Synchronicity

When No One Signs Up for Your Retreat, or, On 'Failing' with Dignity

This blog is no stranger to me sharing the ups and downs of this Nurture adventure and how it has affected me personally. Admittedly, despite the fact that I have committed to making (really delicious, organic) lemonade out of some metaphorical lemons, I am still struggling with how best to share with you what is going on now. 

The truth? Not a single person signed up for the spring retreat, which is set to happen next week. 

Insert: all the normal human reactions to this type of situation. Anxiety. Fear. A feeling of failure. Self Pity. Yep, the ugly kind. The mindless inhalation of way more than the 'recommended serving' of crispy, salty food. 

What I wrote that changed everything. It even birthed this retreat.

I've got a juicy little tidbit for you this week (well, little is relative – it's a good long share). As I was doing some behind-the-scenes preparation for the upcoming retreat, I needed to comb through some old Nurture Google docs. It took me waaayyy back to when Nurture first started and was still operating under my personal email address. While in the archives, I stumbled across an 'archeological specimen' I think you might enjoy. It is a journal entry I wrote to myself from a place of personal darkness and creative stagnancy, PRE-NURTURE.

Little did back-then me know that a mere 6 days later (!!!), I would fatefully meet a stranger – the woman whose off-handed comment unknowingly changed my life.

She gifted me with these magical words: “Well, Sonja, I don't have a magic wand to give you a farmhouse, but I DO have an idea. You should take your love of food, creativity and self care and combine them into a weekend retreat and rent a farmhouse for a few days!” This website is a good indicator of what happened from there, which is nothing short of magic (oh, and also a lot of hard work. That too.)

You Care Too Much

I have thrown myself at my fair share of metabolic fires lately, especially in this past half year. After years of staleness and stagnation and stubborness, something in me finally clicked and I was like: no more.

I figured it was high time I met myself and learned to love what I found there and not settle for anything less than love in return. 

I'm writing you this post, very late at night, past my bedtime actually, mere moments after slaying a personal dragon. I'm finding it a bit difficult to put words on the page, because I'm still basking in the afterglow – that very particular lightness of being that occurs when you act in discord with your past and in perfect harmony with your soul and the future it desires. I told my soul it could go frolic in my mind field all it wants as long as it doesn't bother me while I write. When I'm happy, I don't tend to express it very largely, but I do have a field in my mind where my soul does things I would never do in real life, like somersaults, backflips and Maria von Trapp “The Hills are Alive” twirls. That's what it's doing right now as I type.

When what you need is a miracle, tell the Truth.

While searching for a creative way to frame this week's blog story, I found myself not really resonating with any of them. I normally LOVE this part of writing to you – sitting in front of a blank page (or screen) and 'listening' for what is being asked to be written. It's a creative partnership between me and the Truth. This week, every idea I put out there got thrown back at me, like old fruit at a bad joke. Too lame; too needy; trying to be too clever; too vague; too obscure; too much. At first, I fell back into old ways of thinking where I beat myself up at 'not being able to get it right' and then realized I wasn't actually listening. Suddenly, it clicked: this week, what's 'right' is to tell you the facts and nothing more. The facts ARE the story.