Prayer
“I don’t know how to pray without beseeching,” I replied to this challenging soul I call mentor, friend. Her morning ritual includes prayer, on one’s knees, in supplication. I resist fiercely but not because I don’t do humble. My head is full of Catholic. Nuns-in-charge-type Catholic, where prayer is begging to be spared punishment marketed as communication with the capital G god; the daily bread of rapture. “Hail Mary full of grace… bless us oh lord and these thy gifts… if I should die before I wake”… My memories of Catholic prayer are like mantras for the hell-bound seeking deliverance. I am eight years old, under my bed at boarding…
Day 1
Puerto Rico, the Ritz-Carlton hotel. A room without a view surrounded by my mastermind partners and coaches. It is a hive of ideas and conversation and I am silent. My usual energy for discussing business and what’s up ahead is gone. The story of me as health coach has unraveled. I want to quit. I’ve been here before, but never most days — never as deeply sure that to quit is the only choice. This does not go unnoticed by one of my coaches. She asks me to take a walk with her. We leave the room and she steers us to the deck overlooking the Caribbean. The air is a…
