Harper and I are out on our walk, and he is walking slowly along the side of the road, looking for corn kernels. We share our neighborhood with corn farmers. I slow the pace of my walk to his treasure-seeking cadence.

Our other dog Cinnamon taught him about the corn kernels. There is something magical about these corn kernels. As soon as they all disappear, and we think there will be no more for the season, some new ones appear, as if by magic.

This happened so consistently that we started to joke about Cinny’s Corn Angels. Just when we were sure that she had scoured the road for all the available kernels, the next day, more would appear. I have no rational explanation for how these corn kernels get there throughout the winter, but Cinny doesn’t need a rational explanation. She just expects them to be there.

This whole experience with Cinny’s Corn Angels has been a great lesson in abundance for me.

I was raised with a lot of unhelpful beliefs about abundance, like “we’d better make sure we get all these corn kernels right now, because you never know when there will be more.”

What if, instead, I was to trust that my true needs will always be met?

When I think about it, all of my true needs are always met. Perhaps not all the things that I think I need, but certainly all of my true needs.

I have come to expect that the corn kernels will be there too, just like Cinnamon does.

What would be possible for you, if you trusted that all of your true needs were always met?

On my walk today, I noticed how muted the colors in the December landscape have become.

This obviously happens every year, and every year it takes me a while to adjust to it.

It is like things are fading away, into nondescript blah-ness. I love color: full, robust, vivid, vibrant color. Color engages me; it gets my attention. Color excites me. I feel like I am living a fuller version of myself and my life when I am in a colorful environment.

The muted landscape got me thinking. How often do we mute ourselves? How often do we hold back from expressing the full color of our point of view, our wisdom, our perspective? How might we hesitate from taking what feels like bold, colorful action?

Settle in, relax, and ask your deepest wisdom: How do I mute myself?

What bubbled up from that inquiry from deep within me is that I mute myself when I don’t publish what I write. I have so many reasons, but none of them are good enough to hold myself back. I read something just last week about how important it is for us to publish, because there might be even just one person out there who would feel good hearing what we have to say, in just the way that we say it.

The guidance from within me is not to publish every single thing I write, but to search my heart and in that, I will know what is ready to go out into the world. This feels right. In the past, I have held my writing back, trying to make it better, or because I’m not sure it will be significantly different than everything that is out there already. I don’t just ask my “inners” if it is ready to go.

Our colors are our colors. They are, by definition, different than anyone else’s, if we let them shine into their full authenticity. Elizabeth Gilbert, in her book Big Magic, makes the distinction between original and authentic. She says: “Well, yes, it probably has already been done. Most things have already been done – but they have not be done by you.”

It’s important to let our full colors shine. The world needs all of our unique and individual essences, shining to their fullest.

Where might you be muting yourself? Where can you let your colors shine?

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?

Our dog Cinnamon had surgery, and she came home with a lot of healing ahead of her, and a complex set of post-operative protocols involving special food, a special feeding schedule, meds, activity restrictions, and so on.

Just like a post-operative person, she needs some careful attention for a while, so that her body has everything it needs to heal.

My dogs bring so much joy to my life, and I love them so much, that it is an easy choice to put aside my own desires and agendas to give Cinn the care that she needs. I am truly grateful to be of service to her.

What I find most challenging is to adjust my pace to her needs. I need to walk very slowly when I take her out. It’s important for her to feel included in “pack life,” and given her limited mobility, that means that I sit and just be with her.

In short, I need to take things at her slower pace for much of the day, during the next few weeks.

This made me realize that in serving her, I get an opportunity to be the person I want to be.

I want to take life at a slower pace.

I want to sit and just be.

I want to radiate calm and love.

I want to be generous in spirit and spacious in the way I come to life.

I’m coming to believe that everything we do in life is an opportunity to be, more, the person we want to be.

But some circumstances and relationships call us forth to this becoming in a more powerful way than others.

Who do you want to be?

Who, or what, helps you be more of who you want to be?