October 6, 2020
It’s funny how life constantly evolves without physically identifying its chosen path or journey. I bring this up because as a child you’d never catch me outside during a strong passing storm. I’ve always believed I got into radio because of John Denver. A huge creepy burst of sky energy moving across the plains of Montana toward Billings and I’d rush to my room to put the earphones on. There was John Denver singing about his Poems Prayers and Promises. Hated thunder and lightning. Yet as an adult I study its place and unpredictable pace with my forest. On this podcast episode I use an experience with the remnants of Hurricane Laura to help lift us from so much excess baggage. The strong winds and pouring rain immediately filled the stream leading toward the awaiting lake. The trees were bending with the wind as if to creating a dance. I wanted to feel the moment with my own senses. Once in the forest I felt the presence of a distant ocean with huge out of control waves. I stood watching. The limbs and leaves accepting the smooth moves caused by the tropical storm winds. It was a dance. I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to share incredible conversations with those who bring such poetic movements to the stage. We always talk about the story. Dancing isn’t just a series of moves but rather an expression based on storytelling. The forest was no different. The twist in the wind, the dip in the existence of trust and the rebirth of light on the opposite side. Accepting the reality of knowing that we have no control. So many this late in the season of 2020 are beginning to experience what’s no longer easily pushed away. The dance has changed. Just like the movements on stage and in the forest, there’s a story. Because of the ongoing social distancing at work and at home aloneness continues to creep into the picture. The imposter can no longer hide the emotion. And in that moment the dance becomes seen. Usually in your mirror first. Then within the actions and reactions displayed on Zoom and or a carefully planned out lunch with a friend just needing to see someone eye to eye. The dance. The story. How we are moving today compared to March, April and May. Hardly if anybody wants to admit they see several layers of shading. In some places it’s darker than others. But like the passing tropical storm there’s still that twist in the wind, a dip in the existence of trust and the rebirth of light seems to always appear on the opposite side. We’ve all read the same books of motivation. Incredible amounts of fuel, inspiration and influence are brought to life by the storms in our head and heart. Some of the most beautiful songs came from horrid moments and decisions. Books have been written because the experience before the pages left the creative mind unheard and untouched. The dance. Turning darkness into light. Comedians and actors speak of the release all the time. But what if we started with light? What if we remained strong with being aware of the darkness? Were we physically designed as humans to stand in a constant downpour? Turn on the light before the storm. Know what’s creating the gusty winds and sharp jagged edges of lightning. Turn on the lights. Don’t wait for the mess to be created. Gain control and access to your place in the Now by being mindful of the storms arrival. Turn on the light. Be present and not hidden within the pictures painted by really good earbuds connected to songs that need better memories than holding onto unpredictable storms. Turn on the light.