As part of the Courageous Year, there’s a members-only online community where people can connect and get to know one another, and I’ve taken to posting some weekly themes that people can add to their experience: words like passion and integrity come up. This week, the theme was generosity.

As it happens, I was looking through my college transcripts because I’m planning to apply for MFT programs and for some of them, there are prerequisites. One of my majors in college was Sociology, and I was curious to see if anything I’d taken for Sociology could fulfill a pre-req.

As I re-read the transcripts, I found myself smiling, remembering the classes. I remembered which ones I liked and which ones annoyed me, but overwhelmingly I thought to myself, “Wow. I got a really great education.” Truly, I did. I think back to the books my professors had us reading, the assignments we were given, the ways in which we were encouraged to think, to be engaged in a classroom, to look beyond the obvious, to think critically, and there’s just no doubt in my mind–I received a truly exceptional education.

When one goes to college and fills out a FAFSA, your parents’ income from the previous year is what is used to calculate your aid package. My freshman year, the FAFSA reportings were $17,000…

…for a family of three.

I attended Lake Forest College initially because I knew someone who was going there and had an opportunity to visit the campus, and later because they offered me an amazing financial aid package. It was only later that I would realize what a truly amazing education I was given.

And–I do mean “given.”

Somehow–and I simply do not know how this is possible–somehow, it did not fully hit me on all levels until I was reviewing these transcripts yesterday, just how much was given so that I could attend school. The years that I went to LFC, the cost of attendance per year was $28,000. Each year, I took out approximately $3,000 in student loans (the most I could), and paid $3,000 out of pocket from working. The rest was subsidized by the College.

That means that someone–many someones–contributed more than $80,000 so that I could have a cut-rate education.

As I fully grasped this, sitting in my office all these years later, tears began to flow. I am the second person on both sides of my family to graduate from college. I am the only one with a master’s degree.

There are simply no words for me to convey how much I appreciate–truly, deep down, from the bottom of my soul appreciate–the generosity of the people who gave to Lake Forest so that others without means could attend.

Generosity is not just lip-service. It is not something we do because it makes us feel better, because it asserts that we are a good person. My guess is that anyone who helped to pay for my education could have done any number of things with that money.

Instead, they opted to do something that would change a life. I often tell my students that an education is the best investment anyone can make, because there is nothing else in life that will be with you, always. Once you have a college degree, you will always be “a college graduate.” The same cannot be said about cars or clothes or money or even family or friends, but it can be said that you earned your education.

Today, I am so thankful–so grateful–for the generosity that touches others. It lights a fire in me to give back. To tip big. To stop asking myself if it’s worth it and, as Danielle LaPorte says, “Give until it hurts.”

As part of the Courageous Year process, one thing I like to do is honor where we come from.

The idea is that even as you shift something in your life, even as you transform, you don’t look at where you came from as this place that was bad. It was simply another necessary step in your growth along this path. You shift as you grow. And for the most part, we’re almost constantly shifting (it’s a brilliant thing).

I was looking through some of my archives from one year ago. One year ago today, I was just a month shy of the realization that I wanted to grow The Courageous Year. One year ago today, I was living in someone else’s house, house-sitting, and had no idea where I’d be living next. One year ago, today, I was in contact with some people that I’m no longer in contact with, today. One year ago, today, my relationship to myself and to others and to my partner looks very different.

It’s important to note that a year ago, I had no idea that I was capable of creating (beyond that inner knowing that knows before anything is conscious) what I’ve created, today. I say that it’s important because so often it can be easy to think, “I can’t do that,” forgetting that in everyone’s life there is a time when they don’t know fully what they are capable of.

This past year feels like the fastest passing year of my life.

And so I bring you: The Courageous Year Flashback. Click the link, read what was happening one year ago (“Deserve” was coming up big!), and feel free to add your comments!

Where were you, one year ago? What has shifted?

It’s my belief that people tend to fall into one of two categories when embarking upon some new change:

Category One: Gusto People : They dive right in, usually because they feel they know what they’re getting into and how great it’s going to be, and then as challenges arise or old Beliefs & Stories come up, the enthusiasm wanes. Quitting seems like the better option. It might even start to seem very real that the change in question is not “one I wanted, anyway.” The timeline of a person’s life can become littered with things started and abandoned.

or, perhaps–

Category Two : Delayers : They hesitate. Wait. Want to collect all of the right answers. Want to make sure that they know what they’re getting into. Want to have it all figured out. Just getting started and getting something in consistent motion seems like the hardest obstacle. There are false starts, sort of like turning the key but the engine just chugs rather than roaring to life. And it’s very real: Some people can spend years in this space.

Either way, the fear kicks in at a certain point. For some it comes later; for others it’s right from the start. And typically, the inner critic rushes in so fast to tell us how we f*cked it all up, that it’s hard to get our bearings. The Gusto People steel themselves for giving something another try, sort of like focusing right before trying to jump a wall, while the Delayers spend more time trying to figure it all out before making a move.

I think there’s a question that can be asked that helps to get more present to the cycle: “What do I think it’s going to get me?”

If you something you want to shift, really try to identify what exactly it is that you believe that the shift is going to get you.

For instance, we don’t lose weight because we just think losing weight is a fantastic bit of fun. We lose weight because we think it’s going to get us something–love, for instance. More sex. Pride in an accomplishment. Feeling good about ourselves. We don’t buy stuff because it’s just oh so fun to have stuff lying around. We buy it because we believe that the product or experience is going to make us feel better about ourselves or our lives.

This is not earth shattering news, but it’s amazing how often we can make choices that are totally grounded in an assumption that we will get some specific thing if we do XYZ. One of the earliest exercises in the Courageous Year is to make a list of and identify one’s values, and then to start making decisions from that place.

The same question can be asked during the times when we’re clinging so hard to the fear: What are you getting out of hesitating or holding back?

To play the victim? To not ‘have to’ change a belief or habit? To blame someone else? To stay in your comfort zone longer? To not disrupt old family roles? To avoid paying money for something? To avoid fully stepping into your power? To avoid the vulnerable discomfort of pain–or the same vulnerable discomfort of utter joy?

I’m all about people (consciously) sitting with their fear. It’s good stuff. And–I’m also all about curiosity. What’s that about? It wouldn’t serve us to stay in fear, forever.

The interesting thing about working with fear is that we often find that how we do anything is how we do everything. When someone first starts coaching with me, the things they want to change really can be anything: Be more connected to myself. Start a creative practice. Lose ten pounds. Earn more money.

The places where we get stuck around money are often the same or very similar to how we get stuck with creative practices or weight loss or…whatever.

This is not bad news. It’s incredibly helpful information to know!

If you’re feeling stuck in any area of your life, take this tool with you. Talk about simplification–a glimmer of wisdom or truth in one area becomes your medicine, your transformation, in another.

{ { The Courageous Year pre-order goodness ends in less than a month! Sign up today to get started. }}

After having a really loved-filled weekend with some of my favorite people on the planet, here are some thoughts I wrote down in my Moleskine on Courageous Living. The trickiest places, I think, are in those tangled and triggered human relationships. In every moment, we have this opportunity when we interact with other people sharing this world with us to act with integrity, to face our choices about the experience we will have with someone else.

Whatever we see in the world, that is us, too. Cultivate a willingness to compassionately drop down into the zero center of someone else’s imperfection, and you’ll see their pain, and piece of your own. We are not so very different. We are far more alike than we often believe. With courageous hearts, we can change the world. So here goes:

In the face of complaints, look that person in the eye and imagine what it might have been like to be raised to see only what is wrong.

In the face of selfishness, wonder what it might be like to walk the world with a feeling of lack, of depletion.

In the face of insults, consider where this person first learned that it’s okay to abuse others.

In the face of disconnection, think about what causes it, and ask if your response will widen the river between the two of you.

In the face of laziness, recognize the fear of living big dreams.

In the face of extremism or fundamentalism, see the clinging, as well as the terror-filled silence that would arise for that person if they risked letting go.

In the face of controlling behavior, understand the chaos that must have bred it.

In the face of “always needing to be right,” see how often this person was once made wrong.

In the face of arrogance or bravado, hold gently that still, small piece that says “I’m not enough.”

In the face of drama or attention-seeking, see the person who wishes so much to be seen.

In the face of accusation, imagine what it might be like to live life with suspicion.

In the face of judgement or comparisons, step into the opportunity the world has just provided you for practicing love and acceptance.

In the face of passive-aggressiveness, recognize the child that wasn’t taught a safe way to express their truth.

In the face of anger, see the pain of isolation from others.

Most importantly: In the face of ferocious hatred, believe in the possibility that there exists the potential for equally as big, intense, lovely and fiery ferocious love.

Okay. That is my love letter to the world, for today.

~ Kate

I encourage gentleness.

Gentleness is your birthright.

When you are watering your plant, nourishing your vision, gentleness needs to come along for the ride.

Sometimes when I encourage gentleness, I suspect that the person I’m speaking with thinks that I’m just “trying to be nice.” Like maybe the gentleness isn’t really what they need, but I don’t want them to be hard on themselves because it’s painful to watch.

But that’s not why.

I encourage gentleness because I believe that there’s such freedom in adding that to whatever I do. There are so very many things that I’m not perfect at, and when I’m beating myself up over that it’s a kind of hell, and when I’m gentle with myself, I can sink more deeply into what is.Whenever I can sink into what is, I’ve unlocked myself from the cage with the key that I was holding in my hand the entire time.

There’s a kind of honesty that goes along with gentleness, if you think about it. I say “honesty” because gentleness acknowledges all of the parts that are imperfect and creates a space for them to exist. There’s something dishonest about pushing away the parts we don’t want to see with harshness, trying desperately to hide them.

Gentleness allows time for transforming something while acknowledging the truth of the present moment.

Gentleness frees us up to BE who we already are.

Gentleness allows us to sink into that tender spot, and forgive ourselves and others.

Perhaps we never really transform anything until we’re able to look at ourselves with kind eyes–and that means gentleness.

Where in your life would you like to see more gentleness along the way?

I’ve been wanting for some time now to pull together a blog entry in which I was concrete and specific about all the different principles that I believe to go into what I term “courageous living.”

But first, I’ll just briefly state what I don’t think “courageous living” is. I don’t believe that courageous living is doing all kinds of spontaneous or wild things, like you have to quit your job and move to Bali, or start parachuting out of planes, so that you can call yourself “courageous”. I don’t believe that it’s what I think so many of us beat ourselves up in the pursuit of: some version of waking in the morning, having a yoga and meditation practice and gliding seamlessly through your day, sporting the latest gear from Anthropologie, eating some really hip diet, never breaking a sweat while working at your dream job, laughing with friends, falling into the arms of a loving family at the end of the day, everyone getting along, planning a dashing getaway to some exotic locale. Let me be clear that that vision for one’s life is not something I’m knocking–it sounds great–but it’s certainly not what my life looks like and I think I’m not alone in saying that I’ve wasted a lot of energy striving to attain something that looks like that, and so have most of the women I’ve known. I don’t think that courageous living is a 1-2-3 plan, nor is it a finished product.

I believe all of us contain the capacity to act with courage. I believe that courage is feeling afraid, diving in anyway, and transforming. Whenever we lean into that edge, there’s juicy stuff there. What’s the juicy stuff? What’s the leaning to the edge look like? What’s courageous living based on? Here’s a start:

Courageous living is about:

• BEing your journey/being in process
• A commitment to your vision for yourself, with gentleness along the way.
• Slowing down
• Prioritizing self-care
• Making room for passion and play–even if it’s only 5 minutes a day
• Feeling your feelings (no more reciting affirmations or pushing oneself to “think positive” until the very real feelings have been acknowledged and worked through)
• Risking being seen by others
  
• Unconditional love and acceptance (and that means no more hating your inner critic, calling it a Gremlin or a monster or all sorts of other names that that sad, scared, triggered little piece of the heart is so often called)
• A commitment to your life vision, with gentleness along the way (and that means that on the days where you don’t risk being seen, or you don’t have unconditional love and acceptance, or you don’t…whatever…you step into some gentleness that you are a tender and lovely human being. It’s okay.)
• Returning to the present moment and using it as a source of power. Coming to just breathing and getting present is the most powerful tool I know.
• Releasing the Stories. (“Capital-S” Stories are those habituated beliefs/ways of thinking/assumptions that are so conditioned that they seem real, even if they might not be).
• Honoring your integrity. Matching your words and actions. Aligning them with your vision.
• This is a big one: claiming your choices, and claiming your life. Accept responsibility for all of it.
• Forgiveness, forgiveness, forgiveness. Living 100% fully alive cannot co-exist with resentment.
• Respectfully speaking your truth.
• Noticing your resistance and then working with it from a place of curiosity: what do you have to teach me?
• Creating intimacy and connection in your relationships
• Being a stand for connection between human beings–which means, that chick that you “hate” at your office? Try out some compassion. That guy who just acted all road-ragey? Send him some love. Clearly, he needs it.
• Dreaming big.
• Being open to magical possibility, and, if it resonates for you, spirit/the Universe/ some kind of unseen force for good

And how does having a life vision help with any of that? My life vision is to completely and totally love and accept all parts of myself, so that I can completely and totally love and accept others, and thus facilitate healing in the world.

It’s a big life vision. It’s not something that one can check off of a to-do list.

But having it really grounds me. I can ask–in my relationships, in my job, in my financial decisions, with my body, and in the moments when I really want to snap someone’s head off–is this my vision for myself? How will I step into my vision for myself, right now?

I mentioned “feeling the feelings” up there. Right here’s where I’ll tell you that I believe that 90% of my work is actually stopping, slowing down, and getting conscious enough to ask myself, “Is this my vision for myself?” If I can do that much, chances are good that I’ll go the extra 10% and act with absolute clarity that I don’t want to act on the urge to snap at someone. (I’ll probably still want to snap at them. But even that urge loses steam when seen through the lens of my vision, and then to stay in integrity with me there are a whole range of tools that I can use to discharge the emotions–I get to have my anger, if I want to…I can just work with it differently).

The slowing down? That’s the link between self-care and all of the other stuff. It all pieces itself together, knits itself you might say. When I’m not prioritizing self-care, I don’t slow down enough. I go, go, go and that’s where my life can get sloppy.

But this is a vision I’m stepping into–and with gentleness. Lots and lots of gentleness for the tenderness of us human beings.

Another thing–my vision? Feel free to share it. I almost typed “steal” it, but of course, a vision is hardly something that can be stolen. It’s definitely something that can be shared! Or take a stab at clarifying your own vision. A life vision is a statement of what your life is about. A good hint that you’ve come across it is that it works across multiple categories–when it comes to any area of my life, from my health to my relationships to the way that I decorate my home, that desire to create a space of love and acceptance for myself that then radiates out to the world, is the foundation.

Alright, I showed you mine. You show me yours!

I often find myself at a loss for how to describe, how to put exactly into words, what it is that I want for myself or a Courageous Year participant or anyone that I work with. As much as I try to take care with how I put it, sometimes I’ll re-read something I’ve written and see the holes in it; I can see exactly where I might be coming across as believing in “self-improvement” when that’s not really exactly what I mean. I mean something more like “self-transformation,” something that strikes that beautiful balance between walking bravely in where we are right now while holding a vision for something that is more expansive. And–I think that one can have that acceptance + vision without hating one or the other.

While on my Staycation, I’ve been re-reading books that I have long loved. Pema Chodron’s When Things Fall Apart has been captivating me. I didn’t realize why until last night, when I had this really difficult session with my Coach (in which I told him, quite frankly, that I’d been feeling pissed and resentful towards him lately, and in which he responded, quite frankly, that he viewed that as resistance and part of my process, and invited me to look more deeply. And I did. And dammit if he isn’t right. Again.) I realized this morning, after finishing breakfast and taking up Chodron again that I really do feel as though “things are falling apart,” because they are. And if I chose to take a larger view of things, that was actually good.

Things are falling apart, and I am in the midst of that, and without a doubt, I see opportunity in every shift, and I see lovely things on the other side of all of those shifts. When I get right down to it, there is absolutely nowhere else that I’d rather be! How could I have missed that? Things are falling apart in all of the loveliest ways; what’s slowly getting suffocated are habits and patterns that simply don’t work anymore. They are being exposed and exposed again and those patterns can’t hold up their weight anymore, they are “falling apart.”

Then I read this in WTFA this morning, and it so perfectly described what I hope for in myself or Courageous Year participants, and for you, and the world, as we are all on our collective journeys:

“It is said that we can’t attain enlightenment, let alone feel contentment and joy, without seeing who we are and what we do, without seeing our patterns and habits. This is called maitri–developing loving-kindness and an unconditional friendship with ourselves.

People sometimes confuse this process with self-improvement or building themselves up. We can get so caught up in being good to ourselves that we don’t pay any attention at all to the impact that we’re having on others. We might erroneously believe that maitri is a way to find happiness that lasts; as advertisements so seductively promise, we could feel great for the rest of our lives. It’s not that we pat ourselves on the back and say “You’re the greatest,” or “Don’t worry, sweetheart, everything is going to be fine.” Rather it’s a process by which self-deception becomes so skillfully and compassionately exposed that there’s no mask that can hide us any more.” — Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart

Oh. So beautiful. “It’s a process by which self-deception becomes so skillfully and compassionately exposed that there’s no mask that can hide us any more.”

That word–compassionately. YES. Exposing self-deception–with compassion. YES.

I was talking to a dear friend of mine a few weeks ago about some of the health choices that both she and I make, in particular in relationship to doing juice fasts once or twice a year, or giving our bodies a break from sugar, or wheat, at various times of the year. We were talking about how some people view us doing these things with horror–they simply don’t understand why we would want to deprive ourselves of sugar, or why we would do a cleanse. What’s the point?

My friend shared how she got so much out of doing those cleanses–they exposed pieces of her that were about so much more than just an eating choice. They exposed the places where she was triggered, the places where she ran Stories. “It’s like a trial by fire,” I said to her, and she said, “YES! In that moment when I really want that thing, that cookie or whatever, I see what I’m really made of.” This was how I felt about my thirty days of Bikram yoga–I wanted to see what I was made of. I wanted to see where I would try to wiggle out of a commitment or break down along the way. I was intensely curious about this place, and it taught me a lot.

“Generally speaking, we regard discomfort in any form as bad news. But for practitioners or spiritual warriors–people who have a certain hunger to know what is true–feelings like disappointment, embarrassment, irritation, resentment, anger, jealousy, and fear, instead of being bad news, are actually very clear moments that teach us where it is that we’re holding back. They teach us to perk up and lean in when we feel we’d rather collapse and back away. They’re like messengers that show us, with terrifying clarity, exactly where we’re stuck. This moment is the perfect teacher, and, lucky for us, it’s with us wherever we are.” –Pema Chodron

In this moment, I am loving sitting with things as they “fall apart.” It feels like a kind of surrender, a letting go and allowing. I woke up this morning feeling this renewed commitment to diving in despite resistance, which for me is exactly as Chodron puts it: exposing self-deception, with compassion.

When things are falling apart for you, what’s the opportunity?

Circa 1987.

Hey there little girl,

It’s been awhile since we last talked.

Just wanted to let you know that I’ve been thinking about you–a lot. First, I gotta say–you are 100% sass and a half. Look at you! A red skirt! I don’t remember owning cowgirl boots back then, but I’d like to think you’re rocking them out. This calls for three snaps and a head roll, ‘aight? I’m so proud of your style.

I’ve been thinking about summers of kickball with the kids down the street, playing with Chum and Town and Jesse, the three guys around, because there were no other girls–except for summers when Tamika came from Florida to stay with Ms. Grayson.

I’ve been thinking about Tropical Punch kool-aid, and popsicles and bomb pops.

I’ve been thinking about how dad used to let us stay up until 2am on the hottest nights. “No one can sleep when it’s hot, anyway,” he said. And we agreed with him, didn’t we, because it was pretty cool to stay up that late, playing CandyLand and Parcheesi and Clue and Checker and Trouble and Connect Four.

I would want you to know that I can still kick some butt at Connect Four.

I’ve been thinking about how scared you were all those years, watching things happen around you and thinking, “This is pretty messed up.” Adults are funny creatures, aren’t they? They kind of expect you to bend to their will and do what they say–not as they do. And you saw that and didn’t understand it, but you learned how to stay out of the way. You were really smart like that.

I’ve been thinking about how brave you were, how courageous you were. I’ve been thinking about how you lived with your whole heart, making art and writing books and playing piano and climbing trees and running faster faster faster than the boys and when they started cussing, or when they peed in corners, you looked in the other direction–but girl, you sure didn’t run off scared, did you? You could hang with that.

I’ve been thinking about how you lived so BIG that you were always scuffing your elbows and knees and my fingers run tenderly over those scars today. They are my most sacred tattoos, the scars that you gave me, the ones that you risked because you were willing to live with a heart that wide open, with passion unmasked. Running more carefully would have involved living less fully alive, and you weren’t about to do that.

I’ve been thinking about how/when being brave and courageous turned into steeling your small frame against chaos–look at those little bones, that tiny little frame, how could it hold all of that?–and sacrificing you, becoming the adult that you needed to become, early, in order for us to survive.

I would want to thank you for understanding the concept of sacrifice even better than the adults around you. To sacrifice a childhood is the ultimate sacrifice.

I would want to thank you for loving me too big to ever let my heart close entirely, too big to let others convince me that my tears were weak, too big to ever stop wishing and dreaming. I am in awe of your indomitable spirit, your refusal to become a cynic in the face of everything. I am so honored to have grown forth from you.

I would want to let you know that your sacrifice was not in vain–that in the end, we did get to create the life we wanted, didn’t we? In the end, we do get to choose a life that has a lot of PLAY in it.

I would want you to know how happy I am to be making up for lost time. Almost every day has a bit of play in it, now, and when it doesn’t, I appreciate that you remind me of its necessity. It’s kind of cool to get older and then recreate childhood, do it all a second time.

And this time, we get to do it right.

Do it the way it could have been done–with PLAY and hugs and kisses and love and reminders every day that you/I, are/am, exactly enough.

Thanks for hanging in there, so that we could get to this space. I love you.

~ me ~

YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE:

* I know :: one thing :: that I love you

* Just be yourself

What’s Your Wisdom? from Kate Swoboda on Vimeo.

(!!!!)

I just really loved the way this project turned out. I see it as seven minutes of sitting back and getting centered, remembering and re-remembering that we are so much more alike than we tend to believe. Getting connected with love. With a big world. With what we know. Such beautiful images and words…

Enjoy!

Rich & Yvonne Dutra-St.John of Challenge Day

Last weekend, I had the honor and privilege of interviewing these two wonderful souls, Rich & Yvonne of Challenge Day. The Challenge Day organization primarily works with youth in schools–and their work, which I’ve witnessed live with young people–is just so fantastically amazing–but the primary way that I’ve worked with them is in their adult Next Step workshops. They have taught me an amazing amount, transforming my life and opening my heart in so many ways, and I am so grateful to them. They are some of the busiest people on the planet, so it was double the honor to be invited to their home and for them to take this time for an interview for my e-course, The Courageous Year.

Rich and Yvonne spend a lot of time asking people about their dreams. They ask because they don’t play life small. They are going to play life BIG. They stand for living big because there are so many opportunities to play a small game, to tell oneself that living the life of your dreams is really an impossibility, and they aren’t people who will validate that kind of thinking. So I was excited to get this opportunity to turn things around and ask: “What are YOUR dreams?”

There is this moment that was so beautifully captured on camera during our interview. Yvonne was sharing that she wanted to sink more and more into being present–to herself, her feelings, the world, the people, all of it. She looked right at me, down into me it seemed, with tears running down her cheeks.

“To just BE,” she said. And then she whispered: “What else is there?”

I felt tears coming to my own eyes, in the midst of this interview. It was this incredibly intimate moment that, when I watch the interview again, I feel as if it was its own small gift. Rich looking at Yvonne, Yvonne looking at me, then Yvonne and I looking over at Rich, acknowledging the BIGness of just BEing, not running the Stories about not enough money or time or not enough good within or not enough good in others or life is hard. Just BEing right in that moment and sinking down into it.

So often we think that to “be in the moment” we need to meditate for a long time, or have this really esoteric practice. I realized during this interview that to “simply BE” in a moment could also happen through the channel of really honest connection with another human being. I felt completely “inside” that moment.

We are so much more alike than any of us can imagine. All of us want simply to be heard, to feel safe, to feel loved, to be accepted and celebrated as we are, to be gently guided.

Experiencing moments like this makes me feel such an immense gratitude swelling through my body, simply for this gift of being alive.