There is a crack, a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.  – Leonard Cohen  

One of the questions I will ask in a 1×1 dialogue is for someone to share three words they are feeling most in the moment.   Why?   Because when our incredible miraculous complex multi-oriented mind is swirling in numerous thoughts, checking within to what is being felt the most can be a great grounding tool.   And even if our minds aren’t juggling multiple thoughts at one time, to pause and think about what three things we are feeling most is still a wonderful way to become fully present to the moment at hand.  

Recently, when I was asked in return what my three words were at that moment, my reply was relaxed, creative, and spent.   My explanation was that it had been an intensely busy week, all for good, but when there is that spent feeling, I find it is also when I become very relaxed in such a way that creativity flows. 

It is as if in the depletion is a surrendering, a letting go of trying to hold on, and in that allowing is this receptivity to what wants to appear.  

Allowing and being receptive to the expansion. 

I think of this wildflower (in the warmer seasons of summer or fall, it would be considered a weed).   The harsh cold of winter along with the weight of the snow appeared, and this wildflower opened its “arms” to receive.   Through its expansion as it caught the snow, the “heart” of the wildflower revealed itself.   

I think back to the first race event I did, gosh, nearly thirteen years ago now.  Up to the point that two friends asked would you like to do a triathlon with us and my very first response back was if you run for me, because I’m not a runner, an even more truthful response would have been if you do the competition for me, because I am not an athlete. 

I didn’t play sports in school.  I did cheerlead, briefly, but a caterpillar more comfortably hidden in its cocoon doesn’t relish being center stage where so many others are watching.   When a duckling perceiving it is ugly is swimming in a body of water next to so many elegant, white-feathered creatures, it has two choices.   Swim next to the beautiful birds, comfortable being “unique”.   Or go to another area of the lake and swim either by itself or with other grey-feathered birds.   Or in my case, become a spectator in the bleachers at the high school sporting events. 

When my friends said no, you have to run for yourself, I felt a very slight rip inside.   A very tiny crack.  To the naked eye without a magnifying lens, it might have seemed more like one of those spider-webbed cracks in pottery.   A slice not cut all the way through.  Contents were not about to spill out.   

Or at least I didn’t think so at the time.   

I wasn’t yet aware that what we think are the most subtle or simple tears or cracks are still deeply life-shifting.  

Every one we experience is expansion.  

No matter what creates the rip. 

That first triathlon turned into three triathlons that year.  It led to running a ½ marathon.    Then duathlons when my muscles started expanding in their strength and my spirit expanded with my physical body in its joy at doing things my mind had spent years telling my body it couldn’t do and the same years telling my spirit ssshhhhhhhh.

More expansion beget more races.   Mostly running races.  Soon, only running races.   From asphalt to trail.   From ½ marathon to marathon.  To ultra marathons.   Thirty-three miles, thirty-five.  Fifty.  

All from one tiny, so very tiny, rip I felt inside when the choice to swim towards the white-feathered exquisite creatures was greater than staying in the cocoon of “no”.   When my mind thought if you run for me, and my soul said do it!   

Catch the falling snow.

I think about times in my life when I’ve been afraid, grieving, or regretful.   When I’ve felt the fear of change, the pain of loss, the guilt or shame in wishing I could undo, redo, turn back a clock and choose differently.    

When I’ve felt my stomach touching my backbone, knotted in uncertainty and foreboding.  When, try as hard as I might that they not, sorrowful tears would roll up and out and down as they rose from my aching heart, out through my eyes and anguished voice, and down my cheeks.   

When I’ve ruminated, with boxing gloves jabbing and punching from the hands of my own swings, each punch echoing why?! How could you?  Stupid!  And of course, we can’t forget the ultimate swing that begins the countdown, the mind eagerly awaiting when it can swing its arms in a wide sweep shouting KNOCK OUT!   You may know that ultimate swing.  YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF.    Bull’s eye.  Glove meets head.  Down to the mat.   

In each of these times.  When I would find clarity in what was invoking fear and then find peace.  When I would discover laughter and gratitude waiting for me after traveling through the tunnel of suffering.   When my spirit would rise from the mat and rip the boxing gloves off.   In each of these times, I was opening further.    Expanding.   Growing in and with Resilience.   Determination.   Confidence.  Generosity. Forgiveness.  Joy. Compassion. Faith.  Empathy.  Humility.  Hope.  Love. 

In what felt like rips and tears was making room for greater understanding of and practice with what it means to be resilient, determined, confident, generous, forgiving, joyful, compassionate, trusting, empathetic, humble, hopeful. 

Loving. 

Others. 

Self.

Life.

I think about this wildflower in the harsh cold and heavy snows.   It took what life was delivering and instead of believing it was “just a weed”, it expanded through the rips and cracks as it caught the snow, revealing the beauty at its core. 

The heart.