Tag Archives: The Haven

Connecting, Connection, Embracing Unknown, Life Experiences, writing

From Fracture to Fractal

Us at The Haven

For me, Haven is where I learned how to be relational—and real. I was fractured.

It brought me back to love. To loving. To creating, exploring, playing, and growing.

Before Haven, I was conforming, restricting, editing myself. Judging, separating. 

I often felt like I didn’t fit in. 

At times, I thought I was better than others—at other times, worse. 

I believed I had to be right, professional, smart, thin, flashy—wise or brilliant. Either profound or spiritual. 

But I didn’t know love back then.

Haven gave me a path to show up as I truly am.

Through breathing, and sharing what was happening inside me—how I was putting my world together, mostly based on past experiences and survival. 

Old stories that scared me or made me angry. 

And slowly, I began to realize: those stories weren’t true. Maybe they were once—but who could say?

Truth became important, but I also discovered something else: 

If I didn’t have to be right or wrong, I could share my story like an artist shares a painting—expressing how I felt in relationship to the world around me. 

And in doing so, I’d often discover that others had similar stories, or their art could support mine.

That made the moment freer. 

It wasn’t about facts—it was about creating.

Through my inner world, I could choose what helped me grow—or what kept me defended—and share that too.

I learned that when I spoke from a defended place, I blocked out new information. 

Or if something did sneak through, I’d just file it into an old, familiar box. 

But when I was in a growth state, new ideas would shift my perspective. 

My inner world would weave and evolve—like mixing paints. 

And that was fun. It was play. It sparked new activity and possibility.

I also realized I needed to face my old stories, scars, and stuck emotions. 

Without attention, they festered—like emotional cancers—messy, painful, and toxic to relationships. 

So I kept going. The process is ongoing.

I’ve learned the best way to live is by developing my capacity to relate— 

To my inner world, 

To the present moment, 

To the people and the energy around me.

It starts with understanding how I construct my reality— 

How to loosen the rigid beliefs I cling to— 

How to stay open to new possibilities, beyond what my senses perceive.

It’s about making space for difference—for people who are different—for a world that is complex and ever-changing.

And the foundation of Haven is opening to that possibility.

As my Haven journey has unfolded, I’ve come to see that everyone takes their own path. 

At times, that’s been hard. 

I wanted to intern “right,” assist “right,” lead “right.” 

But, like life, it’s not that simple.

There is some structure. 

There are core values. 

But ultimately, it comes down to three things:

Being present. Being relational. Being self-responding.

Never fractured just living as fractals.

Connecting, Connection, Embracing Unknown, Faith

Maybe That’s God

Religion is a fascinating thing.

There are over 10,000 religions in the world. Still, 77% of people align with one of the “big four”—Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, or Buddhism. Each of them offers something similar at the core: a belief in something greater, a sense of belonging, and a guide for how to live.

And yet, so many of the smaller, less visible religions—indigenous, tribal, local—carry just as much weight for the people who practice them. In those spaces, the divine may not be far away or up high, but instead right here—immanent, present in nature, in people, in the universe itself.

Religion is hard to define because it isn’t just about rituals or buildings or sacred texts. It’s about our relationship to what we call holy, sacred, divine. And that relationship has taken countless forms.

In the West, we’ve seen long periods where society shifted away from religion and spirituality altogether. Some believe that turn has left us more isolated, more self-centered, and more disconnected.

Then came the pandemic.

After COVID—after all the fear, separation, grief, and silence—it’s no surprise that people started returning to churches, fellowships, and spiritual communities. When the ground beneath you crumbles, you reach for something steady. Something ancient. Something you can believe in.

But here’s where I get stuck.

After COVID, I didn’t want “normal” back. I felt like the disruption was a call to change—deep, necessary change. But when I spoke with leaders, teams, and friends, I saw something else: a collective relief that we were returning to business as usual.

That crushed me.

It felt like all the grief we carried—individually and collectively—just got swept under the rug. We didn’t process it. We didn’t even really name it.

And then the world kept turning: 

The war in Ukraine. 

Gaza and Israel. 

Another U.S. election cycle that tore into what little unity we had left.

I don’t know how to fix any of this. 

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe we’re not meant to be “fixed.” 

Maybe we’re not broken—we’re just deeply divided, emotionally exhausted, and stuck in a culture of right/wrong, us/them, saved/damned.

We keep waiting for someone to save us. 

But no one is coming.

It’s not Trump’s fault. It’s not Biden’s. Not Musk’s. Not the GOP or the Democrats. 

It’s us. *We the people.*

Right now, people are turning back to religion as an answer. I understand that impulse. 

It can be a path out of separation. Out of loneliness. Out of despair.

But maybe we don’t need to return to an old religion. 

Maybe it’s time to create something new.

Something rooted in curiosity. 

In shared humanity. 

In a willingness to listen, rather than litigate.

What if we could ask each other: *What matters most to you?* 

And instead of debating or defending, we simply held space for each other’s answers?

What if we could agree—not on beliefs, but on behaviors that help us live together with dignity, empathy, and care?

Maybe we’ve been smart for a long time. 

But we’ve lost resilience. 

We’ve forgotten how to bend without breaking.

Maybe the path forward isn’t through politics or policy alone—but through people. 

Children could guide us. 

Nature could heal us. 

Elders could ground us.

What if we built something around that?

Something that didn’t require one definition of God—but honored the divine in many forms.

Maybe that’s what God is.

Communication, Connecting, Uncategorized, Voice, writing

What Makes A Life

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

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.

Uncategorized

Snowboarders and Skiers: A Lesson in Differences

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, Leadership

Reviving Lighthouse Coaching

I am reviving my Lighthouse Coaching. More than ever, this feels like a time when we need to find our way and connect.

I like the idea of being a lighthouse. Someone who is willing to locate themselves by self-defining and shining their light out into the world. Inviting those who may be unmoored a way to navigate and find their way.

I know that I can be a lighthouse and I appreciate those who are and have been lighthouses for me.

Change can be seen as the next new adventure or it can see as the next crisis. How I interpret my travel is fully up to me. Sometimes I do feel tossed and turned. I believe I am a victim to the storm upon my path. But when I can breath and invite connection – grace – and know I am not alone – I realize I have agency and resource.

It’s not always comfortable or easy. Sometimes the best navigation I’ve been offered is when someone as shared their distance in defining themselves in relation to me. In those moments I’ve been given a gift that can help me locate and move out of just reaction and into clarity and curiosity.

Of course I like that best when delivered with kindness and care and I also know that I have choice even when it is not.

As a Lighthouse, I do my best to be straight and clear. When I am clear, I can be present and curious for whatever comes back.

My promise as a lighthouse coach is to hold you as able because that is what I want in relationship and life.

I return to those lighthouses who hold me as able because I know they will be clear and defined and in that I can find ME.

It is with this intent that I want to recreate Lighthouse Coaching. We’ll see what happens.

If you want to have a conversation and see if Lighthouse Coaching is for you – reach out.

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, Connecting, Connection, Leadership, Vulnerability

Waiting For Grace

I don’t know.

I am in an unknown space between the lessons I thought I learned from the past and the stories I made up about the future I wanted.

My stories spook me about what lies ahead.  I don’t think that is helpful.  Because , I don’t know.

Years ago, my medical team gave me a very terrifying outcome.   Death in three to six months.  It’s been almost forty years.  I am still here.

Not because I got rid cancer.  I just decided it wasn’t going to be my focus.  I wanted relationships and living.  Not dying.

Let’s face it, we are all going to die.  At least this body, or vessel is, and it isn’t what defines us.  Our soul.  Our spirit.  Our consciousness.   Our connections. That is our legacy.

I know that and sometimes I still get wonky about an agenda I have.  Like my desire for equality.  My wish that we’d have a woman, President.  My desire not to elect a bully or be the bully. My wish that if I had unlimited resources, I’d pass them on and share the wealth.  That if someone was terrified, I would have the courage to see through the fight and hold a space and shine a light.

I’m still in this shell of flesh and bones. My own created box of stories, beliefs, values and experiences, walls that need to be cracked.

This election did that. 

I don’t like the results.  I can scare myself with the President-elect.  But I don’t want to keep living on fear and fight.

My cancer (s) taught me to be relational and not a victim to old stories.

I feel as though in some ways the cancer is back unless I can listen and be curious and creative instead of hateful and enraged.

Let me bigger than myself.  My ego. My story.

Let me be a fractal that simply keeps surrendering to the unknown and showing up with light shining through.

I may be more reflective and silent for a few days.

I recall Maya Angelou being silent for eight years so she could her find her voice. (and she did)

I don’t anticipate eight years AND I want to hold until I have the capacity to awaken down.  Waking to the wails, the fears, the pain and allow grace to rise and walk me forward. 

Beyond the duality of parties and politics.

I will wait before I judge.

Communication, Connecting, Connection, Life Experiences

Presence, Connection, and Co-Creation

This beautiful piece is by Leah Campbell Badertscher – it so captures co-creating

For me, life is fundamentally about relationships.

Why?

Because relationships ground me in the present moment.

Without this connection, I get lost in my mind, creating stories, planning, and believing that this is living. But it’s not. Real living happens when I step out of my thoughts and fully engage in the moment.

Achieving presence isn’t about effort or analysis; it’s about simply BEING—one breath, one sensation, one heartbeat at a time.

I honestly think this can only happen through connection.

Many people find it easier to connect with nature, animals, or even a place than with another person.

Why?

Because animals live in the moment. They aren’t worrying about the future or caught up in past dramas. They’re just BEING—not trying to look good, make money, or stay safe.

JOINING is our best chance to discover this sense of BEING.

We all crave connection, even if we don’t always know how to achieve it.

One of the most beautiful moments when working with horses without any equipment is when horse and human ‘join up.’ This happens when the human stops trying to control the situation and instead focuses on their own BEING.

When that shift happens, the horse often naturally comes closer, moves with the person, and stays in sync, as if linked by an invisible thread.

We long for that kind of connection with other people. But it’s harder with humans because we’re often focused on the external world, unaware of the stories and patterns we create to protect and control.

To truly connect with another person, we need to let go of that control and turn inward, taking responsibility for our part in the relationship.

It’s about listening intentionally, letting go of judgments, and moving beyond right and wrong.

When we do that, we invite ourselves into a generous, present moment.

This space is sacred, like hitting a reset button. It allows us to return to our true selves, leaving behind pain and old stories.

That’s when co-creation happens.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits, but staying present is possible.

This is the essence of Couple’s Alive Series that happen at the Haven—Being, Connecting, and Co-Creating.

I love leading this series. Being with other couples. We’ll be doing a Couples Alive II very soon. If you have taken Couples Alive Foundation – this is the next step and it’s focusing on Co-Creating.