What is one thing you really want that feels totally impossible?

This is scary to answer. (You’re probably feeling a bit embarrassed or terrified as you ponder the question. It’s ok. Me too.)

We all have dreams that feel out of our reach. That’s natural.

I want to write a book. I want to feel healthy. I want my business to be a raging success. I want this blog to be useful.

What I really want for you is for you to know deep-down in your bones, with every ounce of your soul, that impossible is total bullshit. 

Seriously, bullshit! Very few things in life are actually impossible.

To help motivate you for your next big adventure, I’ve put together a mini-festa & workbook titled Impossible Is Total Bullshit. {I like to keep things to the point.}

Subscribe to my newsletter using the handy-dandy box in the top right corner of my site, or right here if you’re reading this elsewhere. As a thank you, Impossible Is Total Bullshit will be delivered straight to yo’ inbox.

So, tell me, what do you really really want?

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Crow 3 by Jenny Liz Rome

How do I write about leaping chasms, overcoming obstacles, and pursuing impossible dreams when the phrase stuck on repeat, and looping in and out of my mind daily, hourly, minute-ly(?) is:

This was never part of my plan. Phnom Penh was not supposed to be my home.

I am struggling to make peace with my move to Phnom Penh. Eight months, two visits to the States, multiple trips to Bangkok & Siem Reap, and I still don’t feel any more at home here.

My apartment is gorgeous. I have made some incredible friends who amaze me with their kindness, generosity, and talent. And yet, I don’t feel settled.

On better days, I believe that everything happens for a reason. Usually, I trust that everything is exactly as it should be.

However, I cannot surrender to Phnom Penh. I don’t know what it would mean if I did, but clearly I am resisting.

Can I lay roots in Phnom Penh? I don’t know.

Have you ever felt this way? Like you’re living in the wrong place? What did you do?

My business, that I love so dearly, is based in Phnom Penh. I want to continue to shepherd this business through it’s infancy and evolution. I am committed to Push Pull.

How do I commit to Phnom Penh?

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Two hours ago, I skyped into the cafeteria at my alma mater, Stuart Country Day School of the Sacred Heart, to receive the 2012 Barbara Boggs Sigmund Award.

I listened to the introduction from Paul Sigmund, Barbara’s son, and the alumnae committee who made the award selection with quiet attention. My heart was bursting with pride and gratitude.

The day I entered Stuart’s doors as a freshman was a turning point in my life. I felt it then. I know it now.

As my heart swells with the emotion of seeing former teachers, feeling grateful, and bursting with pride, I’ve been reflecting on what led me to Stuart, and how my Stuart education has molded my life.

Getting to Stuart

What my mother knew but I hadn’t yet realized was that public school wasn’t serving me well. So in eighth grade, we began to search for other options.

I finalized my list to three schools, worked diligently on my applications and essay, and mailed the packets to each school. We waited, the months-long agony a precursor to the waiting I would experience 4 years later when applying to University.

Mail trickled in and we learned I’d been accepted to two institutions and wait-listed at the other. Oh. How would I make a decision?

Again, my mother knew. I was reluctant. An all-girls school? Really?

We were in the precarious position of not quite being able to afford the amazing educational opportunity that had been extended to me when a local Princeton family offered me a generous scholarship to attend the all-girls school.

Everything was pointing in the same direction. At 13, I began high school at Stuart Country Day School of the Sacred Heart. 

The Stuart Years

Stuart was exhilarating. I was surrounded by amazing girls. Smart. Artsy. Athletic. Musical. Tech-minded. We were a diverse bunch for such a small school.

At Stuart, we were all smart + something else. You were an artist and academic, or an academic and an athlete.

I don’t think girls in co-ed schools are any less smart. I think they’re afraid to pick up the mantle for fear of how it might affect their attractiveness.

The truly phenomenal part of an all-girls education is this: all positions of leadership are awarded to girls. The student council leaders, the star athletes, the club presidents, literary editors, newspaper journalists, and award winners were all girls. Hell, we had an all-girl ice hockey team.

So, I entered University & the greater world knowing that women in positions of leadership were natural. No big deal.

Now, An Alum & Award Recipient

After 2.5 years living in Cambodia, I can truly appreciate how blessed I am to be a Stuart graduate.

I’m lucky because at 15, I was worried about being a sophomore in high school & how I would navigate my first trip outside of the country on a language exchange to Argentina.

It was understood that I would finish high school and go on to college. No one pressured me to quit school or to get a job to help support my family.

At 17, I was a senior in high school on the brink of beginning University. It was an exhilarating time full of possibility.

Now, I get invitations to attend the weddings of 17-year-old girls. In those moments, I realize how insanely fortunate I am.

That’s one of the reasons I’m here in Cambodia – doing the work I’m doing.

Sixteen years ago, Stuart & the Fruscione Foundation took a chance on me. They invested in my education. The only thing they asked in return was for me to pay-it-forward when I could.

That single act of generosity and kindness has propelled me towards so many of my highest achievements – being a first generation college graduate, being committed to helping others, and founding Push Pull Cambodia.

I am as proud of Push Pull as I am of being a Stuart graduate. I am deeply committed to our mission of using private business to combat poverty. Push Pull is the reason I was nominated for the 2012 Barbara Boggs Sigmund Award.

And so my life comes full-circle. I know that I never would have made it here – to Cambodia, to Push Pull, to the woman I am today – had it not been for Stuart.

I am deeply grateful to receive recognition from this institution and community that means so much to me.

>> A note from my heart to yours.

{flower card base via pugly pixel)

{Halftone by Dan Mountford}

You see, the healing journey isn’t about returning to your original state – you’ve already been irrevocably transformed. – Daniel Collinsworth for Kind Over Matter

{Pagoda Rocks, Sihanoukville, Cambodia}

A few weeks ago, a friend & I took a short holiday to a sleepy resort nestled into a hill and just a few paces from the local pagoda. We arrived in the afternoon relieved to be breathing sea air and perched ourselves on lounge chairs beside the saltwater pool. I’m not sure if it’s the setting sun or the first glass of wine, but we found ourselves talking about love.

In the midst of the discussion, I admit I’ve never been in love.

And so, we begin to rehash our romantic histories. We’re weaving between past & present; trying to make sense of now by understanding then.

I recounted the tale of having my heart broken open by a wounded boy who needed to push everyone away, especially me. After months of being friends who always found each other, we had only recently labeled ourselves as dating when it ended. This made the situation all the more complicated – who was I to be so hurt?

In one of the post break-up conversations (that never should have happened, but I was reeling and confused), he uttered those cruel words– “I never really liked you. Not as much as you liked me.”

I was months shy of 19 and shattered. A decade has passed but the words still sting. As I exhaled the final line of the story, I looked up from my wine glass. After a pause my kind friend commented that if I’ve been broken open, then I’ve been in love.

Having never been in love is a core story I tell myself. With one quietly profound sentence, that truth had been challenged.

How is it possible that truth can shift so easily? 

Ever since that night, I’ve been thinking about the stories we tell ourselves. The ones that are true, those that aren’t, and now this mystery category of things we believe to be true until, well, they’re not anymore.

How, within the span of minutes, can something as fundamental as whether or not I’ve been in love be called into question? How can I not know the answer?

I find myself recounting the romantic devastations I’ve suffered and what they mean – are they a sign that I was willing to commit? Evidence that I have, in fact, been in love.

I don’t know.

How do you know if you’ve been in love?

I always thought you’d just know deep in your bones. But there’s validity in the belief that the people who are capable of hurting you the most are also the ones you care about most deeply.

Furthermore, what’s the difference between being in love with and loving someone? 

I love tenaciously and imperfectly. I love the friends who cocoon me on their couches when I’m hurting the most. I love my family who loves just as flawed as I do. I love the sensitive analysts and sarcastic do-gooders who have become my family in Cambodia.

I have loved – truly, deeply, and in my own way.

Is that the same as being in love? Again, I don’t know.

The only thing I do know is that we all have stories we tell ourselves. Some are true. Some aren’t. Some might have been true before, but perhaps are no longer. 

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{Abandoned House Photo by Valerie}

Many of us (ahem, including me) treat our hearts like attics abandoned long ago. We know they house things we once thought were valuable. We know there’s probably something we used to love living behind those doors. Yet, we never go there.

Or maybe we only rarely visit. On select occasions we crawl into the must & sit with our past. We unpack our dreams and treasures for an afternoon before returning to the crisper and cleaner confines of today, here and now.

We build these barriers between our hearts and our lives. We close doors and limit ourselves.

I’m sick of it. I’m so tired of feeling detached. I’m tired of not dreaming.

I’ve begun an experiment. I’m leaving the door to my heart open. I’m staying vulnerable. I’m unearthing my desires. I’m searching for my intuition.

So far, the experience been full of contradictions – pain and joy, anger and hope – but it’s ultimately powerfully positive. So, I’m going to ask you:

Are you willing to open your heart?

Do you want to know what desires are hiding in your heartspace? 

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{Be Brave Poster by Jess LC}

Let yourself be drawn by the pull of what you really love. – Rumi

{Head Full Of Air, Matt Wisniewski & Derrick Leung}

You can’t stand in between someone and their heartache, you can’t try to deflect it or get rid of it. –Jenn Gibson, Roots of She.

My heart aches far more often now. Turns out that increased sensitivity is a side effect of choosing to live vulnerably. I am no longer impenetrable.

I get wounded more easily. I have a harder time shielding myself.

I intellectually know that this is a positive change, but man does it feel excruciating at times.

In the last week I’ve desperately wanted to put up my guard. One of my mentors said to me with so much loving kindness, “this is a critical moment to stay open.” So, I’m trying that.

I’m leaning into the pain of vulnerability. I’m opening myself up to being hurt. I’m trying so damn hard & trusting this will work out for the best.

>> What other side effects have you encountered in trying to live vulnerably? How do you cope with the side effects?

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{street art by banksy}

 There are times when the most powerful thing you can do is to let go. Containing a ripe idea or a former version of yourself, like avoidance, requires a lot of effort. Don’t confuse this effort with strength; it’s a perverse manifestation of fear (and weakness).

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