I am participating in Reverb10, an exercise that is challenging me to think about the past year with honesty and clarity, and to look ahead into the new year and choose what manifestations I want to reverberate throughout the new year. Join in if you’re interested.

Today’s prompt: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

I am independent, often to my own detriment. I tend to prefer to do things on my own, learning the hard way what works and what doesn’t. I’ve been known to have my feathers ruffled when others offer a helpful hint or opinion that I wasn’t expecting at that precise moment. I learn better by doing. And sometimes I do things wrong (or inefficiently) as others look on, shaking their heads at my stubbornness.

This isn’t to say I don’t accept help or criticism. I do that quite often and appreciate it. But, if I’m absolutely and completely honest with myself, I prefer it to by on my own terms. Or at my specific request. However, I realize it’s not always optimal to operate one’s life in this manner.

And this is where community comes in… and where I’m still learning. In early June, my husband and I arrived home to Boulder (well, more specifically to our very good friends home outside of Boulder). We’d spent the previous eight months on Kaua’i, working, learning how to surf and experiencing the gifts of the Pacific.

I’d been active on twitter and had developed new friends and relationships with many folks in Boulder. To arrive back to town, meet and hug so many friends—many of whom felt like old friends (although I’d just met them for the first time in person)—I was overwhelmed with gratitude and amazement at the instant community waiting for me.

Startup women (#startupwomen); Boulder open coffee club (#bocc); Atlas Purveyors (an amazingly warm and welcoming coffee shop); The support of the online and tech community there allowed me to open up and accept help. Accept advice and to learn… learn that it’s okay to be slow. Learn that building a business is about being vulnerable and open to new ideas.

I spoke in front of 15 women on a subject close to my heart and bravely asked for feedback and support—and got it in spades. The next time I spoke in public (my first major foray into public speaking) a month later, it was in front of 1,300 people at IgniteBoulder12. Thirteen hundred friendly faces and supportive energy coursing through Chautauqua, willing me to succeed.

In 2011, I want to extend my experience of the amazing community that is Boulder as I travel the country for the year. I want to remember that community is always there… I just have to ask. To put myself out there and allow myself to receive the gift of community—in Boulder, within my family, and around the country.

Expectations for friendships. I learned to acknowledge the many layers of each relationship: how each one serves and complements different aspects of my life and my personality, and what I can offer to others in the same spirit.

I think a lot of it might come down to a need for acceptance and the need to be liked by everyone I like. It doesn’t always work out that way… and I may not feel as deep a connection as someone feels about me and that’s okay, too. Stressing over it and worrying about how others feel about me is counterproductive and not a great way to direct my energy—especially when I want to focus on creating positive, forward-moving energy.

So for me, for 2010, this was a huge lesson and a really huge weight lifted from my shoulders as I let go of expectations and began to accept each relationship as separate and beautiful in their uniqueness.

On Kaua’i. Hanalei Bay. That surge of energy that comes with meeting a kindred spirit. The sand beneath my feet. Walking along the bay and feeling the wind and salt in the air. Talking and laughing with a new-friend-who-feels-very-much-like-an-old-friend.

The sadness I felt as we said good-bye (I was returning to the mainland soon after). The confidence and contentment of knowing what connecting with a new friend feels like. Happiness. Joy. Peace.

Allow distractions to enter my day. Twitter, email, RSS feeds. I’ve had a goal for the past year to set aside the same amount of time every day for writing—even if I’m not in the mood, I want to sit down and have nothing else to do but write. And I was successful for about two weeks.

So can I eliminate all the distractions? Yes. Can I create a space and time for writing that is sacred and untouched by the nuances of each day? Yes. Can I commit to allowing myself the luxury of necessity of solitude for creation? Yes.

I am participating in reverb10, a reflection on the past year and a manifestation of what I want to create for 2011. Check it out if you’re interested in participating as well.

December 1 – One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

At the end of 2009, I had chosen Integration and Joy as the words with which I would enter 2010. As I reflect over the past year… celebrating the new year on Kaua’i. Getting the hang of surfing. Launching a new career and practice. Returning to Boulder and meeting friends I’d only known online finally in person. Building a new home (aka van) with my husband. Beginning a life-long dream of travel around the country. Speaking in front of 1300 people for my very first public speaking event. Helping my mom recover from a hip fracture and the major surgery that followed.

It’s been a busy year. Integration happened as I moved towards myself a little more. As I opened myself up and found a community; reconnected deeper with family; settled into marriage and creating a new, baby family of my own. Integration is not always elegant or graceful, but I believe necessary to growth. And looking back, I’m still finding my path, uncovering new facets of life. Yet I’m okay with the messiness and uncertainty that I’ve experienced. I’ve grown, learned and yes, integrated, more of my deepest self into who I am today.

And along with this integration, there has been joy. But not the robust, loud, emboldened joy I imagined at the beginning of 2010. But a quiet, deep joy for the direction I’ve taken in my life. For the choices I’ve made and the people I’m with.

So what’s my word for 2011? I’m still pondering that one, so you’ll have to wait. What do I want to put out into the world that will reverberate throughout the year? Hmmm…

summit of Mt of the Holy Cross | August 2008

I started amelia carolyn just a couple of years ago on a whim. It reintroduced me to my love of writing and provided a venue to share and express my thoughts and experiences.

And I credit this blog for helping me find and develop my passion for writing and desire to help others through life coaching. And in March of this year, I launched Expand Outdoors, my life coaching practice. And with it, a new blog.

I’m also embarking on a year-long road trip with my husband, where we’re planning on blogging together about our journey. (Blog url to be determined.)

That’s three blogs for me… too many for now. So I’ve come to the decision to take a hiatus, (or sabbatical, or break, or whatever you’d like to call it) from amelia carolyn. I believe I’ll be back, but my focus is elsewhere right now and instead of feeling guilty and stressed about not writing here, I’m going to trust that the right decision for now is to let it sit for a bit.

amelia carolyn
My mom wanted to name me Amelia Carolyn before I was born, but eventually my parents decided on Amy. I’ve always dreamed that Amelia was my alter-ego. A braver and more creative self that was hidden, and I’d wanted to give her a voice through my writing.

At the beginning of 2008 I had anticipated it would be a year of newness and celebrating all that was changing in my life. I didn’t know at the time what that meant. This blog was part of that year and over the next two years, I’ve been able to integrate the bravery of amelia carolyn that was hidden, and bring her into the present.

You can catch up with me at Expand Outdoors and theAdvanture.

thank you
I want to thank all of my readers for supporting me, encouraging me and reading here. It has helped me grow and expand myself and get me ready for the future.

hiking by lower mesa falls in Idaho | August 2010

at the start

Last March, as I was soaking in the Kaua’i sun, learning how to surf and immersing myself in the launch of my new business. I’d taken a sabbatical from running to focus my energies on surfing, but was in the midst of planning to get started again.

So when the sign-up for the Barr Trail Mountain Race opened in March, I decided to enter and planned on being well-trained and ready to run hard.

The running hard part I managed. But the training and being ready? Well… that didn’t work out so well.

The truth is, I didn’t run a lot between March and August and I’m not exactly sure why. I love running. I love the feeling of working hard and being on the trails. My priorities have shifted this year and I’ve been focusing a lot of my energy on Expand Outdoors.

I could offer up a ton of excuses, but the plain fact is, I just didn’t put the miles in and wasn’t ready for the race.

But I was excited about it. I looked forward to it. I figured it’d give me a really good idea of where my fitness level really was. I’d run it last year and had done pretty well. Would I completely fall apart this year? Would I blow up and maybe not even finish?

Or would I surprise myself and do well? Would it turn out that I’m in better shape than I feel?

I was curious to find out. And I was looking forward to the run itself. Just being out there and doing something I love doing. I didn’t have any expectations or goals, other than to finish and have fun doing it.

race day
July 18, 2010. I’m up at 4:30am getting ready. We arrive at the start line early. I pick up my race number, pin it on my shirt and do some stretching.

The course begins in Manitou Springs, CO, at the start of the cog railway up to Pike’s Peak. We pick up Barr Trail and run up 6.3 miles to Barr Camp (at 10,200’) and then back down to the finish (6,570’). Elevation gain is 3,630’.

elevation profile

For my non-acclimated lungs, I was curious how my lungs would feel.

the race
It was time. We listened to The Star Spangled Banner and then off we went. I started out slowly, pacing my heart rate and my breath.

running up the W's

Since I’d been on this course a number of times before, I knew the beginning was steep and planned on walking quickly, instead of running. Unfortunately, my right knee decided not to cooperate. Every so often (with no rhyme or reason), the tracking would be off and I’d pinch some ligament or tendon that would startle me with a quick shock of pain.

It was less painful to run. Go figure. My heart rate was too high to run (as my fitness level wasn’t up to par), but it was painful to walk quickly. So I walked a little slower, running when I could.

As I reached Barr Camp and the turnaround, I felt good. I was running much stronger than I’d anticipated (especially since it was the longest run I’d been on for a long time). The mountain was beautiful. Clouds came in and shielded us from the hot rays of the sun. I was smiling.

On the way down, I grew stronger and got into a rhythm. My knee didn’t pinch on the downhill, so I was able to open up and relax. My heart rate settled in and I cruised.

And then OUCH! A mile and a half from the finish, my thigh (or IT band) on my left leg began to seize up. I felt like my foot was on the end of a puppet string and the puppeteer was trying to untangle it. I had trouble controlling my left foot. I slowed down to stretch it a few times. I walked a bit to loosen it up. Stretched again—this time for a full minute.

Finally it began to straighten out and I was able to run. I realized I’d put my body through a lot and was grateful I was still able to run.

finished!

Two hours, fifty-nine minutes and eight seconds after beginning, I crossed the finish line, happy with my time. It was significantly slower than my 2009 time (by over 20 minutes), but all things considered, not too shabby.

I took a quick dunk in the icy creek and headed home, happy that I ran hard and survived.

I know, since neither of us have ever done anything remotely like this, there’s some anxiety and stress over whether or not we’re doing it right (is there any *one* right way for anything?), or if we’re doing it in the most efficient way possible (probably not).

And that’s where my guilt comes in. Did you notice at the beginning of my post, I wrote, “watching”? ‘Cause that’s mostly what it feels like I’m doing at this point—watching and occasionally asking questions and serving as a sounding board for when he needs to verbally work out logistics and ideas.

We’ve worked together on designing the layout, deciding what goes with us and what stays behind. But as the construction begins, I sit on the sideline, waiting to drill a hole or sand a corner (secretly hoping I don’t need to know why that screw is going in that particular spot).

I want to. It goes back to a post I wrote about wanting to want to like something, but really not liking it. I am intrigued by the construction process. I enjoy working with my hands. But alas, I sit on the sideline wishing I was curled up with a good book, the van complete.

our home for a year

I know that things generally take longer than you think they will… especially when it’s a large construction-type project. I know this. I knew it a month ago. I just wish, sometimes, that progress might surprise me once in awhile. That your big project acutally ends up taking half the time instead of twice as much. Is that too much to ask?

It’s not that we haven’t made progress on our van… we have. They’re just not actually visible yet. And sometimes it feels as though we haven’t moved forward at all, and I get discouraged.

August 2nd or 3rd is when we’re targeting to leave. We have a family reunion starting the 4th and want to launch the trip then. That’s in, ahem, two weeks. (Pardon me while I go scream for a little bit.)

Two weeks isn’t a very long time. Plan A? Finish in time and head north. Plan B? Return to finish the van after the reunion and give ourselves a few more weeks to complete it.

While the progress isn’t visible, we actually are making. Here’s what we’ve done:

• Purchased the van. (That was pretty big.) We’ve also stripped the shelving it came with and cleaned it out. We’ve added new tires, an alignment and got an oil change.
• We discussed getting doors in the back with windows and researched our options (eventually deciding against it for a variety of reasons).
• We sat down and planned the layout for the inside. Where are the bikes going? Where are we sleeping? Where will the shelving go? How the heck are we going to fit everything in?
• We went to storage and got everything we thought we’d need, piled it up for a visual picture of what goes in, and pulled our hair out. Yikes.
• Bracken made detailed measurements of the floor and what materials we’ll need to build it. And then went and purchased it all.

current condition of the inside

We still have a LOT to do. Two weeks just might be a little ambitious. We’ll see. But it’s coming along… the construction is part of the adventure. Right?

We’re still working long days. Trying to see old friends and meeting new ones. I’m launching a business. It’s a little crazy and I’m looking forward to getting on the road and just driving with the world ahead of us.

Until then, we’re building. A van. Some strength. And a whole lot of patience.

My friend (and I love her for this) burst out laughing. She looked at me incredulously and just laughed and laughed. Our eyes met and she very pointedly asked, “Really? You play it safe?” I then realized why my statement was so utterly false.

perceptions
We often judge or compare ourselves to others. Or to our own expectations of ourselves. We believe the world sees us as we see ourselves. Sometimes that’s true, but way more often, it seems, we don’t give ourselves nearly enough of the credit that others do. We’re hard on ourselves. We judge ourselves.

Are there times in my life when I play it safe? Sure. Surfing. Climbing. Speaking in front of a crowded room. Yet when I look at the choices I’ve made in my life, where I’m headed and what I’ve experienced… most people would say I take risks and am pretty adventurous.

Quitting my job. Starting a new business. Moving to Hawaii. Converting a van to live in for a year… these are not necessarily “safe” choices.

Our inner scripts can be strong. Even though we grow and evolve and transform, those old scripts from our past selves stick around. Sometimes it takes a perspective from a friend—someone outside of ourselves—to see us as we are now.