Listen to their story

Conversations.  Interviewing.  Networking.  Personal Commercial/Sales Pitch.  Stories.

Breathe.  Ground Yourself.  Enjoy the beauty around you.  LISTEN.

Repeat.

This past month plus at home in Maine has been any version of the above.  With joy in my heart I have found networking groups, gone out on 1-on-1's with folks, had amazingly insightful conversations, and have enjoyed the connection found when conversing with others.  What incredible stories we each have filled with unique experiences and perspectives.

Boston Native with a passion for health.  Manager turned Reiki master.  Postman turned Financial advisor.  Insurance agent by day, Fire fighter in heart.  RN who believes Health care is really Sick Care and is pioneering her own change movement.  Entrepreneurs aplenty.  TV reporter visiting Maine 14 years ago, who never left.  Chance meetings, scheduled meetings, stories all around.

I am repeatedly reminded of some recently read articles and even fictional stories that describe typical conversational habits.  The parts where we stop listening and instead are eager to jump in with our next thought or immediately find a reference point and follow up with an "I or my" statement about the other person's experience, instead of simply commenting on the point or asking a question to further the other person's story.  How it's very typical to have a desire to tell our story, to express ourselves in conversation.

It's a testament to my time off and cultivating self awareness that I have been able recognize myself slipping into this trap of "I & my" and not reciprocating the questions as well.  Of thinking more of my response than really listening to the other person.  At those times I would stop my mind, (try not to overly criticize myself), and re-devote my attention to the other person.  And in those moments, I felt a softening, a gratitude, to be able to connect with another person.  I admit, it's still a habit I'm trying to overcome, and I'm thankful for the self-awareness. 

It's natural for us as humans to find similarities with others, just as much as we also immediately recognize differences, the mine vs. yours.  It's such a joy when a shared point of reference can be expressed.  Another thing that joins you to me.  I'm finding more and more that when I can relax and listen, that softening becomes more natural and I am able to enjoy the story being told.  Our communities are made of such diverse individuals with extraordinary skills, perspectives, journeys, and advice.

It's with a prayer of thanks, and a grateful heart that I reflect on all the serendipitous meetings I have encountered in just 4 weeks home and the opportunities to experience the generosity of others; their time, wisdom, and sneak peeks into the passionate works they provide for others.

These encounters help shape the world I am creating for myself and others, and I look forward to paying it forward every day possible!

The Joy of ol' Timers

I'm sitting here at the (newly-built to me) Tim Hortons, listening with half an ear to the ol' timers coffee talk at tables around me.  Occasionally I'll stop what I'm doing, and find myself gazing around the lobby with a smile.  Here are 'my people', here are the ones that make me smile with pride, here are the men and women who have roughed it out, survived and still have a smile on their faces.

And as I come back to the present and really look at the Vetaran with his brand-new, unfitted U.S. Army ball cap, the weather worn farmer with camo hat and thick black rimmed glasses, the sturdy older woman with her Halloween embroidered bright orange sweatshirt, and all those in between, I'm also struck by the many piercing ice-blue eyes that I haven't noticed elsewhere in such abundance.  Piercing ice-blue eyes that are so common in my own family, and that I now know I associate with 'Home.'

And thus, I sit here and smile, feeling a sense of connectedness that makes my heart sing.  These are truly 'those who came before,' who represent the way things were.  And a sense of deja vu washes over me, as I liken this gathering, this rhythm and murmur of speech and smiles, to many conversations at the Farm, barn talks at the fairs, and countless family gatherings - it's the music of my younger years.  Steady voices, rarely a voice raised to make a point, no overly boastful tones, just pure down home conversation mingled with low chuckles and many smiling faces.

With that recognition, I get back to work with a lighter, grateful heart and a smile on my face - thankful for this unexpected gift and to be home.