Tag: heart

Look Up

carissaricci

Instead of letting the difficult parts of life harden us, what if we let them soften us even further? To love more deeply. Live with more vitality. And embrace the fullness of the human experience—from the heartbreaking to the divinely joyous.

So much of my life, I’ve felt like I’ve been huddled in a ball, white knuckling it through life. Staying “heads down” and focused on the goals I’ve set for myself. Trying to protect myself. Surviving.

In more recent years, I’ve experimented with a different approach. Instead of trying to avoid the things that hurt, I allowed them to be.1 What if we did that more often? Sit with the joy and the pain. Make friends with all the pieces and parts. Instead of a “heads down” approach to life, what if we had a “look up” approach? Look up to connect with others. To engage with what makes life meaningful—the easy, the difficult, and everything in between. To look up in appreciation at the night sky for the beauty and perspective it offers.

The inspiration for this experimentation was Andrea Gibson—one of my favorite humans and an incredible poet who recently passed. The way they saw the world has been life changing for me and for so many. Their ideas about our relationship with ALL the things this human experience offers—not just the pleasant ones—shifted my view on what it means to be fully alive.

Some of my favorite quotes of theirs are:

“When nothing softens the grief, may grief soften me.”

“Just to be clear, I don’t want to get out without a broken heart. I intend to leave this life so shattered there better be a thousand separate heavens for all my flying parts.”

“In the end, I want my heart to be covered in stretch marks.”

All that to say…if you haven’t ever read their work, now is the time.2

Watching how they lived their life, I’m reminded that I can control nothing that happens outside of myself. But internally? I can make choices about how I react, respond, and how I show up in the world. How I treat myself. How I talk to myself. How I engage with others. How much I choose to open my heart. What I let in. What I shut out. How I view joy. How I view pain. How I heal.

Elizabeth Gilbert once talked about how “the most peaceful and wise people are the ones who have created enough internal space to be able to allow all the parts of themselves to coexist despite the contradictions. They have room for their creativity…they also have room for their fear. They have room for their dignity…they also have room for their shame. They have room for the parts of themselves that are glorious and divine and wonderful…and they have room for the parts of themselves that are petty and jealous and ridiculous. They create this huge auditorium of a landscape inside themselves. They don’t kick any parts out. Because guess what? You can’t.”

Contradictions can coexist.

Let’s be real. This world we’re living in right now? It’s completely bananas. As we navigate this rollercoaster of life with all its unknowns and so many things out of our control, these two humans have taught me so much. That contradictions can coexist and that there’s a form of peace that comes when we allow the complexities and layers to all be true at the same time. That doesn’t mean we don’t learn, grow, and continue to make adjustments in how we show up and approach life, but it can help us stay grounded in the turbulence.

The goal? To get to a place where we realize that to shut ourselves down and check out is the ultimate tragedy. To have a heart lined with stretch marks indicates a life truly lived where we get to experience the full spectrum of what it means to be human.

Whenever the day comes when I pass on to my next adventure, I want to know that I’m leaving with a heart that was soft and open. That I was willing to bear some scars and not just tolerate them but celebrate them as part of what it means to have been here. I want to know that I loved more deeply than I thought possible and refused to turn my shoulder or close my eyes to all the pain in the world just because it was uncomfortable. I want to have been a safe harbor for others. A friend who would sit with you in the dark as well as share your joy. An adventurer…willing to take risks for the sake of experiencing something real and true.

As we make our way through whatever is next in these coming years, let’s not forget to look up. Connect with each other deeply. Make room for all the parts of ourselves. Talk about the hard stuff. The real stuff. The stuff that doesn’t make sense. The stuff that makes your heart sink. Be there in the dark with others who are trying to make their way through, too.

And as we take care of each other, be sure to take care yourself as well. Look up at the night sky and take some deep breaths to get perspective. Hydrate. Nap. Recharge. Go for a hike. Read a book. Do a few rounds of box breathing. Call your bestie. Whatever lights you up…find those good moments.

And in the wise words of Andrea:

Never forget that it is possible to cry and sing at the top of your lungs at the same time.

As a tribute to this incredible human, let’s stretch our hearts and go cry and sing our way into whatever comes next. I’ll bring the tissues and the tunes for anyone who wants to join me.

1An important side note is to make sure we’re taking care of ourselves when we do this. Compassion fatigue is real and feeling numb is a sign to recharge.

2You can find their website here and their Substack page here.

Slowing Down

carissaricci

I used to get so much satisfaction from checking a million things off my to-do list in a day. The longer the list, the better the feeling. That feeling was usually accompanied by a dizzying fatigue, but it was worth it…right?

 It used to be. But not anymore.

Over the last few months, I’ve allowed myself time to slow down and for me to be in my life which is no easy task for someone who used to assign a good portion of her value to what she could produce.

In today’s world, I feel like we’ve lost the ability to be fully present in much of anything anymore. We’re constantly half in and half out of whatever task we’re doing because we’re thinking about what’s next and trying to get there as quickly as possible. Or trying to stay up on the latest of everything. And we’re multitasking…all the time. (Am I the only one who has caught herself scrolling Instagram, while intermittently having a text conversation with a friend, writing a grocery list, and also trying to watch something on Netflix at the same time?)

As I’ve been slowing down, I’ve been feeling more out of place in the world around me. But am also feeling more at peace. I’m not sure what that means about how I’m going to find my way in the world from here on out, but—as with most things these days—I’m just taking it one step at a time.

Beauty is so quietly woven throughout ordinary days that we barely notice it.

Morgan Harper Nichols

As I’ve been adjusting to a slower pace of life, it reminds me of the photography classes I took in college (which was a very different experience to what that looks like today). My time in those classes was spent learning old-school-style black and white 35mm film photography1—a method that forces you to slow down, pay attention, and be present.

The process started with finding something I wanted to capture, framing the shot, and then setting the aperture and shutter speed to get the desired effect…and there was no telling whether it was a success until I saw the result in the darkroom. No adjusting in the moment. No taking 10 slightly different shots and easily tossing out the ones that “didn’t work”. I would make educated guesses, take the shots, and hope for the best.

The uncertainty didn’t end there. Once I finished shooting a roll of film, I had to develop it (which was an anxiety-producing process in itself). I had to get the film out of the camera and threaded around a metal spool, all in complete darkness. All by touch. And if it wasn’t threaded properly and any part of the film strip was touching another portion, those pictures were ruined before they ever had the chance to hit photo paper.

The professor made us practice with old negatives first. I wound and unwound countless rolls until I felt fairly confident I could do it with the one I took. I can vividly remember sitting in that tiny little closet the first time, thinking about how much effort I spent shooting that roll of film. I had all my supplies laid out in front of me and knew that once I turned the light off and opened the back of my camera to get the film out, I couldn’t turn the light back on until it was successfully wound around the spool and safely in the light-safe container that would protect it.

Once I flipped the switch, every second felt like an eternity. After I wound the roll the first time, I wasn’t completely sure I had done it right, so I unwound it all gently and started over. Still not 100% sure I did it right, I decided that it was as good as I was going to get for my first one and popped the spool in the container, tightening the lid before switching the light on.

I ran through the process of adding the right chemicals at the right temperature…agitating the container…rinsing…adding different chemicals…agitating…rinsing. Then, the big reveal. Removing the negatives from the container and unwinding them from the spool, hoping against hope that I wound things properly. I did (thankfully), and they were now ready for drying.

I came back a couple of days later to take my negatives into the darkroom and try my hand at developing prints. When I first walked in, I thought “How do people spend so much time in here?” But within minutes, I was completely hooked. If you know me, you know that I took music everywhere with me, and the darkroom was no exception.2 I’d pop my earbuds in and get lost in the music and the creative process…watching as the pictures I shot finally took shape on photo paper. Developing them, deciding what needed to be tweaked, and repeating the process until I was satisfied with each print.

Enjoying the beauty of Sedona
(Side note: I didn’t hit the darkroom for this one…)

When I think about the difference between that process and how we take pictures today, I know some people might say “Why would we ever go back?” But there was something in it that I don’t get from taking pictures anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I still love photography. Always have and always will—in all its forms. It’s my favorite of all the art classes I took. But the “darkroom way” will always hold a special place in my heart. The tactile experience of handling all the pieces and seeing it come together with a little bit of luck and a little bit of magic—it was almost meditative. Some people say you can taste love in the food that they cook. I like to think the same thing about the pictures I take, and when I ran through that process, it provided so many opportunities for me to add a bit of myself along the way.

When I travel, I find myself gravitating back toward my love of photography. Not just for the sake of taking pictures, but to try and fully capture a moment. The spirit of it. The essence. The light. What I was feeling. For me, that’s the real beauty of art—to look at something and experience how it makes me feel. To be transported to another time and place. Even if just for a few seconds. And even better if you can make someone else feel something, too.

Those seemingly small and fleeting moments can be some of the most impactful we’ll ever experience.

“Slow down and listen to the way your heart beats; a subtle act of resilience right here in the wild of things.”

Morgan Harper Nichols

Lists will always be there. But there are so many other things in this world that won’t. Let’s keep those to dos in their place and not forget to embrace what’s happening in our lives now. I don’t want to look back and wish I had been paying closer attention to the things that really mattered. The beauty in the world that would otherwise pass me by, unnoticed.

Let’s encourage ourselves and each other to be fully in the moment. In our conversations. On our travels. In our experiences. Eating our meals. On our walks.

Instead of grabbing our phones and snapping a million pics to post on the ‘gram, let’s opt for the darkroom way of living—approaching each moment with our undivided attention, adding a little love along the way, appreciating each part of the process, witnessing things unfold, taking the time to breathe in between the steps, and watching as the picture gradually comes into focus on the paper. You might be amazed at what you find once it comes fully into view. The unexpected surprises are sometimes the best gifts you’ve ever been given, so let’s slow down and make space for them. Let’s allow ourselves to feel, to be transported, to be inspired, to be moved.

And to live. Fully present.

1 If you’ve never heard of 35mm film photography, here’s your tutorial.

2 If you need a start to a darkroom playlist of your own, here are some artists to try (in no particular order and inspired by what I used to listen to when I would develop prints): Alicia Keys, Coldplay, P!nk, Lauryn Hill, U2, Fleetwood Mac, Justin Timberlake, Dave Matthews Band, Nickel Creek, Prince, Allman Brothers Band, Foo Fighters, Beck, The Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, No Doubt, Usher, Elton John, Alanis Morissette, Goo Goo Dolls, Gin Blossoms, Hole, Melissa Etheridge, Radiohead.

Bonus points if you can guess when I took these classes based on some of my playlist artists.

Living in the Abstract

carissaricci

Think I’m in the right place. Realize it doesn’t fit anymore. Deconstruct. Take stock of what’s left. Process the feels. Redefine myself and my life. Repeat.

Every time I run through the cycle, I always feel resistance at the beginning. There’s a step between “think I’m in the right place” and “realize it doesn’t fit anymore” that I call: “try to pretend that I’m in the right place even though I know I’m not so I don’t have to face what comes with having to make yet another transition.” I can remember sitting on the threshold of some big decisions, asking if there was an easier way. If I could shortcut it. Work around it. Pretend that I could unsee what had been made so undeniably clear to me. But I also knew that I could no longer continue to betray myself.

Those realizations were the toughest I had ever faced because it meant that I had to consider things I didn’t feel ready to acknowledge. I was afraid that if I started to dismantle what I thought my life would be, that I’d never be able to put it back together again. That I didn’t know how to let go of the version of myself that I had created to survive and the picture I had held in my head of what my life would look like. She was all I had ever known, and my current life was the culmination of years of sacrifices and hard work.

While I’ve experienced big shifts in all areas of my life, some of the more recent shifts have been in my career—over the course of which, I bounced back and forth between the academic and the corporate worlds. But the moment I felt like I had finally “made it” was when I got the call from Nike. All those years of struggle and grind and burning the candle at both ends had landed me in a spot that I couldn’t quite believe. During my first few weeks, I was convinced that I would spend the remainder of my working days there. Why would I ever give that up? I was all in.

I didn’t know how to let go of the version of myself that I had created to survive and the picture I had held in my head of what my life would look like.

Fast forward nine years (quite a few of those last ones battling between what I knew in my heart and trying to hang on to the dream of retiring from Nike someday)…I had allowed myself to become completely burned out and it was all I could do to keep going. Even after setting some boundaries to get my life into better balance, I didn’t know how much longer I could keep it up. And I also knew deep, deep down that I couldn’t stay while also living the life I knew was right for me—I couldn’t find alignment with myself there.

Was I really going to close the door on it? And face a blank canvas?

When I was in one of my painting classes in college, I can clearly remember the first time we were given an assignment to paint something abstract. I panicked. Well, maybe panic is a bit strong, but I wasn’t exactly excited about it. I liked order. And planning. And things to be in neat boxes. A still-life? On it. A landscape? You bet. Abstract painting? I felt completely out of my depth.

In that class, the professor made us build our own wooden stretcher frames and stretch our own canvases, and I’m not lying when I say I may have procrastinated that process a little. Okay, I procrastinated a lot. The miter cuts weren’t quite lining up right (translation…they would have worked fine, but weren’t perfect, so I started over). I re-stretched the canvas when I saw a little pucker in one corner (translation…it was on the backside of the frame where no one would have seen it anyway, but it needed to be fixed). You get the idea. I was doing anything and everything to avoid actually starting the painting.

To paint without anything to reference? To paint from the heart? To trust that something that looked like nothing concrete might still be beautiful? That process stretched me as much as I was stretching that canvas over the frame.

I spent DAYS painting, re-priming the canvas with gesso, and repainting. When I shared my struggles with my professor, she smiled and said, “Carissa. Let go of what you think it should be. Stop making rules for yourself where there don’t need to be. Relax and let go.”

I applied some gesso to get the canvas back to neutral, left the studio, and came back a couple of days later with her mantra ringing in my ears. I reluctantly pulled on my painting clothes, gathered all my supplies, prepared my palette, sat in front of the easel, popped my ear buds in to listen to some of my favorite tunes, took a deep breath, and let myself stare at the blank canvas for what felt like an hour (translation…probably more like 10 minutes). I looked down at all the blobs of paint I had put out on my palette, grabbed a brush, and felt that familiar sinking feeling of “Where do I start?” Out of nowhere, I heard an inner voice say “Just START.”

So, I did. I let go, and I just started slapping paint on the canvas. Colors I loved and shapes that felt fun. I stopped trying to make it look like anything. I stopped trying to make something someone else might find pleasing to look at, and instead, created something I found beautiful—regardless of what anyone else might think. It was one of the most freeing moments…giving myself permission to create something for the sheer joy of it. Not knowing what it was going to look like. Not having an end goal. Letting each stroke unfold as it was happening and being fully present in the process.

Those feelings I felt then are incredibly similar to what I’ve felt in some of the bigger life choices I’ve made in recent years. I have swiped coats of gesso on parts (or sometimes all) of previous versions of myself and visions for my life, stared at the pieces of blank canvas, let myself have a moment of panic, cranked the tunes to process the feels and fuel inspiration, and then started slapping the paint on…my heart leading the way.

Let go of what you think it should be.
Stop making rules for yourself where there don’t need to be.

If you feel overwhelmed by that prospect, you’re not alone, and it can be helpful to remember that even though we’re staring at a blank canvas, it doesn’t mean we’re starting from a blank canvas. We may not be able to see the layers underneath, but they’re there. Influencing our future direction. Reminding us of lessons learned. Encouraging us on. We have experiences and wisdom that have been gathered over the years that will absolutely help propel us forward and provide inspiration. While it can feel daunting to stare at a blank slate, we can dig deep into who we are and what we know to help us create the next version of how we bring ourselves to the world and what our lives will become.

When I faced the decision to either stay at Nike or jump ship for something new, I landed at SVB1, and right before I pulled the trigger I remember thinking, “Am I actually going to do this?” My heart said, “You bet you are.” So I did. And then at the end of this last year, I made the BIG decision. The decision to go out and do my own thing. Did it feel empowering? Absolutely. Do I still struggle with doubts? For sure. The road feels uncertain at times, and I wonder if the world wants what I have to offer—if I can make a living doing what lights me up. But it was time. I had to put a coat of primer on and dig into the beginnings of yet another abstract creation.2

If you’re also working through a phase of your life where you’re making the decision to stop painting landscapes and try an abstract, I’ll give you the exact same advice my college professor did: “Let go of what you think it should be.”

What is your heart saying?

And as you work through the growing pains that inevitably come with embracing a new way of living, I’ll leave you with these wise words from Zanna Keithley:

You are going to have beautiful days and devastating days and light days and heavy days, and there will be chapters when the heavy and devastating feel like they’re all you’ve ever known. And you’re going to break down and break open and feel like the pain has buried itself in your lungs and in your cells and in your soul until you don’t know you from it or it from you, like it’s melded into your bones and intertwined with the intangible part of you that nobody else can see. And you will run and run and want to keep running until your shadows can no longer chase you and you can no longer breathe and this pain doesn’t feel so unbearable. And you will keep sitting with the pain and sitting with the pain and sitting with the pain, and some days it’ll feel a little lighter, and other days, it’ll feel like the entire ocean is crushing your chest and everything is heavy and is this the way it’ll always be? But in time, slowly, the weight will lift and the wounds will start to heal and that first unencumbered breath will be the best thing you’ve ever known. And you’ll begin to let go of this burden you’ve been carrying and remember what it’s like to be you again, and you’ll uncover that inner spark within you that’s been there all along. And you’ll turn your pain into your purpose and use it to try and help other people feel a little lighter and a little less alone and a little more seen. And the pages will keep turning and a new chapter will begin, and this time, you’re going to walk forward a little less afraid. And you’re going to live every inch of this beautiful and messy and wondrous human experience.

Because this—this is what you’re here for.

1 Some of you may have heard of it. It was a bank that imploded in spectacular fashion in under 48 hours. My former colleagues and I are eagerly awaiting the Netflix special that will undoubtedly be made depicting its epic demise.

2 Stay tuned…more to come soon on my newest creation.

Where’s the Fire?

carissaricci

When was the last time you asked yourself what sets your heart on fire and genuinely listened for the answer?

Over the course of my life, I have (over)thought my way in and out of too many things to count. This next season is requiring me to get out of my head and drop into my heart—which for an over-thinker like myself, can be a terrifying proposition. Holding onto the cerebral approach feels safer. Familiar. I can make the lists and rate the things. There are tangible ideas to grasp. Something to hang my hat on. 

Dipping into intuition and heart knowledge feels squishier. Less certain. There’s a part of me that wonders how I would justify decisions made from that place. And there’s another part (whose voice is becoming stronger) who wants to know why I care about defending my choices. To whom am I making the case? At the end of the day, the woman staring back at me in the mirror is the one who will ultimately hold me to account. And she’s learning to be more compassionate with herself these days.

So, what does it feel like to live from the heart? For me, it means clearing out the noise and paying attention to what makes me feel most alive. Noticing when it happens and making a “note to self”: Do this more.

When I was in college, I decided that I wanted to teach, write, make as big of an impact as I could on the humans I connected with, and see the world. That was the goal. As with many of us, my life took a major detour shortly after, and I allowed what I thought I “should” do to become the loudest voice in the room. The dream was shelved. I moved on and made peace with what my life had become (or so I thought). Now, many, many, years later, I’m finding my way back to what I’m realizing I always knew would light me up. It will look a little different than how I originally imagined it, but the heart and soul of it remain strong and true.

Go inside and listen to your body, because your body will never lie to you. Your mind will play tricks, but the way you feel in your heart, in your guts, is the truth.

Don Miguel Ruiz

On my spring travels abroad, I recognized the fire immediately. When I first landed in Portugal, I dropped my luggage at the place I was staying in Lisbon and headed out to find lunch while I was waiting for the check-in time to roll around. Stunningly intense jet lag aside, I felt the familiar pull and the quiet but strong whisper…“there it is”. That feeling persisted for the remaining 34 days I traveled and didn’t let up until my feet hit the inside of the plane that would take me back home.

Since then, I’ve felt it pop up at various times—I feel it in my body more than anywhere else and I know, without question, that I’m where I need to be when it does. If you’re facing some big questions, “Go inside and listen to your body, because your body will never lie to you. Your mind will play tricks, but the way you feel in your heart, in your guts, is the truth.” (Don Miguel Ruiz) When I look back at my life, I knew long before I made any decisions, what the right one was. I was just incredibly adept at talking myself out of it for the sake of what I thought I had to do.

Feeling the fire at the Plaza de España in Seville

In many of the personality tests I’ve taken over the years, responsibility (or some form of it) is always high up on the list—which isn’t necessarily a bad thing—until I realized that I wasn’t being as responsible to myself as I was to everything and everyone else. 

Your longing. Your heart. Your calling. All of those are just as important to maintain loyalty to as the other things that garner your energy.

I now take notice when these things happen:

  • I’m in what some people call “flow”. I lose track of time. Unintentionally skip meals. And am so focused on what I’m doing that it’s almost like I enter another dimension where everything else is muted.1
  • I feel giddy. A genuine happiness or excitement that emanates from the deepest part of my center. This can show up as a smile that suddenly stretches ear to ear…or sometimes, something different happens. When I stepped foot into La Sagrada Familia and first looked up, I was immediately moved to tears. Inspired, present, and in total awe of what I was experiencing. 
  • I get the “good chills” (Part 1). This usually happens in conversation with someone—when we have a moment of genuine connection about something we’re talking about. But talking isn’t always a requirement. Sometimes, just holding space for one another and silently acknowledging someone else’s experience can be just as powerful. In those moments, we both truly see into the soul of the other. When I think back to the most meaningful moments in my life, being a part of that reciprocity and vulnerability is one of the most beautiful things about being human. 
  • I get the “good chills” (Part 2). Music can reach me like little else can and always has something to teach me. I can’t get enough…never could and probably never will. When I was really young, I learned to play the piano and it changed the way I experienced music and my relationship to it. Even though I loved playing, I was never hankering to perform for crowded rooms. I was happiest when I was at the keys in an empty house. Just me and the music…dancing the dance. In one of my previous posts, I mentioned that I typically always have music going, and it’s true. It helps me feel connected to something bigger while also feeling deeply connected to myself. Whether I’m playing music or listening to it, the “good chills” can strike at any time—both grounding me and taking me to other places simultaneously.

There’s an unbelievable amount that we don’t know and so many things that still remain unexplained, but I believe we can tap into that feeling of interrelatedness…if we’re paying attention.

I’ve often wondered how the things we can’t see—the intangibles—can impact us so deeply. Recently, “scientists have detected a ‘cosmic background’ of ripples in the structure of space and time” and that “every star, every planet, every continent, every building, every person is vibrating along to the slow cosmic beat.” (Frank, 2023)2 We’re all so much more connected than we think. There’s an unbelievable amount that we don’t know and so many things that still remain unexplained, but I believe we can tap into that feeling of interrelatedness…if we’re paying attention.

In those moments when you’ve been places for the first time, but feel a familiarity—almost a knowing—that you’ve somehow been there before. The people you meet who you have an instant connection with—like your soul has known theirs for much longer than you’ve known them. Reading stories that resonate so deeply, you feel like they were written just for you. Listening to music that moves you in the very deepest part of yourself.

As we take steps toward rediscovering and following those dreams that are unique to each of us, those pesky fears may come up. Hesitations. Doubts. But we also each have a fierceness that lives within us. When the world tells us we can’t, let’s allow the hesitations, doubts, and fears to be there—but also let that fierceness push us forward anyway—even if old stories are relentlessly trying to keep us in suspension. 

Choosing to live from the heart is a courageous act. One that requires us to honor our innermost knowing, despite what our minds might be telling us. If you’re wondering whether you have that type of courage, this is your reminder that you do. You are stronger than you think. Braver than you would guess. And worthy of a life well-lived…with your heart on fire.

1 I stayed up 2 hours later than I normally do working on the first draft of this post. I’m finding it amusing that I was in the “flow” while writing about the “flow”. How meta of me.

2 If you want to read the full article, head over to The Atlantic.

Finding True North

carissaricci

Creative or logical? Heart or intellect? 

For much of my life, I felt like those (seemingly) opposite approaches were always locked in an intense game of tug-of-war any time I needed to make a big decision—and most of the time, the logical and intellectual parts would end up getting most of the airtime. For those who don’t know, color-coded Post-it pro/con lists with weighted categories are one of my specialities. If you can relate, you’re in good company. Over thinkers of the world, unite!1

As I head into this next season of my life, there are a couple of big decisions I need to make over the next few months and I’m finding myself in familiar territory. Asking myself questions like, “Is this my fear talking or my intuition?” “How will this affect the people in my life?” “What if I make the wrong call?” 

And then I remind myself of what I’ve learned along the way. (Spoiler alert—that doesn’t make it any less scary or take the over thinking away completely…but it helps.)

Something might “feel” impossible.
Until you do it.

Here are some of the lessons I’m taking forward:

1. A list will only get you so far.

      When I look back at some of the situations I kept myself in, I can rattle off all the reasons why. I had stacked up an impressive list about why choosing something else was “impossible”. It wasn’t until I changed the word “was” to “feels” that I started to consider a different perspective. Something might “feel” impossible. Until you do it.

      2. Focus on the big questions.

      In both of the biggest life decisions I’ve made so far—the ones that truly turned my world upside down—I trotted out the aforementioned list in Lesson #1 to a friend. Her response? “That’s a great list, Carissa, but have you asked yourself the real questions yet? If you stay in the current situation, do you see a future where you can be unabashedly and completely yourself and be celebrated…not just tolerated? Where you can thrive instead of just exist?”

      Pardon my French here, but the word “shit” was the first thing that popped into my head. In the split second after she asked those questions, I knew the answer. And I also knew it meant I would have to navigate the uber-harrowing list of things (that felt impossible) to make it happen. 

      If I’m being honest with myself—and this is a hard one to admit—I also realized I had known the answer to both decisions for years. I had let the lists stop me. Silence me. And keep me locked in places that didn’t allow me to be fully me. I had become so used to contorting myself into all sorts of shapes to satisfy expectations, honor others’ desires, and not “rock the boat”…that I had lost huge pieces of myself in the process.

      3. Let the fear exist, but don’t let it stop you.

      I had gotten so comfortable with the “devil I knew” that it had lulled me into apathy. I was the queen of “Well…let me give it another 6 months and see how things are then.” The 6 months would come and go. Nothing significant would have changed. And yet…I stayed. Why? Fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear that I wouldn’t survive the ridiculously long list I’d have to navigate to make a different choice. Fear about how it would affect the people in my life. Fear that it meant I had failed.

      But here’s the truth. If I compromise the core of who I am to stay in any situation—professional or personal—I’m only living halfway (if that). I wouldn’t be giving the best version of myself to the people in my circle. And at the end of the day, that doesn’t serve anyone well. 

      I firmly believe that we are here to be unapologetically ourselves. To honor our spark. Our uniqueness. Our dreams. Our passions. FULLY. And in order to do that, we have to be intentional about our careers, who we surround ourselves with, and where we put our time and energy.

      Snowshoeing at Mt. Hood…sometimes the best view is off the main path.

      When I was in the depths of one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made, a dear friend shared this with me:

      “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but I promise you—it will get better. And then you’re not going to believe how much different you’re going to feel. It’s like walking around with an abscessed tooth for years. You get used to the intense pain over time, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay. The pulling of the tooth is incredibly painful. And the healing process can be, too. But after it’s over, and the wound isn’t as raw, you are going to wonder how you walked around with it in your mouth for that long.” 2

      At the time, I was in so much emotional pain, I couldn’t grasp what it would feel like to be on the other side—but I clung to her promise like a lifeline. And she was right. 100%. That is exactly what it felt like.

      Truth be told, I already know the answers just like I did then.

      As I’m facing down these next decisions, I’m once again battling between heart and mind. I’m resisting the urge to immediately run for the Post-its. I’m going back to the lessons I’ve learned, and I’m asking myself the hard questions. Truth be told, I already know the answers just like I did then. Now, it’s about summoning the courage to take the leap and knowing when to jump.

      I’m still scared…questioning myself…wanting to fall back into the comfortable. 

      But I know too much now. I can hear my future self on the “other side” beckoning me—reminding me of what things look like from her perspective.

      The bottom line? Deciding to jump is always the hardest part. If you’re facing a scary leap on the way to your true north, take heart…the best is yet to come.

      1 Side effects of overthinking include, but may not be limited to: sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling, vicious cycles, fatigue, headaches, stomach aches, and long calls with friends who tell you to stop making lists and focus on the big questions (especially the ones that you don’t want to answer).

      2 I’m paraphrasing from memory on this one, but the metaphor was so spot on that it has stuck with me over the years.

      Going Solo (Part 2)

      carissaricci

      “If a tree falls in the woods, but no one is around to hear it, did it make a noise?” This feels related to a more relevant question for today: “If we don’t take pictures of our experiences and post them, did they really happen?” (In case you’re wondering? Yes. I realize how old I sound when I say things like that.) 

      As I’m traveling, I regularly battle against the desire to take pictures of literally everything. Each time I turn a corner, there is some beautiful sight to behold and the temptation to capture it is so strong. After a couple of days of fighting the urge, I made a deal with myself. I could take a few pictures of whatever I wanted, but then I made myself put the phone away and just stand in the moment. Taking it all in. The light. The sounds. The smells. The feelings. And I let myself say things like “I can’t believe I’m actually standing here looking at this.” I allowed the goodness to wash over me and didn’t move on until I felt ready.

      Photography is a favorite hobby of mine, so it’s ridiculously easy for me to get swept up in capturing a moment while forgetting to actually be in the moment. The lesson for me in all of this is to slow down and intentionally be present in my life as much as possible. Much easier said than done—but a worthy cause.

      Similarly, I had to resist the pull to see “all the things”. As I walked the streets, a little voice in the back of my mind would whisper, “How can you come to [insert city name] and not see [insert name of famous structure/art piece/park…]? If you’re not seeing those things, are you really doing this trip right?” As the days passed, it became easier to quiet that voice. And the people I met along the way helped me. 

      My first impulse was to feel frustration at the unexpected turn of events, but then I realized that my word of intention for 2023 was TRUST. So I trusted. And I’m so glad I did.

      About halfway through the train trip from Bilbao to Barcelona, we suddenly ground to a halt. Everyone around me was chattering away in Spanish and I had no clue what was going on. The woman next to me, seeing that I couldn’t understand, opened her phone and typed a phrase into Google Translate to let me know that the delay was likely going to be a long one—at least an hour. 

      My first impulse was to feel frustration at the unexpected turn of events, but then I realized that my word of intention for 2023 was TRUST. So I trusted. And I’m so glad I did. That first sentence she typed into Google Translate turned into hours of us typing back and forth to each other—a friendship forged out of what some would deem a misfortune. I learned about where she was from, things she loved to do, and some interests we had in common. When she found out I grew up in California, she said something that I didn’t understand and gestured like she was a gorilla. My quizzical expression sent her back to her phone and she typed “Arnold Schwarzenegger”. I laughed and typed back, “It’s sad to me that’s what people outside the states think of when they think of California,” which then sent us both into a fit of giggles and a handful of Terminator jokes. 

      It then hit me that I would need to try and contact the person who was supposed to meet me where I was staying to let me in. It was already going to be a late check-in, but now I wondered how in the world I was supposed to expect someone to stay up past midnight to let me in. His response? “I won’t leave you sleeping in the streets! And remember: there’s nothing to worry about, we are in Spain!” Another lesson in trusting. In believing in the goodness of other humans. In rolling with the moment. Everything has a way of working out—even if it’s not in the way we expect. 

      Looking up in La Sagrada Familia

      After arriving in Barcelona and getting a good sleep, I found myself in La Sagrada Familia the next day. I had seen it from the outside before, but had never been inside and let me tell you—if you’re questioning whether or not to buy the ticket, DO IT. It was one of the few places I’ve been where my breath was literally taken away when I stepped through the doors. I let myself marvel at every incredible view. As I wondered into each nook and cranny, I found this small area in a back corner with an agent standing at the entrance. He informed me that the space was for meditation, reflection, or prayer and that there were no pictures allowed. I agreed and entered. It was a chapel space with a few pews and only one other person already there—he left soon after I took my seat in the back. My intention was for reflection. I’m not a religious person and trying to meditate in such a spectacular setting felt like it was just setting me up for failure in such a mind-blowingly beautiful place. Good luck not getting distracted, right? 

      As I sat there reflecting on my life, and in particular, these last few years—the tears flowed freely. The culmination of the “everything’s” and the intensity of those “everything’s”. Joy. Grief. Pain. Exuberance. Gratitude. All at once. In this transcendent space, I let myself feel it all. A woman walked in a minute later and my first reaction was one of embarrassment until I realized that she was crying, too. She took her seat at the other end of the pew I was sitting in, and we both took in the gorgeous light of the stained glass windows while feeling all the feels. I don’t know anything about her. I don’t know her name or what her life is like. I don’t know why she was crying. But in that moment, I felt inextricably connected to her. After I had processed what I felt like I needed, I got ready to leave. I looked over at her and she looked back at me. Tears still in our eyes, we each placed a hand over our hearts in acknowledgement of the other. A soft smile which was immediately reciprocated. And then I slipped out quietly, not wanting to disturb the rest of her time.

      When I’m headed in the right direction, I now have deep clarity about what that feels like. Heart forward. Heart open.

      When I finally stepped outside to get one last look at this massive architectural masterpiece, I felt an all-consuming warmth and contentment of spirit—and also a renewed resolve to continue following this path I’m on. Something has clicked in a big way for me on this trip. When I’m headed in the right direction, I now have deep clarity about what that feels like. Heart forward. Heart open.

      Yesterday, I caught a train from Aix-en-Provence to Bordeaux and as I was waiting on the platform, three Italian women came and sat next to me, asking me if they were catching the right train. Trotting out the faithful Google Translate, we had a lovely conversation as we waited. When we parted at the transfer in Marseille, the woman I talked with the most thanked me for the chat, wished me a wonderful trip, and kissed me on each cheek with a “Ciao, bella!” and a hearty wave in farewell.

      So, in answer to my previous question of “Am I doing this trip right?” The answer is YES. Absolutely. These new friends and moments of true connection mean more to me than any place I’ve visited. Although all of my experiences over the last few weeks will forever hold a special place in my heart, it’s the lovely interactions I will remember most—a vibrant reminder of our shared humanity. What a gift.