Day 26 of 40 Days of Story: What’s the Soundtrack of Your Story Right Now?

I’m curious what your go-to-on-repeat-can’t-get-out-of-your-head song is today.


Mine? Come Along by Cosmo Sheldrake.


It’s quirky and merry and I fell head over heels with it on the first play.


It’s a young relationship. It’s only been a week since I first heard it. I was on a road-trip with some new friends. We had the top down on my little bug driving at the beach and decided to take turns being DJ. It was a blast to get to know these new friends through their music choices.

Music holds so much power.


Among its many powers, I believe it can be a potent guide in our story. That’s why I try to pause every couple of months and ask myself, “What’s the soundtrack of my story right now?” Sometimes I think of song to match my sense of where my story is but other times I simply pay attention to what song I’m most drawn to at the moment.


Today Come Along entices me to take beautiful and bold risks—risks to keep building my startup, keep showing up to relationships, keep throwing my lot in with whole-hearted living and hope in the infinite generosity of God.


“There’s no such thing as time to kill
Nor time to throw away
So, once for the bright sky, twice for the pig sty
Thrice for another day

Come, come, come, come, come along now
Run away from the hum-drum
We’ll go to a place that is safe from
Greed, anger and boredom

We’ll dance and sing ’til sundown
And feast with abandon
We’ll sleep when the morning comes
And we’ll rise by the sound of the birdsongs.”


So, what’s the soundtrack of your story right now? I’d love to hear and why?



Day 25 of 40 Days of Story: Be on the Lookout for Unexpected Guides.

Have you ever had a conversation with a random stranger–maybe in the Trader Joe’s checkout line or at some coffee shop—and the person says the exact thing you needed to hear? The stranger’s throw away comment becomes this profound piece of advice that makes clear your path or confirms the direction you knew you must go but had felt stuck.


I am a firm believer in Unexpected Guides. I like to call these interactions sacred encounters. My life has been marked by them. However, the more I’m tied to my technology and pack my schedule the more I’m in endanger of missing out on them.


Guides—unexpected or sought after—play a vital role in story. These guides show up to help our protagonists do or decide something they couldn’t on their own. Guides never do the hard work or make the difficult decisions for the protagonists but they open up insights and spark inspiration.


We all need guides. Our stories are designed to have guides enter into them.


Recently a guide showed up in my story…but I almost missed her.


I had big meeting for my new company. It was with a top exec at a massive corporate. The meeting had been on the books for a month, each day a little more anticipation grew. By the time the meeting day came the stakes felt severe; this could finally be a gateway to revenue…or a death-nail in the coffin.


That morning rain seemed to pour from every crack of clouds. For over a week I had been sick. I was post-contagious but had yet regained my energy. I arrived early (not always my MO, more on that later).  With time to spare I struck up a conversation with the woman at the security desk. She directed me to where I could go get coffee.


I was tempted to dash to get more caffeine and pray to God it would free me from my fog. My mind was as cloudy as the sky. There was a certain aspect of the business I couldn’t get clear on–our technology wasn’t fully built and it felt like we only had half a product. Yet that shouldn’t be a problem—the nature of startup is iteration. You build, adjust, pivot en route. It’s natural, unless you’re perfectionist. And that day I woke up with the worst perfectionist hangover.


After the woman at the security desk pointed me to coffee, she asked why I had come. I told her about my new company and this big meeting. She lit up. She said, “Take me with you. I can sell anything.” I immediately believed her.


The next thing I knew I was practicing my pitch with her. She’d counter with great questions. When she seemed satisfied—and it was time for my meeting—she said I was ready. Then she left me with this advice: “SWUH.”


What, I asked?


“Sell What You Have.”


That was exactly what I needed to hear. I thanked my unexpected guide. I got her name: Taylor. I took a quick picture. It felt like a sacred encounter, indeed. I then entered the meeting with a renewed excitement about what I had to offer and a certainty in the contribution we could make now.

I am so grateful for Taylor’s words, curiosity and contagious confidence. I am also thankful I showed up to that meeting with margin. For some reason I opted for a conversation instead of more coffee, for an interaction with a stranger over looking at my phone.


I don’t always choose so wisely. But I thank God I did that day. And I desire to be on the lookout for unexpected guides more and more.


This week we’re going to explore more about the role guides play in our story. We’ll look at how to seek out guides and how to serve others in that role as well.


For now, I’d love to hear your own experience with an unexpected guide. Who has come across your path and told or showed you something you needed?


I can’t wait to hear!

Day 24 of 40 Days of Story: Ready to move on from conflict?

Me: Always…and not in this lifetime.


In this 40-days of Story I’ve been so ready to move on from conflict. I’m an optimist by birth and a conflict-avoidant by training. And…I’ve also become a big believer in the value of conflict.


As we’ve discussed there is no story without conflict. It’s true in story structure…and in our own lives.


But in the last couple of weeks I’ve had enough of conflict—enough to halt me writing for a time. I was sick. I was traveling. Yet that’s not really the story. What kept me from blogging was heartbreak.


I—like most—prefer to keep my conflict quiet. Hidden. Properly closeted.


At times this is wise. Strategic. Appropriate.


Why We Shouldn’t Hide Conflict


Yet there’s an intriguing thing about conflict—especially when it comes to our personal lives. For us to move through it, it must be born witness to by another.


I’m in no way advocating going all social media on your private affairs. But if you don’t invite others—at least another—to know the conflicts in your story then your successes will not carry the full weight of their meaning. The highs of your story will be lost on others if they never know your lows.


Yet, this is far from easy. One of the reasons is because many of our losses don’t have clear definitions or closure.


Several years ago one of my psychologist friends gifted me with the term: ambiguous loss. It was during a time when I was realizing I likely wouldn’t be able to have biological children. I was struggling to know how to grieve it. The naming of my ambiguous loss came as such a gift.


I heard the term used the other day in a NPR story about a forensic scientist searching for the bones of children lost in the fierce cyclone that hit Mozambique[1]. This scientist was embarking on this Herculean effort so the parents would have some form of closure…that their loss wouldn’t be so ambiguous.


While few of us will face such a tragedy, none of us escape loss. And many of our losses can feel like unmarked graves.  There’s the gut-wrench of a miscarriage, infertility or aging parents, the loss of a significant relationship before the markers of marriage and divorce, an estranged adult child, discarded dreams or job loss, the cruelty of mental illness and addictions, and then there’s aging with its own host of ambiguous losses.


It’s in these kinds of losses we need community all the more. We need to have others stand by our side, gaze at our unmarked graves and grieve with us…to bear witness to our ambiguous losses.


Yesterday, I had a couple of friends do that for me. They surrounded me as I said goodbye to the loss of a relationship. We marked it with the burning of poetry…and all the hopes of love the words contained. So hard…and so helpful.

Why We Must Always Have Conflict (in this life)


While losses can break our hearts, they also remind us our hearts are alive. When all conflict is done, our stories are over. And when we avoid conflict, we are actually shutting down what defines our story: desire.


The fact that we have conflict in our lives means that we’re risking and we’re invested. We don’t fight for what we don’t want.


So cheers to conflict…and a community that bears witness to it!


I’m curious how you mark your own ambiguous losses…thanks in advance for sharing.


Day 23 of 40 Days of Story: The Check-Up: Hard Reality + All Will Be Well

For the last week or so, I put my story on hold. I set it aside…well, the writing of it.


Yet as much as I try to halt my story, it unfolds whether I give it permission or not. It’s terrifying…and gorgeous. My story–and all our stories–as well as the Great Storyteller don’t give up as easily as we do.


So our stories move on…even if hard realities cause us not to want to pay attention.


My current hard reality: heartbreak.


It sucks. Ok, it SUCKS!!! There’s no way around it. Through it I must go.


And here’s the curious thing. There’s a grace of knowing my story continues. Whether I pay attention or not, it’s moving forward. So why not pay attention? And when I do–truly pay attention–the Great Storyteller tends to whisper another storyline to me. It’s a storyline you may know or need too.


Heartbreak—or whatever you may be experiencing that makes you want to put your story aside–has a stronger opponent.




The storyline of Hope comes in a thousand forms: friends who war for your wellbeing, muscle memory of challenges survived, hikes in nature, songs that get you dancing, words spoken at the right time in the right way, children’s laughter, chocolate…and the Hope of All Hopes.


As we enter Holy Week, may you pay attention to your own hard reality…and may you know the Easter of your story–of our Story–is coming.


I leave you with this folk-song about Julian of Norwich….and the invitation to know in in the midst of the hard realities All will be well, all matter of things will be well. May it be so!

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