At the time, I couldn’t quite tell if my teacher’s words were a promise or a warning.
"If you take up a transformative practice," Erich Schiffmann said, "it will transform you." I nodded along, pretending I knew what he meant, when in fact I had no idea if I’d end up enlightened or just more confused. And, of course, none of us can predict how life will twist and turn—whether we’ll be greeted by tragedy or some surprise miracle, like finding fifty dollars in an old coat pocket. But now, looking back, I see it was both a promise and a warning.
Emily Dickinson famously wrote, “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” It’s always there, singing its little song, kind of like a bird that refuses to take a hint. And as we take up practices like yoga or mindfulness, we start to hear that song a little more clearly, even when life gets chaotic. It’s in those moments—when your heart is pulling you in one direction and your brain is waving all kinds of red flags—that you start to appreciate the transformation. It’s like finding calm in the middle of a tornado. While wearing very stretchy pants.
But let’s be honest—nowhere is this internal tug-of-war more obvious than in how we love, and how conditional love somehow stumbles into our lives. Just like hope, love and friendships have a way of showing up unexpectedly, sweeping you off your feet, and dropping you into a world of dazzling colors. The heart, ever the passionate artist, dives in headfirst, splashing paint everywhere—ecstasy here, passion there—and all the while, the mind is frantically trying to remind you that somebody is going to have to clean up this mess. But in those first moments, who cares? Love makes everything feel limitless, like you’ve been cast as the lead in your own movie and you get to write the script.
Conditional Love’s Colorful Chaos: When the Heart Paints, and the Head Holds the Broccoli
The catch, of course, is that the heart has a habit of wanting that feeling to last forever. It’s like discovering your new favorite ice cream and deciding to eat it for every meal, while your brain points out that maybe this isn’t the healthiest choice. But the heart doesn’t care—it’s too busy chasing after that first taste, that spark of bliss. Meanwhile, the head, playing the responsible adult, keeps gently suggesting balance, moderation, and maybe some green vegetables. The heart is not interested in broccoli.
And there lies both the beauty and the comedy of it all. The heart, much like that stubborn bird of hope, “never stops at all.” It keeps singing, keeps loving, with the reckless enthusiasm of someone who’s just decided to adopt every kitten at the shelter. Even when it knows better—even when it realizes that conditional love isn’t exactly built to last—it keeps going, hopeful, passionate, and a little bit stubborn.
But, unlike the small kind of conditional love, hope sticks around for the long haul. It’s the bird that sings through the darkest storms and never demands anything in return. Conditional love, on the other hand? It’s higher maintenance. It wants passion, drama, technicolor sunsets—and sometimes, when it doesn’t get those things, it flies the coop. Still, there’s something wonderful (and slightly ridiculous) about the way we keep chasing after it, heart first, ignoring all the head’s warnings and waving its "Danger! Do not enter!" signs.
In the end, maybe the heart and hope aren’t so different. They both give us wings when we need them most, even if one comes with a soundtrack of chirping feathers and the other with a slightly unrealistic subplot. Real love is infinite. But while conditional love may not always be infinite, the hope perched inside us ensures that the song never really ends. So, when love flutters off, leaving us standing in the emotional wreckage, at least we can say, “Well, that was fun—when’s the sequel?"
Feathers, Friends, and Fresh Montana Dreams: A Look Back and a Glimpse Ahead
Speaking of hope and feathers, I know some of you were with me and Matthew Marsolek at this past July’s Mindful Unplug retreat at the Feathered Pipe. What a time we had! You all reminded me of the magic that comes with playing with transformative practices together, the pure joy of plunging into an icy mountain lake on a scorching summer day, and the profound energy that only a true community can bring. My heart is full of gratitude for each and every one of you who came along for the ride.
As for next summer, we’re still waiting to finalize the dates—but keep an eye on this space and start dreaming your own Montana dreams. Imagine mountain air, wide open skies, and the whisper of ponderosa and lodgepole pines calling you back. Something tells me next summer will be even better than this year’s. After all, we’re all a little older, a little wiser, and perhaps even more open to the possibilities that transformative practices bring.
With each retreat, we carry forward the lessons learned, the laughter shared, and the quiet moments of reflection that stay with us long after we’ve returned to our daily lives. So, as you dream of Montana, let your imagination wander—whether it’s the joy of another plunge into a cold mountain lake, a deepening of your practice, or the transformative connection with old friends and new. I have no doubt that next summer will surprise us in ways we can’t yet imagine.
