I often have inspirational thoughts in my head that I hope will help me have a better life. Sayings like “do one thing today that will change your life” or “speak your truth from your heart” or “listen to be heard”. The problem is most of these don’t stick. I suppose they serve their purpose and then fade away.

There are a few, however, that do seem to stick. And I am really aware of one of them right now in my life. My inspiration is “I will commit to showing up for a whole conversation in my significant relationships (and sometimes my not so significant relationships)”.

What this means for me is that whether it takes 5 seconds or a life time I will keep showing up until I feel connected and resolved. Specifically it means:

• I assume there might be more to say or hear even after a subject or issue has come and gone. Some issues just take a long time to resolve, if they ever resolve.
• There is always something more to learn
• If I walk away mad or with a grudge or sad there is more to say.
• That I have gained little in my life by not speaking my truth. Eventually it comes out anyway.
• I will have to wade through my fight or flight tendencies when I feel angry or unmet and make a choice to stay in for the lesson.
• I may not get what I want. The other person(s) in the relationship may choose to end the conversation early.

I figure most of its about me anyway and it ties to this other manifesto I have which is to have the courage to see myself more clearly, everyday. By staying in the conversation, by not leaving when I am mad, or fustrated, or hurt I give myself the opportunity to grow, heal and learn. In other words I get the lesson.

The beauty of the lesson? I do, for the first time in my life, consistently feel close to my spouse. We have had many of the traditional challenges of other couples who have not stayed together. There was plenty of anger, disappointment, sadness, etc. to go around. But we kept showing up. Neither of has yet said I am done. (Even though in my anger I really wanted too) I am also lucky my spouse Jody kept showing up too.

As an aside I have to give some credit to an old adviser Timeto. About 15 years ago he said to me, right in the middle of one of the most stressful times in my marriage, “you will know its time to go when you can do it with out anger and regret”.

Right now I am experiencing this with my men’s group. Something has shifted in our dynamics. What once felt safe, fun and really was something I looked forward too each week no longer was any of that for me. I still love the men in the group but I found myself not wanting to come.

We are talking about it. Its started several weeks ago and the conversation continues. It is hard and stressful and challenging and I want to stay home. If I stay home I don’t have to speak about my anger or judgments. Nor do I have to hear others judgments of me or feel their anger.

But I know if I did I would be walking away with sadness, anger and regret. I would not get the healing. And most importantly I would miss growing closer to men that I care about.

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Cover of Linchpin: Are You Indispensable?

If you have not yet come across Seth Godin I highly recommend him. He just thinks differently about the world and is a constant inspiration for me to break the mold and do it differently.

He is the author of Linchpin, The Purple Cow, Tribes, Permission Marketing and other books.

His daily blog is www.sethgodin.com

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No, I don’t mean that kind of sweat. I am a guy and I can sweat aplenty. I mean sweat lodges. We just did one on Wednesday night instead of our normal group. Over the years I have probably done ten or twelve sweats. I often also choose to be part of the fire crew which means I get a double dose of heat from the lodge and the fire.

For the un-initiated a sweat lodge can be hot. I don’t know how hot but compared to a sauna they are hotter. The heat and accepting are the challenge. I have always felt challenged by the heat in the lodge but never so challenged that I needed to leave the lodge before the sweat was done.

My most common experience was it gets hot and I would use the heat as a metaphor for pain and breath through it. I would participate fully in each of the four rounds (prayer for self, prayer for others, what I want to let go of and what I want to receive) and clear a lot of stuff going on for me and call it good. I also would have a dehydration headache because two hours of sweating even while drinking lots of water can be draining.

This sweat last Wednesday was different. Half way through the first round I wanted out. It was hot and the heat was making me feel claustrophobic. My normal approach of working with the pain and fear were not working. I made it through the round but it was close. Mostly pride got me through it.

The remaining rounds were better but still harder than I can remember. Part of the reason that I feel like it was harder is we did it just with the men in the group. No guests. We have been together for a while and can generate some power. Mostly, though. I think it has to do with where I was and my emotional openness.

The next day I recovered really well but found myself asking why do I go in to the sweat lodge? Is it worth the work and suffering? I so what happens that is worthwhile? My first answer was I don’t want to do that again.

However, with some time I am again reminded of how much healing can take place in the lodge. The combination of the heat and the intent of the rounds can touch levels in me that are hard to reach any other way.

A lot of this is hard to intellectualize as I feel more than I think it. After the sweat I could feel this strong anxiety and sadness. The feeling was not located in a specific spot but just a general feeling.

The heat and staying in the sweat showed my shit. I realize now it was work I was avoiding. The heat brought it to the surface. Once it is up I can heal. That is why I sweat.

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I miss the social aspects of the SMG. But, in some ways, I have apreciated the break from the weekly meetings. Although, it’s not all “freedom” – the time on the trail brings a LOT of introspection. Not many answers, but the questions get deeper and some occassional insights flash into mind.

In response to another man’s question about finding the path to doing what they really want to do, I wrote about the following experiences I have had, and think it will be of general interest to share it here:

I have long recognized and appreciated how difficult it is to do what we really want to do. I had several epiphanies in the early 1990s and made some choices to do what I wanted – my first long hike. It meant making some sacrifices and it meant taking some risks. Doing it was liberating though, and it became easier after that first leap to do so again. I’ve encouraged others through the years to make such personal leaps of faith and go about doing whatever it is that they truly want. At the last corporate job I had, I preached “anarchy” to all new hires and interns, suggesting they all quit before they got trapped into careers. I diddn’t hide this – I told my bosses exactly what I was doing, and yet they let me keep on training. Probably feeling safe that few would listen.

One of the things I have found is that most people do not know what they truly want. They are either afraid to dream, or are afraid to admit to whatever their dream is. I guess because it’s often easier, in the short term, to supress or deny a dream than to pursue it. Of course, later on regret can be more demonic than the sacrifice needed to achieve a dream.

I’m more scared of potential regret, so I try to pursue my own dreams. I have to, or can’t quite live with myself.

So, that’s where I am, willing to endure the hardhships and compromises, to be able to do what I want to do, walk 1,300 miles this summer. And maybe, tonight, to go sit in the hotel’s hot tub and drink the beer I have been dreaming abot for the last five days!

Phil, Compassionate Coyote, Hough

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I noticed during the day how observant he was. I noticed when I talked to his mom how he would disappear out of the room sometimes and suddenly we would discover him watching us. It reminded me of myself. As a boy, I was always watching. Trying to learn. Trying to understand whatever it was I longed to know more about.

He and I talked about a lot of things. Sometimes he got fascinated at my stories and opened his mouth and stared at me. He would put down the pliers and the leather needle and just listen. For awhile he did this after each stitch. He drew me into my stories even more because he paid so much attention. I had to bring our focus back to the next stitch each time. He was hungry for one-on-one time, stories and sharing. I recognized that hunger. It is a hunger that still burns in the boy part of me.

It was the next morning that I woke and couldn’t get back to sleep after 4am. I kept remembering this boy quietly watching. Soon I found myself sobbing for 90 minutes from the boy inside of me. I remembered watching my parents the whole time I grew up. I never saw them once hold hands, kiss, hug, or touch each other. Not in eighteen years. I always wondered whether relationships were real or fake. Was it an act? A role you are supposed to play? Part of me wanted it to be simply real, true natural friendship. But I never saw healthy touch. Not once. No physical expression of love. I knew something different must happen in the bedroom but what was real to my heart was what I could see. Laying there in the morning crying I so wanted my parents to show me.

Grief leaking that morning from the deepest wound in my life. I questioned myself a lot growing up. What was wrong with me? Am I really a man? Painful tears at my self love. True intimacy was a empty blank spot on my map of life for a long time. I was lost. I didn’t find my way into intimacy until well into adulthood. I worked in communities where healthy intimacy was modeled by peers. Sharing shoulder rubs was a daily exchange. It could all be real. Nothing less.

Suddenly I found a second wind of crying. Like the boy listening to my stories, now I was the little boy so hungry for Dad to pay attention to me. How I wish my Dad would have come told me stories where I would forget everything and listen. I wanted his attention. I knew the hunger in the eyes before me as we made moccasins. Every second of giving him attention was healing the boy inside me. Sure enough, 4 am the next morning that trapped grief was freed. I look forward to the continuing the moccasins.

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While walking, I am one with the Sierras.

But, sad when having separated. 

Leaving – a feeling of longing and letdown. 

My heart has been stolen, 

Ripped in parts by these mountains 

What’s left inside always aching to return.

The end of the trek is the ultimate goal,

Exciting, but dissatisfying.

The journey built connections within, 

Which fade away after the end.

Lofty mountain peaks I struggled to climb, 

Then plunged deep into the valleys below. 

The travel between these two extremes 

Brought pain and reward – they are often the same,

And create harmony. 

After the hike I am rested, but soon I am restless again, 

Feeling unfulfilled and far away. 

There’s a hole in my soul  

That only these mountains can fill.

For now, memories are all that remain. 

Visions and feelings 

Of meadows carpeted in green 

And a being filled with gold, 

Of overwhelming joy and sweet sadness, 

Of babbling brooks and brilliant blues, 

Of jagged peaks that speak to me  

Of snowy streaks across a granite face 

And tracks of icy tears from ever present fears  

And newfound joy. 

I entered these mountains as a man 

Humbled and alive, I come back as the boy. 

Every summer the Sierras sing to me. 

Awakening – a return, my spirit takes wing. 

And I am made once again whole, 

Sun shining to the depth of my soul 

Smiling with sweet sadness and longing, 

Feeling connected despite the separation. 

Phil Hough
Chair – Friends of Scotchman Peaks Wilderness
www.ScotchmanPeaks.org

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