Arminda Lindsay

Being On Purpose

Nail Salon Epiphany

By

Tracy does my nails. I have an exclusive, albeit only in my head, contract with her, alone, to tend and maintain all twenty of my phalanges. We’re coming up on our three-year anniversary in a couple of months and Tracy recently gave me her cell phone number so I can text her directly to schedule my mani/pedi. So we’re at that level of commitment. 

Last week I messaged Tracy, asking for a slot in her day; it was time to update my color. I showed up promptly at four o’clock, handed Tracy my bag of polishes (I always bring my own), and turned on the chair massage. Settling back with my (also always with me) book du jour I relaxed into knowing everything was now taken care of and my only responsibility was to be sure I tipped well at the end of this service. 

Exactly 18 hours later, at 10:30 Thursday morning, I cracked the big toenail of my left foot. It was an innocent ottoman relocation stunt that resulted in my using the direct-line to my pedicurist, begging for help. Tracy gave me a time to come back and I showed up early, bag of polishes in-hand. In a matter of minutes, a torn paper towel, some adhesive, and fresh polish I was as good as new. My toenail would have to be inspected microscopically for you to notice any disruption or visible flaw. Impressed? I was beyond thrilled, amazed, and deeply grateful to Tracy for her mastery of trade.

She refused to take any money from me. We argued back and forth and she was having none of it. I left the salon better than I entered, but questioning the entire transaction of which I’d just been privy. I, the customer, wanted to compensate her, the service provider, for the labor she’d provided. She refused.

I spent a lot of time reviewing that situation. I discussed it with my husband, a landscape architect, and with Lisa Fields, the owner of Media Staffing Network. I looked through my own lens as a leadership coach, and you probably landed on the big picture quicker than it’s taken me to type this story down. 

Business owner Tracy gets it. She understands that she depends on me to keep coming back, manicure after manicure, to give her the repeat business she builds her business on. The five-minute fix of a broken toenail is her investment back into me; it’s her way of thanking me for continuing to call. She needs me in the same way that I need her. Our relationship is symbiotic and requires both of us making deposits for it to grow. 

I needed this up close and personal demonstration of relationship building to remind me to check in on my own customers. In what ways am I investing in them, to thank them for their repeat business? Do they feel special because they have my direct number and can reach me when they have something that’s broken that I can easily and quickly fix?

I can’t wait to see Tracy for my next appointment. She gets all my nail money and then some, because she gets me, and I love how much she understands my specific needs.

What are the “five-minute fixes” you provide for your repeat customers? How do you thank your clients for coming back?

Lemonade in Pompeii

By

Several years ago we ate our way through Italy, from top to tip, like normal people. Everything seemed larger than life, from the brick ovens that magically produced our made-to-order pizzas (I’m looking at you, Gusta Pizza), to a calzone that was bigger than my daughter’s head (I have photographic evidence), to the ginormous lemons growing in terraces on the cliffs of the Amalfi Coast. Our eyes, as well as our stomachs, feasted for weeks on-end. We came, we saw, we ate, on repeat.

One of our day trips was a thorough exploration of ancient Pompeii and I have multiple articles I could write on that day, but today’s discussion is not in fact on Pompeii. It’s about the lemons.

For days before we even got to Pompeii I had been looking at, noticing, and observing, all the lemons covering the countryside we were traveling. Agerola down to the Amalfi Coast is particularly stunning with its terraced orchards vertically dotting the mountainside. From the switchback road down the mountain, my view of the lemon orchards was distant, at best.

I was no stranger to lemon trees having spent three years living in southern California, where you can lean out your kitchen window and pick citrus from the tree in your own backyard. These Italian lemons were something else entirely, though. They were, it seemed from my remote vantage point, massive.

There we were, walking the ancient streets of Pompeii on such a hot June day, I kept glancing up at Mount Vesuvius to be sure she wasn’t putting out anything extra. She was quiet and I was parched. As soon as we exited the turnstiles leaving Pompeii behind us, the pizza and lemonade stands appeared before us like a mirage in the late afternoon heat.

Without hesitation, I ran straight to the lemons because

1. This was my first opportunity to witness them up close and with my own eyes confirm they are, in fact, ginormous, and

2. I could already taste the refreshment a cold glass of lemonade against the oppressive dust of Pompeii was about to give me.

I paid the woman for her largest lemonade and am not entirely sure I waited for the cup to transfer from her hands to mine before I started gulping it down. Not my proudest moment, of course. But even less impressive was when — mere moments later — I immediately spat back out all that I had just so quickly inhaled. This was not lemonade; it was lemon juice, freshly-squeezed, not chilled, not sweetened, not diluted, but straight up lemon juice. And my taste buds and stomach were not prepared for that citrusy onslaught.

My first thought: You just paid a lot of money for that and you will drink it.

My second thought: Over my dead body, which is what I will be if I keep drinking this.

My third thought: Remember that motivational speaker in high school who said, “You should always ask what you’re drinking before you put it in your mouth.”

These three thoughts tumbled on top of one another, kind of like my stomach felt with all that acid churning around in there, and the loudest new thought to rise above the clamor, was “I don’t think the Italian definition of lemonade is the same as mine.”

I have taken this experience to heart and often recall it when I need to remind myself (and perhaps you, too) to slow down and not jump into something feet first before asking all the questions and truly hearing all the answers. Whether it’s a job opportunity, an evolving relationship, or a new recipe, take a beat and identify your questions. Then get those questions answered. Then take a drink, and may all your gulps of lemonade be refreshing.

Fighting Philodendron

By

We are a plant-loving family, having inherited something of a green thumb from my dad and his dad before him. During her years in Boston, my daughter acquired a variety of green companions and lovingly cared for, coaxed, and grew them into the healthiest versions of themselves. It was not uncommon for our video calls to start or end with the camera facing and zooming in on her windowsill and shelves housing her growing obsession.

Following a medical emergency, we needed to move her out of Boston and home to Birmingham for a brief period of time. Because we don’t plan or schedule the routine crises that scatter themselves along our life path, that move happened when it happened — in the middle of February as soon as the roads had cleared after Boston’s crazy bomb cyclone of 2022. I packed everything I could fit into the backseat and trunk of my car, leaving just enough space for the two of us in the front seats pulled all the way forward.

That space on the floor directly behind the passenger seat was where we put the philodendron, and the floor behind the driver’s seat was where we secured the monstera, the only two plants able to come home with us. The plants’ containers were both large enough that their girth alone secured them in place, but I wanted to keep them warm so wrapped winter coats around their bases and crossed my fingers for the many days’ journey ahead of them. The car was so tightly-packed I could not access or remove them during our drive.

Much to our dismay, the philodendron did not survive the journey. While it had thrived and grown into quite a formidable display of gorgeous variegation in its Boston windowsill, four days in subzero temperatures were more than it could handle. It was almost more than I could handle, so I get it. Conversely, the monstera, ensconced behind the driver’s seat fared much better and is bigger and better than ever today, happily growing in its place of honor on our back porch.

Not one to be deterred by a frozen philodendron, my daughter carefully dug down and discovered a section of root still living in a small patch of warm dirt. After excavating that root, she placed it in what looks like a test tube filled with water and attached it to the fridge with a magnet. Through the window above our kitchen sink the now-propagating philodendron was supplied with sufficient natural light throughout the day. And the root grew new roots.

What a marvelous thing to witness: regrowth.

Four months later, that root had pushed three bright green leaves out its top, and an intricate network of roots down below. We gently transferred it again, this time into a tiny pot filled with nutrient-rich dirt. And I carried that tiny little pot with me everywhere I went, including on vacation. I was not leaving it unattended under any circumstances. This philodendron was a fighter and in my heart had come to represent my daughter’s own fight for her life, her own regeneration in a Boston hospital six months prior.

When that philodendron moved with my daughter to New York City I wept leaving them both behind as I drove the long road back to Birmingham alone in an empty car. And when, a year later, my daughter brought it back to me to tend and care for for always, I cried again. That fighting philodendron is never far from my sight and is always in my heart. “We’re so proud of it!” my daughter texted me this morning when I mentioned it was to be the theme of today’s article.

I am proud of that plant. I am proud of my daughter. I am proud of myself. And I am proud of the fighter in every single one of you. Let this story of a fighting philodendron remind you that routine “crises” are a natural part of life’s path. And always those happen in the most inopportune times and seasons. We might feel frozen and unable to move, but if you do some gentle excavating, you will discover a warm patch of dirt in which you’re still beating. Hydrate, get plenty of sunshine, and grow yourself in a new pot of possibility.

Sometimes it takes being witnessed before you can see yourself reimagined. Let me know if you’d like to schedule time with me so I can help you see how green and growing you are.

For the Love of Salad

By

The most important thing I’ve learned in life, and I can’t stress this enough: you gotta make a salad in a bigger bowl than you think.

@chefbae

My favorite food group is salad and I read cookbooks for fun. There, I said it and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Yesterday I read a recently-published (by Kat) and newly-purchased (by me) delight: Big Bites by Kat Ashmore. I’ve been following Kat on social media for a long time and thoroughly enjoy her Hungry Lady Salad series. It is always salad season in our family, but especially this time of year. Of course I love a good new recipe, or three, but I also love learning. I read cookbooks to learn something I don’t know. Every single time I come away with an improvement and an application for my own kitchen. And with every new learning, my cooking tastes better and better! 

Leading up to a career change, or the launching of one, I recommend this same approach, minus buying a cookbook. But you do need to do your homework. Ideally, you’re researching the company and the interviewer (if you know their name). 

1. Is this company a good fit for YOU?

2. Are you following (or looking at) them on social media?

3. Does their mission statement align with your values?

4. What position does the interviewer hold?

5. How long has the interviewer been with the company?

6. What information does Google tell you about both?

7. What does their organization value?

8. What is their timeline for filling this role?

What’s your key takeaway? How will your approach improve now that you’ve done your due diligence?

I’ll share with you my favorite new tip from Big Bites (and I can’t believe I didn’t think of this myself) — freeze leftover coconut milk in an ice cube tray and store in a freezer-safe container for future use and no more waste. 

Here’s to delicious salads and successful presentations of self. Let me know if you need my help; it’s what we’re here for. 

Regret and Fear

By

In my capacity as a leadership coach, I work one-on-one with my clients and truthfully just do a lot of listening. When I do speak, it’s usually to ask questions intended to provoke and to poke holes in what I call limiting beliefs. A limiting belief is anything you hold to be true, which beliefs limit (and oftentimes prevent) your ability to move your life/career/relationship/education/finances forward. Essentially, I’m a remover of (perceived) blocks that show up in every single one of us at various stages and phases of our being human experience.

During a recent coaching session my client revealed their frustration at having just moved across the country for a new job only to discover the job wasn’t anything like what was promised in the interview phase. Not only was the actual job a surprise on arrival, but also the culture, the compensation structure, and the new city all proved to be negative environments for my client’s mental health.

“If I leave, this is going to be a red strike against my career! I’ve worked so hard to put in reasonably long stints at each of my previous employers’, so you can see I’m growing them and me.”

First, as a recruiter, let me assure you in the same way I assured my client — no one is going to give you a demerit for a short stay in a position. Quite the contrary — this now becomes a talking point in future conversations!

“Tell me what happened here?” or “What were the circumstances surrounding this situation?”

It’s that simple. Your short stay becomes an opportunity to learn more about yourself, to better define (and maintain) boundaries, and to learn better questions to ask next time. Because there will be a next time, I promise.

But how did we work through this limiting belief held by my client? What were they holding onto, and why? They were holding onto two beliefs:

  1. Regret
  2. Fear

Let’s look at the regret first — my client was tailspinning into their very recent past, replaying over and over again the “What ifs.” What if I had taken Job A or Job C instead of this Job B? What if Job A still wants me? (They don’t.) So my client was spending a LOT of time regretting the choice they made thoughtfully and in good conscience.

They were spending the rest of their time (an easy 50/50 split) paralyzed with fear of making any changes to their current, regretful, and toxic situation. What’s going to happen if I leave? Where will I go? If I leave it’s going to ruin my career!

I’m going to share with you a technique I use with myself and my clients to work my way out of limiting beliefs. If you feel stuck, ask yourself:

  1. Why do I feel stuck?
  2. What’s blocking/stopping me from taking ______ action?
  3. Am I experiencing regret?
  4. Am I afraid? Of what?

Regret and fear are clear indicators that time and energy (which we each have in limited and finite amounts) are being spent in the past and in the future, respectfully.

Regret is a harbinger of the past, of moments, experiences, and decisions that have already happened. We cannot change what was, and any thought we expend toward the past is wasted time. Conversely, fear is future-based. With rare exceptions (you encounter a bear in the woods or an active shooter in the mall), when we feel afraid, we are imagining something that does not, in fact, exist. In the case of my client, they were afraid a departure would ruin their entire (future) career.

Personally, I prefer to spend my time in the present, focusing my energy and thoughts on creating today, the tomorrow I want to enjoy. I coach and encourage my clients to do the same.

Together, my client and I created a list of questions to ask before moving to a new position, questions that came out of the very real and abrupt experience this current job has provided. We talked through that previously-mentioned Job C, which happened to extend another offer, and what would be the ideal scenario. We talked about coming back to the present, how to let go of the past and of the future every time we find ourselves in either one again.

I invite my clients to imagine they’re wearing a rubber band around their wrist. Whenever you notice and catch yourself feeling regret or fear, snap your imaginary rubber band and bring yourself back to the right now. Learning to think about the thoughts you’re thinking is hard work. It takes practice. Identifying your own personal limiting beliefs takes even more work! And then unlearning them. . . .

Listen, being human is hard. I get it and I’m here to help you navigate the learning curve, if you’d like.

Choose Your Own Adventure

By

Reading has always been a vital part of my life. It was not uncommon for me to beg my mother to drive me to the library once a week during the long months of summer vacation so I could restock my exhausted book supply. I would decide how many books were enough to take home based solely on how many I could safely carry at one time wedged between my chin and the farthest reach of my hands in the opposite direction, using myself as a walking bookend.

I immersed myself in books, escaping to lands far away and imagined, some with completely otherworldly plots and some whose stories didn’t seem so far-fetched. I loved nothing more than to escape through the pages of books to places and people and creatures I believed to be as real as the pages I turned in real time, becoming so immersed in these alternate realities I legitimately believed I was part of the unfolding saga.

When Choose Your Own Adventure books hit the scene my enthusiasm could not be sated. I devoured these books, always reading them from start to stop as many times as I could choose a different direction to guide the fate of the main character through one seemingly critical decision after another, never tiring of the delightful discovery of how one choice could lead to such different consequences and possible outcomes. When I came to the conclusion of a series of choices, I happily turned back to page one and started over again, always choosing differently than my previous read through the same plot.

I’ve come to understand that my life is no different than the storybooks I’ve always loved to read. And up until a few years ago, I was so invested in believing my own story to be true that I was no more writing my story as much as I was allowing it to be written by everything and everyone around me. I was a character in my own story, but one who existed at the mercy of the plot unfolding around me.

Through a series of conscious choices that included working with a coach, I realized my life, and the story about it in my own mind, wasn’t one I had to believe as fact any longer. I had become so accustomed to living my life as it happened, attributing the good stuff to luck and faithfulness and the bad stuff to lessons I must still need to learn and faithlessness, that I failed to see the adventure option in front of me, to turn to a different page for a different outcome. So I began testing the idea of my life as a Choose Your Own Adventure instead of a travelogue of What Happened To Me.

Testing this idea of choice felt like a game, and playing inside of my life was definitely more fun than watching it happen in front of me without my participation. It took some practice, certainly, but actively choosing how I interacted with and interpreted the myriad life situations happening outside of my control created a surprising result. Losing my attachment to being in control had the opposite effect! Instead of feeling like an unwilling participant in a game of chance, I slowly became the controller and creator of my own game: The Story of Me.

Stephen Covey, in his book The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, attributes Viktor Frankl, well-known neurologist, psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor, with the following quote:

“Between stimulus and response lies a space. In that space lie our freedom and power to choose a response. In our response lies our growth and our happiness.”

Frankl’s theory proved accurate for me. I started to see that I was actually interpreting events and other people’s behavior as having caused me pain or joy, as negative or positive, bad or good. Those interpretations were, in fact, my own personal judgments: thoughts inside of me that I chose to believe as truth, and then I reacted accordingly.

When I practice an intentional period of separation between what Frankl refers to as the stimulus and the response I give myself time to consider my reaction. This practice is not dissimilar to my childhood training of counting to ten before saying something I might regret.

Through this practice, which I still maintain, I spend more and more time in Frankl’s space between stimulus and response. The growth and happiness I experience are directly related to the choices I’m making in that space. No longer am I emotionally exhausted by the constant barrage of my own judgments about what other people are doing or saying as having anything to do with me.

When I feel frustrated or stuck, I simply look to see where I’m not choosing my own adventure and then I happily turn back a few pages and start over again, returning to the awareness that emotional freedom and power are always available to me through a different choice.

Don’t Double Waffle Me!

By

Don't Double Waffle Me

The Scene

Florence provided so many delicious eats, which usually meant gelato for my daughter and fruit for me since I’m highly allergic to dairy. One sunny afternoon we were ready for a taste of something and wondered what to get for my treat since we had yet to find any vegan gelato in Florence. At that very moment our noses were filled with the most delicious and sweet aroma as we walked past a shop that sells customizable waffles! What?!

The Setup

We immediately went inside and I ordered a waffle. The salesman asked if I wanted a topping, pointing to a variety of options, most of which were off-limits to me with my dairy restrictions. I settled on mixed berries and shaved coconut, slowly explaining “no milk, no cream” for me, and I was getting excited to taste my concoction. He nodded in agreement, scooped a generous spoonful of berries onto my waffle, sprinkled coconut on top of that and then turned his back to me and I realized he was smothering the entire waffle, berries & coconut with whipped cream. I called out to him to stop and he turned to look at me perplexed and I smiled and said again, “No cream!” He then proceeded to scrape off the cream, as if to give me the waffle once creamed now sans cream, and I smiled, shook my head, and said, “No,” knowing I can’t have the traces of any dairy at all. Visibly disgruntled, he set the entire creation aside and made me a new one, much to my satisfaction.

The Showdown

Meanwhile, Lindsay was building a fabulous option for her own eating and our two finished waffles were placed side-by-side on the counter. Just as I was reaching into my wallet for money, the salesman placed a second waffle on top of each of our waffle masterpieces — creating two waffle sandwiches. Baffled, I looked at the menu board, quickly perusing the options and there, listed as the most expensive option, was the “double waffle,” which neither of us had requested, nor had we been asked if it was wanted. These were two very assumptive counter clerks. I immediately said, “I didn’t ask you to double waffle me!” The two top waffles were removed, I then paid what we owed and we left the shop waffles in-hand.

We were delighted with how delicious the waffles tasted, given how stressful it had been to get exactly what we wanted, particularly because I was clearly, slowly and deliberately communicating throughout the entire process, and might as well not have been for all they weren’t paying attention.

The Scrumptious

It is imperative to always always always use your voice in loving kindness and in your power but use your voice. Communicate, express, create, share, acknowledge, request, but use your voice. Your power is amplified when you use it. You are the only one advocating for you. Don’t wait for someone else to speak your truth; you’re the only one who knows it.

When you give yourself permission to communicate what matters to you in every situation you will have peace despite rejection or disapproval. Putting a voice to your soul helps you to let go of the negative energy of fear and regret. — Shannon L. Alder

And if you’re on the receiving end of someone else’s voice? Hear it. Acknowledge it. Validate it. Celebrate it. No one says you have to agree, but listening is a gift of the greatest and noblest kind.

As W.H. Auden reminds us, “All I have is a voice.”

Use the voice that is yours.

Also, you can now use the catchy phrase, “I didn’t ask you to double waffle me!” whenever you like; it applies in all sorts of situations.

You’re welcome.

Loving you,
arminda

Shading & Highlighting

By

Shading & Highlighting

Throughout Italy we encountered artists everywhere: on sidewalks, in city squares, and outside of famous landmarks. They had lots of their pieces displayed, allowing their work to speak for itself while they continued creating, seemingly oblivious to passersby. Following a particularly strenuous climb to Piazza Michelangelo, which boasts panoramic views of the city and a bronze replica of Michelangelo’s David, my daughter and I walked to the farthest reach of the square, noticing only the gorgeous views provided of the city of Florence stretching out as far as we could see in front of, and below, us. It wasn’t until we turned around to contemplate David that we noticed the piazza was teeming with artists and vendors of every kind.

My attention was drawn to one particular artist’s work and I began searching his paintings for the one that might speak to me. Intent to create a customer, the artist started recommending watercolors I had yet to see and still nothing was the right one. As if on cue, the artist turned to a folder he kept at his seat and opened it for my benefit. Inside were two or three dozen more watercolors, each spectacular. It was inside that folder I found the watercolor I’d been seeking and when I told him I’d take it, the artist immediately dropped to his knees and began adding to the piece.

I was shocked and delighted. I thought it was perfect when I found it in that folder, but to the artist, the piece was not yet complete, and I watched him lovingly put the finishing touches on his work, his painting, his creation, before gently turning it over to my care.

We are each of us responsible for our own creation. The creation of you. And only you — through your artist’s eyes — can see where and when some additional work might need to be done. No one else gets to decide that. Others might make suggestions or provide feedback (sometimes requested and oftentimes not) but only you can see what you’re creating and what your ending might look like.

A word of caution: don’t be so caught up in the long-term view you neglect turning around to see what’s right in front of you. And just like my artist friend in Piazza Michelangelo knew his creation needed some additional shading and highlighting, you, too, might see some corners that could use some softening and some talents that desire to shine.

Art is about rearranging us, creating surprising juxtapositions, emotional openings, startling presences, flight paths to the eternal. –Rosamund & Benjamin Zander, from The Art of Possibility

You are a magnificent work of art. Display yourself. Pay no attention to the passersby. Keep creating.

Loving you,
arminda

Willing to Bloom

By

Willing to Bloom

Nothing in the universe thinks there is anything wrong with you. 
— Robert Holden, Ph.D.

I love living into my magnificence and supporting others in their desire to do the same in their lives. Those “others” are my loved ones: my family, friends, neighbors, clients, workshop participants, retreat attendees, readers of my articles, viewers of my videos, vendors, store clerks, peers, classmates, followers on social media, and anyone with whom I come in contact.

What does it mean to live into your magnificence? To be exceptional? It means you are open to continuous expansion of self and that expansion is achieved through a willingness to surrender your belief system, to be open to another story, another possibility, to be vulnerable.

How do you commit the surrender? You expose your old stories, one at a time, and write new ones. You own your vulnerability. You face your fears. You make courageous self-honoring choices rather than constantly seeking to please those around you. You see that you cannot possibly be in service to others without first being willing to be in service to yourself.

“Can you see what’s really happening here? You are the actor in your own story, but you are acting as if your story about you is a biography, not an autobiography.” 
— Robert Holden, Ph.D.

What does this surrender look like? 

  • not resisting
  • not defending
  • not justifying
  • not hiding
  • not puffing
  • not pretending
  • not covering up
  • not excusing
  • not deferring
  • choosing YOU

Dr. Brene Brown teaches that “vulnerability is our most accurate measure of courage.” This living into magnificence takes courage, for it is a scary thing to face your fears. Why is that, you might wonder? Because fears cover up our deepest hurts and if our deepest hurts were to be exposed, well, that might be embarrassing, or painful, or lonely, or true, or all of the above! In fact, you might fear the greatest fear of all: that you’re not lovable or worthy.

“The real you is not afraid of love, because the real you is made of love.”
—Dr. Robert Holden

Dr. Ron Hulnick suggests that the easiest way to overcome a fear is to do the very thing that scares you while fully in your fear of doing it!

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” (Marianne Williamson)

Step into your fears. You are courageous. Liberate yourself from its grasp on you. Believe in your own magnificence and not in your limitations. Be willing to blossom. One petal at a time.

Loving you,
arminda

Be the Universe

By

Be the Universe

Modern-day coliseums are massive structures. They come by their size and design honestly. The Arena in Verona was built in the 1st century. It predates the Colisseum in Rome and is a massive structure that standing inside its walls boggles the mind. While coliseums today are used for a variety of cultural events and places of gathering, ancient times were no different. The most popular — and most expensive — events held at arenas were the gladiator games, which were sponsored by politicians and wealthy aristocrats originally as a religious rite to honor the death of a loved one. The idea that a life for a life allowed for safe passage of the deceased in the underworld and they believed the lives of the slaves used in the gladiator ritual were valued less than that of the life of the loved one who had passed.

Eventually the religious meaning and overtone of the gladiators’ spectacles transitioned into a much more secularized vehicle for securing votes and/or maintaining popularity status among the citizens. In preparation for the games, event staff would cover the floor of the coliseum with sand because sand would absorb feces, urine and blood, all of which were in abundance during said event. The Latin word for sand is harenam and over time this word became synonymous with the structure and today we still use a derivation of the Latin when we refer to an arena.

Roman citizens LOVED everything about the gladiator games: the gore, the blood, the fight to the death, the fascination of death by any means, the spectacle, and the voice they shared in the fighters’ destiny (because if a gladiator requested his life the crowd collectively voiced their opinion and the loudest vote won).

Mob rule. Hysteria. Peer pressure. Ambulance chasing. FIRE! Rubber necking. Popular vote.

Does any of that sound like a modern experience?

I’m sure the ancient Romans loved the games because they didn’t see themselves as participants, only spectators. They had nothing to worry or fear. It was all fun and entertainment for them. And the gladiators? I’m sure they lived in fear for their very lives every single day they were in captivity and in training. It’s noted there were times gladiators took one another’s lives in the barracks where they lived and trained, in the most humane attempt they could access, to preserve themselves from the spectacle of the games and their imminent and horrific deaths once they entered the arena.

Do you ever feel like a Roman citizen with a ticket to a game in your hand, caught up in the energy of the crowd, pulsing with the opinion of the masses, exhilarated to be part of something bigger than yourself, a perfect seat with an excellent view of what’s unfolding in plain sight, but far enough away it can’t possibly touch you or those you love.

And do you sometimes feel like a gladiator, sand strewn at your feet and what training you’ve been given is all you have as you step into the arena each day, engulfed with that feeling of complete and utter aloneness and you can barely squeak out, “Help,” because you are frightened, scared, unsure if you are surrounded by friends or foe.

What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. — Henry David Thoreau

While visiting the Collisseum’s busy gift shop I lost sight of my eighteen-year-old, which wasn’t a big deal except I wanted to give her the water bottle I’d just purchased for her. Standing next to another choir mom I laughingly said, “I can’t find my daughter!” Immediately a little boy of about 9 or 10 (in full search and support mode) grabbed my hand and said to me, “It’s okay. Tell me exactly what she looks like!” My heart instantly filled with the miracle of love and the access we each have to love no matter where we go, no matter what age or size of person — the universe is always supporting us and providing for us exactly what we need exactly when we need it. And sometimes that support comes in the form of a child leading the way and reminding us that everything is always okay and if it doesn’t feel okay, help is only always a vocalization away.

Speak your truth. Feel your feelings. Ask for what you want and ask for what you need.

Be a listener. Be available. Be a helper. Be a safe space. Be accessible. Be open. Be a light. Be a reminder. Be a friend and a friendly face. Be a hand to hold. Be the help. Be the YES. Be the miracle. Be you. Be love. Be the universe for those around you.

loving you,
arminda

allarminda.com | 2024