Blog - Golden Acorns

Welcome to Golden Acorns

Posted on July 27, 2021September 10, 2021 by Emily Oehler7 Comments

I believe growth happens between words and actions. That there is a golden space that connects meaning between the lines of our individual story – both our external story and the one that plays in our head – and how we show up in the world. As a preacher’s kid I associate this golden space with faith. A spiritual link that makes us whole. Not just whole individually but whole as a community.

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May 2025 Quote: The Rare & Unique Combination of…

Posted on June 1, 2025June 2, 2025 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For May 2025, my quote was: “You are the rare and unique combination of what was and the bright possibility of what can be.”

More and more, I feel like I’m in a weird middle place. The past ways don’t fit as well – sometimes feeling like a tight shrunk sweater that restricts me and other times like meeting a friend from high school that you didn’t stay in touch with, you recognize them and remember the great old feelings, but the connection is gone. Candidly, it seems like it would be easier if the old “what was” came back into vogue. That I could slide back into that favorite pair of jeans again if you will. But then again, the “possibility of what can be” pulls me forward with trepidation and curiosity.

Here are the quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught the attention of my head and heart as I lived with the inspirational phrase “You are the rare and unique combination of what was and the bright possibility of what can be”:

Life is not a fist but an open hand waiting for another hand to enter it into friendship
Think higher, feel deeper
Be responsible for the energy you bring into the room
Write the ache; Write the awe; Write the in-between
Give yourself the chance to go beyond what they’ve named you to be
You’re not behind, you’re becoming
This moving away from comfort and security, this stepping out into what is unknown, uncharted, and shaky – that’s called “liberation”
Remember who you are – a child born with a piece of the sky in your pockets and thunder in your voice
I wonder who I might become without all these heavy things I carry? I wonder who I am becoming because of them?
Love me the way the wind does the chime
The eye won’t see what the mind doesn’t know
Turns out not knowing might be the holiest feeling I’ve ever had
You’re clearly living your life’s purpose
Our skin isn’t a border between us – it’s a shared holy garment
You cannot stop sorrow birds from flying over your head, but you can stop them from building a nest in your hair
There’s a lot of people out there waiting to experience your heart
Give thanks for unknown blessings already on their way
Who knew it could be so incredibly healing to just stay still and listen
Dancing through waves of stardust
Be interested rather than interesting
Weeping is a state of temporary enlightenment
A calming rain on the raw flames of my grief
What a gift it was that the Universe brought me back to the only place I needed to be
Wrapped in reckless joy

A year ago, I began yoga. Returning to 5 days a week of my beloved Orange Theory not only felt daunting after a nearly 2-year absence as I’d focused on my father’s Alzheimer’s, but also not fitting any more. As I tried to cajole myself back into “what was” (my favorite 6:15am Orange Theory) I kept hearing the call to yoga. Yoga seemed daunting too but necessary in a way I couldn’t explain. So, I stepped into the 7am “possibility of what can be” with yoga at Refresh, a neighborhood studio.

As I walked past Orange Theory on my way to yoga, a sense of guilt came over me. Like I was cheating on it with yoga. I felt less than as I thought about all I couldn’t do under the orange lights. I felt lost as something I loved and brought me joy no longer struck a chord. But I walked on into possibility listening to what called me forward.

Practice

As I’ve shared with friends, yoga has been humbling, humorous, and helpful. More of an internal sweat and workout in many ways. I realized my spirit needed to work some things out… while my body played along. Such as how to breathe again. Not the shallow quick hyper vigilant breaths of chaos, fear, and loss, but the deep stabilizing breaths that shift the brain from an alert-centered doing lens to an accepting being perspective. Or, how the tongue is my body’s built in stress detector, shoved up against the roof of my mouth, willing me upright in complex moments or yoga poses. And a big one, that practice is not just for little league, but for life. Looking at everyday activities as “practice” helped take the edge off of being in the unknown middle. Each moment was an opportunity where I could try to be more present, more curious, and with a more playful attitude – after all it was just practice.

This past week, yoga revealed a milestone lesson: that the practice in the middle brings about “the bright possibility of what can be.”

Bend

For a year, I’ve done various poses 3-4 days a week. I looked at each asana (pose) separately. This week at the start of class the yogi said the class would prepare us all to do “wheel pose” (aka, back bend or Chakrasana). I didn’t pay it much mind as that is an advanced pose to me. I just practiced each pose in that class as I always did. At the end, we laid on our mat and she talked us through positioning for wheel pose. I followed her words, pushed with my arms. Nothing. She proclaimed, “I know you’re all strong enough” — seeing possibility I did not.

She then offered a modification. We took our mats and blocks to the wall, and she gave us an optional way to move into wheel. We went one at a time, everyone applauding when a person achieved the back bend – and also when they didn’t but practiced getting there. I wanted to try. I let others go first thinking running out of time would help me avoid having to try and fail. I then went for it with the yogi next to me. With a big breath and relaxed tongue, I did it. All the way up. Both the pose and accomplishment felt delightful. I was there in wheel!

It was then that I realized it was the in between time – consistent practice, exploration, and modification – that prepared me for the next… and what a “rare and unique combination of what was and the bright possibility of what can be” being in the middle could be.

April 2025 Quote: Likeable Badass

Posted on May 1, 2025May 1, 2025 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

As someone who focuses on words for a living, I tend to pay attention when the phrase “likeable badass” arrives via text at 8am on a Friday of a long week full of hard questions and emotional fraught. I was worn out from another month of major career disruption and heartbreak as a consultant to the federal government. The message from a loved one who I admire, but don’t hear from or see often, both grounded and exhilarated me: “…I have to say you are 100% one of the people that comes to mind when I hear that phrase… have an awesome day and a wonderful weekend!!” As I read, and re-read the text, I took a mindful pause to simply sit with it and how I felt. Surprise. Wonder. Disbelief. Giddiness. Appreciation. Motivation. This random text. These two simple words. The corresponding electrical surge. This is why I constantly say, “words matter.” Little did I know that morning how much my perspective on “likeable badass” would change over the next 30 days.

Here are the quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught the attention of my head and heart as I lived with the inspirational phrase “likeable badass”:

How can I best show up for you?
Just do your job and then let go
A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song
This moment is sacred
Sometimes the trophy is atrophy
If you let yourself be blown to and fro, you lose touch with your root
Your gifts are meant to be in motion
Our emotional guidance system feels the magic of the world we operate in
A secret to happiness is to be as weird as you like and the wrong people will leave the party but the right ones will join the dance
So long as you have food in your mouth you have solved all questions for the time being
Looking for angels who are living among us counts as bird watching
Soul is the fingerprint of God that becomes the physical body
Peace, broken into pieces
It will be OK, because we will make it OK
When and where did I feel most whole today?
A little shimmer that says, “yes!”
When it comes to directing our energy, we have four options: to push, to pull, to pause, to allow

While I initially thought having the phrase “likeable badass” would give me extra gusto throughout the month, I quickly realized the phase shined a spotlight on others who embodied this moniker. It was as if having this phrase large at the top of my April calendar helped me see this trait in others in a new way as I supported my clients who are leaders in the federal government.

I felt for a “likeable badass” who joined a video call without coming on camera and authentically said, “I cannot do this call today. It all hurts.” Then shared how vacant the building was the first day after significant staff cuts.

I noticed the “likeable badass” when the person expressed survivors’ guilt and asked, “Why am I still here when so many others got cut? Why do I have a job, and they don’t?”

I mourned for a “likeable badass” when a federal executive shared, “I put 25 years into my work to help others and it’s been wiped out.”

I consoled a “likeable badass” who calmly shared, “I’m sitting here for the third Friday, waiting to hear if my name is on the list for cuts while I implement the latest guidance. Everyone has their office packed up just in case.”

I admired a “likeable badass” when one stood up in a room of 40 other federal leaders at an educational event and asked, “How can I, as a leader, use my voice to effectively help my team when I don’t understand what is going on with the changes and why?”

I ached for the “likeable badass” when they commented, “I’m tired of seeing 50-year-old grown men cry at work.”

I cried for a “likeable badass” who said, “Between the new schedule and our lack of available day care, I’ll probably have to quit my job of 15 years — if I still have one.”

I appreciated a “likeable badass” who said to the entire division, “We’ve been training for this for years with our operational principles. We know how to work together and what’s important as a team. We’ll stick to this as we move forward together.”

I was inspired by a “likeable badass” who, at a table of five former federal employees, shared, “it’s so lonely looking for a job after you’ve been laid off” – opening the door to an honest discussion and shared resources.

Finally, at the end of the month I relished a “likeable badass” who told my executive leadership team, “It’s important that we pause, take a break, and then come back and regroup. Be sure to take time with your loved ones.”

These conversations, and many others throughout April, were hard to be a part of… nothing to solve, just presence to give.

These authentic federal leaders gave me a new standard by which I measure “likeable badass.” They showed genuine heart backed by deep expertise and a goal to improve the lives of all Americans. These leaders demonstrated a combination of pain, endurance, and compassion … continually showing up for their team and their mission, all while slogging through their own concerns and exhaustion. These leaders were human; acknowledging their – and others – emotions, rather than acting as if they don’t exist and have no impact in the office. These leaders did not have answers and moved forward into the abyss anyway … committed to do right by the oath of office they took, the people they oversee, and the mission they serve.

Badassery through and through.

March 2025 Quote: And Here We Are. Breathing. Loving. Rising.

Posted on April 3, 2025April 3, 2025 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For March 2025, my quote was: “And here we are. Breathing. Loving. Rising.”

After having this quote-centered practice for five years, it still surprises me when a quote connects so well with my month in ways I couldn’t anticipate. This month the connection was eerie. Here are the quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught my attention last month as I breathed, loved, and rose:

Living in wonder is the rent I owe God
The cure was courage
You have to open your mouth and own your story
May you live long enough to know why you were born
Lost in the between space
Jump, and you’ll learn how to unfold your wings as you fall
We are not our thoughts, but the observers of them
Be a guide
We are the silent consciousness beyond
Find the right places to practice your gifts
Change requires choice; Choice comes from insight; Insight needs space
There is possibility in pain
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right doing, there is a field; I’ll meet you there
Our life is elastic
Everything softened with more possibility
Wishing wholeness and wonder
May you dance with the unknown, twirl with joy, and sip deeply from the cup of your own magic
The real thing to know about light and dark is that it’s always both, and sometimes one is more clear than the other

I grew up going to the beach each summer and we all loved going out into the ocean and “riding the waves.” Early on holding dad’s hand (at 6ft he was a safer bet than mom at 5’2” to get over the wave), then tossed over the wave by dad, later on a raft with my brother, and eventually alone having found my own balance and rhythm of the ocean.

Typically, there was always one “good” day in which the ocean flexed for us and demonstrated its power with hard crashing waves. The thrill and struggle of facing them, choosing over or under, and getting wiped out generated great doses of adrenaline. Squeal! Whomp! Swirl! Laughter! Repeat. I loved it… for one day. The rest of the time I savored the gentle rolling waves that we, as a family, all floated over together.

Every day in March, however, felt like another day of crashing waves. Adrenaline, crash, find my footing, catch my breath, and rise for the next one. As a consultant to the federal government, March felt like crashing waves on my client side and an undertow at work. Just like in all systems in nature, there are symbiotic forces at play at work too.

Breathe

I held my breath as I logged into a call, wondering if the client would be there or lost their job. I held my breath as a watched the news trying to make sense of the disruption and find my footing to best engage. I held my breath as I sat in leadership calls and learned of more and more cut contracts. I held my breath through a round of layoffs.

Then, as if my body knew it couldn’t operate this way much longer, I heard a phrase in my head that is shared in every yoga class or mindfulness practiced I’ve done: “Come back to your breath.” So, I exhaled. Breathed. And eventually found more of a normal rhythm.

Love

Breath (rich oxygen) fueled my fritzed system, and a bit of logic appeared. I realized while I wanted to “do something” and find my footing (control things back to “normal) – the only thing I could truly “control” was how I showed up for others. So, I loved.

I did more one-on-one “buddy check” calls. I texted a few memes to drop a giggle or hug into someone’s day. I used social media to open my network to share job opportunities, job hunting tips, and connections. I sent a few care packages. I mailed some silly postcards. I emailed a Starbucks gift card. I listened without attempting to solve. And then love became a wave of its own as a friend texted me on a day where a tear sat poised on my eyelid ready to fall and asked, “How can I best show up for you?”

Rise

Just like in nature – there are balancing forces in every system. Breathing helped me stabilize. Love helped me recalibrate so I could rise. Specifically, rise with intention – with clarity on what I want to bake into the DNA of the new system: hope, encouragement, and compassion.

February 2025 Quote: This Moment Matters.

Posted on March 4, 2025March 4, 2025 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For February 2025, my quote was: “You will get there—until then, be here. This moment matters.”

When asked what I do for a living, I sometimes respond, “I work at the intersection of ideas, information, and emotions.” Facilitator. Strategic Communicator. Coach. Change Manager. Planner. News producer. I love the possibility of what can be and the use of words to bring them into being. In all these roles I bring with me curiosity (lots of questions), optimism with side of practicality (small goodness can always be found), and a collaborative spirit (everyone can contribute). Even with 30 years of work inand around change, these last few weeks had my internal system on overload. The moments felt heavy. Being “here” in them was something I wanted to escape. Here are the quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught my attention throughout the last month:

In this uncontainable night, be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses, the meaning discovered there
How can kindness be so radical?
Anam cara: Soul friend
God went to quite a lot of trouble to make us all different
You’re going to live in me forever
You can dance in the hurricane but only if you’re standing in the eye
You might make it longer if you stay
Hold on to the center
To love someone is to learn to song in their heart and sign it to them when they have forgotten it
My favorite words are the ones that you’ve said to me – ordinary words that people use every day, unaware how sacred they are
You are breaking like the dawn – it’s a new day. Become! Become!
Your soul is an indomitable force
Action absorbs anxiety
We refuse to be enemies
You are becoming
You are a visitor to this world, from the next
You are not what you are holding, you are the hands that are holding it
Whatever is happening right now is everything you have

Whether change is desired or forced upon, it’s disruptive. Disruption wears out our nervous system with a rotation between fight, flight, or freeze. Simple tasks and routine decisions seem monumental. Uncertainty breads doubt and doubt breads fear and fear breads withdrawal (often predicated with outbursts). Basically, a full body fritz.

Even knowing this (with several certifications to boot), it’s hard to manage. And what I’ve found is that “manage” causes me to hold tighter when transformation in fact requires more of an open hand in order to let go of now and welcome – or at least explore – next.

For me, the more things feel out of control, the more I want to control them—or find some kind of “normalcy,” usually a sense of false comfort. On 9/11 for example, after I finally made it out of Washington, DC, and spoke with my immediate family, I couldn’t continue to watch the devasting news. I could feel my internal system begin to short circuit. So, I did the most mundane thing I could think of. I went to the grocery store and walked up and down each aisle buying a handful of comfort foods. This dull routine calmed down my nervous system so I could process and think more objectively.

February was a full-on assault to my nervous system – my brain and heart struggling to process everything around me. So much in my professional life going on, that I couldn’t even figure out what to try to “manage.” As I explained to someone in my industry, I felt like I was standing in the middle of a frozen lake – listening to the cracks and pops around me – safe at the moment, but vulnerable. Frozen, wondering if I (or someone I cared about) would lose footing and sink with the next fissure.

I wanted to manage (cover up and control) my emotions. I wanted to manage the pain I saw in my social media feed. I wanted to manage the unknowns that’s swirled in my head at 3am.

I couldn’t.

My false sense of control slipped away, replaced with a sense of having swallowed a Tickle Me Elmo doll… an emotional ball of confusion, doubt, anger, possibility, incredulity, worry, and panic vibrated inside my body. I couldn’t suppress it. I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t release it.

So, I had to be with it.

To be of service to my community (clients, co-workers, friends, and family), I first had to be of service to myself. This involved sitting with and exploring my emotional ball of goo. It was the only control I had.

I’ve come to learn (re-learn as it’s an ongoing practice) that when I avoid my own goo, then I’m not engaged in a meaningful solution – one that aligns with my values, my purpose, my vision. My emotional vibrations move me haphazardly, erratically, if unchecked and unacknowledged.

So, I became curious about what super charged my emotional ball of goo and what sedated it—and make adjustments accordingly. I began to apply my pragmatic optimism looking for goodness (it always exists if I seek it out) and then discern how I could lend a hand to my community (I can’t control but I can always help). I scheduled time to be with those who bring me comfort and laughs, even in hard circumstances (authenticity is a balm for me).

Yes, the emotions are still here inside me. No, I don’t have clear answers. Yes, the frozen lake continues to crack. No, I’m not sure where to step.

This moment does matter … every moment does. Skimming by it – the hard, ugly, scary, uncertain – reduces our chance to take it all in, wrestle with it, learn from it, and determine how we will take intentional action on it.

What will you do, feel, be, or explore in this moment?

January 2025 Quote: I Believe in Wonderment.

Posted on February 2, 2025February 2, 2025 by Emily Oehler1 Comment

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For January 2025 my quote was: “I believe in wonderment.”

One year ago, I wrote in my January quote post that “I saw the beauty of the end of something done amazingly well” in regard to the end of my father’s life after a decade with Alzheimer’s. In the 12 month’s sense, wonderment just might be the best word to encapsulate it all, especially grief. As Meriam-Webster’s defines wonderment as “a cause or occasion for wonder (marvel, miracle, rapt attention, a feeling of doubt or uncertainty), astonishment, surprise, curiosity about something.” Throughout this past month here are the quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught my attention:

There is no greater adventure than the present moment
The fierce urgency of now
With hope comes resilience and with resilience came new beginnings
Mavin, misfit, and muse
Turn it over and turn it over, and see everything in it
Who are you to deny God’s perfection and possibility?
Doubt is the space between good and evil
Courage to love with a rigorous inside-out consistency
Mystery and manifest come from the same source, darkness
To be faithful to take the next step; to rely on more than the map; to heed the signposts of intuition and dream; to follow the star that only you recognize
How much love? All the love
Because a broken heart is easier to share
What are you going to do with all that dark? Find a way to glow in it
Seek that which is best for another person
It’s like studying for the test instead of learning the lesson
I am steady

I learned a lot throughout my “year of firsts” (a grief phrase to capture going through one of everything without your loved one). And, there is much I’m still processing, and will be for a while, as the pain of love and our unknown next are big things to try to come to grips with. It’s like looking in a room of mirrors and seeing your reflection continue on and on and on and on and on with no end.

My Core Truths for Grief

For me, the mixture of loss, love, and wonderment led me to these core truths about grief:

(1) God will show up, always, but not as you anticipated or wanted – but as you needed … and the same is true for your dead loved one.

(2) The emotions of grief are like a squirrel that’s been day drinking – all over the place – but let them come and go as they need as they can be vicious when bottled up.

(3) While grief is personal, it should be done in community, whether that is a formal group or with friends and loved ones.

(4) There is much laughter to be had in grief and it’s not only OK, it’s good.

(5) Grief resides in your bones forever – it changes your spiritual DNA – but the love remains in your heart, always accessible.

As I completed my end of “the firsts,” I chose to begin my next year focused on wonderment. I’d experienced a great deal of wonderment (astonishment, surprise, curiosity) throughout each milestone in 2024, and I wanted more of this electrical charge in 2025. This connection to the energy of life and the golden thread beyond. Just hopefully without so many moments of snot nosed tears.

Hey Dad,

Posted on January 17, 2025January 16, 2025 by Emily Oehler2 Comments

It’s January 17…

and I miss you.

It’s been a loving, hard, glorious, heartbreaking, happy, tear-filled, bizarre, adventurous, faithful year of firsts…

and I miss you.

I can’t believe it’s been 365 days and a round of holidays. I can’t believe how time moved differently this year – part molasses, part fast forward, part reverse in memory lane. I can’t believe I lived a year without you here, but yet you were – just a bit more elusive

and I miss you.

I’m glad you’re at ease now…

and I miss you.

I know you shook your head at times and rolled with laughter at others as you watched us move forward. Living with death was kinda your specialty at work and I really missed your expertise along this wonky road. I do appreciate thought how you always showed up when I really needed help…

and I miss you.

I wear your blue wool v-neck sweater as I smell your old Speed Stick deodorant looking for a substitute to your hug…

and I miss you.

I’ve ached for one of our hugs – just one more to tied me over. One more moment of immersive love – a felt sense of wonder, certainty, encouragement, solace, comfort, joy, gratitude, and peace – transferred through your embrace. There is no substitute and that truly sucks.

and I miss you.

I enjoy our conversations as I lay in bed before I start my day but what I wouldn’t do for a boisterous “hey there!” from you…

and I miss you.

I tried to keep things steady, and time and time again smirked when I realized how many of your quirky habits are also mine…

and I miss you.

I kept many of our traditions in place, but truthfully, some I put down. As a creature of habit, I know this might have been hard to see. I also know you’d be OK with changes as long as we did it as a family…

and I miss you.

I also know our deviation from tradition revved up your mischievous middle child mentality. Yes, our feisty – and somewhat unconventional – approach to mourning has been right up your alley…

and I miss you.

I do appreciate your visits from your gold lame Elvis moment to singing together in the chapel. Damn though if I can’t hear “How Great Though Art” without a laughing now…

and I miss you.

I have to say, it can be hard when you sneak up on me and spin up my emotions… but then again you always loved a good surprise. In these moments I realized that tears and laughter can coexist. Even now you continue to teach me how to live in the “and” spaces of life…

and I miss you.

I hold you tight with an ever-present tube of Chapstick and hankie—or sometimes a bowl of ice cream…

and I miss you.

I really appreciate your continued guidance. As usual, you steered me toward family and faith – and on more than one occasion, to splurge on spontaneous fun…

and I miss you.

I know you’re happy about the role church played this past year. Hymns, scripture, sermons, committees, Sunday School, staff, pastors, and members all connected around me – a bubble of Presbyterian goodness…

and I miss you.

I have to say my friends were also incredible…. cards, check-in texts, calls, surprises, and space held for my emotions with a side or two of bourbon…

and I miss you.

I wasn’t sure about vacation at the beach or Christmas this year. They were different, hard, OK all at the same time…

and I miss you.

I will admit I didn’t realize the lasting impact of having “Joy To the World” sung at your funeral—and the added emotions that will forever arise when I sing it on Christmas Eve. A bittersweet tune of joy and longing…

and I miss you.

I met you in music. I saw you in the stars. I sought you at the shore. I heard you in the chimes. I felt you in the sunshine. I ached for you in the quiet…

and I miss you.

I’m grateful that time and time again your smile found me, felt rather than seen, but beaming all the same…

and I miss you.

I am and will always be OK because of the love you pour into me and the faith you demonstrated for me…

and I miss you.

Just know that throughout this past year I always chose from the heart…

A heart that is sore. A heart that is lonely. A heart that is held. A heart that is full. A heart that is different. A heart that is scarred. A heart that is larger…

and a heart that misses you…

“Until we meet again…”

I miss you.

2025 Leadership Intention to Help Authentically

Posted on January 5, 2025January 5, 2025 by Emily Oehler1 Comment

Several years ago, my federal client closed out each year with an email to her entire 30,000-person team, plus consultants. This was not a typical “thanks for your hard work this year, go enjoy family for a few days, and come back ready to work hard in the new year” message – for which I was grateful. Her email was immensely personal and bold as she recounted the status of her annual leadership intention.

As this leader wrote her email, she did not apply a filter on her year-long endeavor to live into a focused, intentional way of showing up in the world. She shared the missteps and missed opportunities, along with the joys, lessons learned, and mysteries of her experiences trying to embody her leadership intention—and did so in detail. The close of her email would be to share her leadership intention for the new year.

To me, her email embodied bold accountability rarely seen in modern leaders…. and inspired me and I began the practice of a leadership intention.

Set an Intention

Over the past years, my intentions were helpful, forgotten, motivating, haphazard, or often based on “shoulda’s” – set in the moment or as a reaction rather than with, well, intention. I wanted more (better) for myself this year, so I used the Leadership Intention Workbook created by Kristen Lisanti, and joined her and other Radiant Leaders in her 1.5 hour “retreat” to think about, process, and draft an intention.

In honor of the one who inspired me, I’ll share that for 2025, as a leader, my intention is to “help authentically.”

I chose this leadership intention – or perhaps it chose me – due to joy. Specifically, the joy I felt when I was my best as a leader as indicated by ease, creativity, fun, growth, and outcomes generated in community with others… that my teammates told me occurred for them too. I wanted to have more of this “vibe” and impact not just in my formal roles as a leader, but in all aspects of my life. Upon reflection and with input from others at the retreat, I realized that when I centered on helping in an authentic way – making it about the person/people in that moment rather than the task – that honest conversations emerged, barriers dissipated, ideas bubbled up, more felt possible. And most of all, everyone felt more empowered, so outcomes seemed to more easily occur. I also want to show up authentically to help others do the same.

Intentional Words

Because I love words, I explored “authentically” and “authentic” before I settled on my intention, and here are phrases that Google provided:

Being genuine
True to yourself and your values – aligned to your core self
Faithfulness
Self-aware
Open minded
Shows vulnerability
Brave and takes risks
Living in the moment with conviction and confidence
Puts others around them at ease
Courage to love with a rigorous inside-out consistency

So, here’s to my year to practice “help authentically” as a leader. A year to learn. A year to fail. A year to adjust. A year to grow. A year to play. A year to discover.

Cheerleading, feedback, and patience will all be appreciated.

December 2024 Quote: “Go Easy, My Love – Go Easy”

Posted on December 28, 2024December 28, 2024 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For December 2024, the quote that centered me was “go easy, my love – go easy.”

I found this quote in a poem by John Roedel, and knew it was the advice, reminder, and mantra I would need throughout December. Not just to balance against the added Christmas activities and expectations, but for more personal reasons. This would be my first Christmas without Dad, and the last of the “firsts.” This quote gave me permission to move with ease in the tender moments of the holiday season and be with my heart not my head of “must do’s.”

Here are quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught my attention during the month…

Habits of the heart
Claim time with the holy
Prayer does not fit us for the greater work, prayer is the greater work
Rest allows us to do what matters most
Grief that remains with us until we pass is just unexpressed love because we never have enough time
The glorious impossible
God sadly has given you the experience to hold them through this painful time
Welcome to the dream space
We are divine
Our spirit knows better
There is space for the unknown
The light resides inside the darkness
You’re locating yourself
Will you trust in your divinity enough?
Reclaim rest as holy
So, if you are too tired to speak, sit next to me for I, too, am fluent in silence
When you can’t look at the bright side, I’ll sit with you in the dark
Who are the sharpeners of your vision?
You can just be

Go

The quote showed up differently for me throughout the month. It began more of a command, “go easy!” as I struggled to decorate—as each decoration put me in the setting of dad’s final days last year, and a time of year he cherished most. A complex contradiction of lights, smells, and embodied memories in every Christmas decoration. It morphed into permission to walk away from some traditions, “my love, go easy.” It was a balm when my emotions continued to bubble up – a reminder to be with them rather than push through them, “easy, my love.”

Easy

The quote also inspired me to step off the glittery holiday carousel and really sit with my shit. I didn’t want to wallow, but there was too much to feel. So, I listened. “Love, go.” And I went to my first “Longest Night” service at Westminster Presbyterian Church. Held on the Winter Solstice, the day with the most darkness, the contemplative candlelight service provided space to be in community as we each individually connected with our loss and acknowledged it. Scripture, meditation, and music. The simple service did not eliminate our pain or try to whitewash it away with good news. It simply gave space – acceptance – that hurt and hope, loss and love, were part of living with heart. That we see and feel the light because of the darkness that is there. Each one makes the other seen and felt.

The service closed with silence. Each person centered on their heart’s emotions. Then if compelled to, they rose to light a candle as they prayed silently for light in their – or their loved ones – darkness.

Each person invited to remain in the tiny white chapel as long as they needed, in the warm glow of the sacred light we generated in prayer. I was the last one there. Alone in the scared stillness, snot-nosed, and held by divine grace.

My love

The tears fell. Poured. In what was clearly a needed release. My unexpressed love and unprocessed loss bottled up, now fully released. “My love, go.”

Alone, I walked to the back of the chapel. There I found the brass plaque with Dad’s name and life dates on the columbarium wall. I laid my hand on it, spoke to him, and prayed for many in my life—those who buoyed me this past year and those who need support now too.

As I turned and stood in the doorway to the chapel, it was then that I noticed just how much light our individual prayers of comfort and hope generated.

Go easy.

My love.

Go easy.

The Tears, The Visitor, and The Golden Threads in Grief

Posted on December 21, 2024December 21, 2024 by Emily Oehler1 Comment

Grief has been an odd companion this year. It’s morphed within me month over month.

What began as drowning, shifted.

What became erratic, evolved.

What became a shadow, loosened.

What became a constant hum, faded.

What came in November was a backlash.

The Tears

Ten months of my emotional evolution in mourning landed me back in grief’s grip. Back with vengeance were the at-ready tears.

This time however, I met grief more equipped. I knew it. I accepted it. I let it be… to run its course a bit, me just along for the ride.

It wasn’t that I was more sad or felt bad. Perhaps it was my body’s way of processing my next level of emotions. An excavation of the deeper unknowns in my heart, and tears were pockets of lost love that needed release for the wound to heal more thoroughly.

So, constantly throughout my fall and early winter days, I just let the tears fall.

No questions. No withholding. No stopping (as if I could).

They just fell now and then throughout each day – almost like a dusting of snow; gone before you realized their presence – a light cleansing.

As Christmas closed in, I knew the pain the tears sought to wash away… or soften the sting. Dad was Christmas. In so many ways he embraced the full magic of the season—from the Jesus to Santa, the nativity to the angel on our Christmas tree, he delighted in it all.

I listened to every single Christmas Eve sermon he delivered in my life.
I drove through a massive ice storm watching car after car after car slide off the interstate so I could hear him read a story to the young children on Christmas Eve, often from “Angeles and Other Strangers.”
I would hold my breath at the end of each Christmas Eve service waiting in anticipation for him to shout with full delight: Merry Christmas!
I would watch him package up a gift for mom in an unusual way, from nesting boxes for a tiny item to a house-wide scavenger hunt.
I would wait and see which package bow he would remove and wear on his head Christmas day.
After retirement, between mom and I in the pew, I would savor how he sang “Joy to the World” doing the echo bass refrain against mom’s soprano voice … “and wonders of his love—and wonders of his love” as his body bounced to the tune; the tune we closed his committal service with.

And like has happened throughout my grief journey moments arose between the tears. Moments, no, golden threads to him emerged that stitched through my heart like internal scaffolding. Strengthening fibers of nostalgia as I lived forward. December’s thread pulled me in through grief on Friday.

The Visitor

On Friday afternoon, I noticed the songbird sound of my Uber driver’s voice. “You have such a beautiful accent. Where are you from?” I laughed internal as I remembered Dad would always ask others about their accent – curiosity leading to connection. “Ethiopia.” We talked a bit about the wonkiness of the English language and then she shared, “I came here to have my son. It was a 17-hour flight. After I got here, he had problems–his lungs weren’t developing, and they did a c-section at 34 weeks.” (Note, full-term is 40 weeks.) “Oh my, is he OK?” “Yes, he’s well now but the bills are a lot.” “Do you have friends or family here?” “No, I’m totally alone. Just me and him. But I wanted a child for so long, IVF. It’s OK. We go back to Ethiopia in a month or so.”

A single mother.

An unknown country.

An unexpected child.

A faith of gratitude.

I could just about hear dad’s voice from the pulpit share this story in his Christmas Eve service and smiled.

She stopped on my street and parked for me to get out.

A golden thread tugged at my heart. I thought once more of Dad – one to give freely to those in need, especially at Christmas. I leaned forward in the car… handed her the $100 bill Dad taught me to keep in my wallet for emergencies… and with all my George Oehler delight said, “Merry Christmas!”

The Stories from a Room of Beth Duttons

Posted on December 12, 2024December 12, 2024 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

I’ve media trained three-star generals, triple board-certified physicians, federal executives, and severely wounded enlisted combat veterans for appearances on 60 Minutes; The Today Show; Wall Street Journal; and various trade publications and local newscasts. But the room I walked into mid-November as a keynote speaker on “The Story of Your Business” made me the most nervous.

To try to balance my nerves, I armored up: comfy consultant black attire, bedazzled rhinestone-covered penny loafers, matte red lipstick, Chanel #5, and new speckled readers… and a lot of deep breathes.

In I walked to face 70 powerhouse women. As I later joked to workshop participants, it was a room full of Beth Duttons… and I better have my content tight and my game on.

The women, from all over the United States, owned and ran ranches and farms – entrepreneurs whose products relied on the most fickle of women to succeed, Mother Nature. They attended the National Farmers Union’s conference to learn and share in an effort to make a hard but rewarding business better.

My goal was to help them understand, define, and share their story effectively – from visuals to voice – to more easily break through the clutter of content and reach the hearts and heads of customers, business leaders, and legislators. Simply put, to communicate more intentionally to accomplish their business goals.

Between my slides and anecdotes, the participants learned about and practiced:

Mindfulness to clarify your story
Brain science behind visuals and content consumption
The data of communications … the challenge to break through the information clutter
Message development frameworks
Use of your body and voice (with a side of improv)
Media relations
3 types of introductions

Storytelling

One woman business owner shared her story of firsts which included the first in her family in the U.S., that she first grew something in the window box of her apartment, the first to move to Minnesota, and first to own a farm. Talk about bold! Another woman shared she wrangles elementary school kids by day and on the side owns a ranch of miniature cows—about 36” tall. These cuddly cute cows offer comfort in therapy sessions to children and adults alike. Another female farmer spoke of her business, Wild Horse Lavendar, which I could practically smell as she spoke. Her worn leather square-toed boots, Stetson, and jeans spoke volumes to me – grounded, tenacious, and full of spunk.

Over the course of two hours, these women shared parts of their story. The ever present threat of weather. The bone-tired state of “being” as most had two jobs plus a family. The business and marketing challenges. Their compelling business goals. Additionally, we shared a side chat about my favorite cow – the Belted Galloway, or Oreo cow. Their stories showed these women ranchers and farmers were compelling, boisterous, thoughtful, hardworking, supportive, creative, and dedicated business owners. Simply put, impressive and inspiring.

This time in conversation with these ranchers and farmers – sharing knowledge and experiences – reminded me of the power of storytelling. Stories bring the unknown to life… build connections with others quickly… bring compassion into the equation… and bolster what is possible. But most importantly, it gave me greater respect for what’s on my plate and what it took to get there.

What’s your story?