It appears my personal work, of late, remains living into the unknown. If you've been following my recent newsletters, you know that this resulted in an extraordinary adventure in Costa Rica last summer. During which, I led my first retreat from that unknown moment-to-moment seat.

A long-time friend loves her stamp collection. Not postage stamps - the press-in-ink-and-create-an-image kind of stamp. Through some magic I am not familiar with, she manages to change the color, texture, and sparkle value of each image. At the end of the day, though, she knows to expect the same pattern, because that's the one she selected. What a perfect metaphor for how we live our lives. Well, perhaps I should not include you, but I find, too often, this is how I live my life. I manifest what I expect - what I've always gotten.

As a cat person, I don't always understand or appreciate the canine "love and loyalty" thing. I value love, of course, but having it bound to loyalty feels like too high a price. Until a couple of years ago, it never occurred to me to question why. Then my husband, Mark, made an unexpected friend.

Ah, the end of an era. Just over six years ago, I birthed The Consciousness Collaborative. It's been one of my babies, receiving my nurturing care, energy, and love.

While facilitating the Costa Rica Retreat: Embracing Magic, I fell down the rabbit hole. A good friend, who has led many extended programs, warned me in advance. "At some point, you're going to fall down. It's not optional; it's the nature of these things. The key will be what you do next."

The universe continues to offer me teachers in all forms. One recent teacher was Rob Thomas. Thomas, a musician and lead singer of Matchbox 20, performed an acoustic concert in New Jersey this past May. When he reached my side of the theater, something extraordinary happened. We consciously "created and shared a moment."

This past winter, my husband and I traveled to the Dominican Republic, our second visit in as many years. During our first visit, we experienced an occasional power loss at the house. Although we did have some concerns about the food in the fridge, and hoped that the ceiling fan would be working by the time we climbed into bed (to keep the bugs away), I learned to enjoy the quiet.

In the last few weeks, I have seen several news items that remind me of reasons to celebrate our humanity.

When it comes to personal growth work, I am a "Lifer." I just can't imagine a time when I'd settle into complacency about my own development as who I truly be. One friend likes to remind me that anything can be perverted - she's absolutely right.

Warm weather...ahhh...that feeling of melting. Just bliss. Yes, I took a break from the New England winter - hooray! My holiday reminded me, elsewhere in the world, choice is limited. Another, and perhaps more important, realization for me concerns my ability and willingness to improvise.

A few months ago, for several weeks, my house underwent a little sprucing up in preparation for selling it. Ironically, this proved far more disruptive than cordoning off a section of the house, as we did a bunch of years ago when we dormered the upstairs. During that time, my coach reminded me of a truth I'd heard before: "You don't notice that your eye sight is going until you go on vacation."

Every so often I come across a detailed description of what it means to be an introvert. The meticulously described traits resonate strongly with me, and what causes me to laugh out loud is this: in my experience, extroverts can't even stand to read the prose about introverts. Don't ask me why that's so hilarious, but it seems to be nature's version of an April Fool's Day prank.

For a moment, consider what it feels like when someone you care about criticizes you. When you hear again and again that you're just not getting it right. How do you react to the people in your life who don't accept you as you are? Do you feel more ready to welcome change in yourself?

Once upon a time, for about 12 years, I helped folks buy and sell homes, as a Realtor. Between the ages of 18-28, I moved ten times. The longest residence was two or three years, which meant some apartments, were mere months. Despite all of my varied experiences, I have to confess, I was surprised by my increased level of stress during the past few months.

In a typical day I wake up, check my email, use the facilities and feed the cats - in that order. Then, depending upon the day, I may spend hours on the phone or internet and of course regularly checking email. At the end of most days I squeeze in a little time with my DVR. That's a lot of time plugged in!

My tree was tall and somewhat slender, broadening at the top with a grace and beauty that felt shimmery. Except, I couldn't see any fruit. I looked, high and low, deep within the branches, but only the overall glint of lavender radiance was visible. And then I realized, that's the fear - that there is no fruit.

On my flight to Costa Rica a couple of weeks ago, I looked at a piece of aircraft falling apart before my eyes and asked my neighbor, "That doesn't seem quite right, does it?"

About a year ago, I participated in a 5-day intensive retreat with 50 other women. A month ago, I learned that one of them plans to marry - herself! I love this idea. The notion of first making a commitment to, learning about, moving through the hard times with, and experiencing joy with self, for self, feels so very right to me.

Lately I've been thinking; pride is tricky. Novels and films often depict a parent conveying pride in his/her child. And while the recipient characters always seem overwhelmed with joy at the parental admission...I don't know. I think sometimes there's just something off about it.

Several years ago I rented a lovely space for my Third Option Coaching practice and workshops. After selecting the paint colors, area rugs, wall art and some minimal furniture it felt both grounded and light - a perfect combination. For me it represented an outer manifestation of the best energy within me. When the time came to renew the lease, I struggled. While the space was wonderful, it was bigger than I truly needed.