Welcome to BEE REEL, a podcast that explores what it means to live, love, and lead from truth. In this episode, Debra Ann Mumm, author of the upcoming book Authentic RESET, sits down with Katie Slimko—CEO of the Rancho Mirage Chamber of Commerce, community connector, and all-around force of authenticity. Together, they dive into: The masks we wear and the roles we play (and how to take them off) The tension between ambition, service, and self-care How loss, chaos, and surrender can become turning points toward freedom Why leading with heart is the most radical thing we can do right now The daily rituals that help Katie stay grounded—faith, journaling, and time in nature This conversation is a reminder that balance isn’t about time—it’s about truth. It’s about remembering who you are, reconnecting to what lights you up, and having the courage to show up as yourself, again and again. Featured Themes: Authenticity, leadership, community, faith, belonging, self-discovery, courage
There are too many possible ways to win at chess to calculate exactly.
Playing Chess With God
Sometimes, a dream will really stick with you.
I don’t remember exactly what sparked the invitation from God to play chess with him. I feel like he was suffering from boredom in much the same way that a spoiled child does. Nothing is satisfying when everything is available. Anyway, the point is God asked me to hang out and play chess with him. The God in my dream was played by the monologuist Spalding Gray, sitting behind a desk in a dimly lit room with a spotlight on the chessboard in front of him. He had an intensity to him as he repeatedly kicked my ass. Like, he beat me at chess in every way possible. He seemed happy for the company. I’m guessing that most people didn’t stand for God not giving them a chance, and quit. I mean, the creator can see every move, right? He can squash your game in a minute, or drag it on like a cat “playing” with a mouse. (Cue chess playing time lapse montage against the background of the Universe here)
There are too many possible ways to win at chess to calculate exactly. The number of possible chess games is so large that it is estimated to be more than the number of atoms in the observable Universe. (Hence the montage - eons of playing in the blink of an eye, without aging.)
This dream was before cell phones, but I imagine if it were to take place today God would be distracted by his phone at this point. There is only so much satisfaction available from repeatedly pummeling your opponent, even if it is a lesson. Kicking my ass at chess no longer had his full focus. So that is when it happened. God was all up in his head, thinking about other shit, and I beat him. When he finally paid attention and realized what had happened, he flew into a rage.
So… here I am with a pissed off God, who is done hanging out and is going to drive me home. Good times! Fucking God drives like a crazy bastard! Scary as hell, kind of like the scene in Scrooged with David Johansen as the Ghost of Christmas Past, making some clearly unlawful and otherworldly maneuvers. I am white knuckling it hanging on, fucking terrified when finally we reach our destination. (Thank God does not seem like the appropriate remark at this point)
God didn’t speak during the drive, I believe he was focused on creating a terrifying experience for his passenger. Seriously well executed. Nicely done. Way to go God. I uncurl my fingers from the oh shit handle and unlock my seatbelt still trembling a bit, ready to make my exit.
God, with both hands still on the steering wheel turns his head slowly to look at me and says:
“Just because you know how to win doesn’t mean it is the right thing to do.”
I nod, get out of the car, he waits and watches until I get inside safely before pulling away, with a smile on his face.
By repeatedly being open to failing you learn how to win. Whatever “winning” means. The point is here to keep your eye on the prize, there are countless ways to get there. You don’t know what’s gonna happen.
There is Still Time on the Clock
On the not so dusty (more like swampy) road between Destin, Florida, and Austin, Texas there is a small town just outside Lafayette…. Scott, Louisiana. This is where I found myself looking for food, a cold beer, and some local environment before calling it a day. I found a happening spot- Legends, a sports bar decorated heavily with New Orleans Saints memorabilia. I pulled up a barstool next to a young man who was watching the football. It was late in the Seahawks vs. 49ers game with a few minutes left and I asked who he was rooting for. He said if both of these teams could lose it would be good for me, I’m a Saints fan. (of course!) So I went on to explain that the Seahawks were my childhood team that I watched with my dad, and that I was also a California girl, so I could go either way, but I am gonna cheer for the Seahawks because it doesn’t look good for them. I like the underdog. He said, “You don’t know what’s gonna happen, that’s why they play.” So we watch, chat for a bit about the area, where to get the best boudin (Lulu’s is the place) … and then S.F. scores again to put them in the lead by more than a touchdown, with only 40 seconds left. I look over at the guy (usually I am better about getting names) I shrug, shake my head, and say well it REALLY doesn’t look good for Seattle now. He looked at me with such conviction and said, “You don’t know what’s gonna happen! There is still time on the clock!” and in that moment I saw incredible wisdom in that. He was right. I told him he was inspiring me right now and he gave me a touching look like nobody had ever said that to him before. With a little smile, he said thank you, and sat up a little straighter.
So, San Francisco won the game. He excused himself to go smoke a cigarette, and sat at the other end of the bar when he came back in. Conversation over, but not forgotten. I actually tell this story often with my best deep Cajun accent because it made it sound so cool when he said those things, maybe part of what made it memorable. There is still time on the clock.
You never know when profound wisdom will strike, sometimes it happens in the most unexpected of places. So many people limit themselves by assuming the outcome. It is sadly common and keeps us stuck in a big way. You don’t know what’s going to happen, but if you keep things the same way at least they are somewhat more safe and predictable. We stay at jobs we don’t like, mediocre relationships and show up as who we think we need to be to stay comfortable.
There is still time on the clock. You don’t know what’s gonna happen.
SWIMMING - Experience
2015
Swimming. This is a subject that comes up often in reference to painting, and other types of spiritual practices. To dive in. Often I find myself explaining to people that painting is an action, very much like swimming. Creativity is tied to action as opposed to thought. Thought is the driver of action, but the actual doing has a magic of its own that can only be gained through experience. The process. Diving in. As much as a person can intellectualize about swimming, meaning reading books, watching videos to gain an understanding of the mechanics, recognize the different strokes, until you actually get in the water you have no idea what swimming really is. You have to experience it. Period. Interestingly, I am not a diver. Some people just like to jump in the water. Not me. A little at a time. On the steps. Unless it is ridiculously warm. I find I work that way as an artist, in layers. A little at a time. There is so much to be learned by how we navigate the waters.
Dive deep. (Surrender to the depth)
2024
Also interestingly, I still talk about swimming quite often to explain experience. I have added that you can even have a bathtub and have interaction with water and still not understand swimming. The original prompt above was something I jotted down in 2015 to expand upon later. Apparently much later…Since that time having taken on the role of art center founder, some practical context in relation to that prompt has emerged. Having the right environment and tools enhances the experience. In some cases it makes the experience possible. Without the pool or body of water, there is no swimming. To swim is not possible without an environment that supports it. In the case of swimming, the pool is the tool that provides the opportunity.
There is another thing that has changed since 2015 and that is the amount of DIY educational information available out there on YouTube. You can learn whatever you want! From 3-D printing to woodworking to screen printing there are a zillion tutorials available on demand. Tips, techniques and how-to’s around every corner. You can learn whatever you want, but you can’t have the experience by watching. There is no learning about woodworking without the tools. Running the board through the table saw, the resistance of the wood, the dust, the satisfaction and the learning comes from the doing. The accomplishment of the task, how it feels. The experience. That first bowl you throw on the pottery wheel, how it turns out is not the point. The interaction with the clay, in the environment with the right tools creates the experience which is the real masterpiece. You have the rest of your life to improve.
Experience. (Engage in doing)
WITHOUT A THOUGHT - The Process
It has been said that the thought is the spark of creation, and everything coming into form begins with a thought. An idea. This premise is logical in the sense that it does take the purpose of thought to initially engage with your work. You have to have the idea, the impulse to begin your work. But once you approach the work and dive in there is another principal acting that lives outside of the realm of the thinking mind. When everything else falls away, including thought, you arrive at the place where soul expression is born. This is where the work moves through you, where you are setting free the soul and letting go of the mind, the thoughts, the ideas and simply creating the work. You allow the creation to manifest through you, engaging with the materials, and the surfaces from a place of surrender to something outside of yourself. Instead of painting an idea of love, you are the conduit for the expression of love, how it feels to you through color and movement. It is the difference between thinking about being, and being. Simply being.
Paint through your soul.
Coachella Valley Preserve
IN THE BEGINNING - Where to Start
I was in middle school when we first moved to the desert, from Santa Barbara, of all places. I mean, who moves away from Santa Barbara? I was a shy, awkward nearly teenage only child who spent a lot of time missing childhood friends in the miserable isolation of prepubescence in the desert. One of the many tools I had at my disposal in order to keep myself entertained was a typewriter. Pairing this instrument with a roll of paper that was intended for drawing, I would compose long letters. Literally. One of them actually reached the height of my twelve year old self. This was before the days of email, text messages and mobile phones, when you shared the same line with your parents, and it was an extra cost for long distance calls. It was before Atari, although not too long before the Atari came to steal long hours of my summertime life. The writing was a comfort, a connection, a way to combat the loneliness and confusion of growing up. Eventually, somewhere in High School, this practice faded away, replaced with a combination of driving, cigarette smoking and other unsightly teenage social behaviors.
Fast forward almost twenty years. In between some college, marriage, the birth of children, some more college, work, parenting and the challenge of divorce, I found myself writing again outside of an academic context. Pretty much to save myself. I journaled as if my life depended on it, which I am pretty sure it did at the time. I complained, cried and dreamt on those pages. I slowly remembered myself and began to enjoy my independence. The words, just letting them spill out my truth, guided me. Along with about a year with a skillful therapist. This was a time when I was beginning to reengage with my creativity in full force, painting, drawing, ceramics and even some open mic poetry. The words were there for me. Without a grade or judgement.
I have kept a journal somewhat regularly since that time, as a tool for ideas, thoughts, documentation, venting, a way to get my truth out safely where I can reference it later if necessary. One of the recurring themes that comes up in these journals has been to write in a less private way. To actually share my words in some ways seems like torture, and in other ways seems like a comfort, a connection. That same comfort and connection of junior high letters. I have heard it said that the artist creates when the pain of not creating outweighs the pain of creation. Looks like the scales are tipping.
Being a visual artist has not lessened my lust for language. It is really just a different way to tell the story. Nearly thirty years in assisting creatives, and acting within my own creativity, has endowed me with a set of skills and experiences that are begging to be shared. When asked the question, where do I start, the reply is always: from exactly where you are.
The beginning is always now. (Thanks Joanne)
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