I have a contemplative nature. I spend a lot of time reflecting on what it means to be alive.
I ask myself questions like:
“What is the essence of being human?”
“What does it mean to Be?”
“What is this whole experience of life as a human really about?”
“Why are we here?”
In a world that is speeding up every day, I have to make a concerted effort to slow the pace of my days so that I can connect consciously with my Being.
To remember to breathe.
To calm my brain down long enough to return to the present moment.
To give myself permission to sense my essence.
To return to just being a human. For me, this is a daily practice.
Most of the time, it is in stillness where I am able to more easily come into contact with my own essence.
But every once in a while, I sense my Being―my humanness―in the experiences and creations of others. This past week, I re-connected with a work of art that touched my soul in ways I didn’t expect and it reminded me about parts of myself I haven’t been present to for a while.
This week, I rewatched a mini-series on Netflix that I initially saw years ago called From Scratch.
Inspired by Tembi Locke’s memoir of the same name, the series is the heartbreaking and heartwarming story of Amy Wheeler, an American art student studying in Florence, who falls in love with Lino Ortolano, a Sicilian chef. The series follows their romance as they navigate family dynamics and cross-cultural challenges, build a life in a foreign country, create a family of their own, and face multiple cancer diagnoses.
The series is a masterpiece that explores the themes of resilience, grief, love, the process of dying, healing, and returning home to yourself. It is a story of extreme highs and devastating lows: a story that is filled with humanity.
In the series, Lino is depicted as a loving, kind, gentle, (and dare, I say, dreamy) man who was forever connected to his Sicilian roots, especially through food. Despite his nostalgia about Sicily, Lino was estranged from his family because his father did not respect his decision to leave the island to study cooking. His father disowned him because he believed that Lino had brought shame to the family…for being exactly who he was.
While his father’s rejection was the source of many challenges for Lino, throughout the series, he absolutely refused to be anything other than who he was. He loved to cook: it was part of his DNA. Despite unrelenting challenges, Lino never gave up on his dream: to share his passion for cooking with others by opening his own restaurant. In doing so, he honored his own Being, even when it meant that he was rejected by those he loved.
So many of us struggle to actually honor the gifts that we were born with. Whether it be familial, societal, or even personal pressure to be a certain way, we neglect the deepest parts of our Being to chase the ever-elusive state of “success.” We build businesses. We lead others. We seek recognition. In the process, we forget to recognize the divinity―the essence of our Being―within ourselves.
How many of us have felt rejected for who we are? By our family? Our bosses? Our partners? And what did we do with that rejection? Run away? Try harder? Push ourselves towards other goals? (I know I’ve done all three in my lifetime).
The thing is, if we don’t learn to honor all of the parts of our Being―including the parts we find difficult to accept―we ultimately, abandon the very things that can bring us satisfaction in life. Ultimately, we limit our soul’s expression.
Despite years of pent-up anger, resentment, and heartbreak, Lino’s father eventually learned to honor the Beingness of his son when he was faced with Lino’s first cancer scare. Through a series of tense confrontations, awkward moments and much internal angst, Lino’s father chose to drop his resentment and accept his son for who he is.
There’s an important lesson here: It takes a great deal of courage to be who you are. And it takes great wisdom to allow others to be exactly who they are.
But why did it take a near-death experience to change?
The Power of Death Medicine
My client Emily Bingham taught me what she refers to as death medicine. She teaches others that we don’t have to be on our deathbeds to realize what’s important in life and that we don’t have to wait until we’re dying to choose to live. Death is a thing that unites us all. And by engaging with our mortality, we engage with our life. When the idea of life itself is stripped away, you are left with your Beingness.
We don’t have to be dying to contemplate our legacy on this planet. We can choose to live today honoring our Being. As leaders, we can create organizations that honor the gifts of every person. We can give ourselves time to contemplate our own values and what matters to us. We can create families and communities that accept each member for exactly who they are. We can create space to honor Being.
The cancer was back.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen…and I let the tears stream down my face.
After everything they had been through, he was finally dying. And it was heartbreaking. And it was beautiful. And I was sad. And I was feeling a lot of emotions in my body. And I was grateful to be feeling this. Because connecting to the tender parts of myself reminds me how much I desire an incredible love story of my own. And it reminds me that I’m alive.
Sometimes great cinema can do that to you: remind you of your own humanity.
Finding Home
On his deathbed, Lino’s last wish was for his ashes to be returned to Sicily: the place he called home.
In the end, Amy returns to Sicily with their daughter to bury Lino’s ashes. She thought she was going for a short trip to tie up loose ends with Lino’s mother and sister. But what she found was something she didn’t expect.
She found home: a place on the planet but also a place within herself.
And in the show’s final moment, Amy thanks Lino for guiding her home.
That poignant moment is particularly touching for me, considering that I’ve followed a soul-level nudge this year to relocate to Greece. If I am completely honest with you, I know why I am attracted to this place. And I have a sense for what I am receiving here, energetically. But I don’t know what my life is going to bring. I have no idea the person I am becoming here. I trust that it will reveal itself. But I don’t really see the “why” yet.
Living in a foreign country has a way of rearranging life so that you can more clearly observe your own Being. And, what I can say, is that over the past four months, I have learned more about my strengths, my insecurities, my desires, and my dreams than I have anywhere else.
Life has a funny way of guiding us to exactly what we need. If we can trust.
We’re all on a journey home to ourselves. And what I’ve learned is that home isn’t really a place: it is a state of Being.
Leading From Scratch
There is a scene, after Lino’s passing, where the family is gathered around the kitchen in Sicily preparing a meal from Lino’s recipe book. And as I watched the scene, I could not help but think about how Lino was leading from his Being. His presence was alive, even though he was no longer physically present with the people in the room. He was leading through the energetic imprint he left behind in everyone gathered.
To cook something from scratch is to prepare a meal with whole ingredients. No mixes, no canned convenience. Just the basic ingredients and the chef’s intention. Cooking from scratch requires that you bring together the essential elements…and nothing else.
What, then, would it look like to lead from scratch?
What would it look like to lead from the contents of your soul? In a way that is unique to you. Not from everyone else’s recipes or playbooks. Put together in a way that only you can.
From your Being.
Perhaps contemplating this will guide us home to ourselves.