What are you – male or female?  Do you ever feel totally in alignment with your given gender – completely woman in all aspects of your soul or entirely male with ever fiber of your being? If you are in sync so your inner and outer are balanced then what happens when it’s necessary to call on the qualities of the opposite sex? Are there elements in nature like trees or aspects we see daily that do not have a “sex” to them?

If you are a gentle sweet delicate female – how do you respond when you get knocked down by an unthinking bull dozing bully?  Do you cry, snarl and hope that gets the point across or do you stand up and slug the intruder? What would a real female do?

If you are a manly man, what happens when a cherished friend passes away, do you suck it up and act like you have it under control, or can you curl up in a ball on the floor or in the arms or your partner and weep from the center of your soul? What if you need to be kind and generous – how can a man do that and still be rough and tough?  Is rough and tough the kind of man you want to be?

Who sets the standards for our roles – Adam, Eve, Superman and Superwoman, Ward and June Cleaver? I believe that we are a balance of male and female qualities wrapped up in one identity.  Some days I need to wear pink because I feel womanly, soft and cuddly; other days I have my camouflage pants on with my pistol in my pocket and hiking boots…with no bug spray!

Some of my male qualities come from my history – the need to fight and be ready to protect my body, defend my once petite stature and natural sensual nature. Another portion is that I want to be seen as intelligent – whoever said woman were not?  Somewhere along the line the intellectual aspect of manhood appears to be more respectable.

When I was in my early twenties I sold life insurance for New York Life.  Blue suit, closed toe shoes, starched white blouse – can you imagine?  When I entered a corporate executive’s office they often saw a cute blonde and were distracted by the scene.  Thus my need to counter the sexual suggestions with intelligence ignited.  Within 15 minutes I was no longer an object, I had credibility.

I just rented a mini excavator to dig a 4’ trench for the electric line to my lodge.  My magic man in the country was busy so who was left to operate the heavy equipment….me?  Oh darn, I smiled inside, secretly fulfilling a lifelong dream to be behind the controls of a backhoe! I didn’t want to look like a girl in skill level, but I wore pink and my camo pants. “Mom, you are a girl” my son reminds me when I ask him if I look like a girl when we play catch with the football. I know I am a woman, but I like to play in the manly things too, so what does that make me or you when we like to seemingly step across the lines of the “other sex?” We have not even touched the aspect of sexual preference in relation to our given gender. That is all tied up in the roles we play too.

If we were created to be in balance then we have all we need in every moment to accomplish whatever is set before us. If we need muscle, there is heavy equipment or a friend who can assist.  If we need nurturing and love, then why not expect it to emerge from a part of us that we knew not, or to come from any direction – male, female, old, young, animal or insect? The more I love my womanhood, the more I love manhood in others and in myself.  The more I enjoy being pampered by the strength of a guy who wants to hook up my trailer and start the mower with a yank, the more I can express gratitude for the qualities of all we have been given.

Our future will illuminate the wholeness of who we are.  Let’s start today, be whatever moves you in the moment.  Authentic, real, truthful, honest and in integrity with yourselves – whatever that looks like.  What do you need today to be authentically you? Bask in the essence of your innate power; sexless, beautiful, strong, intimate, tender, brilliant.  Be the wo/men that shares your beauty, boldness, brawn, bliss and balance with the world. We love you for showing up as you.

Why do I resist?  Cindy, my co-author and I were taking to Liz, our coach, who was working so diligently to help me come up with a plan.  What days do I want to carve out for clients?  What programs can I offer?  Do I want to certify people in the Hide and seek process?   Or what about mentoring a select number of people? The list goes on… all said with excitement and the thrill of a new adventure.

Me?  How did I respond?   I gave tap dancing a new meaning.  I avoided, I made jokes.  I tried to move the spotlight over to Cindy?  How did I feel?  I was pinned against the wall and wanted to run- with no where to go so I did the next best thing- I kept on tap dancing.

I know enough to know that I have reached a new crossroads of my life.  A book has been born.   I just want to write a schedule that I abide by, but my pen won’t write.  I am feeling that angst- that tug of war within.  Is my behavior and goals at odds?

I am going to delve deeper and I can’t wait to see what turns up.

All right, it is three days later.  What did I learn?   My behavior is very consistent with my long-term goals.  I was so focused on doing the right thing and doing what other people said, I lost sight of my own long range goals.  Here are my take-aways after seeing how I was playing Hide and Seek:

1. I like the freedom of seeing clients at different times of the day and the week.  They like it and I like it.
2. I want to spend time gaining access to a wider of audience of people through media, speaking, coaching life coaches and mentoring people who want to use this process in a deep way to transform their life.
3. I “own” that the work is for people who are ready to step up and change their lives at a deep level.  Otherwise, I am probably not the right person for them.
4. I am going to charge accordingly and remember that the transformation that people experience only happens when myself, as well as them, are truly accountable and take responsibility for their part.

I accept the possibility that initially I may lose some clients by raising fees.  I need not apologize for my flexibility, my fees or desire for freedom and financial abundance occurring simultaneously.

I realized it is not really about setting a schedule for clients; it is about my newly- found freedom to align my fees with the life-changing work that we do together.    Hallelujah!

So…Are you ready to get unstuck?  Are you ready to meet yourself?   Are you ready to transform your relationships?  If so, I would love to talk to you.  Please contact me at www.anewfearlessyou.com.

Until next time,

Evonne Weinhaus

So, even though I was scared out of my mind, I looked over at my son…and felt—for the first time in my life—an abundance of fatherly pride.

We all stood up, hugged each other, and left the office. The only thing left to do was wait for Miguel’s answer. So, I went about my business trying to appear as normal as I could…but inside I was a nervous wreck!

Suddenly, I felt very foolish. Who did I think I was anyway? I mean…we’d only just met a few weeks ago, and had only spent a few days together. And perhaps the most important thing of all is that we couldn’t really communicate with one another.  He didn’t speak English, and I didn’t speak Spanish—not really.

The next day as I helped get the kids off to school I tried to appear cool, calm, and collected. But, I was anything but that. I scanned Miguel’s face trying to ascertain affirmation while giving him what I’d hoped would be our first father-son hug to send him on his academic way. Even Sherlock Holmes would have been disappointed, because Miguel’s face held no clues.

The clock’s hands were stubborn. And, although I am certain that I imagined it, they seemed to move in counter-clockwise fashion—making the seconds seem like minutes, the minutes like hours, and the hours like days.

I played the scene over and over in my mind rehearsing what my next steps would be. I practiced what I would say, how I would act, and how I would feel if his answer was no. I practiced what I would say, how I would act, and how I would feel if his answer was yes. I even practiced it all if he seemed to ignore the question entirely for whatever reason. In short…I was ready!

Finally, I heard the familiar groan of the bus’ engine lurching up the hill, and waited until I heard the sound of kids’ laughter before I walked—nonchalantly—toward my fate. “Just be cool,” I tried to tell myself. “Don’t panic no matter what happens.” As the sea of kids parted I saw his face and I knew the wait was over.

Miguel ran and jumped in my arms and gave me the answer I’d been waiting for. “¡Sí, sí me gustaría ser tu hijo!” he screamed and hugged me tightly around my neck.

No amount of rehearsal had prepared me for the flood of emotions I felt. I was excited, stunned, pleased—and terrified! I had prepared myself as best I could for the “moment,” but as soon as it happened I suddenly realized how completely ill-prepared I was for what was to come next…the future, our future. My mind sprung into action creating lists of things I’d never even imagined until that very moment.

When I returned home, I picked up the phone to get a recommendation of a spanish teacher from a friend. How could I even think about being his father if I couldn’t speak his language? Anxiously I began planning how long it would take before I could even communicate even the simplest of ideas. I even managed to quell the voices in my head that chided me for the many failed attempts at language study in the past. And finally, I pushed aside any concerns I had about how much all of this would cost. And the costs were mounting: air fare, adoption fees, travel medicine, time away from work, etc.

Up until that moment I was a single man who moved throughout the world without much care of price tag. Not because I was rich, but because I had somehow managed to figure out that money wouldn’t be the determining factor in my life. If I wanted something, I would figure out how to get it…after all, I was an entrepreneur! And what I wanted was to be a father, so I would have to figure out how to create the money my son and I needed.

My son. I liked the way that sounded.

…to be continued…

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!!!

Continued from last week…

Have you ever been hit squarely in the nose with a really hard object? A stinging, throbbing pain radiates out like fireworks; in this case with Daniel’s blood.

Daniel came running off the court screaming. He looked up at me and declared, “I will NEVER play basketball again!” In fact, his declaration in that moment was made with a deeper level commitment than when he proudly wrote his name on the application to play.

I was at one of the parental forks in the road. There was a part of me that wanted nothing more than to swoop him up in my arms and protect him from the dangers of basketball, Ian’s lanky limbs and big head and every other danger known to man.

Little did I know that this would serve as a mere pittance of the brutalities Daniel would face on his journey later in life as an adolescent.

There is something deeply instinctual about wanting to protect my children that resides in the core of my being. It is reflexive and all encompassing when it’s triggered.

Another part of me knew that if I fanned the flame of Daniel’s fear and allowed him to quit, he would most likely walk away from that experience learning that it’s o.k. to give up. These two distinct parts within me were engaged in a full out war in that moment.

I looked down at Daniel’s bloody tear stained face and opened my mouth to speak. Even I didn’t know the words I was about to utter. “Honey, I know it hurts… reeaaaly bad. I know you’re scared, and in this moment, you don’t want to ever play basketball again.

“I also know that you made a commitment and that your team is counting on you.

“We’re going to go to the restroom, wash your face and get you all cleaned up. You can drink some water and take a little rest. And then, Honey, you are going go back in there and play, because, Daniel, I have faith in you.”

His red swollen face with puffy eyes looked up at me through the tears.  With his nose still bleeding, he opened his mouth (I suspect not knowing what words he was about to utter) and said, “O.K., Mommy.”

It was that simple.  He needed someone to believe in him.  He needed someone he trusted to see a bigger Truth and possibility than he could see in that moment. 

What messages would I have sent Daniel had I given into fear?  “Commitment is completely negotiable.  It’s o.k. to quit when things get hard.“ These are not messages I want to give anyone, least of all, my child. 

Daniel played every game in the season.  He hasn’t grown up to be a professional basketball player, but that was never the point.  He has grown up to be someone who is courageous enough to be authentic and walk the challenging journey of being a transgender youth in a culture that has a long way to go in it acceptance of this type of diversity.

To be continued…

I had been looking at my mounted 4’ x 8’ trailer for over a month. I was not there the day the guys loaded it, but they informed me it was fully packed with remnants from the building in my Eco Village in the country I am rehabbing.

“I can do it” I cheered myself – just take it to the dump, how hard is that?

“Do you need a vest or a hard hat?” She questioned at the front office weighing station. 

“Ahh, yes, I do” I muttered without real confidence, not knowing I needed to be prepared for the war zone ahead.

Everyone should spend at least a few moments at the dump. If for no other reason you get a sense about how your few bags of trash are part of a multiplication of masses of junk.  It is a major operation and while my truck is a large vehicle I felt dwarfed amongst the enormous trash trucks pulling up right next to me and unloading the entire neighborhood’s garbage.

I untied the tarp from my trailer, looked at the beautifully arranged bats of insulation covering the trash and thought “Wow, this will go quickly.”  I adjusted the plastic band on my hard hat and tied a scrumpled bow in the front of my neon green safety vest. I looked official.

“I can do this.” I said to myself, it will be an adventure!

Just under this neatly laid pile was a heap of tiny pieces of moldy drywall, insulation clusters and floor tile. My pitch for and shovel were useless. Thank God I had gloves.  The wind carried a fog of 50 year old mold that rose from the air with each cast away handful. “I may be here till dark, but I will have fun” I chanted, alternating highly controlled breaths in between tossings.

Shortly after I began Dennis appeared. I thought to check out my load to be sure nothing was toxic. He arrived silently and began removing things from my junk pile. I spoke not thinking that he was just rummaging to inspect.  The air was filled with sounds of the largest trash compactor I had ever seen, it would have taken my truck and trailer and pushed it into the dirt like your hand sweeping crumbs from the counter.

“How long have you worked here?” “5 years” he muttered and soon we together had unloaded the mess. He even got a broom and swept out my trailer! My guess is that the attendants rarely assist the dumpers, so I felt blessed. Fiberglass stinging my arms, face, chest and some strange particle in my right eye, I was done. My truck and trailer had a glaze of glistening itsy fragments of glass from the insulation, it sparkled like a crystal carriage.

Eye wash did not remove the scratchy feeling from my eyeball, nor did the left over antibiotic drops alter the ever increasing pain. I love urgent care; you are in and out in an hour.  I have never seen a doctor celebrate their work like the woman who successfully removed the foreign object from my cornea with a Q-tip. Painless since they dumb both eyes during the process.  The world became fuzzy.

Thus it remains two days after my “I can do this” trash adventure trip. So I spend most of my time with my right eye closed. My son’s friend at his band concert last night said “Cool you could wear a pirate’s patch!” My left eye was the slacker and my right dominated my power vision so I guess two slackers are better than one.  The creamy antibiotics she ordered magnify the soft edges growing on everything I view, but still I strive for peace. Hoping, praying and knowing that my real vision for spiritual seeing is being encouraged to spring forth with the same adventure and excitement I held at the dump.

What does the future hold? Will my cornea repair and heal?  Will I learn a new adaptive skill? Will I ever witness the world with the same visual clarity I had before my trailer trip of triage? All I know in this moment is that I am supremely grateful for all that I have.  For the ability to witness beauty all around me and to accept the angelic love that shows up to comfort me in ways I could never imagine. Whatever my healing process is…I know… Eye can do this!

Me- a puzzle player?  I don’t think so.  That is my husband’s game when he is stressed-out.  He strives for perfection and avoids mistakes at all costs.  So, I was quite surprised when I had to own up to that puzzle-playing part of myself.  It was much more fun just thinking that it is my husband’s game.  Here is how this revelation came about.

I was feeling much better about the book- people are really digging the orange color   that we added to make the text more playful through out the book.  I even manage to tell some people about the word, “Face” always being capitalized and I’m almost cool about it.  As far as I’m concerned, I’m handling it all, “just fine.”

Several days later, I’m talking with a friend of mine who has just finished reading A New Fearless You and she has some questions about taking herself through the eight questions Hide and Seek process.  Always the teacher, I quickly reply, “I’ll show you how.  I’ll use a simple problem and take myself through the process.  Then you’ll see it in action.”

I sincerely thought I’d had moved past the mistake of “Face” being capitalized so I chose that one.  I’m a big believer in starting with a simple problem so we don’t overwhelm ourselves and we still get to the deeper stuff.

So I’m going along fine.  I confessed up my behavior of telling everyone how and why it wasn’t my fault.  Then I get to the question, “What do you lose if you stop that behavior and out of nowhere I hear myself say, “I would lose face.”

OMG, this whole thing is about losing and saving face.  Even I had to laugh, at the “coincidence” with the word literally and figuratively being face.

As I took myself through the rest of the process, I realized I was a Puzzle Player in this instance.  These game players seeks things all-in-order.  I realized the more I concentrated on these small issues, the more I could hide from its opposite- things out of order, or chaos.  To me, that seems to fit.  I kept going round and round asking myself, “Where do I start?”  “How do I proceed?”  It’s a new world out there since the last time I entered the PR world.  Sometimes it seems overwhelming to me.  Much easier to concentrate on the small mistakes rather than enter a whole new big media market that seems foreign to me in this day and age.

Its funny- what happens to others is happening to me.  I begin to “unstuck the stuck” when I go through the questions.  Right now as I’m writing this, I can’t wait to finish so I can check my email to see if my P.R. friend has sent me an e-mail contact list for radio shows.  I know how I want to start.  I want to start small- doing some of the Sunday morning radio shows so I have a chance to get my feet wet.  Then I will expand to other markets.  Makes perfect sense to me.  So I say, with excitement, I plan to be in front of people and up front.  The great adventure, and all of its abundance, is now.

Until next week,

Evonne Weinhaus

I didn’t get the significance of the moment I realized I was Miguel’s father until right now…my cup runneth over!

Who would’ve believed it? Certainly not me! But there I was on an airplane, this time by myself, returning to Honduras one week after cleaning up the mess on my kitchen floor. My year of “no” had quickly turned into “yes, yes.” This time, however, the purpose of the trip was wholly different. This time I was looking forward to conversing with the Honduran landscape. This time I couldn’t wait to leave the bustling Tegucigalpa streets. This time when the bus door flung open I would be scanning the crowd of children for someone who I’d hoped would be looking for me too.

After getting settled, the three of us sat in Chris’ office in a triangle formation—Miguel’s seat formed the triangle’s head leaving Chris and me to form the bottom vertices. Every detail of this moment is etched in my mind owing not only to the torrential rain of my first Honduran rainy season, but because I was a father looking at his son for the first time.

Traditionally fathers meet their children in the delivery room, or pressed against the maternity ward room window, but not me. When I met my child he was 11 years old, was born from a mother I didn’t know, lived in a different country, and couldn’t understand a word from my native tongue.

Montaña de Luz is an organization that cares for children living with HIV/AIDS, and though some of the children who live there are without parents, it is not an orphanage. So, what was I doing sitting in the director’s office asking Miguel if I could be his adoptive father? Even now as I think about it I am struck by how completely courageous each of us were on that day…me for returning to Honduras, Chris for facilitating the conversation, and Miguel for sitting there without the faintest idea of what was happening.

After a bit of small talk we finally arrived at the meeting’s purpose…“Miguel, es difícil decírtelo, pero algo muy sorprendente me pasó cuando nos conocimos. La razón que estoy aquí de nuevo es preguntarte si ¿te gustaría ser mi hijo adoptivo?” Chris translated my words for Miguel. Indeed it was difficult to tell him of the surprising thing that happened when we met that was the reason why I was there again so soon! I wanted to know if he would like to be my son—if I could be his father.

Once the words were spoken the room was eerily quiet. Nobody moved for what seemed quite a long while. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and left us suspended in our triangle formation. The only sound to be heard were the juicy raindrops dancing on the rooftop.

I looked over at Chris and she was crying. I looked over at Miguel and he began to cry. And finally, the tears that had stung my eyes from the moment I realized my life had changed forever finally began to flow down my face. Finally, Miguel broke the silence, “Necesito tiempo pensar. ¿Puedo decirles mañana?”

My heart stopped. I didn’t need anyone to translate that for me, I understood completely. “¡Sí, claro!” I say to him hurriedly. Of course he could have time to think about it and give us his decision tomorrow. But, what if after all that he says thank you but no thank you? Gosh, I hadn’t considered that option!

On that day I learned that fatherhood was a lesson in patience. But you know what? If I had raised him for 11 years, that is exactly the response I would’ve taught him to give to a question of such magnitude. So, even though I was scared out of my mind, I looked over at my son…and felt—for the first time in my life—an abundance of fatherly pride.

…to be continued…

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!!!

As we cut the tender fresh leaves of lettuce, swiss chard, nasturtium tips and cilantro for our salad from the tree of life, I felt like a farmer from the future. Here I was in Pennsylvania at a Hydroponics workshop standing next to a Tower Garden full of live food sprouted in the green house only a few weeks before my arrival. The flavor, texture and scents where out of this world. The Jetsons would have been jealous.

Hydroponics is growing fresh veggies, fruits or herbs without soil just  nutrient and mineral rich water alone.  My first experience with Hydroponics in Oskaloosa, Iowa 25 years ago planted a deep desire for owning a greenhouse.  My boyfriend’s friend from high school owned and operated a gorgeous green house, she was a visionary.  She grew for fancy restaurants and high end grocery stores who wanted beautiful and tasty stock.  She even wrapped her produce with a bow.  I was jealous.

I  met Tim Blank, of Future Growing in Florida by phone three weeks ago to learn about his – new to me – Garden Tower.  The following weekend I landed in Pennsylvania to attend his intensive workshop to learn everything I could about this amazing system.  It’s a self contained closed Hydroponic system that sits in a 2 ½’ round space and stacks 5’ tall – up to 9’ if you want to grow 36 plants at once. You can place the Garden Tower on your balcony or patio. It uses 5-10% of what a normal garden wastes so it is honoring the earth. There are 20 growing pockets where you can mix it up and play or focus on one variety like a tower full of huge strawberries.

Blank worked with Disney’s Epcot Center who had a Hydroponic system way back in the 80’s. Blank spent over a decade in the green house and had access to the biggest and the best of information.  Working with NASA to configure the finest nutrition for the astronauts he kept asking why we were not feeding the plants nutrients that our bodies needed for success? It’s great when an idea falls on deaf ears and thus a new company is born.

In traditional gardening, there is a huge learning curve, even when you love the dirt like me.  I also am not a pesticide gal and so venturing into an organic garden system without a great deal of knowledge seems fool hardy and so I just head to the store and buy chips and cookies.

I have been seeking a successful way to:

• Eat healthier
• Grow my own food – better than traditional organics
• Have control over what is in and around my food – no pesticides or toxic chemicals to warp my cells
• Have easy access to information that is simple to understand and where I can feel like a green girl
• Provide something that is easy for my friends and water garden and landscaping clients who want the same.

Imagine eating a fresh salad every night that you trimmed or harvested from your Tower Garden. With the optional tomato cage you can grow…..well tomatoes and plants that vine. Check out a small sample of ideas:

• Vegetables: Fancy lettuce, peppers, cucumbers, squash, pumpkins, tomatoes, green beans, peas, etc.
• Fruits: Luscious strawberries, cantaloupe or watermelon…
• Herbs: Love to cook? Harvest gorgeous bouquets of basil, cilantro, spearmint, chives, etc.
• Passion for flowers? Try edible flowers or any variety you love to cascade down your Tower Garden.

A complete unit with all the goodies for success is only $500. I put one together in minutes. You can even add a low watt heater for colder climates that warms the water and extends the growing season. Optional components like a rolling base are handy. The Tower Garden has a patented USDA approved food grade plastic – sturdy and safe for you and your family.  It harnesses some serious powerful food without dirt.  I am excited to jump in and begin my Hydroponic experience so I may be of greater service to those who also love self sufficiency, nutrient rich food, control over their food growth, saving money, energy efficiency, and who are health conscious and mindful of what they place in their bodies – and FUN. Add a small green house out back to grow year round.

I know I sound like a commercial, but when I find something that blesses my being I have to share it with the world. There is no need for jealousy, we can now  take charge of our life and play with the plants from the green tree of life.

When I picked Daniel up from Lucky Lane pre-school one day, he announced that he wanted to play basketball. Some of the boys in his class had signed up to play with one of the pee wee teams at the Y and somehow, they convinced Daniel to give it a whirl even though he had never liked sports; any sports.

I decided this was an opportunity to encourage Daniel’s new found enthusiasm for sports, but also wanted to seize the moment to teach a lesson about commitment. I think it’s in the fabric of parental DNA to cram as many lessons as possible into one experience. 

Daniel and I sat across from one another at the kitchen table. I explained that I would support him joining the team if he was willing to commit to participating in all of the practices and games and promise to stick with it for the entire season. He looked me in the eye and said with every ounce of sincere commitment a 4 year old can muster, “Yes, Mommy, yes. I will play in every game and go to every practice.” I was beaming as I stood up to give him a high five.

Daniel was pumped. I was proud.

He wrote his own name on the application. This was serious business.

His uniform arrived; a crimson burgundy color with bright white trim and the # 5. Daniel said, “Look how shiny it is. I think it’s made of silk!” Off we went to purchase a brand new pair of bright white sneakers to go with his uniform.

It was hard for Daniel to contain his excitement as we drove to his first practice. He ran on to the court upon arrival to join the other boys. The coach’s mission that day was to teach a few drills that would result in the boys learning how to move the ball down the court as a team; dribbling, stopping and quickly passing the ball to another boy so they wouldn’t be charged with “traveling” in the game.

The boys practiced dribbling first. They wound up spending more time chasing balls that bounced off their feet or each other than actually dribbling. Now it was time for passing. This was similar enough to playing catch with mom and dad that they did pretty well when standing still. They were feeling confident. The coach decided they were ready to combine dribbling and passing.

Unbridled enthusiasm combined with the physical clumsiness that accompanies being 4 results in an interesting amalgamation. Andrew got the ball and passed it to Kevin without taking any steps. The coach yelled, “Move the ball down the court and then pass it.” Kevin dribbled the ball in place and shot it to Ian.

Ian was long and lean with a build like Gumby. He started dribbling the ball down the court, which was an interesting sight to behold in and of itself. After managing to move the ball a good six feet down the court, the coach yelled, “Ian, Pass the ball!”

Ian prepared to pass the ball to Daniel, who was a mere 3 – 4 feet away. Ian raised the ball over his head with both arms fully extended. Four year olds do not throw with incredible precision. Ian somehow seemed aware of this reality. In his effort to compensate for the inevitable lack of precision, Ian reached his fully extended arms way behind his head in an effort to provide greater force at the moment of launch.

Ian’s calculations, however, did not include another universal truth about the physics of 4 yr. old bodies. Their heads are unusually large. This meant Ian was essentially a top heavy Gumby, which didn’t provide the greatest foundation for balance.

Ian thrust the ball with all his might. By the time his hands released the ball, Daniel was 2 feet away at most. The ball hit Daniel squarely in the nose and blood started spewing everywhere… on his new bright white sneakers, down the front of the uniform, on the basketball court; everywhere.

To be continued…

How could I have been so wrong? And if I was so wrong about that, what else did I need to reconsider?

If you had asked me at “that” time in my life, I would have said, without a doubt, I knew who I was.  After all, wasn’t I the guy who had so confidently posed that question hundreds of times to so many others? But there I was completely flummoxed by a simple question posed to me by the cutest freckle-faced Honduran boy I’d ever seen.

“Who are you?” he asked me one day while we were hanging out in the hammock. Each day since my arrival I had fallen into the habit of stealing away at the lunch hour to catch my breath from the morning’s activities. That was my time to write in my journal, look at the clouds, and generally contemplate life. Somehow, Miguel had figured out that was the best time to catch me alone…presumably to make fun of my horrible spanish. Had I heard him correctly or was my mind playing tricks on me? In that moment I was speechless. And not just because of the language barrier, but because I didn’t know the answer. My mind raced reviewing the details of my life’s story. “Who am I?” I wondered.

Am I the work that I do? Am I the relationship I’m in? Am I what my family says or thinks I am? Am I what my friends want me to be? Am I happy? Am I sad and depressed? Am I my mind, body, or spirit? Who the heck am I?

“No sé.” I finally replied looking him dead in the eyes. And you know what? It wasn’t a “cop out” or standard answer because I didn’t really know what else to say—I really did not know. That’s when I realized that I was the one who was there to receive what Miguel had in abundance. And what was that exactly? Questions! Miguel had lots and lots of questions.

The rest of the trip unfolded in far too many magical ways to describe. If I took the time to describe them all it wouldn’t be a blog, it would be a book. Hmmm… When we left, I was certain that I had experienced enough to know that Chris, Honduras, Montaña de Luz, and the children who lived there would be a permanent part of my life.

At the airport after many tearful goodbyes, Janice and I boarded the plane back home. As an experienced traveler, I was accustomed to the immigration naturalization procedure, but this time everything seemed different somehow…strange, loud, and very uncomfortable. I remember trying to explain away my discomfort as having to do with suddenly being re-emerged into my native language and culture.

I woke up the next morning in my big comfortable bed, in my “too big for me” house, with all its rooms, feeling more than a little unsettled. Already Honduras and everything I had experienced seemed light years away. I tried to settle my thoughts with a steaming cup of Honduran coffee from the coffee beans that I had purchased as the only real souvenir of the trip.

As I filled my coffee mug, the rich aroma brought to mind the conversation I had with the Honduran landscape when we arrived. Suddenly, without warning, I knew the answer to Miguel’s question. “Who am I? I am your dad!” I was brought out of my day dream into the present moment because coffee was spilling all over the counter, the floor, and my bare, unslippered feet.

I didn’t get the significance of the moment I realized I was Miguel’s father until right now…my cup runneth over!

…to be continued…

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!!!