The first time someone told me I thrived on change, I was in college. I was encouraging a friend to reframe a challenge they were facing as an opportunity. They turned to me, exasperated, and said:

"That's easy for you to say! You love change! You thrive on it!"

I wasn't sure if that was a compliment. But I was pretty sure that it was true.

Growing up, my favorite school days were the days when there was some kind of event. A field trip, a guest speaker, anything that changed the routine, reframed the day, and forced us to move about our business in some new way.

I just wanted things to be different. I wanted to pass different people in the hallway, think about something new, create something. It was stimulating, interesting. Same old, same old has just never been it for me.

In college, I loved that we had to take "gen eds," classes outside my major. I got criticized for this all the time. I was "not serious" even though I made great grades, was involved in groups, and had my first regular paid singing gig in my sophomore year.  I even had an academic advisor tell me it was good I was interested in so many things since I'd never have a career in music. 

Fueled by spite, I carried on.

Because what I really loved in those classes, aside from the interesting content and perspectives, was the different classroom communities and the variety of assignments that came with them.

I learned I was adaptable and agile. And I learned to value those traits and develop them.

What I didn't know was how to say no – and I didn't know how to give less than 100%.

Those skills came later. And those are really important skills.

I moved from suburbs to a college town to New York City, chasing education and artistic adventure. I traveled with extended stays on three continents where I performed. Over time, I completed a PhD in Music Performance and Composition (for performers: voice), writing a whole subsection of my dissertation about the concept of change. 

I learned to speak German, became a kayak trip leader, taught at universities, sang in about ten countries and fourteen states, and wrote music and poetry and academic papers and full university program curriculum development proposals. 

I even went to seminary for a year to study religion, psychology, and multi-modal arts practices. 

In seminary, I learned two important things. The first was that I am a seeker. 

I am unendingly curious and I will follow the rabbit hole all the way down. 

And I am open to learning how to use tools that provide insight. I don't believe that any one thing contains the whole truth of our existence. The better the question, the better the answer. If a tool helps me ask a better question or helps me get at the root of something, then I need to know how to use it. 

I also learned I do not belong in a seminary!

Still, I'm always grateful for time spent with other seekers. 

I realize, looking back, that my truth is rooted in a need for positive change. Change keeps me fresh, keeps my perspective broad, and challenges me to stay grounded. 

But change can be really hard. And all those fun achievements happened along with big, hard stuff. Intense grief. Deep loneliness. Fear of the unknown. Loss. All the hard stuff that is part of being human. 

And all big change involves details and logistics and lists. And that stuff can be stressful. Really stressful. 

From the deaths of loved ones to becoming a caregiver, to nearly drowning in my own "dark nights of the soul," I learned that there are two sides to the coin of impermanence and that both sides are true. 

Circumstances change. Relationships end. Impermanence is change and truth. I write a lot about impermanence and mortality, and my life more generally, on my blog. But I digress.

What got me through it all, and what continues to, is community and mentorship. 

Community helped me remember what was important: that I wasn't alone and that there is comfort and support if I can be vulnerable enough to ask for it.

Friendship, family, colleagues, even strangers who offer a kind word or a smile can't be discounted. We're all part of this world – together.

Mentorship helped me connect with my future self, keep track of the details, and stay in alignment with my values. I have been extremely lucky – and strategic! – about mentorship in my life.

I learned that being interested in a lot of things, experiences, perspectives, communities, and guides is a tremendous gift you can give yourself and others.

The tricky part is figuring out how to integrate it all.

Learning how to integrate is what brought me to coaching. The best mentors and coaches I've had remind me the constant is me – even though all of life is changing me all the time. And that's something to learn from and to celebrate.

At the heart of it, good coaching helped me integrate what I wanted, and who I wanted to be, with where I was at any moment. It helped me build the path with the tools I had, all while helping me find the resources for the tools I wanted and needed. 

Community, mentorship, care of the self, accountability, planning, action...these are all part of the plant food our seeds of change need to flourish. They're all part of holistic, heart-centered, spiritually-minded life coaching. And that's my commitment to you. 

You've already planted the seeds. Let's help them grow together.