One of the guiding principles in mastership of any sport, art, or spiritual endeavor can be summed up in the words, Be the Best You Can. We live in a culture of striving, often believing that the best we can be involves some sort of superhuman effort or achievement. Yet the story of a high school wrestler who surrendered a match he could have won stunningly clarifies what this principle looks like in action. Marek Bush is one unusual teenager, and this is his humble, heart-opening choice.

As a sophomore and champion wrestler from Utica, New York, with yet another state championship on the line, Marek faced his rival on the mat. He’d practiced hard, and he wanted to beat his opponent, Logan Patterson.

But when Logan badly injured his elbow in the last 30 seconds of the match, an extraordinary spiritual opportunity unfolded. Marek had been losing up to this point. All he had to do to win the championship was pin his compromised competitor. Instead, after telling his coach I got this, he went back in—and did nothing. He surrendered, allowing his opponent to win the match. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/marek-bush-champion-high-school-wrestler-surrenders-a-match-he-could-have-won/

The video shows fans on their feet and in tears. The subsequent interviews crack open the heart. Marek assumes his choice would make him look kind of like a weakling, but that’s all right, he says. The referee’s voice cracks as he shares that he’s never seen anything like it, and that Marek is no weakling at all. State championships come and go, he says, but that—you can’t take that away from a kid. Marek’s father is the most overcome with emotion. When the reporter asks if he’s proud, he quickly answers, very proud. He must have passed along his own values to his son. As he puts it, Winning isn’t everything, it’s about doing what’s right. And he did.

Even the reporter highlights what he saw as the most important element of this story—that Marek thought his choice would make him look weak, and he did it anyway.

Everyone takes away something a little different from this story. I’m seeing a key to mastership with greater clarity. Being the best we can means following our heart and acting courageously upon what we know to be true no matter what appears in the outside world. In each experience, the choice is ours. And even when we’re wrestling with the world, there’s always that one defining moment—that opportunity to tune in to our highest self and surrender to what’s most true. Love is always a choice.

We may consider maximum-security prison as the place of least freedom on earth. Valentino Dixon has proven otherwise. His exoneration last fall, sparked by a surprising journey involving colored pencil golf sketches, serves as an example of the highest we can choose in the most limited circumstances.

Dixon’s trial reads like a classic crime drama meant to incite our sense of injustice. Yet it’s the alignment of his lifelong path to freedom that most caught my attention. Dixon shared that in the worst nightmare imaginable…for whatever reason, God kept sending me signs. And I wasn’t a strong believer in God before that. But He kept sending me signs, and each sign He sent was like “Hold on.” Here’s the unfoldment.

Dixon’s uncle brings art supplies to the prison to encourage Dixon’s love of art. It takes seven years for him to begin drawing again. He’s not allowed oil paints, so he explores a new method of layering colored pencils.

Louise Piromalli finds his art on the Internet; they marry in the Attica cafeteria in 2002. She prints and distributes his greeting cards designs until an expired visa requires her return to Australia.

Enter the next catalyst—Attica’s superintendent and avid golfer, James Conway, who brings a photograph of the 12th hole at Augusta National, asking if Dixon might draw it as a favor. Dixon’s response? After 19 years in Attica, the look of a golf hole spoke to me. It seemed peaceful. I imagine playing it would be a lot like fishing. Within that peace, Dixon draws over 100 “golf designs” in the next two years, often referenced by photos in back issues of Golf Digest lent to him by a fellow inmate.

Eventually, Dixon reaches out to editor Max Adler, answering a story request from the monthly column called How Golf Saved My Life. The small golf drawing included opens Adler’s heart and mind. Max gets involved with the case, bringing the media attention that attracts key people who eventually secure Dixon’s release.

Though many played their part, only Dixon himself could maintain the spiritual state that would allow events an opportunity to play out in his favor. He chose not to hold a grudge against the man who actually committed the crime because I knew it would kill my spirit. He accepted all gifts that came his way, whether challenging or uplifting. He focused on creating what he loved and spent much time imagining freedom.

Everything good that I have now, like sharing delicious food with my family, sleeping under my mother’s roof, I dreamed about for so many years, it’s like I’ve done it already. All that time, you see, my mind was on the outside. Drawing and reading, I was living in a fantasy. Now that I’m here, it’s no shock.

In a sense, was Valentino Dixon just as free behind bars as outside the prison walls?

Dixon’s humility and heart is evident in this interview. May it help you find your own freedom trail.

The video has gone viral, but if you haven’t yet seen the under-two-minute floor routine of UCLA gymnast Katelyn Ohashi, may I suggest you do so now? https://www.inc.com/minda-zetlin/katelyn-ohashi-viral-video-ucla-gymnastics-ncaa.html. Rarely do we get to see such alignment with joy, with sharing one’s gifts with the world.

Katelyn was an Olympic hopeful. She beat Simone Biles to win the America Cup in 2013 before Biles went on to win an Olympic gold medal. Ohashi was expected to compete in 2016, but instead left the elite gymnastic world. Why? Not only did training and competition fracture her back and tear her shoulders, it broke her spirit. She was constantly told she wasn’t good enough, she didn’t look a certain way, and that she had gotten too big. At 13, she wrote that she was used to waking up with the taste of blood or iron in her mouth, as if she might almost throw up from being so hungry.

Katelyn left elite competition to compete instead in the college circuit. It was with her coach at UCLA that she rediscovered her joy, giving the world one of the best examples of what it looks like to be full-out love in motion.

Even more than the floor routine, which brings me to tears, is watching Katelyn after she finishes. She high-fives all of her teammates. The perfect 10 score appears—and watch what she does next. There’s no over-dramatization of the moment, as if her whole life has built to this crescendo of success. She hugs a friend and then stands in casual conversation with her colleagues, being fully present for the next moment. No ego. No theatrics. Just natural, calm, self-possessed and poised. I was stunned.

We’re so used to seeing athletes strive for perfection, for record-breaking, history-making victories. But what’s the lasting gift in relative perfection? A lifetime of remembering and reliving that single moment? A constant, relentless desire to one-up oneself? Perhaps a celebration of championship followed by a grace period of floating on air before the temporal dissipates, as it always does.

What I saw in Katelyn was the true genius of knowing all is in its right place—the routine, the body, the seemingly effortless effort, the music, the crowd, the playfulness, the rhythm, and the grounded joy that lasts a lifetime. This young woman appeared to have nothing to prove and nothing to lose. I imagine that’s why she was able to deliver such a performance.

No matter what you see when you watch Katelyn, there’s no doubt she landed more than a perfect score. She found an alignment of character, the grace of a true champion, and the freedom that comes with choosing the highest happiness.

Photo credit: Ben Liebenberg/AP

This week’s story is written by Silvana Messing-Notari from Castlemaine, in Victoria, Australia. Enjoy!

A week ago, I was feeling unhappy and slightly depressed. Wherever I looked, it seemed a smoke screen blocked the light from shining into my Soul. I spent a good seven days in a haze.

I prayed every night before sleep, asking the heavenly beings to help me, but I could not hear them. I was too deep into feeling sorry for myself. Then one morning just before waking, I heard the voice of one of my Spiritual Mentors. If you ever feel the light vanishing from your soul, do a good deed for someone else; there is no room for victimhood in the act of giving.

Yea, Yea I thought to myself, I already know all about that. I went about my day, dismissing the voice. In the hope that a good book would distract me, I went to the library. Once there, not knowing which book to choose, I felt worse than before. I left and went to the second hand store, only to walk out again because of a dispute between a customer and the clerk. This is not working, I thought, and I stormed towards my car to drive home.

On the way, I noticed that the fire brigade depot had their doors wide open— all the trucks ready to drive off on an urgent call. Suddenly, I felt as if someone’s hand was pushing me behind my head. Turn here, the voice said. Park around the corner and go and tell these people who are about to go and save lives how much you appreciate them. I knew I had no choice, so I stopped the car, crossed the road, and walked up to one of the truck drivers. He was a bit surprised, but asked, Can I help you? with a kind smile. I just came to let you know how much I appreciate the work you do. You people do such an amazing job putting your life at risk for the community. Thank you. I would love to give a donation.

Oh! Thanks for your kind words, the man replied. People don’t usually come to tell us this; it is always uplifting and encouraging to hear that we are appreciated. He passed my gratitude on to the rest of the team who also thanked me. Unfortunately, he explained, they were not able to accept my donation at the fire station.

While driving home, I remembered that once a month at the local market the Country Fire Authority have collection buckets at the entrance. I shall drop my donation in one of their little buckets, I thought. Within minutes, the haze had lifted. I felt lighter and more at peace. My heart opened.

We are blessed with the right to choose in this precious life. Here I chose to listen, to let the inner voice guide me, and to trust in the miracle of giving. The light returned to open my heart—and the act of giving and receiving came full circle.

Anyone who grew up in upstate New York (the real upstate, not Poughkeepsie) knows the true value of Wegmans, one of the best supermarket chains in the world. Years ago, I worked in the deli department for a short time, so I understand firsthand why Wegmans is revered. Beyond its multitude of quality offerings that other stores may provide, a culture of service is central, vital and vibrantly alive.

I drove to New Jersey this week when I discovered a Wegmans had opened nearly a year ago. In the parking lot, I texted my sister (living in the real upstate) a picture to prove I’d made it to grocery Mecca. Inside, I was suitably overstimulated by expanse and variety in a kind of culture shock. I meandered with my small cart, acclimating to the ambiance, then set off to find one of two items most important to my pilgrimage—organic almond butter. Wegmans sells its own store name brand for $9.99. I know! Granted it’s roasted, not raw, but this is half the price of any other brand.

In the nut butter aisle, the shelf was completely empty. I’d driven a distance, so I thought it worth checking at the customer service desk to see if there was more. I was greeted politely, signed up for a store discount card cheerfully, and my inquiry on almond butter was received with sincere interest.

Here’s where the word service begins to be redefined. The employee makes a phone call, talks to another worker, asks if I tried aisle 2B, then walks me all the way back to the shelf location. Seeing my conundrum, she takes a picture of the product shelf label bar code on her phone, and asks me to wait right there while she personally goes into the back to check incoming supplies.

Two minutes later I hear her talking to a man who’s describing another location in the store. Where’s the customer? he asks. She leans into my aisle—smiling—and waves me forward, saying come with me. We walk to an end cap in natural foods where, top to bottom, jars of smooth and crunchy are perfectly arranged. Waving her hand across the display, she adds this can all be yours, if the price is right. I delightedly thank her; place six jars into my cart; and, head to the meat section.

But the service isn’t over! As I peruse beef packages on a plentiful wall of organic meats, my phone rings. This is Ennea from Customer Service, she says. You left your coupons and Menu magazine at the customer service desk. Would you like them? From a mildly stunned state, I mutter that I’ll be happy to swing back around.

Ennea’s tone of service was simple, decent, human courtesy with a touch of playfulness that persisted until the job was complete. How many of us can say we serve like that? Just a great example of what’s possible for the holidays, and beyond.

When I’m on the course, I enjoy playing with golf balls of different colors. Not only are they much easier to find when my drive doesn’t land on the fairway, they’re fun. The most fun golf ball I owned was bright yellow with a picture of the cartoon character Spongebob. My golf partner, Larry, found it one day in a wooded area and gave it to me.

For months, I’d place the ball on the tee, saying you know what to do, Spongebob. I was careful not to tee him up on a hole where I thought I might lose him. The couple of times he ended up in a gulley or under a tree, Larry always seemed to be able to locate Spongebob.

Until two weeks ago. I hit a nice drive on the 16th hole, but it bounced left, down the slope, and into the weeds. We searched, but to no avail. We didn’t want to cause a delay for other golfers, so it was time to surrender Spongebob. Perhaps someday another golfer would come upon him and have as much fun as I did.

Surrender can be challenging. For some, it’s easy. For others like me, not so much. Attachments form quickly and letting go can feel painful or empty—especially when releasing loved ones or facing challenging relationship dynamics.

Larry shared his perspective one day, using a term he called spiritual mechanics. He described the comings and goings of life as far less personal or emotional than we make them out to be. It’s more like how the stock market corrects itself every so often, he said. People analyze the data, but basically the ups and downs of the stock market are emotionally driven—fear of loss and hope of gain. But the adjustment is not; it is more related to the spiritual nature of balance. Perhaps because of the emotions, mechanics have to come in periodically to equilibrate.

This happens in relationships, too, he added, when certain energies need to balance out. We analyze the causes, most often resulting in blame, but it’s just a necessary shift. All energy has to move like water seeking it’s own level. Analysis and emotions are filters of perception we use to explain these mechanics to ourselves.

I found this viewpoint fascinating and chose to apply it to a business situation I was facing. I decided to write an email where I would surrender my own hurt feelings, ignore all the potential drama, and simply state the facts of my request for future collaboration. The tone would be kind and professional, and I’d move forward with grace and tact without reference to the past.

I’ll share the outcome of this approach in a future blog. Meanwhile, two weeks after surrendering my favorite golf ball, Larry’s wife texted to say they found Spongebob on the 7th hole! How he got from the 16th to the 7th is a story in itself, I’m sure. But isn’t it nice to be rebalanced?

Unconditional self-love has been knocking at my door.

A dear friend recently shared a photo of the newly painted pink door on their Victorian-style home in Leicester, England. I thought it a wonderful, bold choice, and quite amazing that her husband picked the color. Neighbors have begun commenting, and I have no doubt that, at the very least, the pink door will inspire conversation.

Only later did I make a connection with how Life has been coaching me to open doors to love in new ways. I’ve been drawn to the deep shade of pink associated with unconditional love; I’ve been guided to envision a tele-seminar on self-love; and, I’ve seen how the presence of this one quality is more transformative and lasting than any other I might bring to my client sessions. Love is, after all, the essence of any fine craftsmanship or truly giving work in the world.

Perhaps it’s cultural that we’ve been duped into believing that self-love and narcissism ring the same bell. They don’t. One is the beginning of all healing, connection, truth and service. The other engenders only suffering. Unconditional self-love means being able to embrace the good, the bad and the ugly within us—fearlessly and shamelessly. We are beings of Light who have, at times, misunderstood the universe. In our misconception of love, we’ve acted out of fear or pain, anger or undue attachment to material things. Then, Life needed to teach us better. Not punish, just teach. We’re learning.

A while back, I watched an attentive, devoted father teach his pink-helmeted daughter how to ride her pink bike on a paved path adjacent to the Hudson River. She’d gotten past the training wheel stage, and he was coaching her to keep pedaling to maintain two-wheeled balance. When she got up to speed, he would jog along side her, quietly cheering her on. After perhaps 50 feet, she’d get scared, put on the brakes, and wobble to a stop. Dad would acknowledge her success, and then begin building up her courage to try again. Even though she judged herself as “failing,” he never faltered in his steady, patient clarity—you’ve done it, and you can do it more.

This is the message I keep sending myself. You’re doing great. Just keep peddling. If you’re afraid, it’s OK to stop, regroup, and try again. I’m jogging right beside you.

There is no more potent voice than our own, speaking to ourselves. We have the power to protect, heal, nurture or encourage. We can build up or we can destroy. And thus we create our world, moment by moment, choice by choice—with our voice.

One night this week, I was already in bed when I heard a sound like loud sparklers crackling. I looked out my window to see white-gold bits of light flying in every direction in the neighbor’s yard beyond our backyard trees. Sparks flew far enough for me to wonder if nearby shrubbery would catch fire. My first instinct was to call 911, yet a feeling of festivity and audible expressions of delight shifted my call-to-action.

September is not a typical season for fireworks, nor is a late weeknight customary party-time. Yet a fountain of colorful light poured forth, and I settled in from my secure vantage point, elbows propped on the window sill, smiling broadly. In the silence afterwards, it was the children’s voices I loved most.

I climbed back into bed to do my evening contemplation and took that joy inward. It set off a spiritual wave. I found myself wanting to be part of children playing and people of all ages enjoying each other’s company. The feeling sent me into a blissful state as I pictured myself amidst happy family, outside of an evening, enjoying fresh night air, musical voices, brightly colorful flying lights, and the sizzle of sparklers. My inner senses were fully engaged.

Years ago, I read that it is the power of imagination rather than the power of will that determines our experiences in this world. It has taken me years to begin taking responsibility for my imagination, turning away from criticism and negative images, thoughts or fears, to what lightens my heart and brings joy. In the past, I felt that simply being content or happy wouldn’t serve Life enough. I had to be in the trenches, suffering with those in their darkest hours (or my own) in order to be serving God. Lately, I see that I may have sentenced myself to an unnecessary fate. I can go to those dark places to assist others, but I don’t need to stay in the dark to serve in the dark.

The next day, a kind of miracle appeared. Someone contacted me looking for a coach and asked what kind of coaching I did. I explained that I help people listen deeply to their true heart’s desire, trust what they know, and actualize that divine purpose in their lives. I asked if she had a dream she was looking to realize, and she wrote back, Yes. Family, community and marriage.

This outer reflection of my experience the night before—and an opportunity to serve as I learn—keeps surfacing in my world. Life Itself is the coach. Connecting each moment that Life peeks out around a corner to wink in my direction, I begin to see a pattern, a structure, a path of joy to follow. All great spiritual beings do what they do out of love, unconditional and true. How could that be anything but joyful?

Brain inflammation is a challenging health condition. It can produce headaches and neck pain, mood changes leading to depression or anxiety, and incessant obsessive thinking.

The week before last, my brain went into overload and I wasn’t thinking straight. Fear dominated my thoughts, and my head pulsed with a low, consistent throb throughout the day. It was difficult to sleep; so, by day three I was squirming with overheated discomfort.

Then I remembered the willow tree.

In my backyard is a magnificent willow that’s perhaps over a hundred years old. With a craggy bulbous trunk, large sturdy branches and delicate leaves, it’s my favorite tree on our land. From the gazebo across the pond, I can take in the cascading wispy beauty of its leaves swaying in a summer breeze. In closer proximity, with my back propped against its trunk, I can feel myself absorb its strength.

Last year, the landscapers considered taking it down because one sizable branch had died and it looked like the rest would follow. But over the winter, a fierce storm came through that just happened to prune the part of the tree that would most allow it to regenerate. This spring, the willow stood stronger than ever.

I approached the tree and, rather than sitting down in my usual spot, I walked around to the other side. I noticed a protrusion nearly at head level if I stepped my feet out a bit and titled back to rest on the trunk. My skull fit underneath the protrusion such that the top and sides of my head nestled into the bark. I rested into the willow, inhaling the oxygen of its exhale.

Minutes later, my brain noticeably cooled down. While not an instant miracle healing, enough of the heat and fear I felt released, allowing me to regroup. If you’ve ever experienced the sacred cathedral of California redwoods or the healing scent of an Australian eucalyptus forest, you’ll know how this was possible.

There’s a spiritual law called the Law of Strength, which says that only the strong enter the kingdom of heaven or can withstand true unconditional love. When I read about how Soul becomes strong and bold by rigorous trials that try to shake It loose from the Tree of Life, I knew why I’d sought the willow’s presence.

Everywhere, in every way, support is here and now for those who choose strength. Perhaps it’s learning to be humble enough to receive.