How can water help you be more creative?

“When I am on the verge of losing it, raging or spinning out, spiraling into how exhausted or off track I am, I call out to myself and say, `Honey, you are just thirsty. Drink. Take a drink.’”

My client said this in an appraisal of herself and I almost dropped the phone at her clarity. We are thirsty. We are dehydrated and standing atop a planet full of water.

I do this to myself too: Search and search, turning away from the simple answers because we have turned away from simplicity, or as likely, we are more comfortable struggling for our power than residing in it.

The Now only needs our presence. Asks for our presence and that simplicity is startling enough to stop your breath, and yet one of the easiest ways to be present is to breathe.

Take a breath now.

Let it go.

Take another breath now, and let that one leave, too.

 [Click here to receive a free meditation to find your center]

Why do we need to be reminded to breathe?

Why when we are invited to breathe do we relish in it yet this autonomic function is forgotten as so as we turn away our attention. Mind you, it is not the function ceasing, only our awareness of it.

This client is not the first woman to mention that “a lot of things go wrong when we are dehydrated.” That we cannot fully function without having our basics covered. Just like the overly used car analogy: we too cannot run on an empty tank; what is even more fascinating is that we are more sure to attend to the cars’ mechanics than our own. Both operating vehicles, car and body, have become things that only the “experts” know – and that is where we have gone off track so to speak. Fine that Paul, my favorite mechanic at Almond Street Garage, is keeping me informed of my cars’ needs, yet I need to be mindful of my body’s needs. I need that relationship. That is not only my responsibility as much as a key to creating my joy.

In this Now moment can we feel our feet? How about the breeze – can we reconnect to the cycle that supports life, our own and that all around us? We are mindful what gas we place in our car. Are we mindful of the octane that we put in our body? I mean really. Are we consuming quality or are we snacking on marketing? There is a major difference.

Water has become a commodity.

We can change that.

Patterns can be undone.

Water is a necessity for you.

It is.

Your power is a necessity for your creation.

Your connection to yourself is a key to your power.

So coming back to my client’s insight, our conversation wound back to: Keep it simple.

Are you doing the basic things to help keep your cup full. I mean, the metaphors are there for a reason why not use them?

Are we checking in with the simplest action or answer first?

Are we considering our body state or only our to-do list?

Can we look at the natural world for examples?

Hint. Your pets drink water when they need to. Plants bend towards the sun. Nature uses the same building blocks for you.

So Honey, take a drink.

Then with that satiated compassion for Self, let’s look at what else you are thirsting for out of your life because beauty abounds here.

Small actions can add up to big pattern changes. if you are looking to create change, establish new patterns and live more like you, you can start here: to receive a free meditation to find your center.

Stay connected,

— Kate

How a forgotten mask gave me a smile

I was holding my son’s hand as we both toddled up to Native Cafe in quaint Doylestown, PA before hitting the newly opened playground: treats for us both.

“Ah, I forgot my mask in –“ slipped out of my mouth, mainly to my son, and three heads sitting outside the coffee shop all turned to me in empathy. That is when I realized the depth of our shared experience.

Now let me interject, without a toddler, I would have simply turned around and walked to the car. If you aren’t intimate with toddler rhythm, in short when you disrupt it the turnaround time can be tricky, especially when you are playground bound.

So I was halted in the midst of the sympathy and the silliness of my forgetting, when a masked woman to my left, coffee in hand says to me, “I’m waiting on my food order, I’ll run in and get your coffee for you.” 

And there it was. Our humanity. 

I handed my debit card over. She walked in and ordered, ran my debit card back to me then waited for my coffee, masked.

When she came out with my drink, I looked her in the eye and said: “I won’t forget this latte for a long time.”

We both smiled that coffee lover smile, that mom to mom smile, that woman to woman smile, that person to person smile.

With loved up latte in hand, my son and I continued our walk to the playground where children smiled down slides and laughed running over hills. Not too close. Not too many – but most importantly with the joy and innocence of children.

photo by Kate Brenton, unfiltered

I looked up at this Grandmother tree and thought of all the conversations she has sheltered. All the boo boo’s she has held. All the birthday cupcakes, breakups, and new friendships under her arms have come and gone. When I left, there were parents gathered making paper ships with their sons, to set forth, sea-bearing and assured of new horizons, new sunsets and sunrises.

As we weave our way through uncertainty, let us tend the light of connection and tend to the Eldership in nature all around, teaching us how to remain strong and steady, rhythmic and rooted as we grow through times of great change.

“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.”  William Shakespeare

Share your stories or hear more of this good stuff by clicking here.

How to listen: Stories of a Hawaiian student

A story about listening, from the archives of my teaching in the middle of the Pacific. We often say that children have so much to teach us; however, talking is not what creates change: it is listening and learning. This excerpt from my role as an educator will be included in Start Now, Love, a little guide to keep going.

I hope this brings you some inspiration + enjoyment,

Kate

______

Brains storming.  A component of writing that is essential, whether acknowledged, or not. For some it happens easily, for some a struggle.  Huddled over their work, in a fluorescently lit, tan cinder-block room, the none-too convinced class of community-college writers awaited their next wrestling match.

            I had been teaching writing, in one form or another, for a decade. I was still adjusting to the fact that I had been doing anything for a decade, professionally, but that’s another story. On the Mainland, as the contiguous United States are called in Hawai’i, I had wrangled minds into the finer arts of language and writing. The concepts were the same; now, however, my playing field contained coconut trees and luscious greenery.

“Okay, so  the important part is not to censor yourself,” I scanned the eyes that peered back at me. “Just write whatever comes to mind, and keep writing. Good, bad, ugly, makes-no-sense,” a couple threw me some chuckles, “just keep writing.     Your topic to brainstorm, both sides of the argument: Taking Art Out of the Schools.”

            A few groans escaped, as I continued, “What would someone say that would advocate the schools saying. And advocate means…?”

            “Argue for,” a voice offered.

            “Right. Who would argue for, or advocate, to keep the Art in schools. And then, who or – what would the reasons be – to argue that art doesn’t need to stay in schools?” Then heads went down, the pencils started, and I began making my laps of paper-peering.

            Heated scribbles, waning sighs, and labored breathing were among the indications that the students had begun. One student, I shall call him Koa, was clearly thinking, but nothing was moving into form. It was only the second week of classes, but I had already come to admire this student: strong, intelligent, independent and kind.

           I slipped into a chair next to him and asked,   “So--?” with a my leading pause.

            “I can’t think of anything, Miss.”

            “No?” I thought of the countless times that I had given this prompt on the Mainland, and students promptly spit back their utilitarian answers.

            “No – I mean, I know that you are asking, and I know why you would want me to think of something, but I don’t agree…”

            Intrigued, I cocked my head to the side.

            “I mean, you want me to say why someone would want to pull art out – right?”

            “Yes,” I answered. “Now, Koa..I am not asking you to agree with art being taken out – “

            “Yeah, but you are asking me to imagine why someone would tell you that it is ok to take art out?”

            “Yes.”

           “Yeah, see that’s the problem.  I know,” Koa continued, “that you want me to say, that it saves money and that everyone is not an artist, and stuff like that…”

           “Yesssss,” I repeated, hearing my own predictability. “But – you don’t have to believe the reasons; it’s just a way to see what the other side would say, so you can predict their argument. See it from both sides, and understand…”

          “That’s it, Miss,” Koa switched gears, to explain to his teacher. “Ok, so someone would say, ‘Take art out of schools, because not everyone is an artist.’”

          I shook my head.

          “See, I don’t think that is true. I think everyone is an artist. And people think they aren’t good at art because they sat next to some kid that was better than them, or someone told them they were bad.”

           I exhaled.

          “See, there is always going to be someone that is better than you, but it doesn’t mean that you aren’t good at Art. You could play ukulele, do ceramics, draw – everyone can create something.”

           I listened.

          “And, maybe the teacher thought there was only one way, or they liked one style better than another, so then the kid thinks he’s crap – Sorry, Miss – but it’s not true. It’s just one teacher’s opinion.”

          I drank Koa’s every word.

         “And because this kid thinks he’s no good, then he just decides that art isn’t needed. Or maybe that art doesn’t make money, but art helps everything. If you sing, you dance, you draw, whatevah (his Pidgin slipped in) -- then that makes you a more well rounded person, and that leads to things, too. It’s not just the one step of money, or whatevah, like Math or writing…it’s not just one thing.. I just don’t agree --”

        This, to me is the practically imperceptible difference of Hawaii: When tourists land here, they breath in the air; they soak in the sun; they pull in the beauty, but they can’t pinpoint the one thing that is unmistakably, Hawaiian.  And this twenty-something who was returning to school, after being out for ten years and waitering-car-parking-tourist-catering service jobs, until realizing he would need his own business to afford a home on the island that me loved, served up to me, the aloha difference. Just a sliver. I, in reality, was a tourist, too, although I lived here, and  am sure there is a depth that I may never access. But in this moment, I was listening.

       Life was not just about the creation for consumption. Life was more. There is value in beauty – look out the window – there is value in song – listen to the pules- there is value in who you are, as you, for you. Just being you. Expression is a product of living; creating beauty was what the island of Kauai was all about. Beauty around. Beauty within. Respect for all. Hō‘ihi.

       I wanted to rush this man, with the brilliance and innocence of a loved child, and hold him in gratefulness, then clone him, and send him all over the Mainland, and plead and pray that people would actually hear what it was that he was saying.

      What I did: was smile. What else could I do? I smiled. I shook my head and gratefully, graciously, accepted “defeat.”

     “You don’t have to.”

     “What, Miss?” Koa asked.

“Just  - you don’t have to. You don’t have to bother with the other side. I hear you.”

“No, Miss, I can if you want I just was saying--”

And our eyes met, and I hope - although I will never know-  that Koa saw my gratitude and admiration. I hoped,  and still do, that he will be heard, in the quiet way he will live his life on this beautiful Kaua`i, land of boundless gifts, by anyone who is able to listen.

The moment broke, and I muttered, “Just, just go ahead with your thesis. You’re done brainstorming.”

“Alright Miss,” he chuckled. “Whatevah you say.”

Dear reader, when was the last time you had to place down your plans so that you could reach your goal of learning? I’d love to know. We can grow, together.