Anchorage

“Do One Thing A Day That Scares You” reads my favorite billboard. I smile deliciously whenever I drive by.  My new beloved athletic wear store, lululemon, resuscitates the phrase from Eleanor Roosevelt; I love that it’s an in-your-face dare to put ourselves out there. If you’ve ever pushed beyond your comfort zone, you’ve undoubtedly tasted the thrill that comes with pulling off that which you weren’t quite sure you could conquer.  The euphoric wake can leave you feeling a little bit like a superhero, Elastigirl of “The Incredibles” fame, stretching, literally, beyond human limits.     

Life should be a series of adventures launched from a place of safety.  You might wonder what the value is in being a thrill seeker.  It seems, according to the August issue of Psychology Today magazine, it is the number one differentiator between those who consider themselves happy and those who do not. Happy people indulge curiosity by taking risks.  They realize that “while being uncomfortable and vulnerable is not an easy path, it is the most direct route to becoming stronger and wiser.”

Last summer I shared my own philosophy on happiness in Arcanum .  My idea is that it works like a fulcrum, that place of stability supporting movement upon it.  A see-saw can’t move up and down without the unwavering pivot point of the base. When we feel like we have a safety zone to return to no matter what the outcome, we are more inclined to take risks. So the questions become how do we find that refuge for ourselves, and isn’t it ironic that sometimes seeking the safe places in life can require taking a few risks as well?

All of us harbor others as well as need harboring for ourselves.  As parents, being the haven for our children comes with the territory.  For years I’ve preached to my kids that our home isn’t just four walls, it’s who we are for each other inside of it.  It is a place where we respect and keep each other safe, where we can truly be ourselves.  It’s our job as members of the family to preserve the sanctuary we’ve created. 

What’s interesting though is that we parents can be so protective that we prevent our children from taking risks even though there is no safer place to launch than from our homes and hearts.  I need to remind myself every time I hesitate with the letting go that I want my children to make their mistakes here, where I can help fix them.  And that I want to be the one they come home to with the sparkle of triumph dancing in their eyes, the smack of victory still fresh on their lips.

But what about when we’re the ones taking the risks?  As adults, how do we find our safe places?  This is tricky because there are many of us who believe we aren’t entitled to shelter, we should all outgrow the basic needs of attachment.  That as adults we should just suck it up, in fact, if we’re dependent on another for emotional security, then we’re needy and undesirable.    Nothing, I’m learning, could be further from the truth.  The need to be connected, to know there are others out there who have our backs, to be able to ask for and receive support, is synonymous with being human at any age.  If we’re going to find the pleasure and enjoyment in life we need to recognize that refuge is all around us, that the people who love us want nothing more than to provide it for us.  All we need to do is ask.

Oh yeah, the ask.  That’s really hard. 

Being someone who finds it nearly impossible to ask for help, this is a huge area of opportunity for me.  It’s no secret that my new job is challenging me, in fact I think I may have mentioned it a few times in recent blog posts.  I’ve been taking the leap recently, reaching out, selectively I’ll add, to superiors in my organization and requesting some steering, coaching, guidance.  I’m choosing people who I’ve spent enough time with that I feel comfortable letting down my hair. And I’m being rewarded with support on all fronts.  In fact, in a conversation just last week I go so far as to ask another, half-jokingly as a cover for my vulnerability, if in the event I fail here, would he put me in another role.  His response is an unequivocal “yes!”

With a kedge like that, I walk away with renewed energy to take the chances I need to, to speak the unpopular opinion, to recommend the right thing, to become Elastigirl, stretching the team beyond what seems possible. The work hasn’t become one bit easier, but I feel great about it.  Happy, even. 

Safe places are everywhere.  They’re in the cousin who answers the call in quotidian correspondence, responding immediately to signs of distress. They’re in the manager or colleague who is a champion of your achievements and potential.  They’re in the friend who invites you to coffee because it’s been too long since you’ve talked, the friend who observes you wasting the talent you haven’t quite figured out how to get into the world, the friend who listens to you cry when nothing seems to be going right. And the safe place is in that space made for resting your head, nestled up against the chest of someone really special.  Don’t be afraid to moor there.  The journey is long and hard; happiness is found in the wharves we’re brave enough to embrace along the way. 

Rune

I am learning to believe in magic.  Not the optical illusions or tricks of a magician, but the mystery of the unknown.   Of course logic tells us there is science behind everything, and in many cases, solving a cryptic puzzle to understand what makes a body tick is the right thing to do.  Knowledge is power, for sure.  And we should use it to fix our problems. But life still houses a few wonders that can remain innocuous even if we never pull the cloak of invisibility that shrouds them.

We all crave a level of certainty that just doesn’t seem to exist in this ever-complex and abstruse world.  We feel better when we think we can somehow put order to ambiguity.  But when we try to take the mystery out of things aren’t we by default limiting our possibilities?

I’ve been thinking these days about what happens when we spend time worrying about outcomes.  When I’m too busy wondering what will happen to my career if I’m unsuccessful in moving my project forward, I have less energy to invest in finding the best solution.  I may settle for a mainstream answer without investigating all of my options because it gets me out of the haze quickly, doesn’t ruffle any feathers.   When I sentence my teenager to a doomed future because he hasn’t yet figured out what’s next for him, the time I should spend guiding him (and loving him) to a thoughtful choice is eaten up in the knell of frantic warnings and damaging conversations that just leave him feeling awful about not having the answers.  When the focus is around imagining all sorts of disappointing outcomes, you are invariably allowing negative energy to consume the space that should be reserved for creating and enjoying the positive experiences that always comprise the journey to any outcome. The joy and fun is in everything if you let it shine through; if you are brave enough to allow yourself to see it.

It all comes down to fear of the unknown.  It’s fear that causes us severe discomfort in uncertainty:  Fear that we’ll do the wrong thing, fear that one bad decision will set us careening on a dangerous path we can’t recover from, fear of loss, fear that if we allow ourselves to actually enjoy something without the promise of certainty we’ll be hurt if the outcome doesn’t go our way.   

We think that getting quickly to certainty will quell our fears. But I think differently. This insatiable thirst that can’t be slaked puts us in overdrive, the relentless and premature push for certainty at all costs.  This is the danger zone.  This is where we end up settling for decent when we could have amazing.   The next version of technology you roll out is only marginally better than the version it could have completely eclipsed. A kid begrudgingly heads off to college pursuing a degree his heart isn’t in when a little extra time may set him on the path of his dreams.

Here’s what I believe:  If you pour yourself into growing and developing something before rushing to the end game, whether it’s a challenging project at work, the future of a teenage boy, or the fate of a promising relationship, you create sustainable, break-through success. But the trick is you really need to invest.  You need to be fully present in the moment without allowing yourself to be distracted by the possibility of an undesirable outcome.  The minute you take your eye off the now, you risk weakening the future.

I revisited Brene Brown’s TedX talk on vulnerability over the weekend, watching again before passing her message on to a friend.  She talks of what we lose when we try to put too much certainty around our most sensitive arenas like politics and religion.  She talks of the joy we reap when we leave some spaces in life to mystery and faith, finding the courage to invest even when the outcome is uncertain. 

I’m investing, wholeheartedly, in the moment; I’m going big and taking the risks knowing the outcome might hurt me, because it’s the only way I’ll see all of my possibilities.  I expect not only to thrive, but to have in my possession every moment of real understanding and joy that investing with abandon allows me to soak up along the way.  Now that’s magic.

Zymurgy

The buzz in the air following the first annual Women’s Summit at my company several years ago reaches a fevered pitch equating to the return of the cicadas.  The first of its kind in this organization, it is a long time coming, heralded with significant hype leading up to the event, culminating in press coverage in the local media.  Women everywhere bubble with excitement over how amazing it feels to be in an environment completely about them, prompting a friend, noticeably moved by the camaraderie she feels surrounded exclusively by women, to blurt out in astonishment “This is what men get to experience every day!”  It’s both ironic and bittersweet that this is such a rare occurrence in the day-to-day working life of corporate women.  But I wonder are we really moving ourselves forward in women’s networks, visibly isolated from men?

Undoubtedly there is tremendous value in the development and networking aspects of these affinity groups.  Women’s networks can play a huge part in helping women to break their own glass ceilings. It’s about building confidence, finding your voice, learning how to articulate your strengths, defining your brand, advice as simple as explaining the benefit of a professional headshot in marketing yourself.  It’s in the accessibility to senior women leaders who have walked the tightrope balancing work and life, who’ve been the lone representatives of the fairer sex in countless meetings sharing war stories, explaining not only how to survive, but inspiring us to push forward because they are shining examples that we can thrive. 

But before women become inebriated on the thrill of all of this bonding and letting our hair down amongst our own kind, we need to be wary of the peril inherent in this intoxicating isolation.  We can develop ourselves like crazy, but at the end of the day men are still in power and we need them to open doors for us.  While men are supporting our networks in theory, without their active participation, we can only go so far.  The danger, one of my favorite writers on this topic shares in this HBR blog post is that all of the hype sours quickly if we don’t supplement it with involvement by the men:   http://blogs.hbr.org/cs/2013/06/your_company_doesnt_need_a_wom.html

When it comes to breaking the corporate glass ceiling, men are the lynchpins of our success.  Firmly entrenched in positions of power in most major corporations, men are still choosing who is promoted. We need men as advocates and sponsors for women, and they need to be incentivized to take on this responsibility.  Men need to include women in special projects and stretch assignments that increase exposure across the organization.  More male executives need to model behaviors and work styles that support work life balance so that women can actually picture themselves successful in senior leadership roles.

The beauty of these networks as they exist today is that we are getting support unparalleled to men when it comes to developing ourselves.  Some could even call it an advantage.  If you really look closely, most of the information shared around professional development men would benefit from too.  You could argue women are even more prepared to take on these roles. So if we add the missing ingredient to this, engagement by male executives committed to pulling women up in the ranks, our organizations are poised to have the absolute best talent at the top.

While it all sounds so logical, this is a heavy lift that even the best windlass struggles with.

Sometimes I get discouraged thinking this ship is too large to turn around, that maybe all of this hype is just going to fizzle out with no real change.  But a new mentor at the office is teaching me quite a bit about the fermentation process that goes into steering an enormous vessel. And a new mentor in my life encourages me to hold on to the baton during my leg of this multi-generational run.  In fact, these days I regularly find myself pressed up against the side of the proverbial car, a la Debra Messing in ”The Wedding Date”, mesmerized by the spell these two men cast upon me in their words alone; they help me recognize the power within me.

It’s not always about how quickly you turn the ship; it’s about being a stakeholder and leader representing and communicating the vision of what could be, what it will be if we choose to make it so. 

Quoin

I never knew my maternal grandfather; neither did my mother for that matter.  He passed away when she was four years old.  The grandfather I remember was a big, booming Irishman my grandmother married when I was a baby.  With a shock of hair that never quite made it from blond to completely grey, he always referred to my sisters and me as “Dolly”, this term of endearment somehow escaping his mouth through a wide grin in a kind of sing-song lilt that made you feel special. He wasn’t afraid to tell us we were beautiful.

This was back in the day when grandparents made official visits to your home.  As kids, we always eagerly anticipated the Sundays Grandma and Grandpa would drive in from the city; Grandma in her rose-colored sunglasses and the wig of the moment; Grandpa bearing gifts in the form of a Maurice Lenell cookie assortment (my favorite to this day are the pinwheels) or the giant stuffed Hubert the lion doll from Harris Bank that the five of us kids were expected to share. 

My paternal grandfather was much more low-key, with a subtle sense of humor that manifested itself in swiping food from your plate when you weren’t looking or magically finding a nickel behind your ear.  Time with this set of grandparents always meant something creative was brewing; Grandpa was an extremely talented woodworker, his pieces often serving as canvas or a showcase for the gifted artist who was my grandmother.

I always knew I was fortunate to make it to the ripe old age of 22 with all four of my grandparents living.  A generation later, my children experience this relationship quite differently.  Their paternal grandparents left this world before the boys were even a twinkle in anyone’s eye.  When my mother died four year-old Nate was still fresh enough to planet Earth to stop me in my tracks saying, “Mom, I can’t wait to get to heaven to see God again.”  I’ve always felt that my mother could never truly be the grandmother she dreamed of being, decathect with the burden of a relentless illness from almost the moment Nick started his life in my womb; an illness she knew had the power to rob her of precious time with the grandchildren she so eagerly anticipated.

My dad has carried the grandparenting torch for my children.  They couldn’t be in better hands.  Their relationship is not built on the regular Sunday afternoon visits I enjoyed, but an entirely different connection fueled by our annual trips to his home in California.  My boys are spoiled in that they get their grandfather to themselves for an entire week.  And the bond that is cemented in the desert has led to comfortable familiarity and reverence that continues here in the Midwest when Grandpa is “home” for the summer.

My boys have a healthy respect for his authority, an appreciation for his quiet sense of humor, and an affinity to his creativity.  They find themselves at home in his basement workshop, its own kind of art supply store bursting with the tools of his trade:  Hammers, nails, sanders, spray paint, salvaged gears, machines and motors, scrap wood, metal and plastic.  Like steel tugged to a magnet, even my teenagers so thoroughly into their friends and themselves cannot help but be drawn to this haven of inventiveness and innovation.  With Grandpa they put their 21^st century lives on hold and revert to the simple joy that comes from playing a board game together or making something with their hands.  It makes my heart swell to see these kindred spirits together.  

I often wonder which of Grandpa’s qualities will resonate with my boys as they mature into men, which experiences and memories will shape them. It takes time for the full power of our influences to come to light.  I owe who I am in the business world to my dad.  He never operated in the arena I’m in today, but he passed on all the skills I’ll ever need to succeed:  A calm presence, a creative mind, resourcefulness in the face of constraints, a strong work ethic, an empathetic soul.

I’m confident these seeds are safely planted in my boys. Some are even beginning to blossom.  I’m so glad my dad’s here to water them and watch them grow.     

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.  With love from Shea

Catechization

“Always a beautiful answer is the person who asks the beautiful question.” - e.e. cummings

Understanding lives in the questions.  Discovery of this truth tilts the axis of my world in a slightly different and positive angle. Questions beget connection.  Experts handing out networking tips tell us that the fastest way to get someone comfortable and talking is to ask them questions about themselves. I learn working my way through a host of ambiguous assignments at the office that the way to finding focus and solutions is quizzing the plethora of experts I’m privileged to lead.

Years ago, I confine my teenager to the car and start driving west on the interstate.  I have no idea where we are going, but after months in a continuous loop of rote struggles, we are at an impasse. The only thing I know for certain is where we aren’t going:  Home, so he can mute me by sealing himself in his room until yet another squall in our never-ending storm system passes.  In order to get to a place of understanding, we need to start from a place neither of us can run from. 

Trapped together in a moving vehicle, I fire a barrage of questions. Empathetic, not berating; it is about grasping where he is coming from so that I can support him in a way he can truly feel.  In order to be the shelter and lodestar he doesn’t even realize he is seeking, I need to get into the head and heart of this conflicted soul and understand the source of all of his turbulence. We aren’t getting out of the car until he lets me inside. 

There are moments when he is so frustrated at his inability to express himself and my ignorance of his plight, that he dismisses me, quite angrily.  In fact, at one point I seriously question whether he might take me out with the ice scraper lying on the floor in the back seat.  There are bouts of silence I patiently wait through, confident that he trusts I have his back:   I know he will look for different ways to tell his story until he hits on one that I can hear. It will just take some time. Nearly 100 miles later, he softens and we reach an understanding.  By the time we are home again, he is thanking me for a good conversation.

My unwavering love for my children breeds this tenacity.  My insatiable quest for understanding is all about getting clear about how to not only do my job as their mother, but to exceed expectations in my role.  I cannot let them down.

I want to be the beautiful answer for the important people in my life.  Being that person doesn’t mean we never misunderstand each other. It means being brave enough to ask the beautiful questions.  The beautiful questions are the hard ones. They’re the ones most people are afraid to ask because they can be so scary they elicit a ferocious response that makes us want to wilt in retreat.  Or flee in silence.  Or give up and call it quits.

Sometimes the beautiful question is not expressed in words at all, it’s in the individual standing beside you, that precious soul who yearns to be understood, supported and loved.   

Erudition

‘tis the season for commencement addresses.  If asked to give one today, here are my aspirational truths:

Trust yourself.  You were put on this earth with absolutely everything you need carefully stowed within you to be who you are supposed to be. Put yourself out there even when you’re scared to.  You were made to be you.

Trust the mess.  Life is nothing if it’s not ambiguous.  Anyone can find the way when the path is clear.  Learn to be comfortable in the dark. True leaders find the way even when they feel completely lost. 

Practice improvisation.  Contrary to popular belief, we don’t know what will happen next. That manuscript in your head, you’re the only one who’s rehearsed it.  The people in the moment with you will cause you to edit (heavily) the screenplay of your life.  You may no longer recognize it.  But it’s okay because you’ll end up in the most wonderful places, places you may have never discovered on your own.

Practice integrity.  It’s about keeping your word, being where you say you’ll be.  This is about doing the right thing even when no one else is looking. 

Be human. Everyday. There are two sides to every story and even the most seemingly together people have heavy crosses to bear.  Give the benefit of the doubt. Show compassion above all.

Find your true north and never stray from it. Your internal compass is here to guide you.  It is the ultimate gut check.  Use it.  If it doesn’t feel right to you, it isn’t right.

Diversify yourself.  Cultivate interests beyond your job and your relationships.  They’ll keep you interesting.  They’ll make you happy.  If you make a little time every day for what you love doing, what you love doing just may become what you do. 

Stay curious.  There is always something new to learn.  Life is its own classroom.  Surround yourself with the smartest people you can find and never stop asking questions. 

Find someone to love who makes you feel safe.  A sage four year old quoted on the internet says it best, “When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different.  You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.”  Listen for the lilt that speaks to you and then never let go.  Teach each other how to be there for each other, generous with attention, reassurance and touch.  With someone in your corner, you’ll reach every dream you ever set your sights on.

Take your time. You don’t need to figure it all out immediately. Life is long and wisdom can come only with experience.  You will change your mind.  And it will be okay.

Take risks.  If you aren’t feeling a little bit sick to your stomach, you’re probably not stretching yourself far enough.  Failure is an option.  In fact, sometimes it’s the best thing that could ever happen to you.  The soul searching that an epic fail invokes can open doors you didn’t know were there.

-- For my brilliant niece, Erin.  Congratulations Class of 2013 graduate!  I love you.

 “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”  -- Anais Nin

Amplitude

If you’ve ever experienced a minor earthquake you’ll immediately recognize the feeling I’m describing:  It’s the reverberation, absent of any noise, like that of galloping horses, a thundering freight train or the bass music of a rock band palpitating your chest.  The silence is what makes it so hard to recognize at first, but combined with the almost imperceptible movement of things that shouldn’t move, it becomes evident that the earth is indeed shaking ever so slightly.

There’s a relatively dull roar, as my mother used to term an escalating uprising, in the princess world over the “enhancements” fresh-faced Princess Merida of "Brave" fame is undergoing in her transformation from visual medium on the silver screen to marketable toy for purchase. The problem is to be true to her character she needs to look less like a doll and more like an action figure. As designed at present, she’s not anything close to the sassy spitfire so valiantly and refreshingly portrayed in the movie.  She has lost the quiver of arrows at the ready on her back, smoothed her impossibly wild crimson mane and donned the very same form fitting, elegant gown she curses and literally bursts at the seams while flexing her muscle to cleanly shoot the arrow that wins her much-desired reprieve from imminent betrothal.  And in this transformation lives the subliminal message that she’s had a lobotomy as well, moved into the demure mold of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, no longer able to rescue herself, instead waiting in all of her complacent refinement to be rescued by her prince.

The fact that a permanent smile has replaced the look of absolute misery written all over her face in the movie scene where she wears that dress, watching in weary resignation the prospects competing for her hand tells us so. They’ve turned her into exactly the princess she fights so hard not to be in the movie.  What is going on here?

What I find so powerful about “Brave” is the message it sends to our girls. Intelligence matters.  You can be an agent of change for what you believe in.  You are in charge of your life and happiness.  That we have in our possession a vehicle so far-reaching to deliver this positive ideology so creatively is a testament to our times. Can’t this message stand?

I love the part of the story where Merida implores her three suitors to stand up for themselves in the very same way she is. In a banquet room full of men, the lone woman holds court, speaking eloquently and logically, arranging her conversation carefully and emphatically to gain buy-in and ultimately inspiring all to agree that everyone deserves the right to choose who they marry, and ultimately what they do with their lives. 

Imagine the girl in the theater watching a young woman find the courage to speak her mind and fight for what she believes is right.  She takes the floor and owns it outright.  Captivating her audience with the passion and empathy in her voice, she calms a throng on the brink of mayhem.  Even better is the way the men respond to her, showing respect for her intelligence.  Who couldn’t use that skill someday in a conference room or the boardroom, or even with unruly and defiant adolescents?

I can still feel the quaking in my chest as I sat in the theater last summer watching Merida confidently mount her steed, her frustration cresting in a fierce need to escape the confines of the castle and feel the wind in her beautiful, tangled curls. The horse can’t gallop fast enough to affirm her freedom.  It is so much more than the booming soundtrack that makes my heart race; it’s the excitement brewing inside me around what’s possible for our girls.  It is vindication of everything I write in this blog about breaking your own glass ceiling.

Here’s the message, ladies:   We are beautiful exactly as we are.  We don’t need to fit any mold.  We don’t need tame tresses, tight dresses or other alterations to be noticed, respected, valued, admired or loved.  We are most beautiful when we are most real. 

Let the world see you in your own skin.  Be brave.  Be open.  Be real.  Be you.

Read last summer's post about Merida here.

Cerulean

Eyes are sometimes referred to as the windows to the soul.  The breadth and depth of information processed and emotion expressed through these enchanting instruments can be both subtle and powerful. When we talk about opening our eyes, we’re commonly describing the act of raising the lids and lashes that encase us in darkness during sleep, but the true openness of our eyes is a tightly regulated and nuanced system, controlled by the beautifully colored iris; the jewel that captivates us when we stare into the eyes of another.  As light enters into the pupil, that fetching iris is in control, regulating the aperture and therefore the amount of light that gets in.  Pupils can dilate and contract on a dime, wide open to grab every speck of light one second, and, without warning, completely shut down the next.

Interestingly enough, we possess the capability to exhibit the same phenomenon when it comes to our openness to receiving others. Peter Bregman, in his most recent blog post asks the question "How do you become a great receiver?"  When someone has something to give us, whether it be constructive feedback on our performance at work, perspective on challenges with our children, or love and affection in a personal relationship we regulate our openness to receive this. When we can listen openly instead of defensively, ask questions to understand rather than to refute, and use the information to inform positive change we cement lasting relationships.  And - I love this - we create an environment where people can “speak the unspoken."  Sounds great, right ?  But in reality, this is extremely hard to do.

Lots of us have a pretty good idea of where our strengths and weaknesses lie.  We’re attuned to aspects of our behaviors and emotions that are healthy, and those maybe not so much.  We know we’ve got some personal baggage, opportunities for improvement, maybe a somewhat skewed perspective on some aspects of life, work or relationships based on past experience.  These realizations are hard to reconcile, but we feel relatively safe with the belief that we keep them to ourselves.  Sure, we know these are our issues, but we tell ourselves nobody really notices.  And if nobody notices we don’t have to do anything about them. The thing is, people do notice, and those who see tremendous potential in us, really care about us or want into our lives, they speak up. The really, really scary part about being a good receiver is not only the necessity to acknowledge our hang-ups and imperfections, but that we’re forced to admit that maybe we’re not hiding them so well if there is someone out there who can so clearly see them and call us out. 

So what do you do?  You can be defensive, hurt and defeated, but all this gets you is permanent residence in your self-created fortress.  If the suit of armor never comes off and you’re always ready for a fight, nothing’s ever going to change.  You stagnate in your career, you’re in a perpetual state of battle with your children and you never get beyond the first date.

“Feedback is a gift," a particularly straightforward mentor once told me as she delivered some especially stinging and honest observations about my work.  I think I cried for the next week.  But she was right.  And when I decided to act on the insights she shared, my career took off.   

 "When we wait to be perfect, we wait too long," one of my favorite bloggers, Kristen Armstrong, says.  Likewise, in Reid Hoffman’s world of entrepreneurship, “if you’re not embarrassed by your first release, you launched too late."  The point is, we need to be willing to put ourselves out there, accept that we may not get it right the first time, and see that the people in our lives who are willing to point out where we could be better are truly here to help course correct, not judge. 

There can be as many version upgrades of you, the person, as you’re willing to put out there. Each has the potential to be better than the last. To be really courageous and open to what others have to say is to find true joy.

There are countless people out there who see nothing but beauty and possibilities brimming in your baby blues.  This is not about them; it’s about what you see reflected in the mirror.  What could you change in your world if you had the courage to give the exquisite iris of your soul permission to conquer her fears and just dilate?