To be honest, I wasn’t planning on sharing this story publicly. I was planning to write about a Whippet named Bourbon. This feels personal. It was also transformational. But someone suggested I share it. And her suggestion was in all caps. So, Bourbon will have to age on the shelf a little longer.

Last weekend, I attended a Creative Living Retreat at Canyon Ranch in Tucson led by Elizabeth Gilbert. Yes. The Elizabeth Gilbert. Author of Eat Pray Love and (my favorite) Big Magic. As a writer, she’s one of my heroes. I consider her a spirit guide for my life, too. 

I signed up on somewhat of a whim. I was talking to the suggester my sister (many of my adventures begin this way), and she said, “You’re in your Eat Pray Love phase.” Hmmm. I knew Elizabeth held retreats, so I did a quick search and discovered that one was happening in Arizona in a few weeks.

“Why not?” I thought, as I registered late one night. I was a little unsure of exactly why I was signing up. But something was telling me to go. So, I did.

Let me start by saying Elizabeth Gilbert is authentic, approachable, and warm. She is also wise and calm. The world needs more calm.

She started the first day of the workshop by talking to us about the notion that we must search for our purpose as though it’s our highest calling. She doesn’t subscribe to that philosophy because she says it leads to purpose-anxiety. As someone who has written articles for Fast Company that include “The stress-free method for finding your life purpose” and “This 5-minute exercise could help you find your purpose,” I squirmed in my chair. She’s right, though. I feel purpose-anxiety. (And I promise to do better with my article topics.)

Instead of purpose, Elizabeth explained we can live a life of presence. You don’t have to earn your right to be here; the fact you are here is proof of your right. Simply live in the moment guided by curiosity. In fact, living in the moment is your purpose. WOW!

Then she talked about creativity and fear, which is very relevant to me right now. I haven’t shared this publicly, but I guess now is a great time since I’m being all share-y. I’m working on a book. There. I said it. The underlying message has shifted and morphed and dog-legged to the right. But I have finally landed on the premise. And now I’m frozen. Which means “working on a book” is a very loose description of what I’m doing.

Elizabeth explained that when you’re doing something creative, you’re venturing into uncertainty. A place where you can’t know the outcome. Your brain wants to keep you safe, so fear interrupts creativity and tries to shut it down. Like putting orange cones around the idea, instructing you (through a megaphone) to MOVE ALONG! AVOID THIS CLEARLY DANGEROUS AREA!!

This is totally normal. Instead of letting fear guide your story, though, invite curiosity into play. Curiosity is always available, and it helps you look at fear and say, “Hmmm, this is interesting. Let’s get a closer look at what’s inside the orange cones.” (I snapped a photo of a courageous butterfly while out on a walk last fall. See how she ignores caution?)

Next, we did an exercise where we wrote a letter to ourselves from our fear. Elizabeth read us a letter she had written to herself earlier that day because she said she wouldn’t ask us to be vulnerable if she wasn’t willing to be vulnerable, too. She told us to start our letter with, “Dear [your name], I am your fear, and this is what I want to tell you.” Then write as many sentences as you want, starting each with “I am afraid … ”  

It didn’t take long for me to write my letter. Fear after fear came pouring out of my brain like a pack of flying monkeys crash landing on the page of my journal. I was a little surprised at how many fears were in there. They kept coming. Once everyone was done writing their letters, Elizabeth said, “Now, read your letter to the stranger sitting next to you.” OK. I wasn’t expecting that. 

I turned to the woman on my left and took a deep breath. The next thing I knew, Elizabeth Gilbert was crouched beside me, looking me square in the face, waiting for me to introduce her to the flying monkeys that had been let out of my brain. OMG

I told her I might cry. She said that was OK. As I read, she would interject, “Oh, I should have put that in my letter, too.” When I finished, I told her I was struggling with fear right now. She said, “So am I.” (She has the kindest eyes, btw.) She listened to my partner read her letter and then moved throughout the room like that courageous butterfly, landing on the shoulders of others. 

But the transformation doesn’t stop here. Oh, no. Not even close. When everyone was done reading, Liz came up to me and asked if I would read my letter. Out loud. To. The. Entire. Group. (Note: From here on out, I’m calling her Liz. Once you’ve told someone your deepest fears, you can stop being all formal with their name.)

Liz walked me to the front of the room and said, “This is Stephanie, and she is going to read her letter to us.” Then she asked me to turn my back to the group. She told everyone else, “If Stephanie says anything that you wrote in your letter to yourself, I want you to stand up.” 

I started reading my letter. “Dear Stephanie, I am your fear, and this is what I want to tell you. I am afraid you are not good enough.” Immediately, I heard chairs moving. I kept going. “I am afraid your idea is shit. I am afraid of being vulnerable and of people learning that you aren’t really the strong person you appear to be …” On and on. My letter was quite long. (Damn monkeys.) When I was finished, she asked me to turn around.

The whole room was standing. And suddenly, I knew exactly why I had come to Tucson.

Liz stood with her arm around me. She told us that many of our fears are universal. You could listen to them and stay safe. But is that what your soul came into this world to do? (She said lots of other words, but I kind of blacked out in the moment.)

I cannot adequately express what the experience meant to me. I felt so supported. A woman in the front row held her hands to her heart and looked at me with love. I’ll never forget her face. And all my fears? They lost their power.

The weekend held many other WOW! Moments, including taking a cold plunge in the spa (in the nude!), getting a handwriting analysis that was eerily accurate, hiking solo on a desert trail and noticing a mountain lion crossing sign, and having a beautiful and brave new friend perform Sara Bareilles’ version of “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” to the small group of women she said she’d most connected with over the weekend. (I had never really listened to the lyrics, have you? Huge WOW! Thank you, Deonne. xoxo)

Being recognized by Liz Gilbert, however, will be a pinned post in the story of my life and one of my favorite WOWs of all time. 

So, what are your fears? I encourage you to write that letter. Since I’m still in share mode, I’ll be super vulnerable and post a picture of what I wrote in the workshop. I hope it makes someone feel less afraid and alone. And I invite you to be vulnerable, too, and Cher share one of your fears in the comments because … I got you, babe.

PS: I love you, Liz.

PPS: My dad used to say, “Sometimes you need to pull down your pants and slide down the ice.” I have no idea what that means, but I think I just did it.

PPPS: If you are thinking of signing up for Liz’s workshop or another one that speaks to you, do it. DO IT, NOW!