In an Open Space zoom meeting this past week, I was named two things: change maker and courageous; and I’m not sure how I feel about either of them. I didn’t originally register for the event because I didn’t identify as a change maker. It was only after reconnecting with my dear friend who called the session that I decided to attend. Not because of being a change maker but because of friendship and colleagueship. The check-in question was what is your biggest challenge as a change maker now? I was stymied. For a minute.

What Does it Mean to be a Change Maker?

Even as I said out loud that I wasn’t sure I identified as a change maker, it seemed absurd. Perhaps I was imagining change makers as something else. Maybe social entrepreneurs, somehow doing different things within and at the edges of our systems – communities, organizations, networks – than what I am  doing? Doing something more substantive than what I do? I couldn’t even voice that out loud because of the absurdity of it. Talk about needing to own and embrace an identity. If what Jerry and I are doing with Worldview Intelligence and all its various applications is not change making, then I really don’t know what is.

So, what am I dealing with as a change maker? Within myself and those I work with or host: grief, overwhelm, guilt are just a few things. Grief for all that goes on in the world, overwhelm for the enormity and complexity of it all, both near and far, and guilt when life goes on in relative peace and comfort while so much else is in chaos and uncertainty.

It is important to remember where our spheres of influence are and focus attention there. It is also important to participate in things that nourish us. Which is why I joined a session during that call on ‘communing with more than the human world’. This is where someone said I was courageous and, interestingly, that carried back into the full plenary.

A Drumming Circle, Vision and Journey

I shared the story about the first drumming circle I ever participated in, talked about the vision with the shape shifting journey lion where we flew over fields of wild flowers, then trees, then mountains. On the other side of the mountains, there were people singing and dancing around a huge, celebratory bonfire. I shape shifted into the lion as we landed and joined in the celebration, welcomed home by the ancestors.

A decade later, I was in Gold Lake, Colorado, inexplicably drawn there to be with friends who were hosting an Art of Hosting training for financial planners. One of my friends said she was going to do a day long vision quest on the land following the training and the reason I felt called to Gold Lake was to do it with her. (I did, and that is a whole other story.) When I arrived at the Gold Lake Resort and started walking the dirt roadways and pathways, I could hear, in my mind, body and soul, a drum beat. It got louder with each passing hour and suddenly I realized, this land I was walking on was the land I had flown over in my vision a decade earlier and I never even knew it existed. I still get goosebumps thinking and writing about it.

This spiritual part of my identity I do own and embrace. I have pretty consistent meditation and “magic” practices. I don’t know how I would have gotten through the last four years without them. They support me in being a conscious, active participant in my own life. But courage is another thing. Is it courageous to share this part of my life with others? In this case, I was in the safest kind of space possible.

Of course, I did write and publish my memoir, Embracing the Stranger in Me: A Journey to Openheartedness. Ironically, when I describe the book to people, I almost forget to mention it is about my spiritual journey. I talk about finding out I was adopted, marriage and divorce times two, job loss and starting a consulting business, my mother’s journey with dementia, long-term care and her death, and my father’s health challenges, particularly not waking up for almost 2 weeks after his second open heart surgery. All of these things are indicators and part of my spiritual journey.

What Does it Mean to be Courageous?

So, what does courage mean? What does it mean to be courageous? Definitions of courage describe it as “facing danger”. There is perhaps a perception of facing danger by sharing stories, deemed deeply personal. But danger to what? Reputation? Professionalism? Career?

The word courage is derived from the old French word corage, meaning heart and innermost feelings. I can identify with that more than with facing danger. I can and do bring heart to everything I do, whether writing, hosting or being in relationship with others. I can accept that as an identity. Heart changes spaces, dynamics and energy fields. It welcomes people, contributes to safe spaces and can positively impact someone’s day, sometimes just by being in the same space and sometimes just in passing by another person.

Everyone can be Courageous, Have Heart

Everyone can be courageous, can have heart. It doesn’t have to be loudly proclaimed, it can just be what we embody. I think it takes a pretty special person to be able to do this all the time. I know I can’t. Some days the stress of things, of worry or concern, in my life is too great. Those days I have to dig deep, sometimes just to get through them. Other days I can radiate heart. This is why practices are so important. They help tether us to what is most important in our lives.

In some ways, the terms are irrelevant. What does it take to show up fully and to embrace all that we are? Being present. Communing with nature. Seeing the beauty all around us. Allowing ourselves to feel. Giving permission to self to live into the things that bring joy, even with all that goes on the world, near and far.

“Maybe I’m a Queen”

I am reminded of this William Stafford poem that a dear friend shared with me in the months after finding out I was adopted, as the question flowed into my mind: Who are you, really? Maybe, I’m a Queen. It spoke to me then, it speaks to me now. Enjoy.

A Story That Could be True

By William Stafford

If you were exchanged in the cradle and
your real mother died
without ever telling the story
then no one knows your name,
and somewhere in the world
your father is lost and needs you
but you are far away.

He can never find
how true you are, how ready.

When the great wind comes
and the robberies of the rain
you stand on the corner shivering.

The people who go by —
you wonder at their calm.

They miss the whisper that runs
any day in your mind,
“Who are you really, wanderer?” —
and the answer you have to give
no matter how dark and cold
the world around you is:
“Maybe I’m a queen.”