I was six, we were on the train, St. Louis to Miami, mom and me. We were traversing a bridge and I couldn’t see the ground so I said, “Whogph!” (I think that’s how it’s spelled).
I looked up at my mom and asked, “Are we flying?” Without hesitation, my mom smiled and said, “Yes, we are.” She could have said, “Trains don’t fly, silly,” but instead, that ride became magical. I was in a train flying toward Miami; anything was possible. My mom’s mischievous nature set my imagination free.
She was my hero. She danced in the ballet, was an incredible artist, a tennis star, looked like a beauty queen, and she took cottage cheese, a pear, a raisin, and a sliced banana and made them look like a bunny rabbit. But if she read this, she would deny all these things and shrink in discomfort from me sharing about her. You don’t flaunt who you are, you will come across as full of yourself – you stay quiet in the background as not to draw attention to yourself, was my mother’s belief, which was a little inconvenient for me because I wanted to be an actress. Instead I became an occupational therapist who used art to help kids who were depressed, misbehaving, and suicidal. I’m really glad I did because it turns out that that not only was it rewarding, but I needed help with those things as well..
Mom was flawless in just about every way– hair, clothes, tennis, home décor, birthday cake baking, sewing, dancing, church attendance, bargain shopping, and completing my school art assignments without me wanting her to do so. She made us matching dresses, I felt like one of her accessories but whined a lot more than her purse or shoes did so I’m pretty sure I annoyed her. She called me a “pill.”
Author of The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry said, “A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.”
Back in the 90s, I wrote a speech about how I took a soulless management job, got depressed, fired, and reinvented myself in a way that brought more happiness into my life -- helping people again. The speech won contests and hundreds heard this story about my depression and getting fired. It was the first time I shared something so personal with so many people. I come from a family where you don’t talk about personal problems publicly, really, no talking was preferred. My mom was embarrassed, but to me I was taking a rock pile in my life and making it into something that perhaps someone else might benefit from, a maybe not a cathedral, perhaps a two-bedroom cottage with nice appointments, wood floors, and love note to people who could relate taped to the door. I felt like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing, my purpose was made clear, but it met with disapproval from one of the most important people in my life, my mom.
My train had already left the station though, because I felt passion for this purpose. I went on to write and perform a full length one woman show about a woman who lost herself to a job and met up with seven wacky characters that helped her rediscover who she was called, I Can’t Always Handel Reality, But it’s Really the Only Place to Get a Good Cup of Coffee. There was a queen of the Marshmallows, Zen detective, a TV repairman. … I come from a family where you don’t share your insanity on stage, my mom was horrified. But this is who I was.
I was fueled by creativity, my locomotive momentum was flying. I was fascinated with this amazing facility we all have, to see things differently, alchemize darkness to light, let our soul’s signature emerge from the mystery of the subconscious, to take our conflicts, needs, observations, and amusements and make them into words, art, dance, music, and a pear salad so it looks like a bunny. I wanted to share it with others. I went on to write a book about creativity that lead me to doing speaking engagements all over the country.
My mom did not like any of this. Instead she told me I was full I was of myself and she distanced herself from me. I didn’t know moms were allowed to do that.
I am full of myself. I find it logistically impossible to be full of anyone else. Me and myself are very close. I laugh about it but, honestly, it was painful. For the next five years, I ran into one rock pile after another. My marriage disintegrated; my dad died. I moved to outside the city with someone I didn’t “vet” thoroughly enough, which turned ugly. We lived up on a hill that had a steep driveway. I didn’t put on the emergency brake, my car rolled into in a … rock pile. Do you think I saw a cathedral in the rock pile? No, not even a drive-through hamburger stand. Sometimes a rockpile is just a pile of … rocks.
The worst part of this all this was having a mom that didn’t want anything to do with me, because I was being true to my dream. My choices were to play small or be rejected by my mom. All this stress became toxic and, in that toxicity, I became sick to the point of being unable to function for months. 
My mother lost her way, she gave up those things that brought her joy – worried what others would think. If I wasn’t playing small too, I was reminding her that she wasn’t living up to her potential.
But I wanted to share the gifts she gave me, making a difference in the world out in front, living large, raw and real.
Knowing the healing power of creativity, I started writing again, and I wrote, and I wrote and wrote until I had a book which I dedicated them to my mom. I told the world she was my first inspiration. She gave copies to all of her friends.
It can be tough staying true to yourself when people you love don’t approve. But the alternative seems to be living like a pile of rocks.
The human spirit, when plugged into its passion, can have the power of an unstoppable train, enjoying the velocity that comes from living its purpose and anything is possible. Every day in every life there are rock piles and forces trying to stop us. Don’t stop. If your heart and your spirit and your passion are on track, you’ll fly right over them.
I wonder how many people play small because they worry what people think? I hope you’re not one.
For a podcast about Rock Piles.. beam yourself here.
Come to parallel universe time on Mondays at 8:30 am pacific. It's free. A place to get things done while people hold the space for you, and you for them, to do that. Let me know if you'd like to be put on the reminder list. The link - click when ready to attend: 
Come to parallel universe time on Mondays at 8:30 am pacific. It's free. A place to get things done while people hold the space for you, and you for them, to do that. Let me know if you'd like to be put on the reminder list. The link: 
"Where should I love?" I asked my coaster again. My coaster began to write in my journal:
My trajectory is not linear. It weaves and bounces, shimmies and jitterbugs, soars and crashes, then dusts itself off and cartwheels through my dandelion garden. The cats are used to it.
crankiness ensues. 
. 
