic change. But real transformation isn’t something we demand and wait for. It starts in the daily work, the unglamorous trenches of our own lives.

Change means living more in the unknown than the familiar. It means choosing the present moment over old, comfortable patterns. It means staying open-hearted even when fear tries to take over.

So that’s the work: not on grand systems, but in my own day-to-day. Let me meet this moment with courage. Let me have the heart to do the work.

Communication, Connection, Leadership, Vulnerability

Beyond the Instinct to Attack: Embracing Choice

Attack mode seems to be everywhere these days. Why is that?

The usual explanations: “They started it” or “I had to defend myself.” Maybe. But let’s be honest—we’ve drifted far from the ideals of kindness or turning the other cheek.

I’m not here to recount biblical stories about how Jesus handled things. Those have been quoted and misquoted so much that if Jesus were still in the grave, he’d be rolling over by now.

Instead, I’d rather look at more recent figures like Martin Luther King Jr., Nelson Mandela, Peace Pilgrim, or Pema Chödrön—people who truly understood that nonviolence is a choice. Violence is a choice too. It’s up to us, and it’s never easy. Our decisions reflect the internal struggle of perception, interpretation, and emotion.

Nelson Mandela once said, “For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.” We’re pretty good at enhancing our own freedom, but respecting and enhancing the freedom of others? That’s where we fall short.

It’s always easier to make the other side wrong. But the danger in blaming others isn’t necessarily that they don’t bear some responsibility. The real issue is that blame often blinds us to the role we play. Judging others isn’t the problem—our judgments can be creative or insightful. The issue is that we often don’t fully own the story we’re creating. We project it onto others and convince ourselves that it’s their problem, not ours.

What if our judgments are primarily, if not entirely, our own creation? If we truly grasp that, we can make better choices about whether to attack or not. When I realize that I’m the creator of my interpretation, I gain power over how I respond. If I perceive an attack or a threat, I can pause and reassess.

Take Michelle Obama’s famous line, “When they go low, we go high.” I see that as her response to perceived attacks. She steps back, views the situation from a different, higher perspective, where more possibilities emerge.

It’s natural to feel the instinct to attack or withdraw when faced with danger. But our minds, for better or worse, go beyond pure instinct. That’s the downside of being so analytical—we think we can interpret reality with precision. And often, in our attempts to do so, we make a mess. Or worse, we create war.

Communication, Connecting, Connection, Valuing Differences

Beyond Gold: Embracing Kindness and Dialogue in a Divided World

Amazing moment!

There’s a lot on my mind and in my heart these days. I’ve always loved the Olympics, not just for the competition but for the spirit of the games. However, I’ve sometimes been disappointed by the intense focus on winning and the pursuit of gold medals. This time around, though, it feels different. Maybe it’s because of Paris’ exceptional hosting. They’ve done a remarkable job. Or perhaps it’s because, after the isolation of the Covid Olympics, athletes are now able to have their families present, connect with teammates, and simply enjoy each other’s company.

Or maybe, in a world marked by fractures and conflict, these athletes are doing their best to show us a different way of being. Whatever the reason, it could also just be me. I find myself feeling more kind, open-hearted, and curious. I’m less driven by fear and more by love—love for myself, my family, friends, and even those I consider adversaries. I’m seeing the world through a different lens.

It’s intriguing to witness the care, joy, and cross-cultural connections unfolding in sports, especially when contrasted with the divisiveness and hostility often seen in politics. I believe Vice President Kamala Harris is bringing a new possibility to the table. Her team has certainly shaken things up. But as we look ahead to the next few months, I’m not entirely confident that the political environment will lead to significant change. True change, I think, will only come from us—the people—engaging in conversations and dialogue.

As I’ve mentioned before, finding unbiased coverage of issues can be challenging. But even with what’s available, we can still work towards understanding and making decisions that resonate with our hearts. When coaching executives, I often emphasize the importance of knowing your “ME”—understanding who you are, the beliefs you hold, and what you value. I also encourage them to move beyond being right or fixed in their views. Get feedback and listen without defending.

That’s essentially what I believe we all need to do. We need to understand the world we’ve built and seek out dialogue with as many people as possible. This helps us get clearer on what matters to our families, neighbors, and communities. Don’t just vote based on a soundbite or party affiliation. Do the work. That’s what democracy is truly about, and it’s what’s at stake.

Connecting, Connection

AI – What Do You Think of Us Humans?

I’ve been developing my relationship AI. So I hought I’d ask AI what makes us humans unique.

AI Answer:
Humans possess several characteristics that set them apart from other species:

  1. Complex Language and Communication: Humans have developed intricate systems of communication, including spoken and written language, allowing for the exchange of complex ideas, emotions, and knowledge.
  2. Cognitive Abilities: Humans exhibit high levels of cognitive abilities, including reasoning, problem-solving, critical thinking, and abstract thought. This allows them to innovate, create art, develop technology, and adapt to diverse environments.
  3. Self-awareness and Consciousness: Humans possess self-awareness, the ability to reflect on their own thoughts, feelings, and actions, and to recognize themselves as individuals separate from others. They also have a sense of consciousness, allowing them to perceive and experience the world subjectively.
  4. Culture and Social Structures: Humans create and participate in complex social structures and cultural systems, including institutions, norms, beliefs, customs, rituals, and traditions. These aspects of culture shape human behavior and identity, fostering cooperation, coordination, and collective learning.
  5. Tool Use and Technology: Humans are adept at using tools and developing technology to manipulate their environment and solve problems. This capacity for tool use has enabled humans to adapt to diverse habitats and thrive in various ecosystems.
  6. Emotions and Empathy: Humans experience a wide range of emotions, including joy, sadness, fear, anger, and love. They also demonstrate empathy, the ability to understand and share the feelings of others, which fosters social bonds and cooperation.
  7. Capacity for Innovation and Creativity: Humans possess a remarkable capacity for innovation and creativity, enabling them to develop new ideas, inventions, and solutions to challenges. This creativity is expressed in various domains, including art, music, literature, science, and technology.
  8. Symbolic Thinking and Abstract Reasoning: Humans engage in symbolic thinking, using symbols, language, and abstract concepts to represent and manipulate the world around them. This ability underlies many aspects of human culture, communication, and cognition.

Overall, it is the combination of these characteristics—language, cognition, self-awareness, culture, tool use, emotions, creativity, and symbolic thinking—that makes humans unique among Earth’s species.

Okay – we are awesome – right? 

Makes for a great story.

I’m not as robust in my data collection as AI, so my answer to that question about what makes us unique is simpler:  story making and story-telling.

Our imagination and cognitive abilities have made us great.

It has also bought us to a point of possible extinction. 

I do know I personally am not getting out of here alive.  But I’d like to think humans could continue long after I’m gone.

However, I think it is going to take some humility and collaboration for that to happen. Not just with each other but with all living beings.

We tend tell our stories as though we are the greatest.  We likely have trained AI to make us sound that way as well.

That we can remember and tell stories over time is awesome.  However, the degree to which we believe our stories as truths can and does cause a great deal of separation, pain, and suffering.

Isn’t that often the case.  A super strength is also an Achilles heel.

But what if we could dial back our need to be right, win, dominate, compete.  I didn’t say get rid of – just dial back.

Maybe if we simply dial back our certainty. 

It’s not what is known that is going to create sustainability;  it’s actually embracing and stepping into what is unknown.

However, doing that demands letting go of control, safety, and certainty.

We humans, we’re not very good at that.

Maybe we could be.

Wouldn’t that be amazing.