The beginning of any Soul Path journey starts with a call, the beckoning or calling forth of a new level of awareness. There is restlessness, a yearning, a stirring just beneath the surface that tugs at you insistent and clear as mud. Yes mud….unclear, messy, obscure until you head the call and step back, slow down, assess, and engage with your soul.

Each day we are inundated with stimuli from the loud and constant to the subtle and intermittent.  The source of the loudest stimuli most often comes from outside of us the loud voices of stereotypes, habits, belief patterns, fears and conditioning. Because it is loud and ever present we give it our attention. Making it even harder to slow down and tune in to your inner callings.

The call may come in the form of doing – changing jobs, starting a family, changing where you live, starting /leaving a relationship, opening a business. Or it may come in the form of being – less judgmental, more peaceful, less fearful, and more creative. It may have you embracing something new or leaving something that is no longer a fit for you.

It is most definitely not one size fits all and it’s not a once and done deal. We all have multiple calls in our lifetimes and when we don’t listen they just get louder more insistent. (Until eventually the cosmic two by four wakes us from our stupor).

These calls are the waypoints on our journey just like the trail markers on a hiking trail. You may choose the fire loop that takes the most direct route to the summit but the muscles in your thighs burn the whole way up. Maybe you choose the lollygag loop that has you meandering all around the base of the mountain perhaps never getting above the tree line or more likely one of the many trails in between. There is no right or wrong it’s a matter of different experiences.

The common thread is making the space to hear the quiet voice that fuels the soul path call. Building the muscle of listening to that quiet voice is a skill that serves you in all aspects of your life.

Often the most significant step we can take is a series of small consistent actions that, over time lead us to the dreams that we seek, even as we are defining what those dreams are.

  Learning to decipher that quiet voice takes time and attention. Tuning in to your Self and not someone else’s idea of who you should be takes practice. It’s a practice that is easily integrated into everyday life.

Here are a few suggestions:

• As you wash the dishes let your mind drift to the dreams that you never find the time to clarify
• In the shower ask yourself what you really want…you not your family, spouse, friends…what would make your heart sing
• As your morning coffee is brewing imagine how you would like to BE in this day

Let whatever comes up be okay, no judging or chastising (that’s crazy/impractical/impossible)

What does calling stir up for you?

“The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.” Ernest Hemingway

My son Alex posted this quote on Facebook a few weeks back and it stuck with me.  In casual conversation most people ask “What do you do?” or “Where are you from?” I tend to ask “What do you want to do?” Mostly because I’m really curious about Soul Paths and people in general. I want to know what the calling was like, how did they answer it, what did it take to integrate into their lives and in what ways did they share the wisdom they gleaned on the way.  It’s a tiny glimpse into the process of marrying the inner depth of who we are and how we express that in the world. But even more I ask  because it inspires me to hear other people’s dreams, aspirations, and desires.

If you read that question and thought  I don’t know/I’m not really sure, you are not alone.  That’s exactly how most people respond initially. You see we are all so busy taking care of things our family, friends, work, households and the list goes on and on, that we lose touch with who we are and what we want to create. We lose touch with our Self.

Especially as women we have so many stereotypes that constrain us. If we don’t comply with the current stereotype – be it what we look like, how we parent, or what a relationship should look like, we feel a sense of failure. If on the other hand we implicitly comply simply because we think we should, we give away our own power. Essentially playing in someone else’s sandbox following the rules that they determine. This holds us back from connecting to our inner wisdom, celebrating our strengths, and even embracing our weaknesses.  It keeps us playing small, fearful of what might be. By reclaiming the parts of ourselves that we have given away we regain our power and that affords us the courage and willingness to spread our wings wide and realize our hopes, desires and dreams.

My question for you today is, what do YOU want to do, to be, to create? How do you want to feel?

Take few minutes each day for the next week (say in the shower while you’re washing your hair), marinate in the question and let some delicious possibilities come to the surface.  Jot down what comes up, even if it seems unrealistic or implausible. It’s a step in reclaiming your power, in reconnecting with your Self.

Once, I went to Italy, and my friend Corie tasked me with a number of things to do on my trip. The last thing on my list- a bonus, if you will- was “Fall in love with Italy.”

I was there for ten days, and it took me not even one to fall in love.

The light is different there. Better. Even though it was cold, there was something special about it just because it was Italy, and I was ecstatic to be there, in such an old land, walking in the same places where so many people had lived and breathed and died before me, people whose histories I had read but never really understood until I stood there, on their graves, on the sites of their churches, temples, shops, gardens, prisons, homes. I stood in the Coliseum, in the same place where the emperor sat, and in the shade of the umbrella pines. I stood where the Vestal Virgins walked. I watched the sun set over the canals of Venice and the sun rise over the Mediterranean. I climbed the Dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica and the Spanish Steps. I marveled at the Duomo and the heavy gold doors of the Baptistry. I saw the divine in the Sistine Chapel, and I walked in the shadow of Vesuvius.

And then I came home, returning, after a brief stop in Connecticut, to my adoptive city, Boston.

Boston is old- the birthplace of American freedom- but not as old as Italy. The Romans were ruling from their Senate two millennia before we even dreamed up ours. It is a city that has adapted time after time, building in and around and over what was. In that way, it is not so dissimilar from Rome. There are places in the North End where one could swear one was in Florence. Next year, I hope to spend more time in those places.

But not long after my return from Italy, something happened. Something terrible, unexpected, unpredictable. I waited, terrified, pacing up and down the halls of my dorm, until I heard from my friends who had been at the Marathon when the bombs went off. When they made it back to me, I kept them within eyesight, because if I could see them, they were safe.

The next day, I went for a walk. I walked for two hours, around Boston, alone, listening to music and my thoughts. I walked to remind myself why I loved Boston.

I walked through the Fenway Victory Gardens, planted as a reminder of the triumph, in WWII, of American will over foreign hate. Even when there was a war, people planted roots and survived.

I walked across the Muddy River, to the head of Boylston, where flowers, in memoriam, already crowded the police barricade. I walked down around the barriers, down a pretty side street that could have been the Boston of two hundred years ago, if one only removed the cars.

I walked to the Christian Science Building’s reflecting pool. If it were warmer, I would have stopped and sat, but instead I let the wind buffet me as I walked the pool’s length, pausing only to look behind me at Boston’s tallest buildings.

I walked through Northeastern, to MassArt and Wentworth.

And I marveled. In the midst of a terrible tragedy, still, the flowers bloomed. The world was pink and white and green and yellow, every blossom competing to show me how much beauty there was, and I didn’t even have to search for it. Finally, I walked home, where I was greeted with food and love and affection.

The next day, the sun came out. I basked in it. I prepared for presentations. For three days, I lived my life best I could. I listened to President Obama remind Boston: We are tough and resilient. I took pride in being part of a city that refused to let terrorism get its spirits down, a city that bonded together so tightly when threatened. I wrote BOSTON STRONG proudly wherever I could. I embodied it.

And then, late, on Thursday, April 18th, I heard of a shooting at MIT. My roommate and I turned on the radio, sat transfixed for the next four hours in front of it, eventually falling asleep to the sound of uncertainty. I turned it off at 3:30 and crawled into my own bed.

I woke up at 7 the next morning to the sound of the radio clicking back on, to find out that classes had been cancelled, that the city was on lockdown, that the bastard was out there, but no one knew where.

I spent much of the day in bed, curled around Conrad, the stuffed dog my roommate made for me at the Build-A-Bear in Quincy Market. When I wasn’t sleeping, trying to avoid what was happening because there was no help in being awake, I was checking my phone, constantly refreshing twitter. The photos of an empty Boston haunted me. That was not what cities should look like. That was not what my city should look like.

The sirens were constant. I began to be able to distinguish the type by noise pattern. That was not a skill I had wanted to develop.

My friends were all gathered in the lounge, baking and watching old Disney movies, but I didn’t want to do that. Where before I wanted to gather everyone I loved to me, now I only wanted to stay snuggled in my blankets, hiding. My friend Caroline brought me brownie cake.

A general sick sense of terror filled me all day. I had called my parents the night before, scared and frightened and needing to hear their voices, but the new day’s fear could not be dispelled by sound alone.

When they called off the Shelter-In-Place order, we turned off the radio. It had been on for twelve hours, cycling around and around, but always coming back to the same point: no one knew anything for sure.

The silence was worse.

I went for dinner, mindlessly collecting rice and chicken to take back to my dorm, when my friends walked in. We’re here for food, they said, but let’s eat in the room with the TV. They think they have him surrounded.

It took a minute for that to process in my brain. When it did, I glued myself to the television in the dining hall. When it looked like they were getting close to catching him, this man who had caused so much pain to my city, I realized I did not want to be in the dining hall when they caught him. I wanted to be in my room, or in the lounge. Safe places. Home places. I closed up my Tupperware and I ran.

The television in the lounge, too, was blaring. We waited with bated breath as reports came in of police getting closer and closer to him, of shots being exchanged, of the military approaching.

And then, finally, the word came through: We got him.

I took the shortest shower of my life, and then I went out into the streets to join my fellow Bostonians in cheering on the officers who saved our city.

We were a happy, drunken city that night; buoyant, proud. We sang God Bless America and Sweet Caroline. We chanted for the Boston Police Department and the Ambulances and hell, even the taxis.

When we eventually got herded off the streets, we went back inside and got more drunk.

The next day we watched the moving opening ceremonies at Fenway, nursed hangovers, and heard Big Papi declare: This Is Our Fucking City. We watched the Red Sox win and we cheered for that too.

Last week, I visited the memorial, now that Copley has reopened. I left flowers and tears. Today, my Boston Strong t-shirt arrived in the mail. I will never be prouder than when I wear that shirt, because I belong to a city that does not back down. We’re far too Irish and stubborn for that.

My love affair with Italy took hold of me in a day. I fell head-over-heels for it. I was sad to leave it, and I cannot wait to return, someday, back to that golden light and the beautiful antiquity of it.

My love affair with Boston took longer. It grew on me, sneaking up. Boston is not the biggest city in the U.S. It is not the most politically powerful, the sunniest, or the most exciting. New York, Washington D.C., and L.A. will give you that. The public transportation closes down at 12:30, which still confuses me. But Boston will love you.

I may not walk on streets that have been streets for three thousand years when I walk in Boston. But the streets that I walk on have been tested, and they have not been found wanting. The light may not be golden here, but the sun setting and back lighting the Pru is something special all its own. We may not have umbrella pines or cypress trees, but the Public Garden is nothing short of magical, beauty in bloom. There are not words to describe how much I love this city, in all of its flawed imperfect beauty.

Tomorrow, when I leave Boston for the summer, I would not be all that surprised if I cried, just a little. Because Boston, you’re my home.

Guest Blogger: Madison Gretzky, she is a first year English and Women’s Studies major at Simmons College, in Boston

The vague sense of uncertainty.

The indescribable pull of something bigger from deep inside of you.

The unshakeable sense of urgency.

And the courage and tenacity to follow the pull.

All of the above are signposts of the calling phase of the Soul Path journey. It’s the quiet whisper of the soul yearning for deeper connection and expression.  A stirring of the pot in your everyday life.  A pull to begin a new and unusual path is felt, and often quickly dismissed.  The pull becomes stronger more insistent. This is often followed by a vague sense of dissatisfaction, or annoyance with certain people or aspects of your life. Sometimes there is a more dramatic burst, a loss- of a job, relationship, identifying roles, a loved one followed by a dark night of the soul that spurs you into action to answering the call.

It takes courage and tenacity to answer the call. This invisible pull from your soul can’t be seen, heard, touched, or tasted in traditional ways. Sometimes trying to explain it makes you feel plain crazy not to mention isolated and alone.  But you do it anyway….if you didn’t you wouldn’t still be reading this; you wouldn’t be in my community.

I want to stand up and honor your commitment and courage. Bravo! (Really I mean it with my whole heart) this is what evolution and transformation are made of. And you are not alone, not by a long shot.

If the call is answered there are tasks and trials on this path, both internal and external that make up the Soul Path answering phase, watch for that next time.

Walking back from the beach in the blush of early evening I noticed two young boys riding scooters in front of their house. The older one was giving pointers and encouragement to the younger boy. It quickly brought me back to the time when my children were that age. In hindsight it seemed as if my focus and roles were much more clearly defined then.  As the kids got older my role as mom and my focus shifted. The clearly defined roles became blurry and   my focus less defined.

My youngest daughter, now 18, was arriving the following day for spring break. I wondered what bumps we might hit as we adjusted to sharing close quarters again. We are both growing and changing as we journey along our Soul Path.

I notice in times of change and flux like this that my ‘monkey mind’ or mental chatter kicks into high gear. The uncertainty brings fear and doubt swirling up. In the motherhood area a chant of; am I doing this mom thing right; am I supporting without suffocating; Is it really okay to do my own thing; and a myriad of other fears.

I realized that this is also true with each phase of the Soul Path be it in the work arena, relationships, finances or any other area. We have doubts, concerns, and fears that can way lay or stop us in our tracks. In the calling phase we encounter it along the lines of, what the heck is this?  What do I do with it?! And why should I listen to it.

The answering phase stirs the pot with – Am I crazy? What am I doing?  Type fears as we examine where we have been and how we want to show up going forward. The lure of ‘everything is fine just the way it is’ or ‘it’s not so bad I should just make do’ is strong. The feeling of isolation and being the only one can be strong.

Once we hit the integration phase there are moments of amazing clarity followed by the murkiness of uncertainty. The fear kicks in with – If I were doing this right it would be easier! Maybe those experts are right and my gut is wrong.  As we begin to apply new patterns and trust our own authority these doubts pop up and has us questioning our path.

The sharing phase has us dealing with the area of sharing what we know in various forms. The fears that come up are often associated with embracing both sides of ourselves.  If I am to model this shouldn’t I be perfect at it?  Am I worthy of sharing this with the world? How can I still be a student actively learning and a teacher sharing wisdom?

The mental chatter is part of our beautiful human mind. One of the critical skills in growing and expanding is to acknowledge it and realize we are not alone. Finding ways to quiet the mind as well as share with a trusted advisor or friend   what’s coming up for us helps keep things in perspective and allows the space  to move  forward.

As a frazzled  young  mother  I looked  ahead  thinking it  would  get easier as the kids  get older. Things change and new skills are needed. Because I value my connection with my children I’m willing to show up, make mistakes, fall down sometimes, get back up and try again. I feel the same way about life in general. Showing up and walking my soul path isn’t always easy or pretty but there are moments of pure inspiration and trust that help guide me on.

What helps  pull you forward? I invite you to share your  thoughts  below.