If You Don't Have Your Heart
A virtual open house & photo journey to celebrate one year of The Way Home
Welcome to a special edition of STILL… Special?
Yes, because my first book is turning one this week!
That’s right, The Way Home: Discovering the Hero’s Journey to Wholeness at Midlife came out on February 20, 2024.
It’s hard to believe it’s already been a year…
There are three ways I want to invite you to celebrate with me this week:
JOIN ME FOR AN ONLINE OPEN HOUSE THIS FRIDAY, February 21 from 1pm-2pm ET. I’ll read a few sections from the book, talk about what I’m working on these days, and answer any questions you have about writing, creativity, meditation, my prison meditation work, hospice companionship, karaoke, etc.
I’d love to meet you and thank you for reading my stuff, so I hope you can make it!
SUPPORT THE BOOK—by rating or reviewing it on Amazon (This really helps!) or Goodreads, or by buying copies for your friends.
RELAX & ENJOY today’s special post. I was initially going to talk about this past year and share some podcasts and such, but then I decided I wanted to celebrate the book by celebrating the journey in the book.
So I invite you on a photo journey through The Way Home below, featuring excerpts from the book accompanied by images from the experiences the words describe. I hope you enjoy it, but even if you don’t, it was such a powerful contemplative exercise for me to gather these photos and excerpts—my heart is filled with gratitude!
Make sure to check out the incredible BONUS IMAGE all the way at the bottom!!!
A note: it’s longer than usual, so you won’t be able to view the entire message in email form.
A Journey through The Way Home
If You Don’t Have Your Heart, You Have Nothing
One rainy fall morning I was charging up a hill near the end of a jog. Any other day I would dash around the corner and sprint the last ten blocks to my house. But this day was different. When I reached the top of the hill, my legs burning and music blasting in my ears, a string of words from within suddenly interrupted me.
“If you don’t have your heart, you have nothing,” the inner voice said.
Get Help
The seed of my Yes response to the call was planted the day of that rainy morning run and whisper from within when I finally got out of bed later that morning. It grew when, thanks to my wife Cherie’s urging, I decided to take the day off instead of hiding in my work. And my Yes began to bloom when I showed up at a previously scheduled lunch appointment with my mentor Ron.
I sat across the restaurant booth from him and spilled out my unsorted thoughts. “Everything is falling apart,” I told him. He listened. He acknowledged my hurt and confusion. And he offered a word of hope: “You are much more buoyant than you feel in this moment,” he said.
Releasing the Hummingbird
“Shhh,” she whispered, carrying it to the front door. Then she let go. She set it free. The beautiful bird darted away from our house. Into the flowers and trees of our neighborhood. Back to its true home where it was always meant to be.
And so it is also for anyone who sets out on the journey of wholeness. The three steps of the Leaving phase mirror this hummingbird’s adventure.
You find yourself in a place you don’t fit or a situation that doesn’t work anymore.
You need help—and likely resist it for a while.
Ultimately, you need to get out of whatever house you’re in so you can find your true home.
The Girl and the Jaguar Tattoo
On a crowded bus, my two-and-a-half year-old daughter pointed at a burly man behind us whose arms were covered in tattoos.
“Daddy, get a tattoo,” she said…
“And what tattoo should daddy get?” I asked, thinking she would have a cute little idea for me too.
She wrinkled her forehead, hesitated, and declared:
“A jaguar. You should get a jaguar tattoo.”
Grace, Space, Pace
That came out of nowhere! A jaguar? I didn’t think she knew what that was either. I thought about what the book said and tucked jaguar in the back of my mind, wondering if it might mean something for me. It didn’t take long to find out.
While I was watching a college football game that afternoon, jaguar popped back into my mind. Maybe it’s a symbol, I thought.
…
I followed jaguar with the first word that entered my mind at that moment: motto. I clicked the search button. I scrolled down a couple search results and I gasped at the three words I saw: Grace, Space, Pace.
I would go on to click the link. I would read that this was the Jaguar luxury car company’s slogan in the 1950s and ’60s. I would see that for those cars this slogan meant elegant, roomy, fast. But before any of this, I knew. I knew that these words were meant for me. Grace, Space, Pace. Not only did this trio of words add additional confirmation to the rainy morning invitation I had received. But they were also instructions, offering me three ways to say Yes to the call, three critical practices I needed to embrace if I wanted to discover my way home.
The Sabbatical Pilgrimage
Cherie and I cleaned up the house, rented it out to help cover the cost of our adventures, and hit the road in our minivan with our seven-, six-, and three-year-olds. As soon as we left Seattle and drove over the Cascade Mountains, I felt a lightness I had not known for years. I felt gratitude for the adventure that was unfolding. I was also scared. I knew I needed this extended time to separate myself from the things solitude and shabbat had shown me—my pursuit of the approval of others and my belief that my worth is tied up in what I do and accomplish. But I also knew that I would have to face restless parts of myself, parts addicted to activity and afraid of fading into irrelevance.
The choice to leave our home for sabbatical was about more than just a change of scenery.
We were embarking on a pilgrimage.
Mascot Rules
My first day on the job I sat around a small conference room table with the two other college students with whom I would share the musty, wearable-rug rhino costume as the staff intern instructed us:
There are two rules mascots must follow at all times:
First, do not talk. You can wave, point, blow a kiss, put one hand in front of your mouth and the other over your belly to imitate laughter, and make other gestures, but you cannot talk.
Second, do not take your mask off. Never, under any circumstances, let people see your face by removing your mascot head.
…
But many years later, on this quest to get my heart back, I remembered the mascot rules.
And I realized they were essentially the same rules that I obeyed in the non-mascot world—rules that were causing me to lose my heart!
Don’t speak with your inner voice.
Don’t let people see your true face.
Anam Cara: Soul Friend
But it was especially a character from my past who became my soul friend in this season: my best friend, Nico. A man with kind eyes and a legendary laugh. A devoted, mischievous, and huge-hearted human being. Simultaneously able to talk about the most profound spiritual things and the most outrageous things.
…
Every couple of months Nico and I got to hang out on work trips. During morning workouts, in conference hallways, or over late night gin and tonics, we would talk. And talk and talk. Mystical stories and spiritual practices, struggles and fears, and lots and lots of questions:
How do I know I’m on the right path?
What if I’m getting this all wrong?
How long do I wait for more clarity before making a decision?
What if I fail my family?
What if I fall flat on my face?
What am I doing with my life?
Our friendship embodied what the mystic Teresa of Avila once wrote in a letter about her relationship with John of the Cross: “What a wonderful thing it is for two souls to understand each other, for they neither lack something to say, nor grow tired.”
Get Quiet
Cherie and I were walking around the nearby university campus. As we exited the ornate, Hogwarts-style library and strolled past the gorgeous cherry blossoms we were there to witness, I was in my own world. I was thinking about the work I needed to do in order to make this a successful venture. Like a kid in a candy shop I was greedily pointing to the possibilities. I’ll do this. And then this. And then that. But then I snapped out of my own world and slowed down for just a minute, looked at Cherie, and asked, “What do you think about all of this? What would you say to me as I move forward?”
She paused. She took a few breaths.
“Get quiet,” she said.
“I think you need to get quiet.”
Get quiet . . . They were Cherie’s words, but it was the same voice that had been chasing me down across the years. The voice beckoning me back to come home. Telling me not to be afraid. Urging me to let go—and to remain in the letting go.
Animal Apprenticeship & My Jaguar Journey
“You become an apprentice to the animal,” Tall Tim answered. “An animal guide often serves as a mirror. The animal teaches you things about yourself that you can’t see.”
…
These literary jaguar encounters energized me. Jaguar was teaching me of my own innate capacity for patience and perseverance in the face of challenges. I was made for this long, dark night.
Beyond the books, there was my teacher, Nayla, the regal female jaguar at the Seattle zoo. I was familiar with rushing around the zoo as a class field trip chaperone, but with Tall Tim’s encouragement I began to visit weekly for a time of contemplation and retreat with Nayla.
The Owl Encounter
The owl swooped down toward me, landing twenty yards away, still looking at me. I was stunned into stillness. A minute later it flew toward me once more, landing on a branch less than ten yards away. It looked directly at me and seemed to be peering into my soul.
I slowly raised my arm for the owl to land on it. And the owl . . . did nothing. It stayed right where it was (hey, I figured it was worth a try!). Regardless, I felt absolutely present to what was transpiring. It wasn’t a time to process things. And yet, I couldn’t help but think:
I’ve been to this park a hundred times and I’ve never seen an owl here!
It’s 11:30 am on a sunny summer day and here is this nocturnal creature!
I’m at the park exploring themes of death and darkness.
I’m looking for a message, and here in front of me is an owl, which I know at a very basic Harry Potter level is a symbol of a magical realm and a deliverer of messages!
We looked at each other for a long time. I waited for the owl to fly away. But it wouldn’t. It was waiting for me to leave. As I turned around to head back to the circle, I sensed that the owl was letting me know that it was watching me and that it was with me in the darkness.
White Mustang in the Desert
The trip felt enchanted from the moment I arrived at the El Paso airport when the rental agent called me “Mister Cat,” and then directed me to a complimentary upgrade, a white Mustang convertible. Both were significant omens because I was in the midst of my jaguar apprenticeship, and the horse had become Nico’s guide. Getting a convertible was a bonus—even though it was during the cold of January—and it gave the whole adventure a bit of a Thelma and Louise fleeing-across-the-desert vibe.
The Wind Whispers My Name
As I approached the summit, I felt beckoned off of the trail. I climbed over a field of boulders until I arrived at a rocky perch high above the circle of stones below and across from a massive green canyon wall. As the wind swirled around me, I inched closer to the edge of the cliff. I felt rooted and strong, aware of my patience and endurance. I was grateful and open-hearted from my experience in the circle of stones. I wasn’t asking for anything more. I stood still.
Then I heard a name, whispered by the wind.
It was name for me—a new name, but also a name I always had. A name I was always searching for. The name spoke of who I was becoming on this journey to get my heart back.
Saguaro Sorrow
What transpired in the next ten minutes was part spiritual encounter, part crime scene investigation. I found a second bullet, this one a .38 Special from a different gun, in a patch of grass. Then a third bullet, once again a 9mm, under a small shrub. When I found the fourth bullet, of yet another caliber from another gun, tears started to spill down my face.
With each new discovery, the cactus told me another painful chapter of its story. I was overwhelmed by the amount of violence this cactus had endured. How many people had wandered up this remote, trailless little mountain in the middle of nowhere to take out their rage or sadness or pain on this cactus? But my deep sorrow went beyond the story of this abused cactus. It was as if I was tapping into all the harm throughout the ages that human beings have directed toward every living thing. Toward the planet. Toward one another.
Houston, We No Longer Have a Problem
Ten minutes and a two-mile drive later, I was sitting with my dad, both of us in awe of the chance encounter. We hadn’t seen each other in more than six months, so I was just grateful to be with him. I didn’t have any agenda to open up about the deeper aspects of my life. He started asking me questions about my job. He knew I was dissatisfied and I said as much. But then he kept inquiring.
…
It felt like two friends listening and learning from one another. To anyone else in the bar, it looked like a normal conversation, but for me it was a holy moment, years in the making. As the bar closed, we walked outside and hugged. He kissed me on the cheek. He told me how special our conversation was. And he told me how much he loved me.
I was able to receive the love. From him, of course. But also from myself, from the divine, from everything. A love not based on any accomplishment or behavior or belief. An unconditional love.
The Canyon Quest
Five years earlier, when it all began with If you don’t have your heart, you have nothing, I likely would have felt these fears too. But after years of pursuing my soul, I had grown familiar with both the silence and the surprises that soul delivers. I was totally open. If nothing happened in that canyon, it was fine. Mystery had already given me so much. But if something did happen, I was ready to receive, ready for revelation, ready to be drawn into the depths of mystery and wonder, into the dark corners of truth and beauty. All over again.
It was a gift to be in the canyon with others who were ready to receive too. As Dr. Neil and I got to know each other, we frequently articulated our readiness to surrender to whatever might unfold by saying to one another, “I’m all in.”
…
For a long time, I had been waiting for something to be born.
It was.
I was.
And now it was time to figure out how to bring this new sense of aliveness and awake- ness, this being-put-back-together wholeness and love into the world.
Mister Mystical
I didn’t know the specifics of my projects when I left the canyon. But soon after I returned, things began to crystallize. The first project came to me as I sat at a coffee shop one morning. I knew I needed to tell my story. I needed to show my true face and speak with my true voice. I decided that I would rent out a small neighborhood theater and find a creative way to give all that I had experienced in my Leaving, Falling, and Rising as a gift to my community. I would talk about the mystical moments in my life, simultaneously the most ridiculous and most sacred experiences. I wanted to help others awaken to these moments in their own past, present, and future. Because, ultimately, in a way that was consistent with the gift that I always sensed was mine to give, I wanted to help others live full-hearted lives, unearth the treasures of their calling, and share these gifts with one another and the world.
My project would take the form of a one-man show—part sermon, part standup comedy, part performance art.
…
It was called Mister Mystical.
Be Still
The role of neighborhood pastor had once worked as a vehicle for my calling. But it didn’t anymore. I knew I wanted to continue to tend to matters of spirituality, community, and social impact, but I would need another culturally viable form to carry out that work. Something more expansive and open. So I began an apprenticeship with an emerging option. As my own meditation practice deepened, I came across the opportunity to become a certified meditation teacher. I also cleared a major hurdle—I stopped waiting for something to change with my job. And I started to create on the side. As an expression of my sacred dance, I started a pop-up event series called Still Life, bringing people together for community, music, poetry, and meditation. None of this was yet a job. I wasn’t making any money. But it was deeply fulfilling because I was finding and developing creative ways to give my gift.
Begin Again
As we drove away, I was aware that this cross-country move wasn’t just the end of an era in terms of where we lived. It also symbolized a clear ending on my inner journey. As grueling as the six years had been, and as much as I had wanted to speed through them at times, I couldn’t help but feel a heavy sorrow now that it was ending. It caught me off guard. And yet I realized I wasn’t alone in this experience. I was reminded of a feature in Bill Plotkin’s book Nature and the Human Soul, in which he explores eight life stages. I was a few chapters into the book when I noticed that he ends each chapter—each stage of the life journey—with an acknowledgment that essentially says, you have a deep sadness that this part of your journey has come to an end. It was the best stage of life to be in.
This whole journey was the best season of my life.
It really was.
Well, that is, besides the one after that, and the one after that, and the one after that…
Make Your Myth
Perhaps it’s obvious, but I surround myself with this collection of memorabilia to remind me of the sacred season of life that I traversed. It’s not that I’m trying to relive the “glory days.” It’s because as I move into the future I want to constantly be reminded of my desire—and, more fundamentally, my calling—to live a soul-centered life. I want to hear the Call to Adventure that steadily reverberates deep within myself, a sound which so many other forces try to drown out.
But there is one other important lesson that is crystal clear when I look at these eclectic totems: my myth is my own. Even as my way home was an echo of a universal pattern, my journey was entirely unique. And so is yours.
Bonus: The Small, Underground David Hasselhoff Museum
It also eventually brought me to Berlin, where I went to a karaoke bar that featured a small, underground David Hasselhoff museum, but that’s a story for another time.
