Lynne Fairchild, Author at Wayfinding Coach

Stillness

November 27, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild 1 Comment

I just stood for a moment, noticing everything around me. Something was different on my walk today.

Stillness.

For days, there has been a frisky wind blowing. November can be like that, a wind coming in and blowing out all of the remnants of Summer. A clearing, cleansing wind.

I had gotten so used to the wind that this felt strange, sort of disorienting.

It was so still that I heard a leaf hit the asphalt of the road as it dropped from the tree.

I could hear cars when they were more than a mile away down the road.

At times, I could hear nothing.

How many times in our lives do we have a moment with nothing filling it? Most of our lives are filled with ambient noise.

It reminded me of some deep winter nights, the sky a tapestry of stars, the snow falling softly. But even then, there is often the call of the Great Horned Owl, or the rustling of an animal in the woods.

I stood there, soaking it in, watching the sun sink slowly into the Western horizon. I stood there until Saturn showed itself.

How deeply we all crave silence, and stillness. It is nurturing and healing, in a way that almost nothing else is.

I didn’t realize how much I craved the stillness until I was immersed in it. Everything in my body relaxed into it. It felt like all my cells were all breathing a collective sigh.

It’s so easy to forget how much we need stillness. It had to overtake me before I realized it.

What is stillness, for you? What are the ways in which you can give yourself some stillness?

Waking Up

November 26, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

Mother Nature is giving it everything she’s got today.

Sleety stuff that passes for rain, forty mph winds, with gusts to fifty. It would be a blizzard if the temperature was a little lower. As we all know, Mother Nature isn’t always warm and fuzzy.

I do love the raw power of nature. As long as I am not in immediate danger, it energizes me.

It wakes me up to life. When I’m out in this stuff, there’s no way to fall into complacency, I can’t slip into a trance while I am out walking. This kind of weather demands that I be fully present in the now moment.

I need things in my life that will wake me up. I think we all do. It is so easy to fall into just putting one foot in front of the other and moving through my life.

I get back from my walk and I really appreciate things that I normally take for granted.

The heat in the house feels so warm and cozy. My cup of tea tastes particularly nourishing.

I appreciate my commitment to take care of myself and my dogs by walking them, even in weather like this.

Most of all, I appreciate being awakened to life again, in such a powerful way.

What wakes you up?

The Tilling of Potential

November 25, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

Today I was walking with my dog Harper on the edge of a newly tilled field. Harper was exploring the field, looking for treasures that might have been churned up when the field was worked. He is a particular fan of corn kernels that didn’t make it into the combine.

I was enjoying the brisk November sunshine.

It was just last week that Al and his son Jordan were tilling the field with a disk harrow.

I love it when they till the fields, exposing the rich, black chunks of earth that will lie fallow until next Spring, when the earth will be ready to receive the seeds of a new crop.

There is such beauty, to me, in all of this potential. The field looks to me like a field of potential.

It is hopeful: what might appear dead right now is actually teeming with life below the surface, and the earth is readying itself to receive the seeds that will spring into life in just a few months time.

This makes me think about how much untapped potential lies within us.

What if we think of ourselves as a field of potential?

Imagine that you are a rich, fertile field, ready to receive the inspiration that will carry you forward into you into the next phase of your journey. Sit quietly for a few moments, and allow your inner wisdom to inform you. What potential lies within you?

Incubation Time

November 24, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

Nature has so much to teach us. I’m looking out at the bare trees, just stripped of their leaves by a ruthless and ferocious North wind.

Just a few days ago they were sporting their fall resplendence of oranges, reds, and yellows.

It will be a full five months before the tender green buds will begin to leaf out in those trees. Then the cycle of growth, production, and harvest will begin all over again.

This is a time of dormancy and incubation.

It never occurs to me to give myself a period of dormancy and incubation time between work cycles or projects. I just keep pushing ahead, into the next thing. And, usually, it is full speed ahead. We have been conditioned to just keep going, relentlessly.

What is the price that we pay for that?

I’m guessing that the full growth and production of the tree depends on this period of rest. While I don’t know what it is specifically, there is stuff that needs to be done by the tree in dormancy.

Nature builds in down time.

What would be different if we allowed ourselves some down time after a big project?

What would be possible, that isn’t possible now?

How challenging would it be to give ourselves this time?

What about you? Where do you need some down time, and what could it look like?

Harper Time

November 23, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

I’m at the park with my dog Harper, and it is a stunning November day. We are blessed with full sunshine and a bright blue sky, on this crisp fall day.

He and I are alone in the prairie, and I’ve chosen the long walk. There won’t be many more days like this before the snow flies.

I have decided to let Harper set our pace today. He meanders here and there, attending to scents and leaping up when the grasshoppers leap across the path.

I was curious about what his pace would be, and even more curious about what would happen if I trusted his pace, for me. He speeds up as we enter the oak forest, and slows down when we get to the meadow. He passes by the bench in the glade.

How many times have I tugged him along, rushing him to my pace? Getting the walk done so that I can get to the next thing that needs doing. Do I really want my end-of-life memories to be filled with all the things I was able to check off my To Do List?

As we finish our walk, Harper’s rhythm has done me a world of good. I can feel, deeply, how important it was to do this, to take our time, and for me to be with him, just being present to every moment. He truly is one of my greatest teachers.

I stop and take a moment just to be grateful for the breath that I took when we arrived at the park, when I tried to “feel into” what this bit of time “wanted to be.”

I’m exploring the idea that life unfolds in a way that is perfectly organic for us, if we let it. Before launching into the next thing, I stop, breathe, and “feel into” the question: What is it time for, now? I have been doing this more, lately.

This practice takes some radical trust on my part, trusting that each moment has it’s own right action, and that some greater intelligence is guiding me in it. And that if I “feel into” the question, I can discern what that action is. It is a way of inviting the being and the doing to dance in the moment.

It’s a powerful way of being in the world, and yet I still have a hard time trusting that all will get done when I come to life like this. I actually think that not only will all get done, but that it will get done more easily, because I am coming to each moment in a fuller, more present way. This is how things flow.

There will be other days, perhaps cold, blustery ones, when what “wants to be” in the time is vacuuming. Today, it was time for meandering.

What is it time for, now, for you?

The Art of Receiving

November 21, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

Today as I am walking, a glint of bright red catches my attention.

It’s a bright red maple leaf, amongst all the brown oak leaves, and I know that this was meant for me to see. On my walks, I am always eager to discover what life is showing me, right in the moment.

I particularly love the colors of maple leaves in the fall, and there are very few maple trees in my neighborhood. This one is a tiny seedling, with just the one leaf on it. But it is showing its colors brightly, and it delights me to see it.

My walks have become so much more enjoyable since I have become more engaged with my environment. Part of being more engaged is that I look for things to draw, and drawing helps me see better.

I think it is more than just seeing better, though.

I think it’s as simple as being very present to my experience, and not with my thinking brain, but with my heart.

It is a receiving, more than a seeing.

I believe that what is meant for us is given to us in every moment. What varies in our ability to receive is our attentiveness and our openness.

If we believe that life has an intelligence (and it is hard not to believe that, knowing that the acorn has oakness already in it), then why wouldn’t we have the intelligence that we need, for our full experience of life?

So I have been practicing receiving what is meant for me, in any moment. This is easiest for me to do when I am out on my walks, because I feel very connected with nature.

When I am in nature, it is easy for me to tune in and be present in the moment, and to see what is meant for me. In nature, it is much easier than it is in other activities of my life.

What is meant for me can come on any channel. Sometimes I see it. Other times I feel it or just get a sense of it, or a hunch. Sometimes a picture might come into my mind.

When I give myself whole-heartedly to my experience, and tune in completely, I become aware of whatever is being given to me, or meant for me, in any moment. I do this by surrendering any expectations or agenda that I might have in my mind, and I become a “fertile field” of awareness.

I think this is what makes me open and receptive to receiving what is being offered to me by life, in any moment.

So, I’ve been practicing this art of receiving on my walks, because that is where it is easiest for me to be present, aware, and receptive. Maybe someday I will be able to be this way in the rest of my life.

How do you tune into what is meant for you to receive?

Cleansing Wind

November 20, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

I stepped out of the door today and was moving into a cold, blasting wind. It’s the character of November in my part of the world to clear and cleanse everything in its path.

The trees that had, only just a few days ago, been showing off their fall splendor of oranges, reds, and yellows, are now being stripped clean and clear.

What if we allowed ourselves to be stripped clean and clear too?

Let the wind come in and take all of my old beliefs and expectations that I no longer need. Take those desires that just don’t serve me anymore.

How freeing this would be, just to let the autumn winds cleanse me.

What do you want to be cleansed of?

What Is Ready for Harvest

November 18, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

My neighbor is harvesting his corn. It seems like he is the last farmer in the area to pull his corn in this year. All day I hear the combine in the field, and I can feel the weight of the trucks filled with corn as they rumble down our road.

This is always a bittersweet time of year for me. I love the harvest time, but I’m aware of the end of lush green growth of summer, and also of the bitter cold that is just around the corner.

However, I do love the rhythm of the farm season.

I’m always excited to see the seeds being planted in the spring; this speaks of promise and potential to me. There are still remnants of the winter cold at that time, but I can feel the ground warming up and becoming receptive for new growth.

Then, the shoots come up, and the long days of summer stretch out. I love to watch the corn stalks grow, until they tower over us on our walks. The corn cobs become full and ripe.

It takes a long time for the corn to dry on the stalks, until the moisture content is sufficiently low for harvest. There have been years where there is snow on the ground while the combines are in the fields. The dry brown corn stalks are an unmistakable sign of fall and impending winter.

I’ve lived in farm country for thirty years now, so the rhythm of these cycles is close to my heart now. I feel the cycles because they are all around me.

I feel like I go through similar cycles of dormancy, incubation, growth and harvest. We all do.

I’m in a harvesting time of life right now. It feels like one long cycle of growth is winding down, and ready for harvest, but I’m not quite clear what it is, or what the harvest will be, yet. I’m just aware that I’m resonating with the activity of the season that is all around me.

For those of us who write, or paint, or create in some way, there seem to be distinct cycles that we go through, of learning, growth, creating, and then harvesting, or sharing our work with others, so they can benefit from our creating.

Farmers know when to harvest, because they test the moisture content of the corn.

For us in the creative arts, it may not be so clear when to harvest. When is the learning, growth, and production complete, and ready to be shared with others?

Harvesting is an acknowledgement of completion, and it requires letting go.

We benefit from harvesting the fruits of our creative flow, because in harvesting and sharing, we create space for some new creative cycle to begin. Harvesting and sharing complete the cycle of creative flow.

So, as the combine rolls through the field, and the trucks rumble down the road on their way to the grain elevator, I’m asking myself: what, in me, is ready for harvest? And I’m open and ready to be surprised at the answer that bubbles up from within, because the wisdom in me often knows that things are ready to be shared before I think they are.

For any of you who share your gifts with others: What, in you, is ready to be harvested and shared?

Cultivating Silence and Solitude

November 17, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

It is warm and sunny today, 50 degrees F. It seems like we have had one long Indian Summer this autumn; there have been very few cold, blustery days that usually characterize November here.

As a result, I’ve spent much more time than I usually do outdoors. And so has everybody else. We’ve all been “making hay when the sun shines,” as the expression goes.

The park, which is usually quiet and still this time of year, has been bustling with activity on most days. I normally have my road to myself this time of year, with everyone else hunkered down in their cozy houses. This year, every time I’m out I see people out enjoying the mild weather. We all know what’s coming.

I love seeing all this activity and being a part of it. It feels like a celebration of our collective reprieve.

However, my walking time is usually my “silence and solitude” time. Nature has always been my sacred temple, and my walks are my prayer.

So I realized today that I must cultivate silence and solitude. I’m missing it, because it is one of the foundations of my connection with my inner essence, or true self.

Silence and solitude are not optional for me. They are very grounding, and they connect me with the sacred in my life.

I know that the sacred is in everything, but it is far easier for me to see, feel, and engage with the sacred when I have regular silence and solitude. Nature is also a connector for me in this way.

Very soon, the winds will blow and snow will fly, and I’ll again have the park and my road to myself. Until then, I’ll find another space and time for silence and solitude, in another way.

What connects you with the sacred in your life? How do you cultivate silence and solitude?

Leaping Through Life

November 16, 2015 by Lynne Fairchild Leave a Comment

Grasshoppers were leaping across my path with almost every step I took on this warm sunny fall day. It was fun to watch them, and I marveled at the power they seemed to achieve as they sailed through the air, legs clicking, traveling with speed and ease through the tall grasses.

I started to think how many times in my life I have wanted to leap from one thing to the next.

Most of these times were when I was somewhere that I didn’t want to be, and I imagined how glorious (I thought) it would be to be somewhere else. Like the time when I was in a job that was stressful and ill-suited for me, or the time when I was living in the middle of Chicago, and wanted to be in a quieter place. During those times, I really longed to leap.

But I would have been leaping to get out of somewhere I didn’t want to be, rather than moving towards somewhere I did want to be. I would have been leaping just to get somewhere else.

When I look back at all of those times of my life now, I realize how much of life I would have missed if I had leaped. Life had so much to show me and give me, in the journey. It’s a cliche, but it is very true for me. So much of becoming me was on the way from here to there.

While it is always tempting to think that everything would be easier if I could leap, I guess I am just not a leap-er. I’m a journey-er.

I’ve learned a lot about journeying over the years. About that initial stage where you know that something has to change, but you’re holding back, because it’s complicated, and the territory is unknown. And about packing, taking what you need and letting go the rest. And standing on the threshold, in that No Man’s Land of not being able to go back, but also not knowing quite where you are going. And all of that is before you even set off.

As I look at the grasshoppers, I’m a bit envious. It looks so easy, and I wonder how change can be easier in my own life. I don’t want to miss the journey, but it would be great to travel with a little more ease. There is definitely something I can learn from leaping.

Are you a leap-er or a journey-er? Where do you want to be?

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