Love Letter to My Life #52: Pollyanna Skeptic in the Laundry Room

Found on campus

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life.  Joyce Wycoff)    

Occasionally, there is a golden moment when a major project begins to wind down and no other project stands in line demanding attention. It is a sweetly quiet time where possibility stretches to the far horizon and idea waves break gently on the shore. 

Small tasks have moved forward slowly on a long turned-off conveyor belt of shoulds. The printer is finally unboxed, the in-basket of bills and trivia are filed or tossed, the dust-bunnies routed from under the bed, and, yesterday morning, the overdue laundry finally advanced to the laundry room.

It was quiet there, only one other person who seemed as loathe to break the morning silence as I. After pushing all the buttons to start the machinery, I sat down with coffee and journal and began to pick up threads from times gone by. Ideas that came and went; people once here and now not; plans, big and small, some done, some dropped.

In the midst of this quiet reflection, a question plopped into the pool: Why are we here? Followed by: What’s next? Not in the sense of what’s my next project, but in what’s next after this life? I thought about that a lot when I was a kid and concluded that heaven was a good idea although it sounded a bit boring floating around on a cloud, singing hosannahs.

As a lonely, only child, I was attracted to church even though my immediate family did not attend; that’s where the kids were. At a tent revival meeting, I heard a preacher say something that has stuck with me all these years: science and religion are not in conflict; it’s only the interpretation of them that differs. 

Over time, I’ve remained fascinated by the relationship of science and spirituality, however, the question of afterlife slipped to the back of the line, deemed unknowable and not important for now, hovering for some quiet moment in the future. Apparently that moment was yesterday, when nothing else was clamoring for attention. And, as books are wont to do, one showed up just this week: new but waving a flag from before. An update on a story unfinished.

In 2008, a neurosurgeon was struck by a bacterial brain infection and, within hours, was in a deep coma, where he stayed for a week before making a complete recovery. He returned with a tale of a stunning and baffling journey. Dr. Eben Alexander described his story in his best-selling book: Proof of Heaven: a Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife.

The story captivated me with its compelling description and promise of unconditional, universal love, and the interconnection of all life. I wound up filing it on the “I wonder?” shelf. Now he’s back with another book with a high-powered array of scientific-sounding cover quotes. So, I plunged into Living in a Mindful Universe, a Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Heart of Consciousness with great hope and anticipation.

Since science hasn’t been able to find a fixed location in the brain for either memory or consciousness, both have been handed off to the less definable category of “mind,” where, of course, things are much fuzzier. Alexander’s journey is an example of walking on the fuzzy side, a beautiful and hopeful side. 

I watched a couple of YouTubes which present the same story with tones of awe and wonder, and then pulled myself into amazon reviews, hoping for more confirmation. I start with the 1-star reviews, as usual, expecting the standard fare of irrelevant issues and sour grapes. Instead, I find serious debunking. Moving to the 5s, I find serious rhapsodies, most pointing to his credibility as a neurosurgeon, a man of science. 

The debunking reviews led me to an Esquire story by Luke Dittrich titled “The Prophet,” (link below) which is where the whole tale fell apart. With the amazon reviews, I began to question the story; with the Esquire story, I began to question myself. 

What I learned about myself through this brief journey was that I have a marked bias toward the positive. I want to believe in goodness and miracles (the everyday type), and that we live in a beneficent Universe. I hold onto these beliefs in good times and challenging ones and believe that, overall, they make my life better. 

Fortunately, I also believe firmly in science and truth and the process of looking into things which seem too good to be true. I want to share and spread good news, but only if it’s true, even if only experientially by a reliable source. 

Perhaps I am a Pollyanna Skeptic.

The Esquire article: https://www.esquire.com/entertainment/interviews/a23248/the-prophet/

Love Letter to My Life #51: Everything dies, but seldom when we're ready

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life. In  December, I get to celebrate both my birth and death days on the same day. Joyce Wycoff)   

    There’s something about having done 50 of these love letters that makes me wonder where I’ll be on #100 … assuming, of course, I make it that far. 49 months from now will put me at October 17, 2026, and safely into my 80s.  Not only is there a possibility that I won’t be here, there’s a probability that death will touch my life in the next four years, whether it be friends, acquaintances, the ultimate loss of whole species, or the multitudes that will be lost to climate disasters, famine, plague, war and other violence. Everything dies, but seldom when we’re ready.

    This week Yvon Chouinard and his family gifted Patagonia, valued at $3 Billion, to the earth. They resigned from the billionaire club and constructed an elaborate system which is estimated to yield approximately $100 million dollars per year to be used for fighting the environmental crisis and defending nature.

    Patagonia has contributed to this same cause for 50 years and has already contributed over $140 million to environmental conservation. I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking, if the Chouinards can do that, what can I do? If we all rise to the Patagonia challenge of doing whatever we can, perhaps we can stop this slide into chaos.

    Today, I took a break from a long run of focused work and decided to “make something beautiful.” I started trying this and then that, and experimenting with a couple of Photoshop tricks. It was going well enough until the words “everything dies” registered in my brain and things started turning dark.

    An egret wandered into the picture early on. That wasn't surprising. I fell in love with egrets while in Ajijic and spent many late afternoons taking hundreds of photos of them reflected on the water, colored by the setting sun. They appeared in a lot of photos and paintings. Here are just a few:

Love is in the air

Egret Evening

Egret Dance

    However, today was different. Not at first, but gradually the image took on an ominous feel until I finally recognized it as The Last Egret. I know there will be a last egret for me, just as there will be a last everything. The particular one in this image was in Florida and now I see them at the lagoon near me. I don’t know when I will see the last one, but knowing that I will makes my heart ache. 

The Last Egret

   Knowing that there may come a day when every egret is gone is heart breaking. I don’t know what I can do to prevent or delay that day but Yvon Chouinard just convinced me that I can do something … I have to do something. I hope you … all of you ... find your own something.

Love Letter to My Life #50: Asking for what I want

Wisdom Moon

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life. In  December, I get to celebrate both my birth and death days on the same day. Joyce Wycoff)

"No matter what your condition in life, 

you can always be grateful."

 -- David Meltzer, Co-founder of Sports 1 Marketing

    The podcast with David Meltzer on Erik Huberman’s “HawkeTalk” was a happenstance. I had miles to go and had run out of my favorite podcast episodes. Meltzer was a sports guy, a rich sports guy, not my normal fount of wisdom, but there I was. Plus, one of my repeating life lessons is that you never know where wisdom and inspiration will show up. Once again it happened; listening to David Meltzer changed my trajectory.

Perhaps I was intrigued by his stated mission: empower OVER 1 billion people to be happy. And also by his focus on gratitude and his primary advice: ask for help. Everyone needs help and, if we believe we live in abundant Universe, there are people in the world who can help us. All we have to do is ask.

Like a lot of us, I grew up in a world that believed that asking for help was a sign of weakness, in schools where asking for help was often called “cheating,” in jobs where asking for help could be seen as not being competent. 

Several years ago, I got to see the other side. I lived with my favorite aunt for two years. She was the person who took in kids who had no place else to go; the one who baked cookies and always had another place at the table for anyone who was hungry. In our final time together though, she had become frail and needed care. Family and friends came from all around to help, to show their love and repay in some way all that she had given them. But, she had a difficult time accepting our help. She needed to be the giver and never realized what a gift she was giving us to be able to take care of her in small repayment of all of her kindness.

It's easy to understand that asking for help is a gift, since it is an implication of trust and respect. However, it takes courage to risk the possibility that the answer might be “no” or that we would be seen as weak or needy.

Jeffrey Davis from Tracking Wonder states, “Social psychology shows people are eager to help—if you know how to ask.”

Davis goes on to explain our reluctance to ask for help, “The mere thought of asking for help can eat away at our ego, undermine our confidence, make us question our abilities, and even paralyze us with anxiety. Yet in modern life—at a time when we are more digitally connected and emotionally detached than ever—the stark reality is that no one can go it alone.”

When David Meltzer encouraged his audience to start asking for help, I felt like he was speaking directly to me, pointing out a weakness of mine that needed work. 

So, I made a commitment to practice asking … 365 times!

At first, I thought I would find a way to ask for something every day and then realized that was a bit whacko. But, I liked the number and set forth to figure out how to ask for what I wanted in a way that might elicit an occasional “yes.” Surely, if I asked enough, someone would say, "yes."

Jeffrey Davis had some great tips … until I got to #3 Make it personal. Don’t ask for help over email or text. I almost abandoned the project right there. Getting a “no” or a no response by email is relatively painless. To actually call someone would put a whole lot more skin in the game. Plus, I don’t really know some of the people I want to ask for help.

By this time, I was on #31 of my goal to ask 365 times. While I had received two substantially positive responses, I realized I was approaching this project with an expectation of failure. I was playing safe when this deserved so much more. If I wasn't willing to risk more, why should I expect someone to support me?

This is where I am today and I’m making a commitment to learn more, risk more, be more personal, find a way to be clear in what I’m asking for and know how to craft win-win asks that have a better chance to succeed.

One of the reasons I'm willing to keep going on this project which is definitely outside my comfort zone is my passion for the project I want help with: Gratitude Mojo ... your transformation journey for a better life. For the past 13 months, Lynne Snead and I have been creating a journal/workbook focused on gratitude, self-awareness, and self-appreciation based on ancient wisdom and current neuroscience. We have seen major shifts in our own lives and in the lives of a few friends who have been on the journey with us. 

The deeper we go, the more we find that GRATITUDE is the foundation of everything ... happiness, health, success, relationships ... even huge things like peace, and climate change. What we are grateful for, we protect.

The journal/workbook is in final edit, the website will be done in days, and there is now a newsletter to support people on their journey into gratitude practice, which we believe is as necessary as brushing your teeth ... and almost as easy. However, current neuroscience has revealed that it's not as simple as what is commonly claimed. Noting 2-3 things a day you're grateful for is a lovely start, but there is more and doing the right things for a few minutes a day can make a major difference in the results you see.

So here's my ask #31: Please subscribe to the Gratitude Mojo Newsletter. It's free and will help you deepen your understanding and practice of gratitude. Eventually, you may want to buy the journal/workbook ... subscribing now will provide you with inspiration, research and notices of the upcoming release of the journal/workbook and webinars.

More next month.

Sources:

7 Keys To Asking For What You Really Want (So You Get It!) by Dr Margie Warrell, Forbes, April 24, 2013

4 Tips to Effectively Ask for Help—and Get a Yes, by Jeffrey Davis, Psychology Today, February 28, 2020

Love Letters to My Life #49: Settling in to my forever home

Santa Barbara: views and natural beauty everywhere

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life. Once a year I get to celebrate both my birth and death days on the same day. -- Joyce Wycoff)    

     Two months ago, I moved into a new life.

Along with 18 boxes, two chairs and a mattress from my former life, I moved into 2 clean, white, and very empty rooms, amidst a community of 215 seniors. 

As many of you know, I’ve moved around … 60+ homes through 9 states and Mexico, winding up back in a place I fell passionately in love with 42 years ago: Santa Barbara. I never dreamed I would be able to return … the housing prices are as ridiculous as you’ve heard.

But, here I am, grateful to find a unique and affordable retirement community … the mountains and ocean feel like a familiar embrace. Long-time friendships are rekindled; new ones sprouting. Memories of former years still drift like fog through the streets, occasionally melancholy but mostly sweet.

During these first two months, I’ve sold both of my RVs and kluged together the basics of what I’m now thinking of as my forever home. 

I’m going to let a few photos do the talking on this love letter.

Beach colors

Mediterranean climate where everything grows.

UCSB Student housing mural.

Play dates and new experiences.

Mountains and ocean.

Perhaps, a mural I found today offers the punchline to this story:

Love Letters to My Life #48: What if this were the last time ...

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life.

- Joyce Wycoff)

One day … or maybe night … your mom or your dad was holding you and put you down. You didn’t know it then … they didn’t know it then … but that was the last time they held you in their arms and then put you down to walk on your own.

In a podcast with Tim Ferriss (#599), Sam Harris reminds us that everything has a last time. This week, I walked down to the beach at the end of my street. When I walked away, I didn’t think about the possibility that it was the last time I would see that beautiful Pacific Ocean. Turns out, it wasn’t. I saw it the next day and the day after that. If I’m lucky, I might see it a thousand times more.

However, knowing that there will come a last time for everything, makes each time, each moment more precious. If you could go through your day embracing each moment as possibly the last time you will have that experience ... whether it's ice cream or the voice of a loved one or the feel of words flowing from your brain onto a keyboard or simply sitting in your favorite chair gazing out the window ... you might not make it through the day without weeping for the joy of it all … or feeling the overwhelming grief of knowing that this moment will never happen again.

I wonder if this is the underlying reason I take photographs? Each one could represent the last time … actually the only time … that particular light will fall on that particular leaf, casting that particular shadow at that particular angle. Taking photos slows me down, engages my attention, allows me to examine the momentary beauty of a particular ordinary thing in all its luminous glory.

Everything ends.

There will always be a last time. 

Knowing that is a powerful reminder to appreciate now.

For the coming month, I want to take this “last time” thought to a deeper level and truly look at my life and the world around me from the perspective of:

“What if this were the last time 

I ever saw or experienced this?”

Love Letters to My Life: #47 - A new form of freedom with gratitude to Rich Strike

A labyrinth near my new home

One of the few times I've ever felt depressed was when I bought my first house with my first husband. We were on our way back to college after he returned from Vietnam and finished his tour with the Marine Corps. The government offered some sort of assistance for first-time home buyers and tacked on a requirement that it be new construction. There was ONE such house available in Stillwater, Oklahoma ... a tiny cookie-cutter, scraped-bare dirt lawn on the edge of town. One day, a lonesome cow wandered into our yard and ate my newly planted red bud tree. It was that kind of place.

     We were thrilled to find affordable housing, however that's when a strange spiral of depression began. I knew I should feel elated, however, instead, I felt burdened. Instead of feeling a pride of ownership, I felt owned and some sort of fear about losing something I wasn't even sure I wanted.

Over time though, I put the feeling aside and went on with life, bought and sold many houses, tried different housing options, and one more husband (who left way too soon). It wasn’t until this week when I was moving my thrice-downsized stuff into Friendship Manor, a senior community on the edge of the UCSB campus, that I realized the feeling of being owned by houses had evaporated. I was/am free … free of the expectations and responsibility of home ownership. Free of the expectations of being an “adult.” 

Somehow I’ve entered a zone of freedom from expectations … most likely of my own creation since I don’t think other people are bothering to create expectations of me. As the old joke goes: when I was 20, I worried about what people thought about me. When I turned 40, I quit worrying about what people thought about me. When I was 60, I realized they weren’t thinking about me. 

As I approach the next number in that double-decade series, I am truly realizing that this is MY life, the only life I have and what I do with it is my choice. This morning, a friend used the metaphor that we are in the home stretch and it made me think of Rich Strike, the horse that stole our hearts at the Kentucky Derby. Rich Strike lit our imaginations and brought home the message that it’s not over until it’s over and the expectations of others do not create our reality.

Few of us will carry off a win like the Kentucky Derby, however, as long as we’re running our own race, doing what we love to do, and giving it our all, we will take home the roses. And, there's another metaphor ... what exactly do we ... each one of us ... mean by "take home the roses?"

Love Letters to My Life: #46 - Is life just pebbles on the beach?

    

The Gathering

   It is claimed that just before he died, Isaac Newton said, “I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself, I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.”

    While these words have not been found in his writings, it is a charming thought and makes me wonder how much any of us know about the great ocean of truth which lies all undiscovered around us as well as the great joy of playing with pebbles and shells on the beach.

    Thoughts of the beach come like waves as I contemplate returning to Santa Barbara, a place I fell head-over-heels in love with in 1980. The combination of mountains and beach was … and is … everything this kid from Kansas dreamed of. In a few days, I will find out if there is an apartment waiting for me in a senior community in Isla Vista, the community surrounding UCSB. It’s an interesting story and one that is offering me a chance to return to the only place that feels like home.

    In the late 60s when protests and riots were inflamed by the war in Vietnam, a new dorm had just been built. One February night in 1970, a riot began, the Bank of America building was burned, Governor Reagan sent in the National Guard, curfew was declared, and SWAT teams were sent in control the situation. Two months later, a 22-year-old student was shot and killed, some say as he tried to set fire to the temporary BofA building; others say he was putting out the fire.

    Anyway, with all the unrest, student population plummeted and a group of people purchased the now-unneeded dorm and turned it into a non-profit Senior Community and, possibly, my forever-home. (It’s not polite to guffaw!)

     In the midst of thinking about this possible move, I found an artist statement I wrote for a gallery show in Reno … in a unique, community-oriented auto body repair shop! I needed a new artist statement, one which matched the humor and outlook of the venue. I don’t remember writing this, but here it is:

Connecting through Art

beauty is not a luxury … 

nor an art,

it is the soul’s breath of life,

infilling each cell, 

moment by moment.

In my electronic art studio, a mystical process begins.

Gathered beauties, stored in a lonely room,

 begin to call to each other,

finding playmates, so to speak,

running through the halls of imagination,

changing frocks or hats,

trying this color or that,

like children in a costume shop.

           This costume play 

     continues as I follow along,

pushing buttons, sometimes suggesting a possibility,

              until a young one squeals in delight,

                    shows me something new.

             Suddenly, a fog lifts, my breath catches,

       as a colorful image, never before seen, appears.

       After that, it’s my job to sweep up the shop,

          rehang the costumes, tidy the supplies,

           and prepare for another day of play.

Love Letters to My Life: #45 The Gifts of Solitude and Uncertainty

Turkey Feather - after the fight

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life.)    

“To live a spiritual life we must first find the courage to enter into the desert of our loneliness and to change it by gentle and persistent efforts into a garden of solitude. The movement from loneliness to solitude, however, is the beginning of any spiritual life because it it is the movement from the restless senses to the restful spirit, from the outward-reaching cravings to the inward-reaching search, from the fearful clinging to the fearless play.”

― Henri J.M. Nouwen, Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life 

In 2009, two years after Richard died, I finally wound up alone. I had delayed the approaching unknown for two years by living with family, but now the walls reverberated with the silence of an empty life. A friend reminded me that I needed to learn to live alone without feeling lonely. It wasn’t a new thought, but suddenly I understood that it wasn’t going to be easy.

    In the thirteen years since then, I’ve moved ten times. While each move made sense at the time, I now wonder if the fear of loneliness was a factor in that constant unsettling and resettling, as if the loneliness would disappear somewhere else.

    Many things shifted during all that movement, and perhaps the fear of loneliness finally quieted. In 2019 after I had been in Mexico for two years exploring that beautiful land, I had an overwhelming feeling that I needed to come “home,” so I moved to Reno, which was a bit odd since I had never lived there. However, what little family I had was there, just a few months later COVID hit. Suddenly, I was locked down. Meeting new people was almost impossible and, other than seeing family occasionally, I was truly alone.

It was different this time, I began to savor it.  

   

    I began work on an art project centered around the pandemic and also started escaping into nature more. During that strange, uncertain time,  solitude started to feel like a friend. It still felt awkward because the word solitude had been attached to an image of a cabin deep in the woods. How could this be solitude if I still saw people on my walks, talked to people (at a distance) and watched the world adjusting on social media? 

However, the feelings loneliness, or that I was missing something had faded. I felt quiet and amazingly peaceful. My life during the pandemic required minimal adjustment since I didn’t have a job or children. All I had was time and it was all mine to do with as I wished. That took on a rhythm as I made a lot of art, wrote my impressions of the world as I saw it through social media, contemplated life and what was truly important to me. What emerged was a strong need to be closer to nature. However, that required another move.

It’s been about a year and a half now that I’ve lived in two stationary RVs: one summer place on a beautiful lake in Northern California, and the rest of the year in an oak forest just outside the mountain town of Julian in San Diego County. 

I’ve loved both places, however another move now presents itself. In 1980, Richard and I moved to Santa Barbara and I fell head over heels in love with its beauty, weather, beaches ... just everything about it. When a shift in job situations hit in 2002, we were forced to move. I grieved as I thought it was forever, knowing we would never be able to re-enter the real estate market. I closed the Santa Barbara door, thinking it was forever.

Now, a possibility has appeared and I’m torn between excitement at being able to move back and knowing that I will probably never again have this almost unbroken solitude that I have come to cherish. In the late 60s when the anti-war movement was turning violent, Isla Vista, the home of the University of California, Santa Barbara, became the site of riots and the burning of the Bank of America.

One side effect of that time was that student population plummeted and a dorm that had just been completed wasn’t needed. It was sold to a group of investors who turned it into a non-profit senior apartment complex … and, probably, my new home. I’m on the waiting list and it looks like a couple of possibilities are becoming available.

It has been interesting to watch my mood swings, from deep excitement to an underlying unease. Fortunately, I’ve had three months to unpack the conflicting feelings and recognize that this is a major change, and most likely a permanent one. Being part of a close community is not something I’ve done for a long time and, therefore, it’s clouded by uncertainty.

Turning to my quote database, the first that came up was from the Buddhist Monk Yoshida Kenko who reminds me.

"Life's most precious gift is uncertainty."

That makes me smile. We’ll see where I am this time next month.

Love Letters to My Life #44: Nuggets of Inspiration and Wisdom

"Maggi's Spirit"

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life. -- Joyce Wycoff)

In 1982, I met a woman for lunch and picked her brain about a possible project. I don’t remember her name, but she changed my life.  

While the woman warned me about the hazards of the project I was contemplating, she also gave me an unexpected gift … a quote, words that inflamed me and washed away all her cautious words. That quote was, and continues to be, a universal favorite even though it was attributed to Goethe who probably never said it. The Scottish writer W.H. Murray has been given credit for it although Goethe might have inspired his stirring words:

    "Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. 

     Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it!”
 

The project came and went, a somewhat success and a definite learning adventure, leaving behind a passion for quotes which launched me into a lifetime of collecting bits of wisdom from people, famous and unknown, living and dead. Now, forty years later, I find myself still digging through my collection, which has grown to several thousands, and frequently scouring the millions of quotes available on the Internet in search of more nuggets of inspiration and wisdom.

This collection of quotes was not done with an end result in mind, however, it finally seems to be coming into its own. My current project is a gratitude-focused, guided-life journal titled Gratitude Mojo. As I enter the final phase of development of this project, what strikes me is how much my decades of quote collection has made this project possible and joyful. While I tend to use a few quotes in all my projects, they are a central feature of this journal. Like Br’er Rabbit, I have been thrown into my briar patch home, spending delightful hours choosing just the right quote to inspire my journalers of the future. 

***

Maggi Butterfield-Brown

About "Maggi's Spirit": Many years ago, I had the great good fortune to meet and become friends with Maggi, another woman who changed my life. Maggi was magic and lived in a magical octagon house filled with art and treasures. She allowed me to explore her house with my camera and I wound up making a piece of art that included some personal elements not meant for anyone but her. However, when I took away those elements, I was left with "Maggi's Spirit," a piece which highlights the values she embodied: love, beauty, nature, joy, and spirit.

Maggi danced off to another world about this time six years ago, however, she will long be remembered by so many of us. This is the memorial I wrote after she left:

Yesterday, a spirit left her physical body. I’m sure there were many across the planet who did the same, each leaving holes in their small circles of friends and family. Each leaving a wake of loss and grief.

My focus today, though, is Maggi Butterfield-Brown. It’s hard to capture Maggi in words; pictures of her are so much better. Seeing Maggi meant seeing her laughing, dancing, twirling in any of the outrageously unique and beautiful outfits she put together with an artist’s eye. Maggi’s energy was a vortex that pulled people in and made them feel bigger, better, more creative, and more alive.

Without her, without knowing that I will see that smile again, I feel smaller, somehow deflated. Yet, I know that’s the last thing Maggi would want for her flock. She was a builder-upper, an encourager. She topped off our mugs of love until they overflowed. No one went unloved in Maggi’s presence.

When we talked and Maggi told me her stories, I tried to figure out where all that love and overflowing generosity came from. She didn’t have a safe, loving childhood. She didn’t have a “normal” marriage-and-children life. She was an accountant, for heaven’s sake. 

The only thing I can figure is that she brought it with her. She came swaddled in love and bright colors and her purpose was to share those things with as many people as possible. She did her job with pizazz and such incredible grace. Just watching her laughing dance was enough to make me want to climb new mountains.

I’m sure there are many of us this morning trying to figure out how to go forward without Maggi’s colorful self as part of our physical world. To say she will be missed doesn’t begin to describe our loss. However, with the grief comes an overwhelming gratitude for having been in Maggi’s presence even for a short while.

Perhaps it’s that gratitude that we have to hold onto. Also, for me, I feel a call to step deeper into my own spirit and life and try to pass along some of Maggi’s love and generosity, some of her colorful energy, some piece of that incredible gift that she gave so many of us. 

Thank you, Maggi … I hope you know how many of us love you and how wide your gift of love has spread. Dance on.