It’s been four years since I wrote my Heart Will, a lasting message for people I love and future generations. While I’ve been soul searching most of my life, the events of 2020, and in particular the much-needed spotlight on systemic racism, has accelerated my inquiry into high gear.
For everything that comes to an end there is a legacy. And Willow’s Legacy, Love Letters and Heart Wills Mexico Retreat is no exception. When we recall the many profound observations and revelations shared among our group of 14, we came up with what we consider this collective Manifesto for Living. Click here to download…
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Depending where you live, you may be surrounded by plastic skeletons, scary-looking ghosts, and perhaps some creatively-carved pumpkins. If you live in the US or Canada and various other countries, you’ll be tempted to gloss over the once-holy day with mini Kit Kats and costume parties. But if that’s all you’re doing, you’re missing out. …
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Ever since I was little, I’ve been thinking about my legacy. I fantasized about being remembered and acknowledged for doing great things for the world. I projected to the future and wondered what people would remember about me and what difference I will have made for others. In some ways this question has guided my…
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Dear reader, Here’s a peek into Michelle’s recent process of writing an End of Life Love Letter to her mom.
Sandra wrote her sister an, “I love and cherish you and want to be sure you know this in case one of us dies suddenly” kind of letter. The results were unexpected and left Sandra realizing she could give her love freely and generously to her sister—and anyone, really— and that giving love generously, without expecting anything in return, feels great.
While I fantasize about gift giving that makes my heart sing, in reality, gift giving typically makes my heart race. This year I’ll be doing things differently. With the help of Willow’s Free Five-Minute Love Letter exercise ….
It happened just over two years ago. My heart was in my throat and I was starting to sweat. My 80-year-old Dad was sitting across from me in his kitchen-chair, an almost antique office chair with two-layers of seat cushions and armrests to help with the ups and downs. Dad was curious. I was determined….
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The rain pelted at the window as my 13-year-old daughter and I cracked open a journal I saved from my days as a teenager. I recently rescued the Hilroy notebook from the dusty box that had been in storage longer than she’s been alive. We lay on our backs on my bed, looking up at…
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