Tag: love

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.

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.