Coaching My Younger Self

Today I celebrate another year of my enriching journey in the Talent Acquisition and HR industry. I fell into my craft by accident and quickly discovered a passion and skill for working with the most volatile and unpredictable commodity, human capital. This happy accident afforded me the rich opportunity to partner with an incredible collection of dynamic, scary smart, and well-respected leaders, hire some of the best and brightest talent, work for a myriad of leading companies and brands and, flourish exponentially as a professional.

I remember vividly my first day in Talent Acquisition. I was hired as a recruiting coordinator for a leading public accounting and consulting firm. This would be where I would not only cut my teeth but tear fiercely into honing my skills as an HR and recruiting professional. Little did realize back then that I would be embarking on the career ride of a lifetime.

If I could sit with my younger self on that first day and share the wisdom of my older self today, here is what I tell her:

• Intentionally push yourself far beyond your comfort zone and run daringly into things that terrify you. The scary moments will lead you to successes and opportunities you never thought possible.

• Stay perpetually curious, never hesitate to ask questions, and let your thirst for knowledge be insatiable

• The hardest falls will teach you the biggest lessons. Heed them wisely and be grateful to those who picked you up and brushed you off. Gratitude and wisdom will be our allies. 

• As you taste success do so with gratitude and a humble heart.

• Always own a mistake and work double time to rectify it.

• One of the cornerstones to your success will be in the relationships you build and the leaders you engage with. Hold yourself accountable to a personal advisory board

• If counting to 10 does not calm you down, count to 20.

• When you feel like quitting yet find the grit to push onward, that’s when the real work begins.

• There will be those who will work to tear you down due to their own insecurity, jealousy, and brokenness. Never give them permission to diminish who you are and the incredible talent you bring.

• Lead with grace and compassion. It will inspire others and elevate you as a leader. 

• At times you will struggle to find the right answer and then the answer will find you.

• It is healthy and necessary to not only have differing views but more importantly, to respect the diverse views others bring.

• You will have the power to help change lives. Use it wisely.

• Integrity and authenticity should always guide your actions.

• Embrace change and then embrace the change of the change.

• Once you have a seat at the table, feed others by mentoring and developing future talent. 

• Know your worth and deliver it back to your organization tenfold.

• Don’t be a people pleaser. It is alright, and at times, healthy, to say no.

• Move for the right opportunity. It will be the game-changer of your life!

• Keep a candy jar in your office. It will create a welcoming environment and drop-ins, and you will be amazed by how many problems chocolate will solve!

• Take ALL of your vacation days.

• Only you are responsible for your successes and failures.

• Go boldly, go confidently, and go passionately, and watch how far it will take you.

• Buckle up, girlfriend, because you’re in for one hell of a ride!

Heaven Intercepted A Giant

I received word this past weekend that my childhood pastor, Pastor Bill Chapman, arrived in heaven on Friday evening. My heart is heavy knowing a spiritual icon from my youth is no longer with us. Pastor Bill heralded from a time when Pastors were Pastors in the authentic sense of the role and weren’t caught up in charismatic performance. A time when Pastors refused to use their pulpit to promote personal agendas. A time when pastors didn’t use their social media or other influences to promote their political views and/or shame others who don’t share them. A time when Pastors understood the line between church and state. A time when the term “megachurch” was a foreign word.  A time before churches had bookstores and pastors were filling their shelves with their latest book or profiting commercially from their congregation.  A time when going to church meant worshiping God versus being entertained. A time when the pastor would stand at the back of the church after the service to shake your hand and knew your name, your parents’ names and even your pets names.

Pastor Bill was a humble, simple, godly man. In comparison to most of today’s church leaders he’d be considered an endangered species in the pastoral community. He understood that being a Reverend meant bringing reverence to God and forfeiting admiration towards himself. He preached the gospel as it was written, provided a framework of God’s love and never sugar-coated doctrines that were necessary for true spiritual growth. A large part of my faith foundation was laid through the teachings of Pastor Bill. 

When news of his passing was announced, I reached out to several friends from back in the day. All made similar comments of Pastor Bill being one of their favorite pastors. One such friend said, “He was one of the best pastors; the only one who truly ministered to me in my time of sickness”. Mind you, he was speaking to events from over 40 years ago.

I will always be eternally grateful for his passion for youth programs and the youth of our church. Pastor Bill was a monumental advocate for the Word of Life Clubs and our youth leaders. These clubs radically changed my life and were pivotal in my teen years. They provided a safe environment to grow, learn, connect, be challenged, discover and hone God given skills and talents, have insane amounts of fun, and created wonderful memories that I still carry with me.

I have several special memories of Pastor Bill. One such memory was the first time I did ministry outreach. Our church did door to door visitations and/or check ins with our shut-ins. On this one Saturday, I was with our youth team and Pastor Bill was the adult leading the group. It was the very first time I had signed up to do visitations. As we arrived at the first house, Pastor Bill could sense my apprehension. He could have easily allowed me to step back and hide in the background; but he knew I had come to do outreach and if I was going to overcome any fear of the process, he knew I needed to face it head on. He smiled, gently pushed me toward the doorstep and said, “Go get em’ tiger”.  And go get em’ I did, and for many Saturdays afterwards. Those four words turned a nervous young girl into someone who replaced her fear with boldness and it’s something I’ve carried with me all my life.

It’s ironic that at a time in my life when I’ve been jaded and deeply hurt by Christian leaders or those in ministry roles, and have struggled finding a church community where I truly feel at home, I find myself longing for the church of my youth. To sit in the humble, tiny church, on those hard-wooden pews, surrounded by my immediate and church family as we are fed an inspiring message from Pastor Bill sounds like the perfect spiritual elixir for my soul.

Heaven intercepted a giant when Pastor Bill arrived. I’m sure he’d dispute me on the term giant, but that’s what he was to me and many others. I had recently exchanged messages with his son, Nathan. Nathan put it best when he said “I often say that I will be in some little shack in heaven and go visit my parents in their mansion. If not for the pastoral ministry, for the number of people that they have helped personally and even those who came to live with us.” 

Here’s to one of the good ones. Pastor Bill Chapman! Who bypassed ego and personal agenda to provide an authentic church experience. Who understood the purpose of the church as God commanded it. Who provided leadership, experiences and teachings many of us still hold dear to our hearts today. The walls of South Swansea Baptist Church and the hearts of the many lives you touched so beautifully will forever echo your teachings and love for bringing God’s message to a broken world. Until that day when Nathan directs us to your heavenly mansion, where we can thank you, once again, for the powerful impact you’ve had on our lives, we will press on and continue to live the instruction and wisdom you instilled in us those many years ago! 

See you at the reunion party!

The Retreat

The headlights pierced the murky, thick darkness revealing the narrow, gravel road and ominous cathedral of trees on each side. With each passing moment, my connection to the outside world faded into nothingness. The sense of isolation washed over me, and my heart quickened as I became acutely aware of my vulnerability to the lurking hazards. In a hushed voice, I found myself murmuring, "What were you thinking, coming here alone, girl?" The rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins, a reminder of the real dangers that surrounded me.

Two months prior, I embarked on a unique journey—a weekend of self-reflection, gratitude, journaling, prayer, and meditation. I decided to disconnect from the bustling world and sought solace in a splendid log cabin hidden deep within the enchanting woods of Lake Lure, NC. My goal was to immerse myself in nature entirely and be off the grid. However, I never anticipated just how remote this place would be, and it felt like stepping into the mysterious realm of the "Upside Down" from the TV show Stranger Things.

Navigating the winding road to reach the cabin was an adventure in itself. The dense forest on either side heightened the feeling of seclusion, but it also made me cautious. Any sudden misstep could lead to a dangerous descent down rocky cliffs and through thick trees. In those moments, I couldn't help but entertain morbid thoughts—imagining how long it would take for someone to find me or if I would become a meal for hibernating black bears and other woodland creatures. I even regretted not Googling whether bears had a taste for human flesh.

Despite these unsettling musings, I was thankful for packing an abundance of granola bars, which now seemed like a wise decision. They could serve as sustenance if I were to survive a treacherous fall and needed to rely on the provisions I had brought. And amidst it all, I couldn't help but ponder what I would wear during the inevitable circuit of morning talk show interviews, recounting the harrowing story of my survival. Such thoughts might seem bizarre, but at high altitudes and in intense situations, the mind tends to wander to unexpected places. 

Ultimately, this experience pushed me to embrace the thrill of nature and the solitude it offered. It provided an opportunity for genuine introspection and a deeper connection with the natural world. While the seclusion was unnerving at times, it allowed me to truly appreciate the beauty and tranquility of the wilderness.

When I arrived at the cabin, the outside light was the only illumination I had seen in miles. It was the beacon that signaled my safe arrival and home for the next two days. I was accompanied by my trusty, canine side kick, Jackson, and, let’s just say, appropriate “arms” to keep me safe. Thankfully, neither had to be discharged during our stay.

I awoke early the next morning, bundled myself in blankets, cradled a hot cup of coffee and sat on the porch to watch the sunrise come up over the mountain. There’s something beautifully stirring about watching God’s majesty unfold before your eyes. Amber and golden hues of sunlight cascaded through the trees coupled by a beautiful aria performed by the many species of birds heralding the days dawn. I could not have asked for a more perfect backdrop.

I spent the next several hours in prayer, meditation and journaling. I committed my heart and mind to be open to whatever this weekend would bring. I had come through a very difficult year off illness, depression, feeling lost, painful isolation, and having been deeply wounded by people I cared about. The last few months of the year brought a clean bill of health, direction, purpose, peace of mind, and healing in my heart. It's not been lost on me how blessed I am to go from a such a depth of low to living in my absolute joy. My faith and resolve were tested several times, but steadfast I stood, even in my darkest of moments. I truly believe the joy I am now experiencing is a result of my perseverance and faithfulness. My spiritual walk has never been stronger or more meaningful. The irony is I had to not only be broken but come humbly before God in my brokenness in order to become stronger and ultimately experience the blessings I’m now living.

Another intention during my self-imposed retreat, was to emancipate myself from negative conditions that served as stumbling blocks or were void of value. Pain, shame, regret, missed opportunity, judgement, loss, hurt, anger, empty or toxic relationships, etc. To symbolize this liberation I gathered several flat stones and, on each stone, wrote the name of something, or someone, I needed to free myself from.  I was surprised by how many stones I wrote on as I reflected on the weight these issues had on my life. Once done, I took each stone, placed them in a backpack, put the backpack on and set out on a hike. My purpose in wearing the backpack was to the feel their collective weight. To feel the discomfort. To reconcile with how they served no purpose but to do just that, weigh me down, hinder my journey and slow any progress toward my destination. 

I carefully sought to find the right alter at which to leave the stones. After some time, I came upon this beautiful red maple tree who, much like me, looked as if she’d weather a few storms yet, despite them, stood tall, resilient and strong. I took each stone out of the backpack and placed it with intentional surrender at the trees base. Once the last stone had been placed in the pile this intense rush of emotion washed over me. I was not prepared for how powerful this moment would be. I prayed, wept and let each negative experience make their way out of my life. It was symbolic of leaving the past behind, forgiving myself, and, where necessary, others, and moving forward renewed. From a faith perspective, it was likened to leaving it all at the cross and completely letting it all go. I even left the backpack. I have no desire to fill it again!  

Later that evening, as I watched the sunset dance across the horizon, I felt radically transformed. Enlightened! I had this intense vibrational high from being so deeply connected with nature as well as with God. Giving myself the gift of being still and silent forced my other senses to take center stage and opened my heart and mind to a higher level of conscientiousness, connection and awareness. My spirit felt fully liberated, light, grounded, connected, inspired, and joyful. I was grateful for the opportunity to reset my soul and have a time of thanksgiving for all the year had brought me and taught me. I spent the remainder of the weekend in an immersion of reflection, mindfulness, spiritual communion, gratitude, and setting goals for the new year.

As I drove away and watched the image of the cabin that served as my sanctuary diminish in my rear view mirror, I savored one last glance, took a deep breath and then steadied my eyes forward. Forward to the new path before me; a path free from the burdensome baggage of the prior journey. A path that will take me to new experiences, new learnings, a deeper authenticity in my spiritual life, encounter greater joy and, most importantly, where I can breathe without a heaviness in my heart and be completely... backpack free.

©2019 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved

This product is protected by copyright and distributed under licenses restricting copying and distribution.

The Kettlebell to Victory

I was recently in the sweaty throes of a killer workout with my coach. My sessions are typically after a 10–12-hour day in an HR role that, by nature, requires me to give much of myself to the employee population of my company. Emotionally, mentally, and physically I am drained by day's end. I love my work and the people I get to do it with, but it’s crucial for me to balance this depletion with activities that replenish me. This is where my training sessions come into play. These workouts serve as a vital restoration point in my daily routine. In a world where giving of myself is a professional necessity, these moments of receiving become invaluable. My coach's dedication intertwines with my determination, ultimately leading me to a healthier self.

In a recent session, my coach was focused on developing my upper body strength through alternating kettlebell pull-ups. He informed me the kettlebell weighed 10 pounds. I had completed three demanding circuits of exercises when I was rounding out my final set. With just two pull-ups remaining, a feat I was determined to conquer, I was facing the ultimate test of my endurance. Anyone who knows me knows I always go the distance. I push through the agony and always cross the finish line; I may have to crawl across it but cross it I will.  

But, on this challenge, I hit a wall hard. I barely eked out the second to last pull-up when my arms and upper body started to tremble and I felt the entirety of my strength evaporate, leaving me with muscles that felt like marshmallows. I struggled to find the energy to crush the last pull-up. Sensing my predicament, my coach, accustomed to clients encountering such plateaus, stepped in. He placed a reassuring hand on my back and then whispered in my ear, “You've got one more in you. You can do this.” Every ounce of my body wanted to stop, and I struggled to find the strength to pull up even a feather. But the moment my coach said I had one more in me, it evoked a moment reminiscent of Rocky, when Adrian tells him to go and “win”. It was game on. I turned to my coach and confidently said, "Oh no, I’m giving you two more," and nailed them! When I had finished, I discovered that my crafty coach had actually given me a 40-pound kettlebell, not the 10 pounds I had believed. Not only did I exceed my circuit goal, but I far exceeded it with a significantly larger weight. It reminded me of one of my favorite physical endurance quotes “Your mind will quit a thousand times before your body will feel the fear and do it anyway”. As I reflect on that intense moment, it's a testament to the power of our minds to overcome physical barriers and push beyond the limits we thought existed.

What made the change? It was someone who not only believed in me but encouraged me to believe in myself. It was someone who had navigated through the same arduous moments in their own workout and understood the exact extent of my potential. It was someone who was intimately acquainted with the contours of my resilience and yet had the boldness to press me further. My success was the result of the harmonious fusion of external support and internal belief. It was pushing past the physical discomfort and quieting the chatter of I can’t and listening to the roar of I CAN!

It’s been said that you can push past your limits or suffocate in your comfort zone. I’ll take doing the heavy lifting, getting uncomfortable, dealing with the messy, and pushing past the pain of “one more” and fuel the fire of progress than be caught at the cross-section of regret and mediocrity. There’s a reason we experience elation when we reach our personal summit. We know the grit, doubt, exhaustion, pain, mental gymnastics, sacrifice, and repetition, repetition, repetition it took to get there.

When I left the gym that evening, an amplified feeling of accomplishment washed over me. It’s an experience that’s resonated with me igniting a wildfire in my soul in my future workouts. With each subsequent session, the challenges have intensified, testing, and strengthening my endurance. It’s pushing the boundaries of my mental tenacity and commitment to my goals - an endeavor that I find utterly captivating. 

Here’s to being our own champions, to showing up in beast mode, never quitting, and always finding the grit to push through one more kettlebell pull-up to victory.

©2019 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved

This product is protected by copyright and distributed under licenses restricting copying and distribution.

28 and Great

Over the past week, I commemorated my 28th year in the Talent Acquisition and HR industry. It has been an incredible journey filled with valuable experiences and profound insights gained from navigating the challenging terrain of recruiting and HR. Throughout my career, I have been fortunate to encounter inspiring leaders who have challenged and supported me, pushing me well beyond my comfort zone.

While I could easily wax eloquent sharing numerous anecdotes about the wisdom I've accumulated and the invaluable guidance from my supervisors during my most challenging moments, I want to take a different approach to celebrate this milestone. Today, I want to introduce a remarkable group of women who continue to inspire me—the women pictured here! They are the giants whose shoulders I proudly stand on today.

When I set up my current home office, I found myself drawn to the captivating photos of working women from the early to mid-1900s. There was a profound connection with each of these women that touched my soul. Being a talent acquisition specialist, I naturally possess an insatiable curiosity about people's career stories, and these women were no exception. Their individual journeys resonate with me deeply, and I yearn to learn more about them.

These women live with me, serving as daily reminders of their incredible stories. The strength and resilience they displayed during a time of immense challenges and change are nothing short of awe-inspiring. As war and the industrial revolution unfolded, these women fearlessly entered the labor force and played pivotal roles in both endeavors. They were the backbone of the revolution, and their tenacity was nothing short of astounding. Their stories kindle a wildfire of admiration within me, as they come from a generation that exemplified unparalleled grit and fortitude. I can't help but feel inspired by their unwavering determination and dedication to making a difference. Their fearlessness in the face of adversity is truly commendable, and they serve as timeless symbols of empowerment for generations to come.

When I interview candidates, I often conclude by asking about their childhood aspirations. It's a question that elicits a gentle laugh, accompanied by a nostalgic sense, and yet, they genuinely enjoy reflecting on it. Witnessing the connection between their childhood dreams and their current career path never fails to intrigue me.

In studying each woman's story, my curiosity is piqued by the same query. I find it hard to believe that at the tender age of nine or ten, their dreams revolved around becoming factory workers, domestic servants, blue-collar laborers, or bomb makers. I yearn to sit down with each of these remarkable women and delve into their unique narratives. Who were they before the weight of societal expectations and circumstances molded their destinies? What untapped gifts and abilities did they possess? What inner forces drove them? What dreams did they hold dear? Equally important, what dreams did they perhaps have to relinquish along the way? What and who inspired them?

Although I may never know their personal stories, they have helped me write mine. In the presence of their legacy, I feel compelled to show up with fierce determination, embodying the fortitude and resilience that define their journey. Their unwavering strength propels me forward, even on the most challenging days at work, because I know that even on my worst day it would have been their best.

Unlike the amenities and support systems we enjoy today, these remarkable women didn't have the luxury of ergonomically designed workspaces, structured career development programs, annual performance reviews, or generous benefits packages. They toiled through long and grueling hours of physically demanding and repetitive labor, often undertaking perilous tasks with courage and determination. Yet, at the end of the day,  they returned home to take care of their families and domestic responsibilities, bearing a burden that was beyond anything we can fathom.

Many of them endured the absence of their partners, who were away fighting in wars or, tragically, lost their lives on the battlefield. Despite such immense hardships, they pressed on, proving their unyielding strength and resilience.

As I sit here, contemplating the immense advantages of being a professional woman in today's world, a sense of unbridled gratitude washes over me, and I find myself in absolute awe of the women who came before me and their invaluable contributions. Their stories have left an indelible mark on my heart, and I am deeply humbled by their unwavering strength, relentless perseverance, and the personal and professional sacrifices they made to navigate the challenges of their time.

What truly strikes me is none of these women had foresight to know that on the day their photos were taken, that almost a century later they would not only have a profound impact on a scrappy, ambitious redheaded girl from the little town of Swansea, MA, but inspire her to empower and pass the baton to next generation of women taking their place in the workforce. 

In this journey of empowerment, I am but a link in a long chain of progress, connected to these remarkable women who walked paths laden with obstacles and triumphs. Their spirit lives on through me, igniting a deep fire within my soul to be a catalyst for change and to ensure that their voices resonate throughout history as a testament to the strength of womankind.

Here's to the women who blazed the trail before us and did the real heavy lifting; and to those coming behind who will carry the torch and boldly echo their stories and legacy.

©2019 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved

This product is protected by copyright and distributed under licenses restricting copying and distribution.

You've Got This!

I’m fresh from my visit to LA to see my son. It had been eight months since I last had eyes on him and we were long overdue for some bonding time. Much had transpired in the past, almost, year. Stephen had transitioned from his former apartment to his father’s home and now a studio apartment. He moved on from a long-term personal relationship and landed an amazing job.  I moved from working in our family business to running my own talent acquisition consulting business, underwent two major surgeries, and started to move forward in my personal life. My son and I speak at least every other day and Facetime when we can. I’m grateful for modern technology to help keep us connected and see each other in real time, but nothing compares to being in the same space and breathing the same air.

When I first saw my son, I became “that mom”. After hugging him as hard as I could and taking in the moment, I bellowed, “You look way too thin. We need to get some food in you and now”. He laughed and said “Mom, I’m fine and I eat plenty”. And, then, of course, we headed off to lunch, followed by ice cream, where I attempted to fatten him up. 

That evening my son brought me to his apartment.  A week prior, and all on his own, he had moved himself in, purchased furniture and the necessary household accouterments one needs when setting up home, and worked feverishly in the evenings to set up what would now be his home. His home! No longer my home or his dads home, but a beautiful blend of both coupled with his style.  I was struck by how smartly, effectively and efficiently he used every inch of his space. I was proud of the environment he created for himself and even more excited to see how genuinely happy he was in his new space. 

We spent the next few days visiting friends and walking all over Culver City. We toured his new office, ate out, a lot, (see note on fattening him up), and spent time discussing how much he loves his job, the exciting projects he’s working on, how he’s managing his finances and putting money away each month, and new ideas for movies he’d like to write and direct.  Every part of this trip screamed of him being all grown up. Who was this kid? Who raised him and when did he get so savvy about navigating being an adult?

My move to Charlotte, two years prior, came as a surprise due to a great job offer. As a result, I sold our home in Pasadena and transitioned Stephen into an apartment. A friend of ours offered a studio apartment he had on his property.  I had one day to move him in and then hop a plane back to Charlotte. Everything was happening at warp speed and my son and I were in tactical mode, checking off all of the “to do’s”.  Then, on my last morning in LA, at the God forsaken hour of 4 am, as I backed out of the driveway of the studio apartment and headed to the airport, it hit me, and hard. Real hard.  All I could picture was my son fast asleep on the other side of the wall and knowing I was leaving him there. That he would awaken in a few hours and I would no longer be there. I didn’t just cry, I wept. Hard. Uncontrollably. I was unable to breath and questioned every part of my decision to move to Charlotte. 

Since the moment I knew I was going to have a son until that moment, we had been inseparable and now, I was leaving him to immediately stand on his own while I was 3,000 miles away. Nothing prepared me for that moment and, although I felt as if my heart was being ripped out of my chest, it was the right kind of hurt. We were both in a state of natural transition and progression. Him onto grown up things and me onto bigger career opportunities. Over the next few months, we’d find our footing with the new lives we had been thrust into. I’m always amazed at how adaptable we human beings are.

As my plane took off from LAX, my heart felt that all too familiar ache. I was comforted in knowing my son is happy, like really happy, He’s nailing this adulting thing, has a kick butt apartment that is wholly symbolic of who he is, he loves his job and living in the crazy that is LA, and, most importantly, he still enjoys hanging out with his mom when I come to visit. All of this confirmed that I, (we) made the right decision moving to Charlotte.  It was a bold and courageous move for us both and we’ve grown in our own necessary ways, but never apart.

As I returned home to Charlotte and settled in for the night, I couldn’t help but reflect on the amazing time I had with my son and for the gentle confirmations it provided. I realized that he’s got this thing called life; a life I spent the last 22 years equipping him for. I sent him a goodnight text that said, “I’m beyond proud of the man you’re becoming. As hard as it was to leave you today, I now know that “you’ve got this” and you’ll be just fine. Be good, stay true to yourself and your core principles and values and always make good choices. I love you more than you know. Mom!” And with that, I turned out the light, whispered a prayer of gratitude and realized that I too have, finally, got this!

The Restoration

I recently completed a special transformation project on the cabinet pictured here. When I moved from California to the Carolinas, I was intentional about bringing it with me. It had once lived on my patio, weathering years of sunshine and storms alike. She had taken quite a beating and, by all accounts, should have been left on the curb for pick-up.

But I saw something far more beautiful.

This cabinet held rich memories of countless hours spent on my patio, reading, praying, meditating, sharing family time with my son, and enjoying fellowship with friends and loved ones. In that space, I navigated painful setbacks, worked through difficult life challenges, and celebrated precious milestones and hard-won successes.

My patio was my sanctuary, my sacred real estate. From the large white myrtle tree (see my previous post, My Giving Tree), to the flowers, gorgeous oversized clay pots, and peaceful ambiance, it was a place that nourished my soul. The cabinet became the one tangible piece, a cherished memento of a space that so beautifully occupied my life. I felt as if each grain of wood held one of my stories and we were far from writing the final chapter.

I started this restoration over a year ago with a friend. I was excited about the idea of transforming her, and having gone through several transformations of my own, I couldn’t help but see the parallels. My friend and I discussed how best to salvage the cabinet. We searched for the perfect color, gathered the necessary tools, and decided to replace the top with a mosaic of tiles. We carefully sanded and smoothed the weathered exterior, repaired the broken pieces, and cloaked her in an exquisite jeweled-blue coat of paint. I felt such joy knowing we were bringing her—and in a way, our own—story back to life.

Then the project stopped. For four months, she sat untouched.

When we resumed, we created the tiled top, carefully sealed each piece, and once again, progress came to a halt. Eleven months passed. She remained in my garage, unfinished, like someone who had not yet been fully dressed. I felt frustrated and saddened that this transformation, one so deeply meaningful to me, had been abandoned. All the planning, care, hard work, time, resources, and excitement had simply… stopped.

The starting, stopping, pulling away, and fading interest in something so special made me wonder if it was an analogy for other things in my life, including my friendship with the person who began this journey with me.

As the summer months approached, I made a decision. I would finish what I started and return this cabinet to her rightful place on my patio.

I washed away the dust, dressed her in yet another fresh coat of paint, cut the glass for the side doors, attached the hardware, and crowned her with the mosaic top. Then came the moment I moved her to her new and rightful home on the patio. It felt as though the bridge from my former sanctuary was finally in place. She seemed to open her eyes after a long two-year slumber, alive again, and more beautiful than ever.

As I sit and reflect on the lessons learned through this project, I am humbled. I’m struck by the parallels between what was once a beat-up piece of furniture, destined for the trash heap, and the transformation that made it a treasured masterpiece—and how we, too, can feel beaten down, abandoned, and ready to give up, only to be renewed into something more beautiful than before.

For transformation to happen, we must first allow change to take place. We must be willing to be fully deconstructed before we can be reconstructed. For me, I believe in a God who daily renews me. Despite the “not so pretty” in my life, He chooses to see beauty in the ashes and what I can become. He doesn’t toss me to the curb, but like sandpaper to wood, He refines me, mends the broken pieces, restores my soul, and brings me to a place far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

It’s ironic that while I was painstakingly transforming the cabinet, God was unconditionally and lovingly transforming me—preparing me for this new and incredible season in my life.

I look forward to the hours I’ll spend on my patio with this newly restored piece from my past, as I move toward and embrace the future me. In some ways, we’ve breathed new life into each other. We’ve both gone beyond our original form, emerging from the chrysalis anew. Here’s to new discoveries, continued growth, and a fresh library of stories and experiences yet to be written.

Another Shooting Took Place Today

Last night, my fellow Carolinians and I bore witness to the heart-wrenching horror of yet another school shooting, unfolding tragically on our television screens. This time, the somber event unfolded in our very own backyard, at UNCC. Just last week, we marked the passing of a year since the Charleston, SC tragedy, and despite the passage of time, the wounds remain painfully fresh. The events of yesterday have only deepened an already gaping wound, leaving the Carolina community in a state of emotional triage.

While I don't typically find myself commenting on current events, my heart now pulses with raw emotion. The knowledge that two more sets of parents have been cruelly initiated into a club they never sought membership in weighs heavily on me. These parents woke up today facing the gut-wrenching task of arranging a funeral for their beloved child – a child whose life was callously extinguished by a sick and twisted individual, devoid of any regard for the sanctity of life. On what should have been the last day of classes, tragically, it became the last day of life for two innocent victims. In the coming week, we will lay to rest two young adults whose lives were senselessly and brutally cut short. The scars carried by thousands of students and faculty will persist for a lifetime. The families and friends connected to the victims will forever bear the burden of this unfathomable trauma within their hearts. And our beloved Carolinas, once again, bear witness to the sorrowful stain of yet more bloodshed upon our community's fabric. 

What adds to my distress is the fact that national morning news shows allotted only a fleeting few minutes to cover the shooting before briskly transitioning to the weather report. Have we truly reached a point where school shootings are tragically normalized within our culture? Have we become so desensitized to these unspeakable tragedies that we readily move on to the next news item, scarcely pausing to reflect? While thoughts and prayers are offered by many, and while their intentions are commendable, even as someone who firmly believes in God, I recognize that thoughts and prayers alone do not shield innocent bystanders from the onslaught of bullets. We are in dire need of actions beyond mere thoughts and prayers.

We are meant to be a nation embodying greatness, yet regrettably, the truth is starkly different. When our schools, places of worship, workplaces, and public gatherings transform into grounds for violence and vendettas, we cease to be a land of greatness; instead, we are becoming a realm of perpetual mourning and a chamber of execution. We must acknowledge the depth of our brokenness and the fractures within our society. How much more bloodshed must accumulate before we engage in a civilized and unbiased dialogue – one that transcends personal agendas, egos, and political affiliations? It's high time we address the ugly plague that has transformed this nation into a killing field. For my part, and perhaps for yours too, I yearn for a day when our mornings do not commence with the grim headline, "Another shooting took place today at…"

Surrendering to the Solitude

One of the most difficult things about relocating to the Carolina’s has been the day to day loneliness. I honestly had not anticipated how incredibly lonely I’d feel. I was accustomed to always having friends and family around who were ready for a get together at the drop of a hat. I went from growing up in a large family, getting married and starting a family, raising my son on my own; but with a village to support me, to now living alone.  I’m a people person and thrive on the energy of those I enjoy hanging out with. I have an amazing network of friends; however, they are mostly, all, thousands of miles away.  Migrating through my days in total isolation has been an adjustment I was not prepared for. There are countless articles that speak to the epidemic of loneliness and its grim collateral damage; and I feared I was becoming a statistic. There were times I felt I was on the brink of emotional collapse; however, I forced myself to lean into the learnings and embrace the loneliness. As with most circumstances that challenge me, I seek to understand the teachings in the discomfort and take heart in knowing there’s a greater purpose in the pain and process.

Here’s what I’ve learned in surrendering to the solitude.

• The quiet calms the internal chatter and allows me to have deeper clarity.
• My personal relationship with God and meditation practice has been dramatically and beautifully amplified.
• It has motivated me to be more creative and opened my eyes to untapped skills.
• It has taught me patience and then retaught me again!
• I’ve learned to be more accepting of myself.
• I’ve learned there’s freedom in doing what I want when I want… like eating ice cream in bed at midnight while binge watching “This Is Us”.  Bring it!
• I am more present and appreciate time with friends and loved ones more.
• I am much more in tune with my surroundings.
• I’ve discovered the power and value in the silence.
• I’ve learned that it’s a gift to sit quietly on my porch and listen to nature's symphony as the day begins to dawn!
• I’ve learned that it’s alright to make new friends and build new bonds.
• I’ve become really good friends with the Amazon delivery guy.
• I’ve learned to self-care more.
• Speaking of self-care, I’ve learned that three days is the max I should go without a shower. Especially if I’m expecting an Amazon package between day three and four.
• I’ve learned that my dog is a great listener.
• I’ve learned that I am fierce, and nothing holds me back.
• I’ve learned that even when I see friends and families together that many of them are still alone.
• I’ve learned that those whom I’ve helped in their times of difficulty or periods of solitude, won’t necessarily be there for me in mine.
• I’ve learned to take time to properly heal when hurt by those I never expected to be hurt by.
• That I’ll drive hundreds of miles for a hug and to be with a cherished friend or family members.
• That although I’ve come to accept my season of loneliness, I know that it has been good for just that, a season, and not intended long term.
• I know that I do not want to grow old alone.

Spending time alone can be healthy and has its benefits, yet we are not designed to be alone long term.  I remember when I was in bible college being struck by Genesis 2:18 The Lord God said, "It is not good for man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him." Of all the amazing things God created, the first thing He said that wasn’t good, was that we should not be alone. Connection and companionship is vital to our survival. I mean, so much so, that even God felt so strongly about it that he took measures to ensure we weren't alone.

I am grateful for my time of solitude, albeit as difficult as it has been from time to time. I am grateful for the lessons I’ve learned. They have refined me and re-purposed my soul, and, in an unexpectedly beautiful way, prepared my heart to be open, accepting and deeply appreciative when someone special will occupy my space again. 

Home Sweet Home

A year ago today, I sent a picture of my house key to a friend of mine with the caption “precious metal”. Moving into this home was precious in so many ways. As I reflect back over this past year, I do so with gratitude and a measured sense of accomplishment. It was scary leaving everyone and everything I knew in Los Angeles and start over not knowing a soul in the Carolina's.  It was the right kind of scared and I’m thankful for having the guts to have done so. I purchased this home on my own, with my money and resources and single-handedly unpacked every box, filled every cabinet and closet, hung every picture and decorated every room. When all was said and done, I was pleasantly exhausted and beyond grateful. It's never been lost on me how blessed I am to be a homeowner and especially the owner of this home.  

 When we think of a home, so many things come to mind. For me I think about the story it tells when friends and family visit. I have a sign over my front door that says, “Love is spoken here”. It is there by design. It is my hearts intent that while here, my guests feel that they are home and that within these walls is a place of love, acceptance and respite.

Having lived in LA for 22 years, I had become accustomed to the congested living, noise pollution and countless utility wires strung across my yard. I now enjoy scenic country roads, a sprawling yard with lush trees and flowers, and wide-open skies with zero obstructions.

My greatest joy came about six months after moving here. I had come home from work, made a cup of tea and went out to my patio to pray and meditate. I looked up at the sky and perfectly placed was a cloud shaped like a dove. I was overcome with a sense of peace and felt a liquid love pour over me. I took a deep breath in and realized that I was now… truly home.

Becoming Stronger Than Your Storm

This past summer, I found myself standing at the edge of a proverbial dock—life had delivered yet another unexpected blow. The company I had relocated across the country for was undergoing a reorganization, prompted in large part by my CHRO’s decision to take a new role elsewhere. In the wake of that change, the team’s culture quickly deteriorated. Toxic behaviors surfaced—cattiness, calculated undermining, and a growing lack of respect and professionalism became the daily norm.

Ultimately, we reached a mutual decision that I would take a severance and part ways with the company. And just like that, I was plunged into the thrashing waters of job loss, forced to confront the anxiety, humiliation, frustration, and endless questions that follow such an abrupt ending. Though the severance was generous, the way my departure was handled left me feeling deeply wounded and profoundly confused.

 When I spoke to trusted advisers, they assured me I’d find work easily, and I did, but this time something fierce stirred inside me. I was angry and deeply infuriated, and yet, I felt guilty for feeling that way.

Why? Because, on the surface, it looks like I have it all. I have my health, an amazing son, a supportive family and friends, a beautiful home, money in the bank, and a wealth of skills and talent. But those are external markers of success.

How do we give ourselves permission to sit with the mess when our soul hurts, when we feel profoundly wronged and lack clarity and purpose? How do we move past the fear that acknowledging our pain means we’re forfeiting our faith, perspective, and gratitude for the life we have?

As a woman of faith, I wrestled with these raw emotions. It wasn’t just the job loss I was confronting; it was the crushing isolation. My support systems are thousands of miles away, and I live in a day-to-day seclusion that, at times, overwhelms me. Deep down, I knew God had His hand over me and would guide me through this difficult period. But still, a storm of emotions brewed inside me, demanding to be acknowledged.

One morning, I sat in silence and wrote down all the ugly emotions I was feeling. I gave myself permission to have an honest conversation—free of guilt—about what I was experiencing.

And this is what I wrote…

I am angry. I am frustrated. I am confused. I am afraid. I feel painfully isolated. I feel lost. My heart hurts. I am weary from crying. I feel irrelevant. I lack clarity. I am exhausted from the constant dialogue replaying in my head. I am drained from fighting to stay strong. I feel like a fraud for appearing strong when I’m crumbling inside. I feel humiliated. I feel taken advantage of. I feel like I give more than I get. I grieve for the time I’ve lost. I despise this and those who brought these circumstances into my life. I don’t want to feel like this anymore!

I repeated these words over and over until I could read them without wanting to cry. Until I could fully hand them over to God to dispose of. Until I no longer felt that pang in my heart. I needed to own them and strip them of their power over me. It was intensely cathartic and freeing. I was no longer running from the complex matrix of emotions that had chased me morning, noon, and night. Instead, I drove a stake into its putrefied heart, snuffing out its ability to beat further. In doing so, I eradicated the mountain of pain my soul had been carrying and replaced it with grace, peace, and a renewed clarity of vision and purpose.

It’s ironic that when we strip ourselves down to such raw vulnerability, we become fiercely empowered. By authentically owning what we’re experiencing and facing it head-on, we become stronger than the storm raging within us. We take ownership of the storm and gain the power to silence the howling winds of negativity. In that silence, we can stand at the edge of the dock, take in the tranquility and beauty of a new horizon, whisper a prayer of gratitude for the strength to have conquered yet another storm, and then set our compass toward the next journey.

©2019 LoriAnn Boyer - All Rights Reserved

This product is protected by copyright and distributed under licenses restricting copying and distribution.

Doing The Charleston

This past year has been full of exciting firsts, both good and challenging. One positive first was taking a mini-vacation solo. I recently ventured down the eastern coast to the charming city of Charleston, SC. Traveling has an incredible ability to broaden your mind, open you to new cultures, and transform you completely. I spent three days immersing myself in the rich—albeit difficult at times—history of Charleston. From the battle-worn brick walls of Fort Sumter to the slave trade market and cobblestone streets of the city, my soul was moved, my heart broken for the right reasons, and my desire to travel more intensely amplified. I came away fortified with a deeper knowledge of our nation’s history and a renewed respect and admiration for our forebears.

Walking through the entrance arch of Fort Sumter, it’s impossible not to feel a pang in your heart. The average age of the men stationed at Fort Sumter was just 25, with some as young as 18. They were sons, brothers, fathers, and husbands, enlisted as soldiers, armed with artillery and patriotic zeal, embarking on a war that would be brutally won by the North. Standing at the fort’s center, knowing this was the birthplace of the Civil War and that Abraham Lincoln once walked these very grounds, was profoundly humbling.

I also took what is known as the Gullah Tour. Gullah was the language spoken by the slaves and is still used among several Charleston communities. Our tour guide, Alphonso, was a lively character who shared his incredible knowledge of Charleston and its role in the slave trade. As he spoke, the city’s history came alive. There was deep emotion felt by all when we came upon what were known as the “slave markets” and the “whipping house.” There were tears from some and a collective quiet respect and reverence as we attempted to understand the atrocities that took place on those grounds. It made us uncomfortable in a way we needed to be, and you would be void of a soul if you didn’t leave changed for the better.

I returned from Charleston enriched by its history and with a newfound love for the Charleston people, both past and present. I also felt a twinge of pride in having embarked on this journey alone. There were many moments I would have liked to share with a friend or special someone; however, the solitude gave me the freedom to prove that I could successfully travel solo. It allowed me to reflect deeply, unencumbered by the distractions of companionship. In the quiet moments of walking through historic sites, I found myself connecting with the stories and lives that had shaped those places. Despite traveling solo, I was never truly alone; I felt the presence of the many souls whose footsteps I followed, whose lives had been intertwined with the history and culture of Charleston.

Traveling solo opened me up to new ventures and ideas, pushing me beyond the boundaries of my comfort zone. It’s in these moments of exposure to the unfamiliar, whether it’s a new landscape, a different culture, or an untold story that we often discover parts of ourselves we didn’t know existed. I realized that every new experience, every piece of history I touched, and every cultural nuance I encountered added layers to my understanding of the world and my place in it. I found that through these journeys, we are not just exploring the world; we are also exploring ourselves, learning what moves us, what challenges us, and what inspires us. The solitude of solo travel gave me the clarity to recognize these discoveries, and it amplified my desire to continue exploring, not just new destinations, but also the depths of my own aspirations and dreams.

This journey was not just about seeing new sights, but about experiencing the world in a way that allowed me to grow. It afforded me much-needed time for reflection and the chance to discover more about myself, my undiscovered interests, and aspirations—one of which is certainly to travel more.

Now, where to next?

So, I love you...

This past week I received news that a dear friend in LA was struck and killed in a hit and run. The driver was caught within the hour; found to be driving under the influence and charged with vehicular homicide. Tragic and senseless!

I met Dahly two years ago in church. We were seated next to each other and exchanged a warm hug after the worship service. The connection was immediate and sincere. Dahly was accomplished, beautiful, intelligent, grounded, authentic, and had a heart for God and anyone who crossed her path. We were drawn to each other’s energy and passion for life and God. We would have lunch after church and prayed like the mamas we are over our boys. We referred to each other as forever sisters in Christ. We exchanged texts of encouragement when either was facing a difficult challenge and celebrated each others successes. Dahly was pure love and light and I always looked forward to spending time with her.

Upon receiving the news of Dahly’s untimely passing, I rushed to pull up her last text.  It said “One day one of us may not be here and it will be too late to say I love you… So, I love you.  Love ya, girl!” My reply was “Aw… sweetie. Thank you.  I love you too. Have a wonderful day ahead.”  I fell to the floor, intensely grief stricken and sobbed uncontrollably. It was chilling, cruelly ironic and ripped my heart wide open. How would she have known that within a few weeks her life would come to such a tragic end and that her words would have an immensely powerful and lasting impact?  How would either of us know that these would be our last words to each other? Yet, despite them being our last, they are the most precious words you can share with another soul.

As I struggle to make sense of Dahly’s passing and navigate the waves of grief that pour over me, I am reminded once more of our incontestable mortality and the brevity of our journey here. None of us gets out of this alive. We all have an end date.  It’s vital to live intentionally and fiercely in the dash of our birth and end dates. I am reminded, again, to love harder, hug longer, appreciate more deeply, forgive easily, live courageously and with greater purpose, relentlessly pursue my dreams, worry less, stay out of the shallow end of life's pool, and NEVER EVER let someone you love not know how much you love them.

I thank God for giving me the gift of Dahly and her beautiful effect on my soul. I am grateful to have experienced her words of love as well as her love in action. I will miss you, my dear friend and forever sister in Christ, and look forward to the day when I can warmly embrace you again!

THE SOBRIETY COIN

I recently found a sobriety coin on the sidewalk. I had heard of sobriety coins, but never viewed one up close. When I got in my car I examined the coin in detail. On one side The Serenity Prayer is inscribed.  On the other, the length of sobriety achieved, the phrase “To thine own self be true”, and the words unity, service and recovery. This particular coin signified 18 years of sobriety; 18 years. Wow! We often hear people joke during lent how difficult it is to give up something for 40 days. How could they ever manage 18 years?

As I held the coin in the palm of my hand, I felt a powerful connection with it. I was overcome with deep emotion and pushed to tears. It was not lost on me what this coin signified. Who was this soldier of sobriety that formerly owned this coin? What demons must they have overcome to have reached such a monumental milestone in their recovery? Were they still living in a state of sobriety? I have friends and family members who have battled addiction and are in recovery.  I know all too well, and have experienced the pain, heartbreak and destruction it brings. I’ve also seen the positive effects of sobriety as a result of the hard work of those who work the program and genuinely want to be healthy again.

Sobriety is described as a state of living sober. I was challenged to examine my own life in an attempt to understand, what areas do I need to experience sobriety? Where do I need to gain control over a negative force that serves only to destroy me, and perhaps, at times, those around me? If I were to be completely honest, which is a key step in sobriety, and choose one, it would be fear.

Fear of:

• failure
• rejection
• what the future holds (don’t we all these days?)
• being hurt by those I love and trust
• being used and taken advantage of
• getting my heart broken… again (I could write another 100 blogs on this one)
• growing old alone 

The list certainly goes on. These unhealthy fears hold me in an intoxicated state, prohibiting clear thinking and experiencing the life I’m truly meant to live. 

The first step in sobriety is admitting you are powerless over your dependence. Yikes, admitting weakness. That alone sparks fear, yet it must be spoken aloud and confronted in order to free myself from its clutches. OK. Here goes… Hello, my name is LoriAnn and I need sobriety from fear. Phew! Step one, check.

An interesting fact about the sobriety coin is that it not only represents the years of sobriety a member achieves, but, it represents AA's commitment to the receiver - not the receivers’ commitment to AA".  This is partly why it’s critical for recoverings to attend meetings.  They need the support of their community. Community is vital for continued sobriety.

I underwent an unexpected set back a few months ago that propelled me into the depths of fear. The fear paralyzed me in such a way that I was rendered unable to get out of bed for several days and spiraled into a debilitating depression. I was fortunate enough to have a community of family and amazing friends to pull me out of the dark chasm I had fallen into. They didn’t just check in on me with trite messages and calls; no, they showed up in fierce and real ways. They were my recovery group, my community, my people. They pushed me hard, daily, to move past my fears. They proved to me that living in fear wouldn’t change the outcome of my situation.  They also challenged me to surrender my independence and allow them to take care of me. 

How many times have you heard a recovering say "I've got this under control this time". These are lies used to perpetuate pushing their support and home team away. I was guilty of the same.  When you've not showered long enough to where even your dog refuses to sleep with you, you've eaten enough Ben & Jerry's to keep them in business for the  next few years and, you've binged watched Snapped or, worse, The Kardashian's, you certainly don't have this under control.  Vulnerability is not an easy playground for me to hang in. Standing emotionally naked in front of those I have spent years proving I’m a warrior to was daunting.  By shedding the ego, stripping away my insecurities and allowing my “true” community to be there I was able to detox from the fear and pain I was in and experience sobriety from its attempts to hold me hostage. I had to grab that gravy sucking bull called fear by the horns and let it know who was really boss here. I’ve since learned that I can’t stop fear from coming to me, but I do have the power to stop it from getting in me.

To the former owner of the coin I hold not only in my hand, but now in my heart, know it is safe and has had a profound impact on its new owner. I applaud you for the warrior you’ve been these past 18 years and for the fears and battles you’ve bravely faced to reach this milestone.  Stay the course and never stop fighting the good fight, my friend.  I wish you continued recovery and peace on your sobriety journey and to thine own self be true.

All rights reserved. ©2017  LoriAnn Boyer