Lynne Fairchild, Author at Wayfinding Coach

The Shifting Light

January 5, 2016 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

Tonight, I noticed it. The first hint of the light shifting.

It was a beautiful, clear winter evening. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, just pure light.

I was walking my dog Harper, and I was captivated by the setting sun, so we walked towards the west.

At sunset, the light of the sun was reflected in the snow, making it look almost like the ocean.

And the light felt like it had shifted just a bit.

This is a magical moment every year, the first time that I notice the shift in the light after the Winter Solstice.

The light has widened, just a tiny bit. It is always subtle, but undeniable.

This returning of the light is always a moment of joy and hope for me. It is just the smallest hint of new possibilities, and of awakening.

I also noticed a slight bittersweet feeling within me. Part of me isn’t ready to even begin the awakening process yet. Something in me still needs more incubation time, and more darkness. Something in me wants to stay dormant for a while longer.

We have deep wisdom in us that knows these perennial cycles, intimately, and knows what is best for us. This wisdom knows what is needed.

Luckily, there is a lot of darkness and a lot of winter still to be lived this year. I don’t have to come out of my cave just yet. That part of me that wants more incubation time will get its wish.

But, simultaneously, after seeing the sunset and the shifting light tonight, something deep in me also knows that the day will come when I will welcome the much fuller light. There will be a time when I will be nothing but excited about the inevitable awakening that is Spring.

Where are you, in the cycle of reawakening?

In Pure Folly

January 4, 2016 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

Today, the weather forecast is less than ideal.

Some tidbits from the National Weather Service Winter Storm Warning:

Sleet with possibly some brief snow, changing to freezing rain
Significant ice accumulation on walkways, roads, power lines, and trees
Sustained gale force winds with gusts as high as 65 mph
All of this “potentially resulting” in “significant power outages”, falling trees and tree limbs, and “making travel very hazardous or impossible.”
And, if you must drive (they always say something to this effect, like we would be complete fools to even consider such a thing), people with high profile vehicles are going to get pushed around. A lot. Not to mention sliding around on the ice.

In other words, it is a day when our ancestors would have never even considered leaving their caves.

I am bemused at my response to the warning.

Initially, I’m reluctant to admit that I won’t be able to have the day that I had planned.

My tendency to try to get things done anyway is so strong that at first I waste a lot of energy visualizing how I will get the things done that I had originally planned to do anyway, now accounting for the weather conditions. As if anything that I had planned to do was absolutely essential to life.

When that proves to be obvious folly, even then, I don’t just give into it. I begin a round of triage in my mind: “Well, I can’t get X done, but what can I still do (without endangering life and limb)?” And without being able to set foot outside, or without electricity.

This is a ridiculous reaction.

In my defense, I think this is, at least in part, a tribal reaction. We Midwesterners are a tough lot. We don’t let a little weather get in our way.

And, in our Western culture in general, we are taught to “find a way” to get stuff done, no matter what.

But, really?

Something bigger than a busted plan is going on here. Whatever happened to going with the flow of life? Or, sitting with the question “What is it time for?”, before I start my day?

This is a wake up call, and it is some good feedback for me, about the paradigm of living that I still occasionally allow myself to get sucked into.

I can choose a different way. I am obviously not in charge of conditions, but I am in charge of my response to the conditions, and of how I choose to come to my life.

For a while now, I have had a practice of centering myself and meditating before I begin my day. In this clear, spacious state of presence, I allow my inner wisdom to inspire me as to the priorities and activities of the day.

My deeper wisdom takes into account the bigger picture. It sees with clarity. It is in touch with my well-being and the well-being of others. It knows the true priorities.

This morning, I forgot. This is always astonishing to me, that I can forget something that I have practiced for weeks and months, and that I know is utterly important to me. But, I did. I forgot.

I forgot that I don’t plan my days anymore. I forgot that I am committed to discerning my day’s activities, and in receiving the day’s priorities. And I reverted back to this very old behavior that just doesn’t serve me.

So, right now, I am going to choose. I’m going to be really grateful for this wake-up call. I’m going to sit in peace and discern the way forward. And, I am going to be compassionate with myself for forgetting; that’s important, too.

Where have you, in your life, unconsciously drifted away from the way that you want to be?

Ditching High Expectations

December 31, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

The last two weeks have been crammed with significant dates: Winter Solstice, Christmas Eve, Christmas (and all the sacred celebrations of religions other than Christianity), New Year’s Eve and, tomorrow, New Year’s Day.

A few years ago, in response to my disgruntlement with the commercial aspects of Christmas, I wiped the slate clean on all of these holidays.

I chucked all cultural, religious, and familial expectations about what each of these dates means, or should mean, for me.

I pitched all traditional celebrations of them, including everything that I had ever done to celebrate them.

I started from scratch and charged myself with the responsibility of discerning for myself what each of these passages means for me, literally, symbolically, and spiritually.

I clarified how I personally wanted to celebrate them, in keeping with what they meant to me. I created rituals to mark the passage of each of them in a way that has deep personal meaning for me.

Several interesting things happened as I opted out of all the traditional expectations and celebrations.

One thing was that I didn’t miss the celebrations. I felt cleansed. Over years and years, layers and layers of Shoulds and Oughts had accumulated around these holidays. These were things that I just accepted, unquestioningly, and things that I did every year, just because I had always done them.

I was largely unconscious of the weight that I felt about these obligations and commitments, many of which I had never chosen consciously. They had just accumulated incrementally over the years.

I was scrubbed clean. The energies of delight, mystery, and awe flowed again. There was a fresh innocence that I felt again during this time of year.

Another thing that happened was that I no longer had any expectations for any particular outcome for any of these dates. While each of them held meaning for me, I didn’t count on them being exciting or life-changing in any way. This was very freeing.

The last thing that happened was probably the most significant, for me. I realized that while these dates do have personal significance and meaning for me, they are also “just” another date on the calendar. Every day is a miracle, if we choose to live that way.

Every day is a threshold and a passage, and every day is an opportunity to live with meaning and celebration. It doesn’t take a traditional date for this to be the case. It already is.

How can we live as if each day is a miracle?

My Wake-up Call

December 30, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

Our next-door neighbors have a rooster and some chickens.

It isn’t unusual for us to have a rooster somewhere in the surrounding area, because people here live on acreage.

For many years, one of our other neighbors had a rooster that crowed every morning at or about sunrise. I always enjoyed it, even during the summer, when sunrise can be as early as 4:30 am or so. A rooster is an icon of country life, and I like the feel of it.

This new rooster crows all day. Apparently it didn’t get the memo that roosters are supposed to crow only at sunrise.

It does crow at or near sunrise, but it also crows many times throughout the day, without apparent rhyme or reason as to the particular times.

I became curious about rooster behavior, and learned that it is really a myth that roosters crow only at sunrise.

Roosters crow for lots of other reasons than to herald the sunrise. They crow to protect their territory. They crow when they hear another rooster crow. They crow to communicate with their flock. And they crow just because they feel like crowing.

I decided that this rooster was giving me an opportunity to wake up to my life more fully, all throughout the day.

So, now, the rooster is my wake up call. Any time that I hear it crow, which is beautifully random, and all throughout the day, I stop, and breathe, and bring myself as fully as I can into the present moment. I wake up to my life.

What wakes you up to your life?

Silence and Soft Light

December 29, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

The early morning sun was soft today, just barely showing through a thick cloud cover. The silhouettes of the trees caught my attention, with their complexity and beauty. Everything was still.

This morning, nature is my temple, and this tree is my altar.

I often create special altars in my home. I choose a small alcove and place a few items of special significance there, to create a space of sacred meaning for me.

These small altars are places that draw my attention in the middle of a busy day. They invite me in, to a breath, and to reverence. They offer me a sacred pause.

That is what this tree did for me today. The beauty and intricacy of the branches invited me in, to reverence, and to silence.

I stopped, took a long breath, and offered my thanks for this gift of sacred wonder.

What draws you in, to the sacred, to a breath, to wonder?

The Renewal of Fresh Snow

December 28, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

We awoke this morning to a winter wonderland.

This was surprising, because it was unexpected. Mother Nature always rules the weather forecast, in spite of what we think.

When we went to bed, it was 40 degrees F, and all of the prior snow had melted several days ago. There was bare ground and clear skies.

Fresh snow always transforms our world. White and pure, the snow covers all the muddy spots in the yard. It conceals all of the pathways and fills in the rutted spots. It makes everything look good, and new.

When I awaken to fresh, new snow, it is easy to feel that I am being awakened to something new and fresh, in me and in my life.

In a sense, we all awaken to something new and fresh, in ourselves, and in our lives, every morning.

Each new morning is a new awakening of potential, and possibility.

Each new day beckons us to a whole new set of possibilities that has never been present before, because we are not the same person that we were yesterday. And the circumstances of our lives are not exactly the same as they were before either.

I fail to recognize the new awakenings, unless something gets my attention and calls to me, inviting me into new possibility. I tend to see the same landscape of my life that I saw yesterday, unless I consciously acknowledge that it is different.

When I woke up this morning, I expected to see the same landscape that I saw when I went to bed last night. This is a beautiful gift of awareness that I have been given in the new snow.

How can we all see the new awakening that each morning is for us?

Unexpected Gifts

December 24, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

Our neighbor Brian was at the end of our driveway with his skid loader as we left for our morning walk today.

We’ve been neighbors for 30 years, and for the entire 30 years, he has gone out of his way to help me with things that need doing on our property.

One of our fences began to fall down with the recent snow storm, and Brian took it down and put up a new one. Just because he’s a nice guy. He was coming by today to clean up some stray pieces from the old fence.

He plowed a foot of snow off our long driveway on our first snow this year, with his big tractor, and he’ll do it again, all season, just because he is a generous guy.

He grades our driveway when it starts to develop the inevitable ruts and soft spots. Because he likes to help out.

My husband Harold points out that Brian loves projects and welcomes opportunities to use his tractor, excavator, and skid loader. That is true, but he also is very generous with his time, and I’m sure he doesn’t have a lot of time. He owns a half dozen farms, and he has a prosperous business in town.

I am extremely grateful for Brian. Not only does he help us out in some very specific ways, I also know that I can pick his brains when I run up against some of those knottier Property Problems. He always has good ideas, and he knows a wealth of handy, reliable people.

It is wonderful to have Brian living next door.

My own growing edge with Brian’s generosity has always been to graciously receive Brian’s help, knowing that there is really no way that I will ever be able to “pay him back.” He won’t accept money, and he doesn’t need it. I’ve never been able to think of anything that I can give him that he really needs or wants. So I make treats for him throughout the winter, as a token of my appreciation.

What is it like for you to “just” receive and be grateful?

I have grown up in a culture that values equal exchange, so strongly, that I find it incredibly hard to receive without reciprocity.

I was taught, when I grew up, to always thank people for what they did, and that when someone did something for you, you incurred a kind of a debt with them. I realize now that this is not how I want to be, with giving and receiving.

While I learned to thank people, it was more of a thing you were supposed to do, because it was polite and expected, rather than a genuine gratitude that came from deep in your heart.

And, that belief of incurring a debt is not healthy or helpful either, because, instead of immersing myself in the feeling of whole-hearted gratitude, and conveying that to the giver, with heartfelt blessings, I then have my focus on what-can-I-do-to-pay-them-back.

This all gets in the way of genuine appreciation and whole-hearted receiving.

So, not only does Brian give us his time and talent, but he also gives me the opportunity to receive what Brian gives us, from deep in my heart, and to bless him for it. I get to just purely receive, with deep gratitude.

What do you know about receiving and blessing, for you?

Where Do We Belong?

December 23, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

The wind died down at sunset, and it is a cloudy but very warm December night, at 40 degrees F. I still haven’t gotten used to the pitch-black darkness coming so early, at 4:30 pm, so I’m late getting off on my walk again tonight.

My dog Harper and I head east down our road, for a quarter of a mile, where there is a little neighborhood with some Christmas lights. There are very few lights of any kind on our road, and this will give us a bit of illumination to walk by.

I love looking at the Christmas lights. They evoke such a feeling of cheer for me, especially in December, when the days are so short. This instinct to bring more light into our world, at a time of relative darkness, feels very primal to me.

There are twelve houses in the neighborhood, more than there are on our whole three-mile road. Everyone recognizes us because we walk here frequently, and we know quite a few of people who live here. It feels good to have a sense of belonging in this place.

I often think about what it means to belong, and how important it is to feel like we belong.

I live in a sparse, rural area, by choice. I have a big independent streak in me, and I am also part hermit. Freedom and isolation support my inner life. I thrive here.

But it is also important for me to feel a sense of belonging where I live. In 1985, when I found the five acres on which I live, it felt like coming home. It is a rolling, wooded land, filled with old oaks, and I felt an immediate kinship with the land. I knew that is where I belonged.

I do belong here. I belong to the land, and I belong in the community. I have only a few neighbors, but I know they are here for me, and I for them. We support each other. We have a feeling camaraderie here.

Tonight I am filled up by the feeling of belonging here, as I walk in the darkness, and as I savor the lights.

Where do you belong?

Left Behind Things

December 22, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild 1 Comment

On my walk this morning, my attention was drawn to an old rowboat resting upside down on its trailer. It was in the side yard of a house in the neighborhood.

It has been there for a long time, perhaps twenty years. My sense is that it has been resting idle for most of those years. On every one of my walks, it has been resting there. It has a forlorn look to it, and there is a lot of rust on it.

This made me think about all of the things once precious and exciting in our lives, things that have since been left behind.

We outgrow things. We grow and develop new interests, and other things get left behind.

They are perfectly useful, but they no longer hold our interest.

I know that I hang onto things that I have actually left behind. Sometimes this is a conscious choice, but more often it is my failure to acknowledge that I have moved on.

When I moved to the country thirty years ago, I acquired a 26 horsepower tractor to use for a large variety of tasks on my property. I loved everything about that tractor.

I loved that I lived where I needed a real tractor, and not just a small lawn-mowing tractor.

I loved the power of that tractor, and all the things I could do with it. I loved the sound of it, and I loved how it felt when I drove it.

I loved its orange color, and I loved caring for it: changing the oil, and lubing its joints.

Last year, I realized that my beloved tractor had been sitting forlorn and unused in my barn for a long time. I just didn’t do the kinds of things that it had once helped me with.

I had let most of my property go wild and native, so I wasn’t mowing big parts of the five acres like I used to do. The meadows had been overtaken by young woods, and I no longer had big clearing jobs.

I was no longer pulling up stumps of old oaks that had died; I just let them rot and eventually become homes for the wildlife. And, I no longer tilled a swath for a large vegetable garden every year.

My neighbor Brian now plows the snow off the driveway, so I don’t even need to do that anymore with the tractor.

I reluctantly acknowledged that the tractor that had faithfully served me for so many years was now a Left Behind Thing.

I gave the tractor to Brian. He has a half dozen farms, and I knew it was going to a good home.

It took me a long time to consciously acknowledge that I had moved on, not only from the tractor, but from the “me” who did those tractor things. I was really reluctant to let that part of myself go. I felt like I was letting go a part of the dream I had when I moved to the country, and that I had lived for so long.

But I was making different choices now, and the tractor wasn’t part of them. Just like the rowboat in the side yard is no longer a part of my neighbor’s dreams or life.

I like to think that these things are happier when they are freed to go and do what they were designed to do. My tractor wasn’t meant to sit in my barn; it was meant to go and be a tractor, and to be useful, just like any of us.

So, when I can’t or don’t love to use things anymore, I feel like it is time to release them, and to be happy for them that they can go and fulfill their purpose somewhere else.

But before I can do that, I need to acknowledge that I have moved on, that I am making different choices, and that I have left behind the thing that was once precious.

This isn’t always easy for me. It always takes consciousness about what matters. Sometimes it takes courage to let a prior version of ourselves go too.

What are your Left Behind Things?

Embracing the Darkness

December 21, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

The sun is cutting a low arc across the Southern horizon in this December time.

The days are short and the darkness is long.

For years, I have wished away November and December and January, longing for the longer days again.

I love the light. I love the wide, long days, with the sun high overhead.

I love the warmth and the color of the longer days.

I have wished away the darkness without ever exploring it, or welcoming it.

Today, as I watch the shallow arc of the sun as it cruises along the empty farm field south of us, I am asking myself: What is the gift of short days, and darkness?

It is an interior time, a time of the unknown, and of not being able to see.

It is a time of resting, waiting, anticipation, and incubation. This farm field is waiting, and resting.

We don’t tend to value resting very much in our Western culture. It is ok, and needed, to rest when you have pushed yourself too far, but to choose to rest, merely as part of the process of everyday living, or of the creative cycle? That is not valued so much, and perhaps even considered lazy.

I haven’t valued resting very much, myself. And I certainly haven’t valued darkness.

I haven’t even explored darkness, or embraced it. I’ve been too busy pushing it away, and wishing for the light.

So, today, as I watch the sun move towards an early sunset, I vow to myself to be open to what is available in the darkness. How is the darkness calling me?

What is the opportunity, in darkness?

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