“Suc­cess means doing the best we can with what we have. Suc­cess is the doing, not the get­ting; in the try­ing, not the tri­umph. Suc­cess is a per­sonal stan­dard, reach­ing for the high­est that is in us, becom­ing all that we can be.” ~ Zig Ziglar

It’s a warm Sun­day after­noon.  The breeze by the lake quickly dis­ap­pears as we wan­der into the for­est.  Under the canopy of trees, it’s cool though.  With a bounce in our step, we begin our ascent toward the most pic­turesque view in the park. 

{…the easy moments on our path toward success…}

Some rocks to climb on, a large hawk fly­ing over­head, a few other fel­low journeyer’s on this hike.

The Climb

A turn and we are mov­ing upward.  The for­est begins to give way to a steep upward climb — a climb high­lighted by large boul­ders and open skies.  A nar­row path leads upward, large stone steps.  We curve back and forth, slowly get­ting higher and higher.

{…the suc­cess jour­ney often has moments where it becomes an uphill climb…}

We pause, replen­ish our bod­ies with water.  We pause, and reflect back down to where we have come.  We pause, and take in that moment — see­ing where we have reached to.  A look for­ward, and we see con­tin­ued steps, no end in sight.

{…when we stop on our suc­cess jour­ney, we give our­selves time to reflect and re-focus…}

The climb con­tin­ues.  We are hot, our legs not want­ing to take that next step.  We con­tinue on.  It’s easy to think about what the view will look like once we’ve reached the top.  What about each step along the way, though?  We notice the trees grow­ing out of the rocks.  We notice a chip­munk near another tree.  We see that hawk again, this time much closer.  We see the rocks — all these rocks.…

{…suc­cess is in the whole jour­ney, not just some per­ceived peak…}

We reach the top.  Sur­rounded now by foliage, and no majes­tic view in sight — there is still this sense of joy, of accom­plish­ment, of bliss.  Even though we fully expect that our jour­ney (on this path) is not reached, we still savor the accom­plish­ment of the climb we have made.  A glance back, at these steps we’ve just climbed…a smile…a know­ing that we have per­se­vered, a know­ing that we did not back down from the chal­lenge of this climb.

{…take time to savor the path you have trav­eled, and the steps you have taken to get where you are…}

The Sum­mit

We con­tinue on, the path now much eas­ier.  Soon we reach a gor­geous rocky over­look.  For many min­utes, we just explore the area…climbing, sit­ting, walk­ing.  Oth­ers are here also — a stop­ping place to take in the amaz­ing views. 

{…soak in the suc­cess that you have created…}

The Jour­ney Continues

Our jour­ney doesn’t end, though.  We can­not stay here for­ever.  We move on, work­ing our way back down a dif­fer­ent path.  Many peo­ple are com­ing up, to see that view we saw.  We offer encour­ag­ing words here and there. 

{…share your knowl­edge with oth­ers, so they may too expe­ri­ence their own success…}

We reach the trail head, our bod­ies sill warmed up from this hike.  The nearby lake is call­ing out.  It’s time to play, to splash, to have some unstruc­tured fun! 

{…take time to reju­ve­nate and have some extra fun…}

Later on that day, we again explore another trail.  This time, we take a wrong turn, and soon find our­selves in the mid­dle of the for­est, no trail in sight.  We wan­der, look­ing for the trail we had started on.  Even­tu­ally we find that trail.

{…some­times you will get off track.  That’s okay.  Take time to adjust your bear­ings.  And remem­ber, also, that these off-track adven­tures often lead to new discoveries…}

We return home, our day filled with mem­o­ries, and with all sorts of moments we’ll treasure.

{…wher­ever your jour­ney takes you, remem­ber that this is YOUR jour­ney.  Savor what you are creating…}

Note:  This story was devel­oped from actual moments spent together as a fam­ily at one of Wisconsin’s true trea­sures — Devil’s Lake State Park.  If your jour­ney ever brings you through cen­tral Wis­con­sin, a day (or longer) at this park is joy and fun all wrapped up together!

“For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the sad­dest are these: ‘It might have been!’” ~ John Green­leaf Whit­tier

Do you ever have those things that float around in your heart…things that make you say “what if…”…

What if...I joined this new group I’ve heard about?

What if…I went on that trip, all by myself?

What if...I tried a new sport?

What if...I ven­tured out in my own business?

What if...I lis­tened to my heart?

…the courage to be yourself…

Do thoughts like this bounce through your head (and more impor­tantly — through your heart)?  And does that bounc­ing go any­where?  Or does it stay locked within the recesses of your heart and mind?

What If

What if, instead of just think­ing these thoughts, we did some­thing about it. 

What if we didn’t know what that next step looked like, and took it anyway.

Life is awful funny, that way.  Call it serendip­ity, the Uni­verse act­ing on our behalf, God answer­ing our prayers, …

Our thoughts, along with some sort of action in their gen­eral direction…well, pretty amaz­ing things begin to happen.

Our Town

For a cou­ple of years, the idea has bounced around in my head (and heart).  What if…I tried my hand at acting?

Of course, this thought with­out action..it’s like a seed with­out soil.  The pos­si­bil­ity, the poten­tial of that seed is great.  Although, with­out the action of plac­ing that seed in some soil, and pro­vid­ing some nour­ish­ment — noth­ing happens.

{have you ever had thoughts that lie dormant?}

Fast for­ward to early June of this year.  {and recall…this idea of thoughts cou­pled with action}  For some rea­son (I don’t recall at all any­more), I land upon the web­site of a local book­store.  That book­store web­site has a link on its site to a small out­door the­atre at a state park near our house — Sum­mer­Stage.  I nor­mally would just move on, except for some rea­son, on this day, I’m com­pelled to click that link.

Our Town, by Thorn­ton Wilder, will be per­formed at Sum­mer­Stage this sum­mer — and there is still a need for actors.

{the easy answer is to say — I’ve not done any­thing like this in forever}

{the easy answer is to say — rehearsals have already started, it’s too late}

{the easy answer is to say — I have lots of other “things” to do}

{the easy answer is to say — noth­ing…} {the easy answer…is to do noth­ing}

The easy answer, though, is it really the easy answer?  Is it, when that answer pulls you away from some­thing that tugs at your heart?  Per­haps that easy answer is an answer that’s become the default too many times? 

Per­haps that easy answer is really the dif­fi­cult answer — every time, tak­ing you one step fur­ther from your dreams, your desires, you bliss. 

So, I choose this (dif­fi­cult) easy answer…the easy answer that speaks from my heart, the easy answer that might feel dif­fi­cult and yet — it’s the answer whis­per­ing from my soul…

And So It Begins

A week later, I find myself show­ing up for rehearsals — and with a role to play.

Life is awful funny that way…

Between that time in mid-June and now — my evenings have been with this group of actors, cre­at­ing our per­for­mance of Our Town.  A group of peo­ple from all dif­fer­ent walks — together cre­at­ing mem­o­ries, ful­fill­ing dreams, mak­ing a few mis­takes (I speak per­son­ally on this one…), hav­ing fun…

{how are you choos­ing to answer?}

The Cul­mi­na­tion

We have just fin­ished up our per­for­mances.   It’s a bit strange to think I won’t be spend­ing my evenings with this amaz­ing group of peo­ple — some­thing we’ve done for the last sev­eral weeks. 

…and the jour­ney con­tin­ues for each of us…

As I reflect back, I’m reminded of a line near the end of this play ~

“…Oh, Earth, you’re too won­der­ful for any­one to real­ize you.  Do any human beings ever real­ize life while they live it — every, every minute?“

We are here on this earth for a finite amount of time.  What tomor­row holds, we know not.  And yet, it is so easy to live our lives as if tomor­row will always come.

Your Call to Action

Choose to lis­ten to that voice which speaks from your heart.  And if the thoughts that voice brings up, if they are ones that maybe scare you just a lit­tle bit — choose to act. 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stum­bles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them bet­ter. The credit belongs to the man who is actu­ally in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort with­out error and short­com­ings; but who does actu­ally strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthu­si­asm, the great devo­tion, who spends him­self in a wor­thy cause, who at the best knows in the end the tri­umph of high achieve­ment and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while dar­ing greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know nei­ther vic­tory nor defeat.” ~ Theodore Roo­sevelt

Dare to dream. 

Dare to be uniquely you.

Dare to step out of any boxes you’ve cre­ated for yourself.

Dare to live…really and fully, live…

photo credit: Werner Kunz

“Become a pos­si­bil­i­tar­ian.  No mat­ter how dark things seem to be or actu­ally are, raise your sights and see pos­si­bil­i­ties – always see them, for they’re always there.” ~ Nor­man Vin­cent Peale

May 22^nd, 2011

A tor­nado tears through the city of Joplin, Mis­souri – one of the dead­liest tor­na­does on record. Over 100 peo­ple lose their lives, many more are injured, and phys­i­cal destruc­tion is evi­dent every­where.

Can you imag­ine how dif­fi­cult that must be? And with so much dev­as­ta­tion, how do you even begin to recover?

Today

The peo­ple of Joplin have begun this process of heal­ing and rebuild­ing — with renewed strength in what is possible. These cit­i­zens and all the vol­un­teers help­ing out are true exam­ples of the power of the human spirit in action.

There is still much to do – the destruc­tion that hap­pened in mere min­utes will take months and pos­si­bly years to fully restore.

Today, you have the oppor­tu­nity to help sup­port this heal­ing and rebuild­ing that is hap­pen­ing in Joplin.

Together with friend and col­league Tess Mar­shall, we have teamed up to cre­ate an e-book. 

Love Care Donate

This is no ordi­nary e-book.  This is the col­lec­tive effort of over 60 writ­ers from through­out the world.  Writ­ers unit­ing together and bring­ing hope to Joplin. 

Every one of these writ­ers has con­tributed a favorite arti­cle to this e-book, cre­at­ing a won­der­ful col­lec­tion of sto­ries.  Sto­ries of inspi­ra­tion, humor, growth, and love. 

Today, Tess and I are ask­ing for your help. 

Please visit the Love Care Donate, a dona­tion page we have cre­ated to raise funds to sup­port the Heart of Mis­souri United Way in their mis­sion to bring car­ing funds to the good peo­ple of Joplin.  In addi­tion, you’ll find infor­ma­tion on how to receive this Love Care Donate e-book, our gift to you. 

There is much hope in a future filled with pos­si­bil­ity.  Together, we all can make a difference!

With deep grat­i­tude,
Lance and Tess

To all our con­trib­u­tors, thank you!

Design by Sue Alexan­der ~ Inspired Type

Note:  If you’re hav­ing trou­ble view­ing the video, please click here.

“The only gift is a por­tion of thy­self.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emer­son

Has life ever not  gone as you’ve expected it?   There are those set­backs that are minor, and we can move on in our jour­ney with­out much prob­lem (and some­times these set­backs end up being so, so good for us too).  And then there are those big­ger set­backs, that can shake us to our core.

Tess Mar­shall, from The Bold Life, and I are team­ing up to help sup­port the fam­i­lies of those affected by the recent tor­nado in Joplin, Missouri.

We’re work­ing together to raise money to sup­port these fam­i­lies, through dona­tions to the Amer­i­can Red Cross.  The Red Cross has a pres­ence in Joplin, and we’re cre­at­ing a way for you to be a part of rebuild­ing this com­mu­nity (and its peo­ple).  As our way of rais­ing money to sup­port Joplin, we’re cre­at­ing an e-book which we’ll then sell, with 100% of the prof­its going to the Amer­i­can Red Cross.

NOTE:  We’re not look­ing for your finan­cial support.

To make this a real­ity, we need your help, though.  We would love for each of you to be a part of this e-book we’re cre­at­ing.  And this e-book will be a com­pi­la­tion of favorite posts by a num­ber of dif­fer­ent blog­gers.  Please con­sider join­ing us!  All it takes is for you to choose a favorite post from your site.  That’s it!  And then we’ll include it in the e-book we’re cre­at­ing, with a link, as well, to your site.

What We Need:
Your com­mit­ment, below, to join us.  Once we’ve col­lected our list of con­trib­u­tors we’ll be send­ing out spe­cific infor­ma­tion on how you can sub­mit your favorite post to us, for inclu­sion into the e-book.

That’s it!

In early July, we’ll have the e-book cre­ated.  Note that there is no oblig­a­tion for you to buy one of the e-books.  If, how­ever, you do choose to — know that all the pro­ceeds will go to sup­port the rebuild­ing of Joplin.  We’ll be sell­ing the e-books for a sug­gested dona­tion of $5.

Thank you for all your sup­port, not only with this, but for all that you do.

If you have any ques­tions, please don’t hes­i­tate to con­tact either Tess or myself.

Share your Talents

photo credit: Pink Sher­bet Photography

“You, your­self, as much as any­body in the entire uni­verse, deserve your love and affec­tion.” ~ Bud­dha

This thing called love…

The month is Sep­tem­ber.  A sunny after­noon brings the desire to get out and explore.  Just a short drive and I’ll be there.

We’re get­ting ahead of our­selves, though.  Let’s take a step back.

The day, I’m not sure.  There were many.  Let’s say it is a mid-morning in June.  I’m hang­ing out in the sand­box, load­ing up a dumptruck with sand and dirt.  The grass, the trees, the plants…they are grow­ing around me.  I don’t notice.  The sand has my attention. 

I’m maybe eight years old.

Fast for­ward back to September. 

The sky is big, the shad­ows from the moun­tains an instant reminder of the vast­ness and grandeur of this land.  I start out along the “safe” routes.  Trav­el­ing down the high­way, stop­ping at well-marked and eas­ily acces­si­ble land­marks.  The tree lines, the water­falls, the moun­tain peaks — views that are incred­i­ble to take in.

(am I really tak­ing them in?)

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less trav­eled by,
And that has made all the difference.

~ Robert Frost

Trav­el­ing along, I turn onto a much less trav­eled road.  The views more obscured and fewer places of “inter­est” has made this road less trav­eled.  I drive, won­der­ing at what point I should abort this route and turn back.  Some­thing (that lit­tle voice within) says “go a lit­tle fur­ther”.  I hap­pen upon a park­ing lot tucked back off the road.  Maybe two other cars are here, and it seems so quiet, so still, so peace­ful.  A small pond is the play­ground for a cou­ple of ducks.  A man is fish­ing nearby, and a mother and daugh­ter are return­ing from a walk near the pond.  Another trail leads up into the deeper parts of the forest.

…the deeper parts of the forest…the deeper parts of me…

The crunch­ing of leaves as I walk along this trail, that’s all I hear.  When I stop, silence.  I wan­der, deeper into this part of the for­est, none of it known to me, and all of it known to me.

I wan­der into a clear­ing, and the path and direc­tion become not so clear.  I wan­der, not know­ing I’m wan­der­ing off the trail.  Soon enough, it’s clear I’ve found my way off any­thing resem­bling a trail.  There’s a hill, and a stream down below.  The flow­ing water draws my atten­tion, and I make my way toward it.  The car­cass of some ani­mal is near the stream.  The moun­tains sur­round­ing me are no longer vis­i­ble in the dense­ness of where I’m at.  Foot­steps along the stream, as I feel really at peace being here.

…and then I stop.

My gaze turns back, back to that small hill which brought me the stream.  It’s still there, except, it is dif­fer­ent. Where was that rock I climbed over?  Wasn’t there some­thing that looked like a path, lead­ing down to where I am?  None of that is here.

…and the sun is set­ting as a cool­ness begins to fill the air.

My heart begins to race a bit, as the thought of “lost” floats through my head.  Quickly and with­out much thought, I begin to travel back up that hill, look­ing for some­thing famil­iar, some­thing reassuring. 

Back to that sand­box for a moment. 

Every­thing around me, I know it’s there — the grass, the trees, the plants.  I know, and I don’t notice.

And to that for­est deep within…

Today I’m keenly aware of the trees, the plants, the rocks.  I notice my footsteps..does any­thing look like what I saw just ten min­utes ear­lier?  A sound…what was that?

And as quickly as it began, this feel­ing of unsassuredness…it passes.  A famil­iar sight, this big group of boul­ders, and the trail right around the corner.

Back to the Sandbox

That sand­box, it is like me.  There is love in that old box (or tire, as was the case for me).  What was out­side, it was amaz­ing and incred­i­ble.  When I was in that sand­box, though, I was focused on being in that sand­box.   I didn’t really think about it — at eight years old it was just a sand­box.  (and so much more)  See, I think that intrin­si­cally, we are love.  And at eight years old, while I didn’t define it as such, I loved life…and that was some­thing that started within.  Love the sandbox.…love the world around me.  Love me…love the world around me.

And That Sep­tem­ber Day

That Sep­tem­ber day.  Just me, far from home and all alone.  Does love for self ever feel like that?  Has the love I feel for myself ever felt like that?

I’m reminded of a time a few years back — a time where love for me wasn’t really present.  And with my own per­sonal love (real, gen­uine love) not present, my out­side view of the world (both near and far) was much more jaded, much more “see­ing the neg­a­tive”, much less openly loving.

Like this visit to the moun­tain, love…it’s like that.  There’s this path, that is much like the sur­face of who we are.  Facial expres­sions.  Appear­ance.  Friend­ships.  Fam­ily.  Etc. Etc.  There’s also a deeper part of us, too — that get­ting off of the path.  And these places “off the path”, the inner part of who we are — they can maybe seem unknown, scary, unloved, ignored, new, excit­ing, off the wall, etc, etc. 

Do you play it safe, and stay on the trails, the trails of you?  It’s so nice, this path that’s known, com­fort­able, famil­iar.  Except, are you miss­ing out on some­thing even greater — are you miss­ing out on con­nect­ing fully with who you are and the real that comes from know­ing you, see­ing you, lov­ing you?

…and I wan­der off the trail, the nicely marked trail called “my life”…

And I find these amaz­ing things that are me.  (and maybe some things I don’t really like all that well, too…the messy part)

That is me, though — all of these parts, and it’s so much more than the clearly marked trail (the image we present to the outer world).

Self Love Is

…con­nect­ing with who I am

…the imper­fect me, formed in perfection

…the nooks and cran­nies that are part of me, the things that no one sees and only I know

…the dark corners

…and the light

…is like a sand­box and veer­ing off the trail

…start­ing within and going out

Here’s How It Works For Me

When I choose to love me — the whole me — for who I am, it’s a self­less love.  It’s a self­less love as I’m con­nect­ing with me on a deeper and more per­sonal level.  And when I do, I love the world around me more fully, more genuinely…

How about you?  When you choose to get off the clearly marked trail of “you”, what do you see?  And do you love what you are being?

L O V E

…is beau­ti­ful…

Enjoyed read­ing my story of self-love?  Well, there’s more! You can also read the rest of the sto­ries writ­ten by online per­sonal devel­op­ment blog­gers in a Self Love Sto­ries Report. Eve­lyn Lim started the ball rolling by shar­ing her story in the post Self Love Story: Lessons from the Heart.  She had writ­ten it in response to an intu­itive call to cre­ate greater Self Love Aware­ness.  Eve­lyn and I are com­pil­ing this report together, and it will be avail­able as a free down­load soon!