I’ve got a project I’ve been avoiding. It’s called my office. You probably have one too — that project that feels overwhelming enough to close the door on, and for a while, ignore. Occasionally it just disappears. More often, it continues to surface as that little bit of weight resting on our shoulders, that niggle of something that needs to get done.

 I recently committed to approaching my office for a certain amount of time per day until it’s completed. Rather than set an end date, working on it bit by bit feels more doable for me in this moment. And so I have begun.

What I neglected to take into account were the cabinets and files and all of those great things which also need tending. These are behind doors and in drawers. And so I have started there — with that which is not visible.

Until the door is open.

This is such a metaphor for me of the journey of seeking what’s beneath the outer layer of my own personal being — what’s beneath the skin? What recurring thoughts, habitual behaviors, are perhaps hidden behind a drawer, now ready to open, or at least to spend a little time looking at?

Sometimes the metaphor of external and internal life landscape is so striking that it just appears as a wow. That’s what occurred to me this morning as I was sitting in my daily practice. There’s a part of me that hesitates to share this messy picture, it feels a bit vulnerable. And there’s another part that recognizes the realness of the mess — both externally, in my office, and internally, excavating the stories I continue to hold onto that, most likely (or at least in some situations), are no longer true.

Here’s what I mean. When journaling in circle recently, the writing began and it appeared that I was going off topic. Yet what was being written was just what I needed to see — a start of what I’ll call an arrogant behavior. Now that it has been revealed at the root, when the behavior emerges I can see it and adjust. That’s what opening a drawer can do. Not everything inside needs to stay. It does invite a decision of what to keep and what to release. 

I’m not the only one opening drawers. Recently, I choose to host an experimental, experiential gathering,   Community Connect, via Zoom and also at our home. From a single journal prompt, the opening of doors and drawers and files was amazing. As one participant shared, there was such wisdom in that group. Most people had not met each other, and yet there was a heartfelt sharing that went beyond what often occurs in surface — or even deeper, ongoing — relationships. 

For me, there were areas inviting a renewed perspective, a different lens, a different clarity, because some of the mistaken beliefs and stories may have been released. That doesn’t mean there isn’t yet another drawer to open, or something else to look into. It was a gift to witness these groups and be a small part of our collective sharing and exploring. 

 May we recognize that the external messiness is also an invitation — allowing us to see the bits, and sometimes the really big parts, that might be feeling a little internally messy. It’s all part of this journey we call life.

 And so, as I continue my office project, I also offer an experience we can embark on together. It’s called ‘The Stories We Tell’ — and it’s exactly what it sounds like. We come together, center, explore a story from a journal prompt, invite our body to reveal, and share in a meaningful way that which is now being invited to be examined. Through that examination, there might be a shift in perspective, or a heightened awareness around a behavior that isn’t supporting us anymore. It could be a behavior that holds us back and is no longer needed, or something that invites stepping forward. Either way, once we see it, we can begin to adjust. And we anchor it all together with a healing sound immersion at the end.

Won’t you consider joining me for The Stories We Tell? I’d love to open some drawers together.

And if you’re curious about the kind of circle I described above, the next Community Connect is October 6 — another beautiful way to begin.

Light and joy, 

Rhonda