Random Ramblings

The Longest Night

2011-12-21T19:53:00.000-08:00

Sitting snuggled into a warm blanket amidst the twinkle of lights and the glow of candles, she faces the deepest dark.

Impatient for the return of longer afternoons and lengthening twilight, she wishes away these moments.

But skipping the long cold days of winter for spring would mean no dormant time, no hibernation, nothing to pull the sap up into the branches.

Spring growth requires this time of deep dark.

And like the light, returning incrementally, almost imperceptibly until the days suddenly outlast her expectations, so comes the gathering of strength, bit by bit.

Until suddenly, unexpectedly she bursts into bloom.

Making Memories

2011-12-18T18:56:00.000-08:00

Moving toward Solstice, walking through Advent awaiting the return of the light, finally finding a few moments to sit in the drawing dark in silence and reflect - my mind turns to memories. I wonder why I remember the things I remember from my childhood. Most of the memories flit through the corners of my mind like fireflies, bright but hard to catch and hold on to. Some specific moments stand out, etched forever because of the intensity of emotion surrounding them, but most meld and blend into a kaleidoscope of brightly lit bits and pieces of time, forming ever changing pictures of the landscape of my growing up years. Last night, I sat with extended family I had not seen in quite some time and the memories came flooding back. Memories of other holidays spent with family and other memories too. Bits and pieces of family form the overwhelming majority of the shards that color these kaleidoscope pictures from those years far in the past. But the more recent past holds less of those bits. We've moved away and moved apart from that close-knit extended family I knew as a kid.

And I wonder what memories my children will see when they stand at mid-life and look backwards. They will not have the same memories formed through years of repetition of extended family gatherings. Our patterns and plans change and shift from year to year. Growing up, I knew where we were going to be on Christmas Eve morning, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day morning, Christmas Day lunch, and Christmas Day Evening without fail. My childrens' experience varies from year to year. And regardless of the choices we make, they do not have the regular, repetitive contact with extended family that formed the foundation of my own experience.

We hold loosely to a few of our own traditions, but we key on loosely. We flex and bend to accomodate schedules and distance and blended families. We include close friends that take the place of some of that extended family and less intimate friends who find themselves adrift away from their own family connections. We include reaching out to help a family or two with less means than we have. We incorporate some rituals from our religious tradition that point us toward the light. And sometimes, we just sit still and rejoice in a few hours with no demands of schedule and try to remember to just breathe. Most of the time my children seem content with this life we have crafted. But every once in a while, they bemoan the lack of extended family. And I wonder, should I work harder? Should we sacrifice events and activities we enjoy and make ourselves more available? Should we work long hours of travel into the short breaks we have? And even if we did, would anyone else?

I cannot recreate for them the world I lived in, with six of eight great grandparents, all four grandparents, six first cousins within five years in age, a host of great-aunts and uncles, and second cousins too numerous to count within walking distance or at least within an easy drive. My husband's family is more spread out in age, with less kids in close proximity. My family is scattered in distance. The great-grandparents that served as the centerpoint for much of the family time are much older or have passed on before my children knew them. In a project I did for school, I counted over 60 family members that lived in close proximity to me when I was growing up. In a town of about 1300, that family made up a significant percentage of my world. That percentage for my children is barely measurable, both because of the lack of close family and the much more vast scope of the world they live in. And it's not as if these gatherings go on without us and we choose not to participate. The changing dynamics have changed the gatherings. So although I sometimes feel compelled to recreate that world, I know I cannot.

But still, I wonder, what will they remember? What will be the things that stand out and sparkle for them or that warm their hearts when they look back? Which things will they remember with sadness and poignancy? I cannot pretend to know. I spend a great deal of time and energy with events and activities to keep them engaged. But maybe what they will most remember is the four of us snuggled up on the couch sharing popcorn in the empty spaces between events, sleeping late and lounging in pajamas the Monday after school lets out, the vacations to places far and new instead of the repeated gathering of family, the time spent with friends. And while I know for sure their memories will be much different than the things I remember, I hope we are making memories that will glow in their own kaleidoscopes some day in the not so very distant future.

Disconnected

2011-12-10T08:33:00.001-08:00

A training seminar I attended this week focused on information from the book A Billion Wicked Thoughts, written by two neuroscientists using data from the internet to study the topic of human desire. Some of the information didn't surprise me. Some of it made broad generalizations, especially about gender, that created instant internal protest because the data doesn't ring true with my own experience for myself and with other women I know. Some of the information fascinated me, including the sheer number of people who use electronic media to fuel and satisfy desire and the ways they choose to interact virtually, such as the growing trend of chain writing of erotic stories.

But one fact that hit me between the eyes turned out to be a gendered distinction about how connected we are in general to our bodies. The speaker pulled out of the book several studies that indicate that men generally connect sexual arousal with positive desire but that women can be physiologically aroused and psychologically either unaware of their arousal or frightened or repulsed or feeling any number of other emotions instead of desire. I don't know if this is truly a gendered characteristic or not. It's certainly conceivable that men, or some men, can be physically aroused and not experience psychological desire. And I'm relatively certain that many women are quite tuned into their bodies and experience congruence between their physical and psychological states.

However, the information presented launched me into pondering the implications of this data far beyond the realm of desire. I am disconnected from my body, in general. And I know I am not the only woman (or person) who experiences this disconnect. My Jungian bent toward psychological types, popularized by the Myers-Briggs Personality Type Indicator, suggests that anyone who relies significantly on intuition as a way to interact with the world will struggle to develop a connection with the physical body and the sensory input from the world at large. When the connection with the physical does happen, it carries with it a mysterious and sacred sort of quality, at least in the best moments. Unfortunately the flip-side (there is always a flip side) means that often there can be a tremendous amount of unease and shame around the physical, sensory driven states of being.

I am discovering lately just how deeply disconnected I am from my body. I had some professional photographs done earlier this year, and during the shoot, the photographer reminded me over and over to relax and drop my shoulders. Every time he did, I was stunned. I wear my shoulders around my ears without even registering the tension I carry in my neck and back. I skip meals on a far too frequent basis, not recognizing the subtle signals of hunger and thirst my body sends me, instead waiting until my body screams at me before I notice. And when I do eat, it's often quickly and on the run, without ever even tasting my food, anxious to get on with the next item on my to do list. I often ignore stress and pain and fatigue until I'm at a point where I find myself snapping at my kids or my husband without even really knowing why. I hold my breath. A lot. And I'm not even aware that I'm not breathing until I bring a mindful focus to my breath and realize how irregular it has been. And, as the information from the book indicates, I am often disconnected from what brings me physical pleasure in intimate sexual encounters. I know, from the many conversations I have with others on a regular basis, I am not the only one.

It's hard for me to bring attention and focus to my body. The tape in my head says that spending time focused on the physical is unimportant or a waste of time. I know I need to take time to move, to breathe, to stop and smell the roses, to get my hands dirty in the garden or the kitchen, to laugh from my belly, to dance, to sing, to touch. But there are always so many other things that need to be done. I am uneasy with my own body. I am shamed by the need to take time to just breathe. Sensory experience gets denigrated and ignored in the mental and emotional gymnastics of my daily routine.

But when I can let go into a sensory, physical, body-based experience it can be sublime. I spent four hours recently with someone who practices various forms of energy and body work. It was an amazing evening. Through some simple breathing, movement and touch she brought me to an awareness of my physical being that I've rarely experienced. I feel the most connected to God through my senses - being in nature, listening to and creating music that stirs my soul, moving my body, creating with my hands, connecting with another through touch. So why then do I resist and ignore this physical experience on such a regular basis?

I think some of the answer to that question lies within me. But I think some of the answer is bigger than just me. I think the culture and society and religious community I have been formed by play a part. Women's bodies endure tremendous scrutiny and denigration. Women's sexuality is feared and blamed and exploited. Women's needs are subsumed by their roles of wife, mother, teacher, friend, caretaker, worker, slave to a thousand other demands. So we learn to exist in our minds and our intuition instead of occupying our bodies. We ignore sensory cues and pay the price in those bodies through illness, stress, disease, fatigue. And MY culture has it easy compared to what women around the world endure daily. My mind wants an answer. I want to know why. And I want someone to tell me how to change it.

Julie Daley over at unabashedly female suggests that it's not about finding the answer to those questions, but simply about loving this body I inhabit. And then my question becomes - how?

Not Very Merry

2011-12-09T05:17:00.001-08:00

I want to be able to write something warm and cheery my first week back in this arena. It's supposed to be a warm and cheery time of year. Lights should be twinkling. Songs should be ringing. Fun and laughter and time together with loved ones should be the focus. But all I have to do is turn on the news or step into my office to see sights that are not so full of warmth and hear stories that are not at all full of cheer. That's the way it always is in this world, there will always be harsh truths and unpleasant realities, and learning to help where I am called when I can and live in the moment and enjoy the gifts I have in spite of the sorrow sometimes, most times, is all I can manage.

But, sometimes what the newsreels play grabs me and draws me in, no matter how much attention I turn to light and love. And lately, the noise has been loud and pretty hard to ignore. I have watched the unfolding of the scandal at Penn State, followed by Fine and the young men he abused, and magnified by local news stories that report agencies are being overwhelmed with requests for information on how to cope with all the new stories coming to light. I don't listen to all of the coverage. I don't seek out more and more detailed information. But the fact that these abuses occurred around the institution, dare I say the religion, of sports means that coverage blankets the airwaves and inundates every media channel. And the ancillary editorials and posts and comments sparked by the issue continue to multiply. So, I find myself reacting on so many different levels that it becomes hard to sort out my own thoughts and emotions.

I am glad these abuses have been made public and that those responsible for them are being held to at least some standard of accountability. Such abuse usually exists, as these abuses did for so long, underground and hidden. And part of me is even glad that the institutions being held up for scrutiny are higher education and sports related. I think that fact has caused more attention to be brought to these cases and will keep them in the spotlight that makes us pay attention. But I ache for the unspoken abuse that I know exists, in other places. Schools, government institutions, churches, youth sports, and even families. Abuses that will never come to light. Children, youth, and women who keep the secrets because of fear. And stories that get squelched by men (and women) with power and lots and lots to lose.

My professional life just adds to this knowledge that part of me wishes I didn't have. I sat through a three hour workshop this week dealing with abuse, trauma and sexual deviance. I don't want to know the statistics. I don't want to know about the likelihood that an abused child will turn into an abuser themselves. I don't want to know how perpetrators groom their victims. I don't want to listen to how their twisted minds create rationalizations. And I don't want to have to sit daily across from people struggling to put the broken pieces back together. Not because I don't want to do the work. But because I wish the work didn't have to be done.

As a mom, my heart wrenches in fear. I want to keep my two daughters close. I am cautious about where they are and who they are with. I try to balance my own anxiety driven by all the information I have about these issues with the need to let them explore and be independent and experience life. I try to teach them about safety and healthy boundaries and how to trust their intuition without scaring them half to death. But sometimes, when I drop my twelve year old off at an event where I no longer know every parent or teacher or leader with the intimacy I did when she was four, I have to fight back the bile that threatens to come into my throat and pray to every god who can hear that she will be safe.

As a woman, I am alternately supremely sad and completely indignant. When a young woman comes forward with similar allegations, she is rarely believed. The game of "blame the victim" begins, even among educated people. The impact of the trauma on her life is minimized. She stands accused of making herself vulnerable at the least and of wanting what she got at the worst. If these had been young girls, everything they wore, did and said would have been scrutinized as if somehow they shared in the responsibility of what happened. If they had been young women instead, they would have been labeled with sexual slurs that I don't want to print. There will be pushback against this point, I have no doubt, but there IS a double standard that exists.

As a survivor, my heart just breaks. I know the road these young men, and everyone else who has suffered abuse, will have to walk. It's a long, hard journey. I hope they have people along their path to listen, to hear, to love, to light the path. Because it's not a journey that can be made alone. I hope they have resources, physical, financial, emotional to be able to access the help that they will need. I hope they find community where they can tell their truth. I hope they can reclaim the soul that was stolen from them. And I hope that through the courage of these young men who have stepped forward and reclaimed their voices that somehow something will shift and things will begin to change for the better.

It's supposed to be a merry season. It's not very merry for these young men and the innumerable others who continue to suffer in silence. But I hope they, and every person on the journey of healing, knows their courage lights the path for someone else and I hope that each and every one of them can find the light they need to continue on their way.

Stepping Back In

2011-12-08T19:08:00.001-08:00

I have been absent from this space for a while now. But all the time, the words have called me back. I am not whole unless I'm putting words onto a page, either on paper in front of me or flung far across the reaches of cyberspace. But I also push the limits, my limits, when I write and sometimes the fear gets the better of me. I help others face their fears on a regular basis. It feels less than true to not face my own. So, with a fresh new look and a little bit of tweaking, I'm stepping back onto the page. There are several topics on my mind and I'll try to address them over the next few weeks. Discipline and schedule seem to fail me in this medium, but I'm going to try for at least a little consistency. I'd appreciate knowing if you are reading along or when you resonate or disagree with something. The connections I've made in this space hold meaning for me beyond the words. I look forward to re-initiating some of those links and making new ones along the way. Welcome. Join the conversation.

Weighted Down

2011-04-07T06:12:00.000-07:00

As I let go of the illusion of security, control, perfection
something shifts inside of me.

The airy anxiousness, like bees buzzing in my chest, evaporates.
Quiet settles in, heavy like a wool blanket.

But in spite of the new, solid weight of my soul,
I find my feet floating above the earth,
No longer stuck or requiring such effort to make each step.

Who knew how heavy one has to be to fly?

Love Wins?

2011-03-29T16:51:00.000-07:00

All my facebook friends are arguing about Rob Bell. I don't want to get dragged into the fray. But I almost can't help it. I grew up in a conservative religious tradition that I have left theologically and emotionally, but not yet completely physically. There is still a tiny part of me that thinks if I just hang in there long enough, say the right things, give the right input, stand the right ground that I might be able to change things. But that's an illusion. The system is old and huge. Thinking I can change it seems rather arrogant. Wanting to destroy it doesn't respect those who believe and benefit. But still... but still... I want to comment. I've mostly avoided the conversations, only encouraging a few friends to keep asking questions. I'm not a Rob Bell fan per say, but I do like his tag line. Love wins.

I posted this comment on Elissa Elliot's blog today:

What if there is no need for redemption? What if the message Jesus actually tried to bring to the world was a recognition of the inherent worth of every life? What if his living challenged religious systems and authority and showed ordinary people that they were not beholden to those systems in order to ensure their fate? What if his death was the heroic death of messenger sent from God that points us to the sacrifice necessary to bring God’s kingdom here to earth each and every day? What if the texts quoted out of the bible to disprove any of the above were cobbled together by the very system Jesus came to disempower? What if we all chose to spend our lives in love instead of arguing about absolute truth?

Maybe it’s a risk. The system I grew up in would have me believe that’s so. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

A workshop I attended this weekend, for helping professionals, closed with a statement that it is our job to help people achieve self-love. I think a huge part of the reason we resist loving others is that deep down, we do not truly love ourselves. Those who oppose Bell would cast humanity as depraved and set up a gruesome sacrifice to appease a "just" God. Working with human suffering and beauty on a daily basis, I no longer believe in that theological premise. Jesus offers us an example of how to love. If I can learn to love myself in the presence of love, and my love can help another to wholeness, and so on and so forth, well that looks like redemption to me. And love wins.

Re-Membering

2011-03-27T04:58:00.000-07:00

Working in the bloody mess
The aftermath of dis-memberment
Painfully, tirelessly working
To put the puzzle pieces back together
To Re-member
To bring that which is dead back to life.

So many pieces, so many parts, so much trauma and pain.
So tired. So sick. So afraid.
But all the pieces must be in place,
Not a single one unnoticed or forgotten.

And then - resurrection.

I am taking a seminar this weekend studying Fairy Tales and how they speak to our process of individuation, of becoming whole. These words came to me reflecting on an image from Fitcher's Bird, a Grimms' brothers' tale, which speaks in part about the process of healing trauma. And it's in honor of everyone who has ever done the hard work of re-membering themselves. A process I know from the inside out and one which I watch others walk through with unbelievable courage on a regular basis.

While We Wait

2011-03-24T19:23:00.000-07:00

We debate Heaven and Hell
while we watch floating houses and spent fuel rods go up in flames.

We fight over the definition of rape and turn survivors into accusers
while we close our eyes to the plays of those in power.

We cry over bullets ripping through the innocent inside our borders
while we pour our dollars into the bullets that shred souls around the world.

We teach true love waits and abstinence only
while we expose and exploit the very image of the divine.

We cut and scrimp and save
at the expense of the young, the weak, the ill, the poor.

We preach and pray to a Father God we presume to be good
while we debate the ever increasing damage we do to Mother Earth.

And I...

I tell myself the same old story: I'm too weak, too afraid, too helpless, too damaged to matter
while I sit in silence, treasures buried, unwilling to speak.

But a new way calls me. A way I know deep in my bones, my heart, my gut, my loins. The way of singing. The way of poetry. The way of dance. The way of trust and hope and healing. The way of love. My body knows the way. My intuition knows the way. I hold the wisdom of the ages inside of me. And so do you.

If we join our voices and hands and hearts and souls together, we can make one another whole
while the world watches in wonder.

Afraid of My Shadow

2011-03-18T07:04:00.000-07:00

Look at you down there, distorted and grotesque.
Sometimes small, other times stretching beyond imagination.
You seem so separate, so other, so dark.
Can you really be a part of me?
Yet you move when I move.
You follow me everywhere.
Or do I really follow you?
The lines and angles and curves resemble the me I see in the mirror,
But with a twist - bending, stretching, shrinking - moving in ways I cannot.
I like you better behind me, not stretched out crazily in my path.
Sometimes I wish you would just disappear.
But the only time I can't find you is in the dead of night, when the whole world turns to shadow.
A breath of light, and there you are, again
Beckoning me to follow you to places unknown or stalking me from behind.
You frighten me with your strangeness.
But maybe I would be less afraid if I got to know you a little.
If I understood your crazy angles and your secrets.
Could learn to love you if I stood still long enough to really see you?
If I asked, would you teach me to dance?

Mixed Messages

2011-03-15T17:47:00.000-07:00

"Life in Lubbock, Texas taught me two things: One is that God loves you and you're going to burn in hell. The other is that sex is the most awful, filthy thing on earth and you should save it for someone you love."
-- Butch Hancock

I read this quote yesterday. Butch Hancock writes songs. Lots of songs. I don't know many of them, but I did a little research on Butch and found out he staged one of the longest running concerts of original music ever held. I want to check out some of his music. Because, from the sound of this quote, Butch understands.

I laughed when I read this quote the first time. And I've chuckled when I think about it as I go about my day. But the words have also made me think. Deeply. I'm thinking about the many mixed messages we send to those around us - to our children, our spouse, our boss, our friends, our enemies. And I'm thinking about the results of those mixed messages.

Sometimes the messages overtly contradict one another. Sometimes the meanings are much more subtle, a difference in word and action. Sometimes, they are so subtle, we even fool ourselves.

I'm a master at mixed messages. I say a lot of stuff. True stuff. But if you look at my life, you might get the completely opposite idea from the message you hear coming from my mouth. The disparity, when I see it, either gives me whiplash or makes me feel like a fraud.

Some of the messages appear simple. "I don't care what we do for dinner." And when I say something so innocuous, I may even believe it. But if what we DO for dinner doesn't suit me, then pretty quickly I'm proved guilty of mixed messages. My irritation belies the fact that yes, indeed, I did care.

Some of the messages carry much more weight in many facets of my life. I want my daughters to be able to explore their limitless possibilities, but I restrict their participation in some event because of my own fear.

The confusion transcends the personal realm. I send mixed messages. My family sends mixed messages, my community sends mixed messages, my church sends mixed messages, my government sends mixed messages. It's easy for me to parse apart the mixed messages coming from those powerful groups. Often I point an accusatory finger. I rail about the mixed messages I see and hear and notice from somewhere else. But how often do I take a hard look at myself and the mixed messages I send?

When I hear mixed messages coming from somewhere, especially repeatedly, the effect those words have on me causes me to be cynical. I stop believing anything that person or entity says. If I'm being offered such mixed messages, obviously the message giver either doesn't have a clue or practices intentional deception. And that gives me pause. Because, if I turn off the message giver when I receive those mixed messages, I have to wonder what reaction I create in someone who hears a mixed message from me.

Ronna is talking about Revealing What Is today over at Renegade Conversations. Sometimes (always?) that's hard. It's especially hard for me when I'm playing a tape of mixed messages about myself in my head. I play mixed messages about who I am, what I want, where I stand, why I do the things I do, how I live my life, and when I'm going to make a change. And just like when I hear mixed messages out there in the world, those disconnects in the messages I'm feeding myself make me distrustful. I don't know what to believe.

I want to stop the mixed messages. I want to be clear with myself. Admit where and who I am, whether I like that place or person or not. Because it's much easier to change something when I see what needs changing clearly instead of muddying the water with contradictory noise. I want to be clear with my husband. I want to be clear with (and for) my daughters. I want them to be able to trust the messages they receive from me. To believe me when I tell them I believe in them with all my heart.

The mixed messages fly all around us in the world. I SAY I want to effect change, but I am often too afraid to look myself in the eye and change what needs to be changed. Until I stop sending mixed messages, how can I expect clarity from anywhere or anyone else?

What are the mixed messages you send? What would be different without those messages?

What's the Deal?

2011-03-10T20:33:00.000-08:00

Today I'm spinning around in an idea I've talked about before. On the eve of my daughter's 12th birthday and in the midst of all these strong posts about strong women, I'm pondering the lack of rites of passage and rituals of initiation in our culture. This train of thought seems to revolve around the anniversary of the birth of my child, an event marking transition in and of itself. Two years ago, I was thinking about the onset of puberty. Today, prompted by many things - the looming experience of Jr. High, the state of the world, the blog conversation around the feminine and oppression, a presentation I heard last night by a renowned sex therapist - I'm thinking mostly about sexuality. About how our introduction to sexuality is skewed by the inability to speak the truth.

Recently, lawmakers debated changing the definition of rape to only include incidents where a man physically threatened and forced himself on a woman. Women (and men) around the country protested this change and won. But even though the law wasn't changed, how often do we really call abuse in every form what it really is? How often do we call sex between a man in power and a woman afraid of the consequences that power could impose by it's name? It's rape as surely as if the man had a gun or a knife. Do we recognize that the education or lack of it that we give our children contributes to imbalanced, unhealthy sexual relationships and that those relationships help define and destroy intimate relationships somewhere down the line? Do we consider that our provincial attitudes toward sex education, sexual development and birth control force our children into unsafe and sometimes even desperate situations that sometimes scar them for the rest of their lives?

Here are some of the things I wonder, some of the things I want to change:

Why does initiation into sexual intimacy have to be done covertly and then condemned? Why can't we have overt initiations that are celebrated?

Why can Charlie Sheen parade around with his goddesses on his arm yet we can't advertise condoms or provide sexually active teens with access to birth control?

Why do we want to encourage our kids' development in every area - social, academic, sports, career - but we want to deny appropriate and healthy sexual development? Do we really think if we pretend their sexuality doesn't exist that it will somehow prevent normal development?

Why do we treat the sacred gift of our sexuality as a sin?

The speaker I heard last night answered a question from the audience about where we needed to grow in our sexual development as a nation. He said that a teenage girl in Denmark can expect that her first sexual experience will be in the pleasant, comfortable surroundings of her own home, sanctioned by her family, often ending in breakfast together around the kitchen table. Compare this to an American teenager, at a secret party or in the back seat of a car, pressured by her peers or her boyfriend, and unable to share the experience and get support from the people who love her most for fear of being ostracized or punished. Which experience would you choose for your son or daughter?

I know which experience I'd rather choose for mine. But I also know the stigma that speaking out, speaking the truth about the issues can cause. But I'm tired of sitting in silence. I'm tired of living with the consequences of not speaking up, speaking out, speaking the truth. Words have the power to change the world. These may not, but for me, for now, they are a place to start.

A Tale of Two Treasures

2011-03-10T07:28:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, a beautiful princess was born. Her mother and father loved her very much. She had brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends all around. Each one of them brought her a jewel to mark her arrival. As she grew, her parents and the other wise ones around her taught her to love and treasure her jewels. They encouraged her to play with them, enjoy them, marvel at their richness, display them with pride. They explained each jewel's name, it's purpose, it's magic. If she ever grew careless with her jewels, someone helped her recover the ones she'd misplaced, and reminded her how special her treasures were. At times, she grew self-conscious about her jewels and thought about hiding them away. But her teachers helped her see that the jewels were a gift to be celebrated, not something to be ashamed of. As she grew older, she made many friends, and every once in a while, she would gift them with one of her jewels. Sometimes she traded, sometimes she simply gave a jewel away, but others reciprocated and added to her collection of jewels. When she became old enough to marry, she sought out a prince who appreciated her jewels as much as she did and who had a healthy collection of his own of which he was also quite proud. The two of them married and merged their collection of jewels. People came from far and wide to admire this jewel collection, the likes of which they had never seen.

OR....

Once upon a time, a beautiful princess was born. Her mother and father loved her and wanted to protect her from all harm. Friends and relatives brought the baby gifts of jewels, but her mother and father were wise and knew the jewels would attract unwanted attention, so they hid them. They meant to tell the princess about them and started to talk to her on several occasions, but never got around to it. One day, the princess, poking curiously through the castle, discovered the stash of jewels. She asked her parents about them and her father reprimanded her harshly. Still her curiosity persisted and finally they explained the jewels were hers, gifts she'd been given, but dangerous because they would attract unwanted attention, robbers, thieves and evil doers. Because her curiosity was so great, her parents agreed she could look at the jewels, but she must do it alone, and she must tell no one about them. One day, the princess disobeyed and took one of the jewels from the treasury. When her mother saw her with it, she immediately took it and punished the princess severely. They even enlisted others to try to explain to the princess how dangerous displaying or even admitting to owning the jewels could be. The princess continued to be drawn to the jewels, so eventually, for her own protection, the king and queen took some dull paint and covered all of the jewels, tarnishing their beauty. Still the princess was determined, and would sneak in and take a single jewel and scrape the paint off as best she could and carry it around with her. Once she had several with her and made the mistake of revealing them to a stranger. Immediately she was robbed and she began to understand the danger. As she grew older and wanted to marry, she asked her parents if she could use the jewels to help attract a suitable prince, but again they said no. Finally, after the princess searched for a long time with no success, they relented and gave her a few of the jewels. After much searching, she eventually met and married a handsome prince, who also had a few jewels. They combined their treasure, but made sure to keep it well hidden, and thought sadly about the riches that each of them had been forced to leave behind.

Tiptoeing Back into the Water

2011-03-08T21:22:00.000-08:00

I've been gone a while. Sitting in silence. Letting self-doubt and fear do a number on the words pent up inside. A friend told me recently my absence in this world of words made her sad. And her words were like a blow to the center of my chest. Another lets the subject of my worldlessness lie silently between us in our conversations, all the while asking me the question with her eyes.

And now, on International Women's Day, I find myself surrounded, inundated by words from women who refuse to be silent any longer. And I feel the fire lit by their words, burning deep inside my gut. Words about oppression and privilege, silence and truth, position and power. The conversations spark emotion, passion, pain and I feel the words surging inside me for the first time in a while.

Julie Daley is hosting a series on Silence. The result of her words has been a push to end my own silence. Silence I've held, costing me the power of my own truth, because I'm afraid of losing the privileges my silence buys.

Heather Plett over at Sophia Leadership asked the question "how can women change the world and how can we change the world for women?" There have been a lot of wonderful words of wisdom. But for me, the most important thing we can do, for each other, is to share our stories and listen to the stories of others.

The conversation over at Julie's site has touched on the topic of the comparison of pain and suffering. It's an easy game to play - I've suffered more, or less than you. Your suffering is so great I can't possibly understand. My suffering has been silent, and so, non-existent to some. Class or category or description or disability simply separates. But our stories bring us together.

We have lost, in this modern world, safe places to share our stories. We don't honor myth and ritual and story and dreams. I busy myself with all manner of useful activities and starve my soul for lack of real community. But there is energy moving in this world of words on the web. Women - and men - are connecting across miles and cross categories and groupings that might otherwise keep us separated. Stories are being shared. Pain is being held. Victories are being celebrated. Dreams are being honored. And something sacred is being born.

So my contribution, on this International Women's Day, is to break my silence, in spite of my fear. To put my toe into the water. To rejoin the conversation. The blog site needs a little maintenance, so I'll be working on that in the next few weeks. In the meantime, thanks to all of you who have held me in this silence and who have encouraged me to begin again to find the words. I've never been one to dive right in, but the water feels warm, so maybe I'll be fully immersed again before long.

Goodbye 2010, Hello 2011

2011-01-01T09:35:00.000-08:00

It doesn't seem like it can possibly have been an entire year since I wrote a post recapping the last decade. But it has been. And here we sit, at the cusp of a new year, a new page turned on our calendars. I haven't felt particularly drawn to review and resolute this time around, and maybe Julie Daley explains why better than I can. This day, this time, doesn't feel like a beginning or an end, more like a middle. I celebrated a "new year" in August, as school was starting back for my kids, moving more with the rhythm of the academic year than the calendar year.

But still, I feel compelled by the calendar to mark this day in some way. So, I'm taking a brief look back and a peek into what's to come.

2010 held a trials and triumphs, graduation and the start of a new career path, the 5th grade film and conversations surrounding it, a first ever trip to lands beyond the waters, more than a fair share of storms, small gifts, new friendships, finding my place, lots of waiting, and a major breakthrough I haven't really written anything about.

2011 seems set to bring deepening and exploring, growing in my career, more hair and hormones, possibilities to travel and learn, the developing and strengthening of a new and different community, the possibility of loss, the potential to move on and more.

I'm in the middle of so many things. My children are in the middle of their school year and activities. I am in the middle of earning hours toward my full licensure. My husband is in the middle of a transition at work. This time brings more continuation of process than any tangible end or new beginning. A keeping on, forward motion, the unexciting and uneventful work of the middle spaces. May will hold some endings. I'll take a look back then and see how far we have all come.

Taking the Plunge

2010-12-16T15:23:00.000-08:00

Dive in?
Tiptoeing seems the gentler way.
Sticking a toe in the water.
Inching in.
Excruciatingly.
Covered and complaining of the cold.
But head first, plunging in, wastes no time.
Ice shocking lungs, breath bursting.
Down to dark depths, shedding all protection.
Naked and exposed.
Searching.
Until fingers brush sand, grasping.
Finding shadows, treasures, in the dark.
Struggling for air, sinking, surrendering.
Until suddenly the surface and light.
Breath and sight.
The world revealed anew.

Not Knowing

2010-12-11T07:31:00.000-08:00

It would be simple, wouldn't it, if someone would define our lives for us?
Easier to just read the instructions and follow the plan to a well-built future.
Security and certainty sing siren songs loud in our ears.
If I could just find the right way to do it, everything would be okay we tell ourselves.
So we follow a creed, or delve into a dogma, or create a rule, or pass a new law.
And when things seem to be going okay - or when we are frightened they are not -
We presume to pass our knowledge and wisdom on to someone else struggling alongside.
Because if I don't have an answer for you - how can I have an answer for me?

"How should I be?" we ask ourselves, and each other.
And in our arrogance, we expect and present a list of answers.
How much better, how much wiser to simply say to one another
"I don't know".
I don't know who you should be.
I don't know what you should do.
I don't know where you should go - or how you should get there.
I don't know if you should dance, or write, or paint.
I don't know if you should study or work or rest.
I don't know if you should travel or stay at home.
I don't know if you should laugh or cry, curse or praise, wail or shout for joy.
I don't know how you should feel.
I don't know if you should forgive or if you should exact justice.
I don't know if you should love or leave.
I don't know...

And in the uncertainty of my not knowing for you, I might find the answer for me.

It's Too Cold to Go Naked

2010-12-09T06:26:00.000-08:00

“I believe one has to stop holding back for fear of alienating some imaginary reader or real relative or friend, and come out with our personal truth. If we are to understand the human condition, and if we are to accept ourselves in all the complexity, self-doubt, extravagance of feeling, guilt, joy, the slow freeing of the self to its full capacity for action and creation, both as human beings and as artists, we have to know all we can about each other and we have to be willing to go naked.” May Sarton

I stole this quote from Katrina Kenison - a real writer, a published writer, author of The Gift of an Ordinary Day. Lindsey introduced me to Katrina's writing. Lindsey writes beautifully over at A Design So Vast, putting words on the page that stun me on a daily basis with their depth and their beauty.

Every once in a while, I feel worthy to touch the hem of the garment of some real writer out there. But most of the time, I don't even consider myself in the same category. I don't write every day. I write, sometimes, when inspiration strikes. I don't live and breathe to read what other writers write about writing, although when I do, often something resonates deep within me. I don't make even a fraction of my living off of writing. I've never submitted any work for publication. Writing mostly functions as a tool in my process, a companion on my journey, a way to focus inward and listen to my own voice instead of being consumed by the external voices around me.

But lately, something else surfaces repeatedly, keeping me from filling up this space or any other. It's cold. Too cold to go naked. I shiver at the thought of baring myself, of turning myself inside out, of putting thoughts down that will expose the self-doubt and extravagance of feeling that Sarton writes about so eloquently. I feel exposed.

I knew when I started this blog space, a public forum, that others would read what I wrote. Mostly I slowly shared the space with other virtual connections, no one who knew me in real life. But slowly, the audience shifted and others arrived that know me with skin on. Overcoming the fear of that exposure takes courage I don't always have. Haven't had lately. So I sit, quietly, covered with a warm blanket. Unwilling to strip down and go naked, even for only the audience of me.

Being seen, going naked, exposing our deepest self often creates extreme resistance. Our culture cautions us not to show too much, be too real, dig too deep. We shouldn't rock the boat unless it's to shout down someone who disagrees with us and start a fight. Looking deep, seeing what's behind the eyes (thank you Julie Daley), holding what we see with love and tenderness and recognition of the divine takes too much effort. We'd rather compete and compare and twist a knife into someone else's vulnerability so we don't have to look at our own.

And maybe there is a balance I have yet to find. Maybe every single thing doesn't need exposure. Maybe some brand new parts are too tender. Maybe some things should be held close and nurtured before being revealed. But sometimes things are ready to see the light, to breathe the air, to dance naked no matter who is watching and the fear keeps me bundled up under my layers. Because right now, at this moment, I don't know how to get rid of the chill in the air, and it's just too cold.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-24T18:39:00.000-08:00

Work is finished for the week. The turkey and ham are thawing in the refrigerator. And the pies are in the oven, filling the house with mouthwatering smells. Tomorrow the counters will be filled with more food than we can eat. And for the next month, we will revolve through a seemingly never-ending celebration of friends and family.

My family has never been big on traditions. We trade off holidays with in-laws and no two years ever look exactly the same. From the time I was young, someone in my family worked somewhere where the holidays were the busiest time of the year. My mom was the Postmaster in our small town - and had her busiest days in November and December. My brother works retail and barely sees daylight during this time of year. I'm now working on a rotation schedule to assess ER patients for mental health issues and traffic only increases during the holidays. Some of my husband's family has duties that don't always take a break for Thanksgiving or Christmas Day.

So we've learned to be flexible. We gather when we can. In smaller groups and gatherings when and where it works the best. Sometimes we have traditional fare. Sometimes we order a pizza or throw a steak on the grill or fix enchiladas. We've sliced turkey and eaten pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving and we've been on the ski slopes on Christmas day. We've had huge family gatherings and intimate times with friends. Santa always finds us wherever we end up or comes a day early or late if we make a special request.

This year we are having a traditional Thanksgiving at my house with my husband's family. Then we will start making Christmas rounds in a couple of weeks in order to carve out time for various configurations of family. This year we may be done by Christmas and have a breather the week after, but sometimes our celebrating goes right on through the New Year. More than once, my immediate family of four has found ourselves alone on Christmas day. Sometimes we stay in our pajamas and watch movies all day long. Sometimes we drive around and look at Christmas lights. Sometimes we hang out with friends who find themselves in similar circumstances. This year, we may take a mini in-town vacation to see some of the local Christmas wonders. No matter what - we enjoy the day.

And as Thanksgiving Day 2010 lurks around the corner - I want to be a bit trite and list some of the things I'm thankful for this holiday season.

Family that flexes and bends and reconfigures to meet new challenges and have new adventures every year. People that have known me all my life and will know me to the end, that share genes and habits that I see in my children, that can sit with me in silence because the stories are known by heart.

Friends that enrich my life, challenge me, support me, stand with me, celebrate the triumphs and mourn the defeats. Friends that will pick my kids up with a simple phone call and that are part of the village it takes to raise my daughters. Couple friends that indulge in adult beverages and conversation when even the village doesn't seem enough. Kindred spirits to share with and laugh with and love.

Two amazing daughters who are growing by leaps and bounds and who have the markings of incredible young women. Fierce and tender, compassionate and zealous, sweet and sassy. They are the loves of my life and the reason I keep putting one foot in front of another.

A husband who is truly my soul-mate. Who loves me unfailingly, who holds me up when I don't think I can stand, who is my biggest cheering section and my support system all in one. A man who preferred daughters over sons, who can fix an engine or put tiny earrings into little ears, who teaches his daughters to fish and navigate by the stars, and who isn't afraid to fix a meal or mop a floor. He has given his life for ours and we love him with all our hearts.

A career that is brand new and fulfilling beyond imagination. I LOVE what I'm doing every day. I get to see the divine wrapped in flesh and hold space for the suffering of others as they face unimaginable odds and daily put one foot in front of the other. I am grateful beyond words to be a witness to the life journey of others. And listening to their stories and feeling their pain humbles me and makes my heart overflow with gratitude for the life I have.

Tomorrow I'll sit with some of my family and eat way too much. We will laugh and talk and celebrate. And that celebration will continue on through the next month. But the things I've seen along the way this year on this journey home to myself make me more thankful than I have ever been before.

Having Some Fun

2010-11-19T06:00:00.000-08:00

There's lots of super serious stuff going on over here. Stuff I'm not quite ready to write about just yet. Plus I've been VERY busy getting my new jobs all settled in. So I've been away from this space for a while. But Lindsey at A Design So Vast posted this little questionnaire and it seemed like fun. So here I go. Play along if you like.

Where do you live: Allen
Favorite art: ??? Depends on my mood. I'm not a huge collector.
Pets: Molly - 75 lb Great Pyrenees and Border Collie mix, and Shadow - from barn cat stock
Favorite neighborhood restaurant: Italian Villa
Favorite cocktail: margarita on the rocks with salt - with GOOD tequila
Who inspires you: my clients and my friends, and the people who write the blogs I keep up with
Necessary extravagance: My analyst
Favorite place in the world: San Fransisco, Old Town Vienna, the mountains around Taos NM

CLOTHES
Designer: Coldwater Creek
Jeans: Eddie Bauer or whatever fits
Underwear: Jockey
Sneakers: currently Avia
Watch: Timex
T-shirt: JCPenney
Day bag: something seasonal from JCPenney or Target
Evening bag: don't really have one
Favorite city to shop: Allen - we have EVERYTHING now
Lipstick: Elizabeth Arden - something pink
Mascara: Elizabeth Arden Barely Black
Shampoo: Pantene
Moisturizer: Neutrogena
Perfume: Don't wear it much - but if I do I like Ysatis
Toothpaste: Arm & Hammer Whitening
Soap: Ivory and Dial
Nail-polish color: Anything OPI - love the new Swiss line. Currently wearing A to Zurich on my toes. I don't usually keep my fingernails painted.
Who cuts your hair: Dana Coddington - Imagination Salons
Who colors your hair: same - about every 8 weeks to cover up the gray

Trusting Love

2010-11-01T15:04:00.000-07:00

Julie Daley has a wonderful post up on her blog called Extending Love. These paragraphs took my breath away and I've been grappling with what it means for me since I read them:

We are being asked to trust in love, and I sense we are being asked to go into those places where we learned not to trust in love, for those are the places that hold us back, those places where we didn’t receive love. It’s not about rehashing these stories, for I know all too well that the story stays alive as long as we keep breathing life into it.

It’s about feeling. Feeling those old places in our bodies where we stuffed the pain of not receiving love, and perhaps even developed a strategy that feels vindictive, a strategy that says I won’t love because I wasn’t loved. Being with these painful places, as we would be with a small child that is in pain, a child that wants to be held and loved, so she can know that place within herself.

I have stories, stories that tell me I can't trust love. And I rehash them and keep them alive. Because feeling my way into the pain sometimes costs more than I can bear to pay. Especially by myself. So I build up walls. I react to words and scenes that threaten to touch those places. I get defensive and withdrawn and sarcastic and hurtful. When I am wounded, I inflict pain in order to deflect it. And then I hide in my room and I cry, wanting desperately for someone to wrap their arms around me and hold me and love me through the pain.

I also just finished watching a clip of Jon Stewart's closing speech at the recent Rally for Sanity. In twelve brief minutes, he paints a picture of the rhetoric that inflames the differences instead of highlighting how we can and do work together in all our diversity. I buy into that rhetoric sometimes and let it drive me into rehashing my stories of mistrust. During this last little bit of time leading up to a mid-term election, the rhetoric runs hot. Criticism is constant. Difference is villainized. Polarities are highlighted and emphasized. And we forget that we can and do co-exist in the real world, each and every day - usually through extending just a little love and compassion to a fellow human being.

But right now, in this moment, I feel stuck. Stuck in the old stories. Stuck in the pain. Unable to move forward, deeper, closer. Because when I hear vehemence from someone who stands on the other side whatever the line, I fall into fear. Those critical words peel back the layers of my defended and walled off soul, and threaten to inflict pain and I hide behind my ugly defenses. My story says "don't show them who you really are, don't offer up any tender part". When I do, and criticism or cynicism or simple apathy is offered in return, the old wounds flare. I don't know how, under those circumstances to extend love. All I know how to do is fight or run.

The constant stream of media in our society today exacerbates the problem. My girls watch a repeating feed of pre-teen drama. The airwaves are filled with political messages that seek to divide. Social media provides a forum where courtesy and decorum are easily forgotten and divisiveness gets inflamed. We don't talk. We post or text or tweet or feed ourselves a constant stream of hate and fear from the pundits. And we forget that the person on the other side of the divide is human - and divine. I forget. I forget to extend love. And I recluse into fear and pain.

And in the midst of all of this, our sense of community starts to break down. Where do we have safe spaces to move into the pain of our stories without fear of being ripped apart? Where do we go to be in the presence of others to feel our way into those old stories and start to heal? Our families? Hardly. Our churches? Certainly not. Our circle of friends? Who has the time? Where do we find or how do we create community where love and compassion rule, regardless of differences? Where do we manage to do what Stewart suggests and work together through a series of small compromises to keep moving forward?

I wrote a few weeks ago about my experience of a weekend. As I've faced old pain over this past weekend and retreated into fear, I thought about the weekend of which I wrote. I've never experienced the sense of safety in a group like I did throughout that weekend. For three days, we came together in love. During the entire time, I never heard a cross word. I never heard criticism or negativity or gossip. Some of the group knew one another in real life. Many others were acquainted. Some of us were strangers. Yet we melded together seamlessly. It was a singular experience I cannot remember anywhere else I've ever been. I've been on other retreats and always, groups are formed, gossip and critique are a part of the conversation, time is spent in negative sentiment, whether about the current group or rehashing outside events. But this weekend none of that was present. We laughed. We teased. We talked. We hurt. We cried. We loved. We dreamed. We saw the divine and the abject humanity in one another - and we laughed and loved and hugged our way through.

I know that real life doesn't work that way. But I wonder if it could. At least in pockets. In fits and starts and small gatherings. Do we have to have a perfect combination of ingredients to trust love enough to be there in that life-giving way for one another? Why do we have to give into the cynicism and fear? Do I have the faith to trust love enough to bring a piece of that weekend into my everyday reality? Can I face my pain with enough courage not to hide myself behind a wall? If I can, and if she can, and if he can - would it change the world?

Non-Compliance

2010-10-31T05:03:00.000-07:00

Don't be too loud.
Don't be too smart.
Don't give an opinion, or if you do, give it tentatively.
Don't speak up.
Don't ask questions.
Oh no, don't dare express an emotion, especially if it's painful.
Don't confront.
Don't expect kindness - or respect.
Don't you know it's your job to make everything okay?
Don't lie, unless telling the truth might hurt more.
Don't stand up for yourself.
Don't get your feelings hurt so easily.
And for god's sake, don't ever let them see you cry.
Don't dredge up the past.
Don't talk about the hard stuff.
Don't ask for help - but be there to help when anyone else needs a hand.
Don't play the victim.
Don't acknowledge pain.
Don't love too much and don't expect anything in return.
Don't step on anybody's toes.
Don't live life out loud.
Don't trust your own creativity.
Don't listen to your own soul.
Don't take a risk,
Don't dare to dream.

STOP! Don't listen. Refuse to comply.

A Moment in Time

2010-10-13T07:10:00.000-07:00

Sometimes words cannot capture a moment in time. Maybe words never can really capture the essence of experience. And sometimes, staying with the words gives me an escape hatch from being inside the depths of emotion, connection, feeling. Sometimes words take me to the depths. But I've used them all my life as a shield or a blanket, and I can hide behind them when it serves the purpose of my ego who doesn't really want the real me to be seen.

Words cannot capture the moment in time that was my weekend. The time melts away like the pictures so beautifully formed in the sand mandalas then ritually deconstructed and sent floating down the river. But the images remain. Pictures of community and love and grief and pain and transformation. Deep places honored and held and touched and healed.

I want to wrap words around it to hold on to the experience. But I won't, because I can't. I can only marvel at the transformed place inside of me and carry the memory forward into the next step and the next and the next.

But I will remember hugs and flames, watery depths and laughter, terror and truth. I will hear the music from John Denver and Janice Joplin and Joan Osborne and the beat of tribal drums echoing through my dreams. I will gather my chi. I will walk the labyrinth and wait. My arms and legs will feel the heat of exertion and the cool immersion at the end of the journey.

I will feel arms around me, grounding me, as I look fear in the face. I will draw on the energy wrapped around me in an ever widening spiral. I will take my medicine and take the next step. Because I know I don't walk alone.

And I will carry the transformation, like the river carries the sand from the mandala. Ever shifting the path, meandering from bank to bank, and polishing the rocks under the surface into smooth shining treasures.

And because I have been seen, I can now see. Because love held space for my pain and my joy, I am better able to hold space in love for someone else. In letting go of the fear, I found community. And in the community I found courage. And in the courage, I let go of the fear. And I have been forever changed.

(Over)Reaction

2010-10-06T19:47:00.000-07:00

It's amazing what can trigger a reaction to pain long forgotten, things buried and excavated and buried again. Sometimes it only takes a phone call.

This call wasn't from family or a long lost friend. Simply from a business I thought I'd severed ties with a few months ago, calling to inform me that no, I hadn't taken the appropriate steps and had not indeed ended my relationship with them.

The surface level story seems simple. I'd called to cancel, they'd told me no, I needed to come in to either cancel or switch my credit card information, and I'd simply let the card expire. Today they informed me that they were continuing to bill me although they couldn't charge my card, and that they would eventually turn me over to a collection agency - for $98.

The force of my reaction caught even me off guard. Before the ordeal had run it's course for tonight, I was shaking and in tears. Because the REAL reason I didn't go in and cancel, the real reason I was canceling in the first place, was because I'd let something slip instead of dealing with it. I'd let shame and guilt and fear silence me in the moment and afterwards. I'd stood by and let something slide that I needed to speak up about. I felt victimized, and I hid. And the call today took me back to another time and another place where those same feelings overpowered me.

I think the reason I found those emotions so close to the surface today is because I've been listening to stories that remind me and stir those old memories. Stories so horrid and unbelievable that staying detached is almost impossible. Stories that break my heart.

And today, I discovered that my own story is not yet healed. That the compromising of my safety and my voice has wounded me in ways I still don't even comprehend. Those wounds can be medicine for others, but only if I bring them into the light instead of burying them because I'm too afraid to look. I have to heal, a bit at a time, before I can effectively sit with someone else's pain.

The story isn't over yet. I have to face the situation and tell my truth. I should have done it before, and before, and before. There is no easy way out. I tried the hiding, and it didn't work. So now I have to dig deep and find my voice and my power and my center - and speak from that place instead of a place of fear covered by anger. And then, maybe, the next time the phone rings, I won't jump.

Leap of Faith

2010-10-03T13:10:00.000-07:00

How much will we risk to follow a dream?

How much courage does it take to let go of the familiar?

Do we value security so much that we can't let ourselves take a chance?

Are we so concerned about status and appearance and looking good that we can't afford to fail?

Where could we be this time next year if we have the courage to leap?

What can we teach about authenticity by living our call?

How much will we risk to follow a dream?

Marking Time

2010-10-01T06:58:00.000-07:00

This is my 100th post on the blog. And it's been almost a month since I've written anything. Today seemed like the day to get over this hump. I've been stymied for a myriad of reasons, but I'm going to put something out here today, jumbled and confused as it may be, and move past this logjam in my head and heart. Part of the reason I've put off this post is because 100 posts feels like a milestone that I should mark somehow. I've surfed around, looking at what others have said. I've thought about lists of 100 things. And I've run up against the wall, over and over again.

I've also been busy trying to get the debris from a major storm cleaned up. Wednesday after Labor Day, the interior of Texas experienced the remnants of Hurricane Hermine. The wind blew, it rained hard all day, and by the evening we had a slew of tornadoes that the news team tracked live from a helicopter. It was quite the day. My neighborhood, my home, experienced no damage of any sort. The gardens enjoyed the soaking rain. The whipping wind didn't even knock leaves off the trees full at the ripeness of the end of summer. But my interior process that day matched or even exceeded the weather swirling around me outside - and that's the debris I've been cleaning.

Four years ago in November, I spent a Saturday sitting at the feet of a woman who had a message that turned my world upside down and inside out. She took the box I'd had God, spirituality, soul and self in all my life and blew it completely apart. And then she proceeded to show me how to make a dance floor out of the pieces. That Saturday opened the door for a new direction in my life and my work, a journey to myself, and a process of becoming, each and every day, a little bit more of who I really am. The concrete result of that day was my returning to school the next August, a little over 3 years ago, to get my Masters degree in Counseling. Me, a computer tech, a programmer quickly falling out of touch with the advances in the technical world since staying home with my kids 8 years before, someone who had been told all her life she didn't possess creativity or people skills, someone who had pigeonholed herself into a lifestyle that had me behind the scenes, working on the organizational details, balancing the books, making the schedules. Doing jobs that I was good at, but that didn't resonate with my soul.

I spent the first half of 2007 uncovering and reframing my story. And then in August I started back to school and almost immediately realized that taking all the pieces and putting them back together, looking deep into my own self in learning how to hold space for others, unpacking and un-bandaging old wounds -- all the things the degree was going to require that I hadn't counted on -- was going to require me to find someone to walk through the process with me. The job was too big to do alone. The pieces were too scattered. Some days the pain of self-reflection was simply too much to bear alone. And ultimately, I decided that if I couldn't sit in the chair as a client, I had no business trying to sit in the chair as a therapist. Jeanie - the catalyst and by now a friend and mentor - had been gently pointing me in the direction of Jungian analysis for the better part of a year. Finally, with fear and trembling, I took the plunge and dialed the number she'd given me.

I called on a Friday afternoon, praying I wouldn't get an answer. I didn't. But I left a message. Within just an hour or so, I received a return phone call, and within about 15 minutes, found myself scheduled for a noon appointment on Monday morning. Three years ago today, I sat terrified, across from a stranger, pouring out my story the best I could tell it in an hour. In these past three years, Tess has held every word I've said with grace and created a space to unpack and unearth a self and a soul that I didn't even really know existed. She's become a guide to my dreams, my self, my soul. The hour a week I spend with her touches a numinous place I find nowhere else in my life. She's taught me how to honor my own soul. And now, between the process of analysis and the deep digging required in my program of study, I barely recognize the person that sat in that chair, trembling, three years ago.

During my course of study, and through my work in analysis - I came to grips with the fact that writing is my art. I am a writer. It's my gift, my form of expression, my spiritual process, my liturgy. I can access the deepest parts of myself with a pen and paper, or in front of a computer keyboard. So about a year ago, I started this blog. In 100 posts, I have lost a lot of fear. I've found a voice. I've begun to figure out what works for me and what doesn't. And I've met a handful of treasured companions that are sharing this journey with me.

Then, I graduated in May from my course of study. And through a series of events that I cannot even explain, had a plan in place to start work in September in a position that seemed perfect. With a plan in place, I took the summer off, except for the licensing exam I had to take. My husband and I took our first ever trip to Europe. I enjoyed the summer with my girls. And I anticipated finally getting to do what I'd been dreaming of doing. And then, suddenly, a hurricane.

By the time the storm blew itself out - both literally and metaphorically - my world was re-arranged. The perfect job was no longer in place and I found myself dangling from a tree limb, scrambling to find some solid footing. Since then, things have unfolded so fast and so furiously that I can barely keep up. The synchronicity and connections that have unfolded are simply mind boggling. I've felt loved and supported in ways that defy explanation. I am doing a job that makes my heart sing in the process of meeting the requirements I have to meet for licensing, with help from a group of people who feel like home, like a tribe. And I am awed and humbled by the glimpse I've had into the workings of the universe that I do not begin to comprehend. I'm not usually one to say that God orchestrates events, there is a deterministic flavor to that theology that turns my stomach, especially when it's used to oppress and shame someone. But I cannot deny God in this process. Something bigger than me is afoot here. And all I can do is stand in awe.

So, the debris from the storm is swept up. The tree limbs are stacked neatly waiting recycling. And my world, my heart and soul are swept clean and reveling in the sunshine. It's a 100th post. It's a three year anniversary. And it's a brand new beginning to a journey I cannot even begin to fathom. All I know is that I can't wait to see what's around the next corner. And now, I'm off to work!

Letting Go

2010-09-10T06:30:00.000-07:00

Life is a funny thing. We hear all our lives, work hard, do good, be faithful, keep your head down and everything will be okay. So we plan and we work and we do due diligence. We suit up and show up, even when we don't feel like it. We work until we are bone-weary. We plan. We take responsibility. We work. And sometimes, everything is not okay.

It's easy, when things fall apart, to criticize and doubt and blame. It's easy to point fingers and accuse someone else of not doing their part. To wonder if somehow we didn't do ours. Self-doubt shouts in our ears that maybe we just aren't enough - not good enough, not smart enough, not savvy enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough, not righteous enough, not faithful enough, not generous enough. We learn it from our parents and teachers and ministers and bosses - veiled in messages of "helpfulness" that really feel like criticism of our souls. We wonder what we are doing wrong.

But sometimes life takes an unexpected detour. Sometimes we stand face to face with difficult decisions that seem to have no good answers, no matter how hard we work. And sometimes God, or the universe, or Tao or whatever energy is at work in this world pushes us in a direction we never intended to go.

It's hard to let go of well-laid plans. It's scary to make a decision that requires a leap into the dark. Often we scramble and bargain and deal to keep ourselves on the path that's already lit, even when we can see it's leading to some place we don't want to go. Because it's easier to ignore the end of the path and focus on the next lit step than to stumble off into the unknown.

But those old messages we've heard all our lives sometimes lead us astray. They keep us on the well-lit path to nowhere. They keep us bowed down to the gods of money and success and popularity. They coerce us into bargaining away our souls in order to be socially acceptable. They work us until we are weary and worn down, scrambling to achieve just a little more to be successful, to be good enough.

What if we could simply let go? Let go of the old messages. Let go of the measurements and yardsticks we use to define success? Let go of the need to constantly work and worry? Let go of the idea that we can do something to make everything okay?

What if we could let our hearts lead? What if we valued soul and creativity as highly as security? What if we could look at life's unexpected events as a gift and at taking a step into the dark as a grand adventure?

Is it as easy as changing our perspective? Maybe. I don't know for sure. But I'm willing to give it a try.

Rain

2010-09-07T06:42:00.000-07:00

A gentle rain, steady on the roof,
Ushering out the last of summer,
Soaking deep into the thirsty soil.

As I listen to the steady rhythm outside
my heart years to find it's own rhythm
and be watered deeply.

The rain says wait. Stay warm and dry.
The sun will soon return,
but for now all nature needs to drink.

I too need to drink, to find the rhythm of the rain, to soak, to wait.
But still, I long for the sun.

Waiting

2010-09-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

Waiting tests me, stretches my patience and gives rise to anxiety and doubt.
While I wait, the voices that question my responsibility, my contributions, my intelligence and even my sanity seem to grow louder.
Waiting on the unknown tenses my shoulders and knots my stomach and fogs my brain.
Little things become large. Grains of sand in my shoes feel like sharp stones.
Indecision and uncertainty threaten to overtake clear thinking.
Wait and worry, worry and wait.

Yet, somewhere, deep down, I know better.
I know that this path I travel stretches out before me.
That by putting one foot in front of the other, before I realize it, around a bend a new vista will appear.
The road I'm traveling now is less treacherous than stretches I've traveled before.
And I have companions walking along with me, keeping my company - as we wait.

So, to bide the time and shake off this inertia I feel while waiting,
I'm making a list of things to do while I wait:

1. Enjoy the down time without feeling guilty.
2. Watch a movie alone, in the middle of the day.
3. Read a book for the sheer pleasure of the words.
4. Create something.
5. Organize my music to make it more accessible and available.
6. Remember.
7. Declutter.
8. Connect with friends.
9. Drink an extra cup of coffee.
10. Get outside and move.
11. Garden.
12. Nap.
13. Spend one on one time with each of my girls.
14. Meditate.
15. Cook healthy meals.
16. Write.
17. Clean my house.
18. Dream.
19. Enjoy the silence.
20. Breathe

Funny how I have to remind myself of these things and how the voices clamoring for attention rob me of my ability to focus and enjoy. The waiting is a gift - if I can simply unwrap it.

Happy New Year

2010-08-22T19:44:00.000-07:00

New Year's Day for me shifts like Thanksgiving or Easter instead of being fixed to a date on the calendar. Here in Texas, lately, it falls on the fourth Monday of August. In my childhoood, it usually fell the Tuesday after Labor Day. For me, the new year starts with the first bell of the school year. For more than half my life, the year has revolved around school. In the interim years between college and having a Kindergartner of my own, I missed the anticipation of the first day of school. The approach of September triggers memories of crayons and new shoes, squeaky clean chalkboards and stacks of brown paper bookcovers waiting to protect their charge for the year. I loved cracking open my textbook and seeing the list of students who flipped through pages in the years before. My kids don't put their names in their textbooks that same way and they miss a piece of history. The chalkboards with their welcoming green glow and choking dust are no more. No more cleaning erasers during recess or annoying a friend with the screech of fingernails. Now we have "smartboards" that automatically save the erasable marker notes to a computer drive. But still, the anticipation of the new school year thrills my girls just as it thrilled me.

This year holds adventure for all of us. New beginnings and bittersweet endings. The year holds lots of changes for us. My oldest is a sixth grader - the top dog in her local elementary school. She starts band. She's in advanced math which sets her course, in sixth grade, for her math curriculum through her senior year. She will have special privileges, new responsibilities, and more opportunity to begin to be independent. My younger enters second grade, ready to set the world on fire. She can hardly sleep with the excitement of being back among her friends.

I look forward to a week with some time to myself. I enjoy summer, but we all do better with a routine and I enjoy having some time to spend alone. But in a week, I will also be embarking on a new adventure, going back to work outside of the home after eleven years. I'm excited to have a life beyond the family. I've worked and studied to do this job well. I'm grateful to be able to use what I've learned both through school and life experience to walk alongside others on their own personal journeys.

I hope we are all ready for what this new year will bring. We will all grow. Some days, we will most likely be stretched so far we do not think we can bear it. And June will approach more rapidly than we can imagine. I look forward to taking stock of the year and look back on how far we have all come. There are some things I want to accomplish this year, some goals and dreams.

I want to grow professionally and begin to pay my own way.
I want to write something for publication.
I want to explore and experience my creativity in new ways.
I want to integrate the physical and the spiritual through some form of body work.
I want to create a group of women who can support each other on our journeys.
I want to help my children stretch and explore and develop their passions.
I want to deepen my connection to my husband.
I want to travel somewhere I have never been.
I want to balance - work and family, marriage and kids, activity and rest, introspection and relationship.

I am looking forward to 2010-2011. Bring on the school year!

Where I'm From

2010-08-18T08:56:00.000-07:00

I am from starched Wranglers with a crease pressed down the center of each leg, from baseball caps with seed company logos and sides chosen between John Deere green and International Harvester red.

I am from the ivy screened porch of a west facing ranch-style on a grid-straight street on the edge of town. From the worn green felt of the recliner and the brown, green and gold flecks of the 70's shag carpet and the flecked yellow kitchen cabinets that matched the sunflower dinner plates.

I am from cotton trailers sitting in gin yards and fields of sunflowers facing the light. From dust-filled winds that scoured and scorched. From long twilights with the sun setting a thousand miles away on the horizon and a sky studded with stars so numerous and brilliant that constellations were hard to find.

I am from Friday night football and resting on Sunday, except when there is a Cowboy game on TV. From family Christmas potlucks and weather-lined faces and farmers tans. From Mom and Dad Porter and Granddad Taylor and Flaudie and Virgie and Hilton and Joyce. From frugal money managers and paying cash not credit and FHA farm loans.

I am from broom swept dirt porches and hard work as a virtue. From tears only at funerals and infrequent laughter. From constant low-grade worry - about weather or crops or time or money - and resting only when the work was done.

I am from plaques on the school walls with honors for sports and grades with names the same as mine. From study hard and go far and why would you ever want to leave? From travel to the neighboring state as a grand adventure and suspicion of world travelers and big-city folk.

I am from once saved always saved, Baptists don't dance or drink, and good girls don't. From grace not works but calls for repentance of secret sins to bring the rain. From tent revivals and alter calls to hymns pounded out on the upright piano. From dividing lines drawn hard in the street between us and them, heaven and hell.

I am from covered wagons from the east and pioneer stock whose origins have vanished in the smoke of the Blue Ridge Mountains. From hard-scrabble share-croppers and gentried land-owners and Indian blood. From the unique pride that is the Independent Republic of Texas.

I am from suppers of fresh tomatoes and squash, black-eyed peas just shelled, and okra with prickles that itched for days after the picking. From summer watermelons on picnic tables cold from the irrigation ditch and homemade blackberry cobbler with ice cream.

I am from a World War II veteran who lied to be old enough to fight and a chemical engineer who couldn't ignore the siren call of the farm. From the first generation of children to all finish college and then go back to do it again.

I am from faded albums of pictures from an old manual camera that documented my childhood and a wedding album full of lies. From stories handed down without documents to verify facts and folks who don't believe much in living in the past. I am from five living generations on both sides of my line, one documented in print, the other only by words. From a family so close in proximity that we didn't need pictures and a generation that has finally left the family farm.

I am from men and women who settled the High Plains of West Texas a century ago, history before long forgotten or erased by the wind and the future no longer contained in 100 square miles of dirt.

Inspired by this writing exercise template that also inspired this beautiful prose.

Coming Undone

2010-08-15T17:44:00.000-07:00

I am not good at waiting. I like to take breaks from time to time. I relax and unwind at regular intervals when life gets hectic. But long periods of waiting for something that I know lies in my path, somewhere around the corner, just undoes me.

I've been waiting since April. Waiting the requisite time to jump through the required hoops to be able to take the next step I've been working toward for three years. I enjoyed April. I went on field trips with my kids. I enjoyed not having to be up and out the door every morning. I gratefully tucked my girls into bed every night.

In May, I helped the girls navigate the end of school with all the requisite performances and papers. I also anticipated my first real overseas adventure. Even the waiting for that trip stirred some anxiety. Arranging for childcare and petcare and housecare while we were gone, packing the girls for two adventures while packing us for Europe, scheduling and scheming to make sure everything worked just about did me in. But we made it. And I enjoyed the trip immensely.

I spent June waiting for the opportunity to take a test to prove I knew enough to do the job I've set myself to do. A test I knew I would pass but still worried about. A test that I couldn't take until all the hoops had been jumped through.

I spent July waiting for the state to check off a list of all the required paperwork and send me permission to actually do my job. I have the place lined up. I have all my ducks in a row. But until I had that all important piece of paper, I couldn't actually DO anything.

I have spent August waiting for an official start date. Not knowing all the details of a schedule I am not in complete control over. Not able to reconcile how going back to work after 11 years at home will affect my family. Excited to get started. Afraid I'm losing skills while I sit around waiting. Unable to solidify plans until I have more information.

Until about the middle of July, I did okay. I enjoyed my downtime. We've done a lot of fun things as a family. I studied for the exam. I breathed a sigh of relief and enjoyed just doing nothing for a few weeks after I passed. But these last few weeks have been less than okay. I'm anxious. I'm spinning. I'm trying to put details into a landscape that barely has any form yet. I'm putting the cart before the horse. I find myself snapping at my family. I am not able to enjoy my simple downtime. I'm bored. I'm anxious. The voices are getting louder - and they are threatening to undo me.

So - I've done this introspection thing long enough to recognize that those voices have identities - and that if I can identify them and bring their dialogue into awareness, I can give myself what I need to get out of my head, out of the future, and back into myself and into the present moment. Right now - these voices are both mother and father complexes - criticizing me for being lazy and unproductive and dissuading me from spending time inside myself to find out what I really need. And I hear the voice of an insecure little girl inside of me that is afraid of failing. All of these pieces need my recognition. My attention. My empathy. I need to be present in these waiting moments of my life. I need to recognize that even in the midst of a break, I may not be getting the time I need for creativity and soul. I need to write. I need to read. I need to be okay with waiting. I need to trust the path unfolding before me. Maybe I need to let myself be undone so I can be done up again in a new way, renewed and refreshed and ready for the next leg of the journey.

What I've Learned - July I Believe Challenge

2010-08-05T19:37:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm finally back at the keyboard. I needed a brief break after a month of posts almost every day. I took Dani Fake-Webb's July I Believe Challenge because I wanted to see how committing myself to a post every day would affect my blogging and the internal process that accompanies the blog.

I learned a few things - about myself, about writing, about the world of blogging and about what I believe. Most of the time, even on the touchy topics, I didn't have much trouble actually writing down what I believe. Now sometimes what I believe shifts and transitions, or I hold two opposing or paradoxical ideas. But actually stating what I believed came easy. The sixty or so posts I wrote before I started this challenge eased some of the fear of speaking the truth. Sometimes I still falter and hesitate, but I'm less concerned about attracting criticism or dissent - and I've found warm and supportive encouragement for being authentic in this space.

However, I did find the every day format a bit daunting. I felt ideas wanting to percolate, to simmer, to reduce down to their essence but posting daily forced me to serve them up before they reached the proper internal temperature. Sometimes they felt too fast and underdone. I found myself writing from my head instead of my heart. And the process that drove the creation of this blog needs more feeling and less thinking. I've done enough academic writing to know my strengths and weaknesses in that venue. This blog is more about depth and feeling and poetry. While some of the topics definitely stirred feelings in me - the pressure to comment on the topic today limited my creative energy and shifted me back to the comfort zone of writing from my head. I need time to let the ideas bubble to the surface a little more to access the depth and feeling.

But the exercise proved interesting and even fun. I enjoyed making connections with others writing on the exact same topics at the exact same time. I wished for more discussion on some of the topics where others expressed varying viewpoints or nuances of a topic I hadn't considered. And I felt supported and encouraged by the comments and discussion that did occur.

Blogs, and social media in general, are funny little creatures. This blog has allowed me to find my voice, to an extent, and to begin to speak my truth. It supports my process of becoming. And still, even though I have a few welcome readers along, I find it is mostly for me. I write here to work out in words the feelings and ideas working on me. If my words resonate with anyone - that's wonderful - and the connections I've made cannot be measured on any scale of worth. But even if no one ever read, the writing itself carries worth for me. I admire the bloggers who post something beautiful or creative or profound on a daily basis, but I've discovered that my posts need a bit more time between.

Thanks Dani for the challenge. And I'm beyond delighted at the new connections I've made. But for now, I think I'll go back to a pace that seems to suit me a bit better, posting a couple of times a week, when inspiration strikes. That's what I believe works best for me.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 30 & 31: Authentic Self & Big Dreams

2010-08-01T03:31:00.000-07:00

This is it - the last two topics of the July "I Believe" Challenge. I've been working on a post in my head summing up my experience with this every day blogging challenge, but first I need to actually finish it.

RC: Why am I bothering with this?
Self: Because writing out what I believe is more important than you know.

RC: Nobody wants to hear this stuff and if I write down what I really believe people might think I'm just a little on the weird and crazy side.
Self: Really? Do you think that when you read what others write, when it resonates deep in your soul?

RC: No, of course not. You know that those words move me to tears, although I often try to mask them or distract myself instead of sinking into them deeply and really feeling them.
Self: I've noticed. I wonder why you do that. Do you not realize that right there, in that depth of feeling, is the place you most need to be - the place where I am?

RC: Yes, I know. But I'm afraid to get too close to you, or to show too much of you to the world.
Self: Why? Why are you afraid of me? I love with the deepest love. I want the best for you. I dream big dreams.

RC: I know that too. The dreams are so big. I want to dream them too, but I am afraid. Because I know I'm the one who will have to do the work of living those dreams. What if the price is too high? What if I'm not capable? What if I try and fail? What if I succeed?
Self: So many "what ifs". Trust me. Let go of the fear. Dream the dreams. Walk the path unfolding before you. Live and love and laugh and change the world - one step at a time. I'm right here with you. You are never ever alone.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 28 & 29: Time & The Value of Work

2010-07-30T08:39:00.000-07:00

Well, what do you know, I found a couple of topics ripe for combining - getting me ALMOST caught up in this challenge. And furthermore, the reason I'm a bit behind relates to the topics. So here we go.

The world I live in on a daily basis skews the concept of time and defines and prioritizes work in interesting ways. We slot activities and chores into hours between work and sleep until we find ourselves running from one thing to another with no time for reflection and no room for feeling. Time is money. Time flies. The early bird gets the worm. We spend a large part of our days and weeks working, either at a job that brings in a paycheck or running a household and raising kids or both, and when we clock out we don't disconnect. We stay accessible to troubleshoot, solve problems, make contact, plan and schedule. For our kids, we define their work as school and sports and music and scouts and any other educational activity we can think of. When we heat up and start to flame out, we reclaim a few hours "downtime" and make do and for the kids that downtime often means screen time of one sort or another.

My kids have had a fun summer. One trip to West Texas to stay with grandma, 4 camps, one trip to Six Flags, a couple of waterpark adventures, bowling, ice skating, most of the new release movies, swimming, the aquarium, ice cream Sundae School, the arcade, Wicked, the circus, and the requisite back to school shopping. And we've had more "do nothing" time this summer than usual. That's sad to me. Things have changed and they cannot leave on their bicycles in the morning and come home after dark full of non-parental adventures. It just isn't safe. And while I view most things from my childhood through a pretty realistic lens - I do idealize the long lazy summer days spent at leisure. And for the first summer in 3 years, I have truly enjoyed some down time. A few weeks of no obligations to school or job. But come the end of August, all of that will change quickly.

The work we do carries weight and import. I'm excited about venturing out into a new season in my life doing something I love and helping people along the way. My children enjoy school. My husband loves to be a techno-geek. We find value and fulfillment in our work. But when work consumes all our time, priorities need to be checked. Because there is value to time spent as a family. Value to time spent simply being. Value to time used to play and laugh and create and feel. Time to read. Time to write. Time to sit and breath.

It's easy to say we value these things. But harder to actually commit the time. I don't want to feel like I am missing out on a learning opportunity or a chance to advance. I don't want my kids to feel like they are missing out on participating in something they might love or be talented at. We watch our friends encourage their children to high levels of athletic and artistic endeavors that take tremendous dedication and time - they obviously value those activities - and we feel compelled to keep up with the Jones. And we lose track of other things we value.

September and the start of school always marks the "new year" for me. My internal calendar revolves around the rhythm of school bells. The calendar already attests to the ease with which I fall into a schedule that prioritizes work - for the grownups and the kids. So - besides work - here's a list of ten things I value highly - and my new year's resolution is to put my time where my mouth is - because the only way to truly value something is to invest some time.

I value:
1. Rest
2. Eating healthy
3. Time together as a family
4. Time alone
5. Time with my spouse
6. Friendship
7. Writing
8. Reflection
9. Nature
10. Creativity

Most of these things are not compatible with a packed schedule and constant running. I have a color coded calendar. I think I will add a special color for these things I value - as a visual reminder to slot out some time.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 27: Spirituality

2010-07-29T06:54:00.000-07:00

The entire content of this blog peels back the layers of what I believe about Spirituality. The essence of who I am and where I am going relies heavily on spiritual concepts. And my beliefs shift, sometimes slowly, sometimes like tectonic plates grinding against one another. My heritage is conservative Christian. No label fits me currently, but I shift ever more toward a universal concept that sees the power and myth and ritual and beauty in every tradition.

Rather than write an entirely new post - I thought I would revisit some of my favorites:

Honoring the Longing
Sitting in the Dark
Healing
Practice Makes Perfect?
Angry
Motherhood - The Complete and Virtual Annihilation of Self
Enough

Spirituality is sprinkled in through all my posts, but these address what I believe and how I feel most directly. I still participate around the margins of the faith of my childhood, but my ties to organization and institution are looser than they used to be. But on this journey I've undertaken, I've experienced the Divine in ways I never had before and I am more deeply connected to something beyond me than I have ever been. So I'll continue to move and search for the words to define what happens along the way. And I'll be ever grateful for my companions on the journey - the soul-tribe connections - which I'm ever more convinced is the true heart of spirituality anyway.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 26: Social Media

2010-07-28T08:03:00.000-07:00

Social media - such an innocuous sounding phrase. One that arrived on the scene quietly to describe a phenomenon that somewhat defies description. My life has been oriented around technology. I arrived on the college scene just as personal computing sprang to life. The computer science nerds were big men (and a few women) on campus because we had email. Our friends marveled that we could talk to other students at other colleges around the country. My generation started work with a computer on every desktop and feels lost without them. And I've watched my children come of age in the era of portable technology. They cannot imagine a life without a cell phone to keep them tied like an umbilical cord to parental safety. I lived for a friend to call me on the phone, stretching the long cord into the hall or bedroom to try to achieve some measure of privacy. They text and email silently, making it harder to eavesdrop on their much more active social lives. We've turned friending into a verb and added scores of abbreviations and acronyms to our vocabulary and we've learned to tweet and twitter like a flock of birds. My husband still makes our living on technology and we are usually privy to the latest gadget and goodie, sometimes to my chagrin. But the positive aspect of his acumen is that we will never be the parents whose children have outpaced them in technology - he's on top of things!

In some ways I love the onslaught of technology. In other ways I protest. My parents never had to think about instituting a technology sabbath or monitoring the hours we spent plugged into an electronic device. They never had to consider how to instill the appropriate respect for privacy and modesty or wonder whether we were able to interpret written conversation for tone and context. I'm glad my children are tech savvy, but I worry sometimes about what they've lost.

But with all of the added concerns, my feelings around social media are largely positive. Social media has enabled me to connect with like minded friends around the world. Friends I wouldn't have met without blogs or facebook or email. I've formed some incredibly meaningful and deep friendships from ongoing electronic contact - relationships that have changed the course of my life. And I've come into contact with a tribe for the first time in my life.

There are dangers inherent in the format, certainly. But I think there is more power than we can begin to imagine in the connectivity we can find. The sharing of ideas. The supporting of dreams. The encouragement and friendship. Face to face is great and something I don't want to lose.... but my circle of friends is bigger than it ever has been by virtue of a group I've never met in person - although I hope to change that over time. But our primary source of connection will be electronic. Social media.... a word I'm glad has been added to my vocabulary.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 25: Self Care

2010-07-27T05:48:00.000-07:00

I believe self care does not equal selfish.

I believe caring for others requires a consistent practice of self care.
I believe self care must be a priority in a healthy and whole life.
I believe our cultural and religious systems here in the West often denigrate self care.

I believe self care consists of more rest than we want to admit.

I believe we give lip service to self care but criticize others when they engage in it.

I believe self care requires allowing others to minister to our needs - physical, mental, spiritual.
I believe community and solitude both play a part in self care.

I believe if I don't care for myself, no one else will.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 24: Role of the Unconscious

2010-07-26T06:52:00.000-07:00

Again behind, continually perpetually behind in this challenge of blogging daily for a month. But the topics from here to the end of Dani's challenge hold too much weight to combine them into one post to catch up. They resonate too strongly to skip or give a single line.... so behind I will stay.

Today's topic - the role of the unconscious - seems at once too big and too personal to adequately cover in a blog post. Over the past three years, I've spent a lot of time poking around in my own unconscious and learning about the role the unconscious plays in human behavior. In my field of study, the experts split, maybe not exactly down the middle. Some of them give a significant place to the unconscious and some of them deny its existence or denigrate its importance, preferring to focus on conscious thoughts and observable behavior. But for me, leaving out the unconscious - where old memories and traumas are stored, where instinct and inherited patterns live, where myth and art and poetry are rooted - leaves out far too much. Merely trying to adjust thoughts and behaviors without taking the unconscious into consideration is like trying to work a puzzle with the pieces turned upside down.

While I certainly cannot claim expert status - here are some of the things I have learned and believe about the unconscious:

1. The unconscious is real. It contains the imprint of things that have happened to us from our conception to our present, whether we think we remember them or not.

2. The unconscious is more than personal. It contains an element of myth and instinct and family or tribal histories that impact us in ways we don't always understand. Jung called this piece the "collective unconscious" and it binds us all together in a universal dance.

3. We can work to make the unconscious conscious. Dreams and fantasies, thoughts and feelings that catch us off guard, art and poetry and creativity all unlock pieces of our unconscious. We can learn to be more aware, to access these pieces more readily. And if we do, we can learn more about who we are and why we do what we do and how to honor our true self.

4. Our reactions are often driven by unconscious factors. When we love or hate someone at first sight - we are saying more about ourselves than about that person. Our unconscious uses the trick of projection and the other person acts like a blank movie screen. What we see that irks us or makes us envious is a clue to a piece of ourselves we haven't wanted to take a look at.

5. We repeat patterns of behavior we'd like to change because of our unconscious. Repetitive patterns of behavior that happen even when we tell ourselves we won't ever do that again, point to a wound never healed, a hole, a complex. Uncovering these things, bringing them to light, and healing them requires hard work. But when we do, we can choose how to act instead of reacting - and patterns of behavior can change.

6. We unlock our creativity when we dive into the unconscious. Art, poetry, writing - all our creative endeavors - are seated in the unconscious. By engaging in the arts, we tap into the unconscious, and letting the unconscious bubble up and giving it the respect it's due unlocks creativity potential within us that we didn't realize existed.

7. The more we can make the unconscious conscious, the more whole we become. Paying attention to our inner selves, exploring our dreams, being curious about our reactions - even the negative ones - takes us deeper into our true self and helps us integrate pieces of ourselves that were wounded or left behind, making us into more of who we were really designed to be.

I have a friend that talks about "r"eality vs. "R"eality. reality with a little r is all the stuff that happens externally around us. Enough to focus on for a lifetime, no doubt. But Reality with a big R encompasses both the external and the internal. Taking the time to see what's going on inside pays huge dividends in discovering what drives us, what fills us, what sustains us, and what gifts we have to offer the world - things we miss if we spend all our time on "r"eality. Make friends with your unconscious and see what treasures wait to be found.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 23: Politics

2010-07-23T05:40:00.000-07:00

What I believe about politics marginalizes me in the "real-life" crowd I circulate in, so I often keep my opinions to myself.

The political wranglings of our politicians and politicians around the world make my stomach churn, so I turn off the TV.

My political views continue to move and shift as I encounter real people making their way through real life and facing edicts from a system that doesn't seem to understand, so I try to listen more than I talk.

Not towing the party line causes stress and distress in my extended family unit, so I refuse to engage in the battle.

Voting my conscious in the county where I live puts me in the short line and causes others to look askance at me, so I try to avoid the crowds (and sometimes I don't go at all....)

And I detect a theme that hearkens back to yesterday.... others opinions of me with regard to politics often makes me want to retreat into silence and inaction. I find it hard to take a stand. I hesitate to speak my convictions. I hide. And nothing changes.....

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 21 & 22

2010-07-22T04:01:00.000-07:00

It's a little overwhelming to keep up with this EVERY day posting on the blog. Two-thirds of the way through this challenge with only a little cheating - and I'm going to cheat again today.

Yesterday's topic was Nutrition. While I have thoughts and beliefs about nutrition - mainly that it's a good thing to pay attention to - the topic doesn't drive me to write much about it. But if you want to read something pretty profound - check out Dani's post on the topic from yesterday. It's worth reading.

Today's topic sort of leaves me speechless too - but for the opposite reason.
Others Opinions of You....

Well, where to even start and what to say that will sway the opinion of anybody who happens along here in the positive direction? Where do I start this conversation, from my head or my heart?

I can wax on philosophically about how one should put others opinions about herself into the proper perspective, listening to her true self and living from a place of groundedness regardless of what anyone else thinks. And I could evaluate the various categories of people whose opinions we let affect us in both positive and negative ways.

Or I can get very personal and share how I have been and still am deeply impacted by the opinions of others, both positively and negatively. How advocates and mentors have given me the courage to take a step and how naysayers and detractors have left me wounded and bleeding in the dirt from time to time.

All of it is true. None of it matters. We all take the opinion of others into consideration as we live our lives. We all wish sometimes we did it a little less. Everyone that passes this way is on a journey to themselves and along the road, we all meet both supporters and obstacles that we have to figure out how to deal with. But I think the true lesson is my exploration of how the opinions of others affect me comes from flipping the idea around. If I am indeed impacted by others opinions, they also are impacted by my opinion of them. And with that opinion, I have the ability to wound or to heal. As I learn to look at others through different eyes, to see past the outer shell and into someone's soul, my opinion is slowly changing from one of judgment to one of awe. I want to be in the place where my only opinion of another conveys how beautiful he or she is - that recognizes the imprint of the divine within. If we could all look at one another with those eyes, things would begin to change, for all of us, for good.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 20: Money

2010-07-21T08:53:00.000-07:00

Money makes the world go 'round. When there is enough to meet needs and satisfy wants, it's easier to say "I don't want money to control my life" and make choices to follow our dreams. But when it's truly in short supply, following dreams falls off the list and juggling to survive moves way on up there. I've worked with people over the last two years who are responsible, hard working people barely making enough to cover the basics. They aren't living extravagantly. They aren't lazy. They aren't irresponsible. There just isn't enough. And money, for them, is a constant concern. It's changed my view on economics, politics, education and social services to watch these men and women struggle to survive.

I don't want my life to be driven by money. We've made lots of decisions that allow us to not have to worry constantly about money. But we have enough. And it turns my stomach to see people who have more than enough continue to want more and more and more - often at the very expense of those who don't have enough to simply get by.

Money is a resource. When it's scarce, the scarcity drives behavior. When it's not scarce but we operate with a mentality that it is, then we hoard and worry instead of living generously and freely. And I wish there were some way to ensure that everyone had enough (said with great trepidation lest I be branded a socialist). Economics drives our world - at least here in the west. And money - or the chase for more of it - is responsible for much of the ugliness in our world. I wish the currency could be love instead.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 19: Luck

2010-07-19T12:38:00.000-07:00

Lucky me... it's my birthday! Woo hoo. Or not. Because I have a slight digestive system malfunction that has left me a little less than energetic today. What rotten luck.

Really? Luck? Don't think I believe in it much, although my perspective shifts. Luck is random. Most of the time, I'd rather chalk things up to synchronicity - which really isn't very random at all. While I'm not one to subscribe to a divine puppeteer who constantly pulls all our strings to make things work out according to plan, I do think that there is an underlying pattern and force to the way things work. And that unusual events in our lives just might have some meaning behind them we need to explore.

Did I happen upon Dani and this challenge by luck? Doubt it. But then again, I don't really believe in just wishing good things our way either. Where I've finally landed right now allows me to acknowledge that there are so many things I just don't understand and accept that I may not ever understand them. But I can be grateful for the good and stand firm in the face of the not so good, and live THIS MOMENT of my life to the best of my ability. The more conscious and aware I become, the better choices I am able to make, the more I can act instead of react, and the better luck I seem to have.

July "I Believe" Challenge" - Day 17 & 18

2010-07-18T07:57:00.000-07:00

I'm behind, I'm busy, and I am feeling pressed. Maybe I'll come back to these topics later - but here's a quick glance for the moment.

Day 17 - Law of Attraction - Without some research I'm not sure I can say what I think about this. On one hand - I think what and how we think makes a huge difference in our lives. On the other hand, I grew up with a "reverse prosperity" gospel that said anything bad that happened in life was a result of a flaw or mistake or - let's call it what they did - SIN. And I think that theology is damaging. So taking the reciprocal law of attraction that thinking and doing good will bring good comes a bit hard to me. Life happens. We play with the hand we are dealt. How we think about that hand makes a difference in our reactions. And dreaming big propels us forward. But I don't think it happens effortlessly.

Day 18 - Love. This topic deserves so much more than I have to give it today. It's the foundation for everything. But the words are not coming for me. So I'm going to point to something so eloquent and beautiful that it took my breath away this morning. Love = Tenderness - yes? Thanks Julie Daley.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 16: Living in the Now

2010-07-16T14:31:00.000-07:00

Truly hearing the laughter, stopping to look my children in the eyes, and joining in.

Feeling the heat from the sun on my skin and noticing the difference stepping into the shade.

Meeting my lover as he comes in the door with a warm embrace rather than a distracted glance or worse yet a running commentary of the ills of now's already past.

Smelling the freshness and feeling the thick fluffiness of towels as I fold them.

Savoring the scent of spices as they simmer.

Reveling in the dirt sifting through my fingers in the garden.

Being with someone, looking through her eyes to her very souls, as she tells her story.

Feeling the pain and not running away.

Giving in to the urge to reach out and make physical contact with someone.

Saying how I really feel.

Loving without expectation or reservation.

Knowing there is no other moment except this one.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 15: Learning

2010-07-15T17:11:00.000-07:00

My 11 year old is learning to cook. She's made dinner the past two nights. She's also learning to ice skate, taking weekly lessons for most of the year this past year. Watching her engage these challenges and observing the way she reacts interests me. Cooking comes more easily to her - and she beams with delight upon successfully creating a meal. Ice skating requires more effort. The footwork doesn't come easily. She risks falling down. She has to practice. And there is no immediate reward like there is with dinner. We've had several discussions about practice and determination and making incremental gains in regard to ice skating. She too often compares herself to another skater out on the ice. No one is pushing her to continue. But she wants it to come easily and is frustrated when it doesn't.

Watching her learn is like looking in a mirror. It's much easier for me to stay motivated to learn when I get instant POSITIVE feedback. It's hard to stay engaged in the process when I feel awkward and clumsy, when I fall down, when no matter how hard I try I can't quite get it right. But that's how learning about myself goes most of the time. It isn't easy to look at myself. It isn't easy to take responsibility for my own stuff. It isn't pretty to see how I create much of what I want to complain about. It's easy to compare myself with others and find all the ways I come up short. Much less satisfying to take a realistic look at me and acknowledge the ways I've grown when measured against myself at previous moments in time. And it's hard to give myself grace sometimes where I see that I still have a long way to go.

But how is she ever going to learn to do those things if she doesn't learn by watching me?

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 14: Laughter

2010-07-14T20:07:00.000-07:00

Laughter rang through my house today.
The contagious laughter of two girls, one little, one tottering on the verge of grown.
I love the way their eyes twinkle.
I love the way their faces crinkle.
I love the un-contained breath and sound, coming from deep inside their bodies.
I can't help but laugh with them. And they know it.
They wield laughter as a tool, elegantly, effortlessly, effectively.
And their giggles multiply with the number of heads bent together - the more the merrier.
I love the laughter of my children. It rings with the sound of life.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 13: Hope

2010-07-14T08:40:00.000-07:00

Hope is a state of mind, not of the world...

Either we have hope within us or we don't;
it is a dimension of the soul, and it's not essentially
dependent on some particular observation of the world
or estimate of the situation. Hope is not prognostication.
It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart;
it transcends the world that is immediately experienced,
and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons...

Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy
that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises
that are obviously heading for success, but, rather an ability
to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands
a chance to succeed. The less propitious the situation in which
we demonstrate hope, the deeper the hope is. Hope is
definitely not the same thing as optimism.
It is not the conviction that something will turn out well,
but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.

--Vaclav Havel

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 12 & 11: Fear & Family

2010-07-12T20:07:00.000-07:00

I've been avoiding these posts. Completely. I don't want to write them. I don't want to think about them. I don't really want to read what anybody else writes about them. I wish one would go away and the other would shape up. But wishful thinking doesn't equal taking responsibility for my own life. So....

Fear -- I believe fear is the ultimate weapon against transformation, the ultimate roadblock on the journey of becoming. Faith like a mustard seed may move mountains, but fear multiplies faster than the worst weed and chokes out anything else trying to grow. Like controlling weeds, controlling fear requires constant monitoring and immediate action. When fear sprouts, we must notice right away and take measures to control it while it's small and still manageable. If we don't, pretty soon we find it taking over. When unchecked, fear has the power to immobilize, to bring out our worst qualities, to spew harm and hate, to bury us alive.

I struggle with fear. I battle it. I sometimes let it stop me in my tracks. I have missed opportunities. I have shortchanged relationships. But I'm learning. I'm learning to take a step in spite of the fear. I've learned to listen to the fear and figure out who is really afraid and let the parts of me that know better assure the little girl, or the searching soul, or the fumbling mother, or the wounded wife that everything is going to be okay. I'm also learning to admit the fear instead of burying it below layers upon layers of defense. Once it's out there, spoken out loud, somehow it seems more manageable. I don't know that I will ever conquer it, but maybe, just maybe, someday I'll learn to co-exist with it and continue on my way in spite of it.

Family -- I want to say a lot of wonderful things about family. But I can't. I'm struggling with family right now. I'm struggling with letting go of the illusions of what I want family to be and accepting the reality of what family is. I want to differentiate from my family, letting their inclinations and expectations control me less, but without completely destroying relationships. It's been difficult to admit the areas where my family has failed me... and it's been difficult to move beyond blame to accepting responsibility for my own life. I've watched and listened to person after person struggle with the pain caused them by their families, the very people that should have loved and supported them. I think most of the clients I've seen so far have all been injured, and not just a little, by their families. I wonder if family really does anyone more good than harm. Yet, I envy families who appear close. Who travel together. Who celebrate holidays and birthdays and events together. I recognize that "the grass is greener" may just be an illusion, but there is a part of me that wants that illusion so much that I can feel the physical ache of the wanting. Family is complicated - and I don't yet have the answers. Family is a crucible for change, the furnace where true treasure is refined. But right now.... the fire feels a little hot.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 10: Failure

2010-07-10T08:25:00.000-07:00

I believe the main reason I'm doing this post today is because I don't want to FAIL at this challenge!

My whole house is in a cranky mood this morning. The girls just got back from camp yesterday. It's been raining on and off all week. Both my husband and I had big weeks from a professional standpoint, me with my final board-level exam hurdle to getting my license and him with a huge move of all the office which he was responsible for. I think we are all tired. We are certainly all grumpy. It happens sometimes, right?

So, why is it than when others around me are grumpy, or when I'm not feeling so on top of my game, that my thoughts automatically go to failure? The voice runs in my head that says that I am somehow single handedly responsible for the happiness of everyone around me, and if they are cranky then somehow I must BE a failure. Notice I don't think that maybe I am failing at a certain task, or that maybe their moods have nothing to do with me, or that maybe we all just need a nap. No - those old tape recordings go straight to YOU ARE.... and a failure is one of the worst things the messages can say about me.

I've always put a lot of stock in external measures of validation - for instance - grades. And I think one of the reasons why this has been so easy for me to do is because a good grade is an objective, visible measure of success, something I can hold up as sort of a talisman against the gremlin voices. Something to prove to the rest of the world that I am NOT a failure.

Now, rationally and realistically - I know I am not a failure. I can list off many things - both internal and external - that support the view that I am blessed and successful beyond measure. So why are those voices so loud sometimes?

I believe it has to do with a cultural mindset that equates failure and weakness, that says succeed at all costs, that says never let them see you cry. And I believe that the only way to shift out of that mindset is to reframe failure. To see failure as a learning opportunity. To look at what I need to learn about me. To see that maybe, if I fail repeatedly in a situation, it's because the situation is not beneficial and growth-producing but rather soul-killing and something I need to leave behind. To be gentle with myself, and to have a sense of humor, and let go of the need to be perfect all of the time.

I'm trying. And sometimes I fail. But I am not a failure. And I'm learning and growing all the time.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 8: Creativity (and Day 9)

2010-07-09T05:59:00.000-07:00

(and Day 9: Exercise)
I believe it's good for you. I believe I don't do enough. And we'll talk about that some more tomorrow with failure....

And now on to more fun things. Creativity. What do I believe about creativity?

For most of my adult life, right up until the last few years, I would have been one of those people who said "I am not creative". I tended to operate in the logical, intellectual realm and rarely get below my neck. I admired creativity in other people, but pretty much refused to acknowledge it in myself.

All that has changed DRAMATICALLY in these past few years. Getting in touch with me, digging deep, honoring feeling, learning to really be with and listen to another have unleashed my creativity at a level I've probably never known before - or at least not since I was young enough to be freely creative without censure.

Most of my creativity revolves around writing - and this blog has been an outlet for that creativity. But I use creativity in other ways in my life too, ways I had never acknowledged before. I'm creative in my mothering. I'm creative in relationship. I'm creative in connection and community.

I believe we are ALL creative. Some of us may have had that creative ability discounted at some point in our lives and stopped believing in it. But I really feel that as we move toward our most authentic selves, our creativity is unleashed. It may manifest itself in "traditional" creative outlets like music, art, and writing - or it may show up in the most unexpected places.

I believe that creativity flourishes in collaboration and these online communities we are CREATING encourage all of us to step into our own creative in large and small ways.

I believe that honoring our creativity is essential in being whole and authentic human beings. Repressing or denigrating our own creativity hampers us in the quest to be who we really are.

I believe that creativity is the language of our souls, and the more fluently we learn to speak it, the more we are able to communicate and connect with the souls of others.

I believe creativity requires honesty and sometimes engages our fears on their very deepest levels. It takes enormous courage to be creative and then share that creativity with the world.

I believe creativity is the light and music and air of our lives and the world is dull and flavorless without it.

I believe creativity connects us all.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 7: Confidence

2010-07-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

Wow, which Renae gets to write this post? I put on a pretty confident front. There are plenty of things I excel at and can have or pretend to have great confidence in doing....

But the reality of the situation is that inside, I am often feeling much less than confident. For example, every time I have to get up in front of a group of people and say ANYTHING - my insides turn into jelly. I often get told I appeared poised and confident - but that just tells me I put on a good front.

Confidence is one of those areas that I've pretty much learned to fake it 'til I make it. And sometimes that's okay, because doing something I am afraid of sometimes gives me some real confidence that I can do it again.

But sometimes, my false front of confidence keeps me from being authentic and real and vulnerable. It makes me hard and defensive. It keeps people from getting close or makes them feel that I could never identify with them and their fears. It isolates me.

But as I own my own voice, and dig deeper into my own self, and figure out what my purpose really is, and live authentically - I become more confident. I'm still scared - a lot - but I'm confident that I can take the next step, do the next required thing, find the next piece to the puzzle. I want to live out of my center so much that I don't need external validation to boost my confidence - but I'm not quite there yet - and the validation from community (like we talked about yesterday) sure does feel nice.

Today - I'm trying to be confident that I will do well on my board exam tomorrow. And I'm trying to be confident that my 7 year old girl scout is big enough to make it at overnight camp on her own.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 6: Compassion

2010-07-06T06:08:00.000-07:00

COMPASSION

I believe compassion compels us to speak out against atrocities like the stoning of a woman.

I believe compassion drives me to do my work in the world.

I believe if I see you and you see me - really SEE - then we can't help but feel compassion for one another.

I believe compassion requires action.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 5: Community

2010-07-05T13:26:00.000-07:00

COMMUNITY

I believe that a good portion of this entire blog experiment for me has been about community.

And I believe that I've said a lot about it already.

And I believe that in the service of spending some face time with my hands-on community today - I am going to recycle a post. Take a look at my post "Connection" and be sure and read Julie Daley's quote at the beginning - because in a nutshell - it sums up what I believe about community.

And if you are here and reading because you are participating in Dani's July challenge - I'm glad you are a new part of my community!

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 4: Body Image

2010-07-04T07:05:00.000-07:00

What do I believe about Body Image? Interesting question, especially following a day writing about authenticity.

I have two realities. Intellectually, in my head, there are LOTS of things I can say about body image. Our society focuses too much on how people look on the outside, our culture is killing our kids with unattainable images of perfection, our body shape and size is largely inherited, every person carries a divine imprint which defines their beauty from the inside out, helping my girls be healthy and active is much more important than focusing on what size they are, there is great creativity and power in being a woman with everything that encompasses.

But my FELT reality is often very different. I have never liked my body. I have always felt fat. The taped messages from long ago tell me that I can never be successful because I am not tall and thin. Being a woman makes me somehow less. And giving and receiving pleasure through my body makes me bad. Everything I've accomplished has been in spite of instead of with the help of my body. People are judging me based on my body instead of for who I really am. I need to make myself as invisible as possible.

I don't believe all of these things, all of the time. But they are messages that the gremlin voices can replay easily. I have to work HARD to counteract these messages. It has taken lots of time and lots of work to see my body as a sacred vessel - something to be honored. I've struggled mightily to embrace my sexuality as something positive and holy. I need to remind myself often about the gifts I have to bring from within so that I can be present and real.

My body is beautiful. It has carried me well through the first half of my life. It has nurtured and nourished two beautiful children. It gives me the ability to interact with and experience the world and the people around me. It's capable of giving someone else a shoulder to lean on, a lap to snuggle in, or a hug to say "I see you and you are loved." It is the conduit to pleasurable, sensual, intimate relationship. It contains and carries numinous energy.

But I have to remind myself of all of that regularly, or I slip too easily into the old felt reality. And I have to work hard to minimize the negative and accentuate the positive messages for my daughters so their tapes play healthier messages inside their hearts and souls.

What's real? What's authentic? All of it I guess, the constant push and pull and struggle. Sometimes I feel like I'm making progress, but it's a long, slow climb. But, I trust my body to carry me forward as I go.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 3: Authenticity

2010-07-03T07:51:00.000-07:00

I believe authenticity means that I recognize and honor each facet, all the roles, every aspect. I am many things and many people. Sometimes I don't even recognize myself. But in spending time with me, listening to my self, holding every emotion with curiosity and not judgment - I'm getting to know the pieces. And I'm getting braver about letting you know them too. That's authenticity.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 2: Anger

2010-07-02T09:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, so my company is now gone, and while the house is not quiet, I can at least spend some time in my office without feeling like a poor hostess. It's still early in the day, so I'm not scrambling to play catch up. The biggest issue today is condensing my thoughts about such a huge topic into a blog-worthy length. I don't twitter, so I don't know how many people chose to participate in this challenge via twitter - but I bow in amazement to any of you who are capturing thoughts about these topics in 140 characters!!!

ANGER

It feels dangerous to even open the door a little to this topic. My family did not give feelings of any kind a predominant place in our lives when I was a kid - it was a sin to be TOO anything - overjoyed, devastated, anxious, excited, sad, proud or disappointed. And God forbid anyone ever ADMIT to being angry - although everyone seemed to BE angry an awful lot. I think the message I received through osmosis about anger echoes the message children of closet alcoholics receive. It's a message where the spoken and acknowledged environment totally denies the reality of the situation, leaving a child to question whether her perception of the situation is true. The end result of this constant cognitive dissonance is a loss of trust in one's own intuition and judgment. Constantly told that one's felt and perceived reality is indeed NOT true, one loses the ability to trust any feeling or perception. While there was no alcohol involved, I experienced much of the same deception. Anger lurked under the surface almost all of the time, occasionally exploding in flash of flying sparks or sometimes bubbling through the crusty surface that looked solid but barely covered a mass of molten fire. I learned early to tread carefully and avoid the sudden shower of sparks.

I was taught to believe anger is not productive. That we should turn the other cheek. That we should make amends before the sun set, and that we should forgive and forget. But now, I believe something very different.

I believe anger is a warning sign to me that something is wrong, out of balance, unjust, or harmful. If I experience anger I need to stop and spend some time in examination of myself and of the situation. Maybe the anger has pushed me into a reactive space because it's come close to an old, vulnerable wound that I need to uncover and shine some light on in order to heal. Maybe the anger shows that something in my life is out of balance, that I am not taking responsibility to get my deepest needs met in a healthy way. Maybe the anger indicates a situation where I need to step in and lend a helping hand to someone in need or advocate on someone's behalf. Maybe the anger tells me I'm in a situation that I need to remove myself from because it is soul-killing rather than life-giving.

I'm still wrestling with these ideas. Sometimes I don't want to look at my unconscious reactions and change them into self-awareness. I get frustrated with external situations that cause me anger, and I'm still in the process of trying to figure out where I should advocate and where I need to let be. Anger directed toward me feels uncomfortable, and I still feel a sense of guilt when I experience anger toward someone else.

But I believe that anger must be honored. I believe it's okay to be angry. I believe the heat of anger, appropriately managed, can fuel great personal growth and social change.

I do want to add a caveat - anger inappropriately managed - can of course cause great harm. In my anger, I do not have a right to harm anyone else. I do not have a right to inflict injury on another because I am angry. Out of control anger is dangerous.

I believe that using anger as an internal temperature gauge can be very useful - and acknowledging the feeling and using the anger to point to the areas of growth - is one of the most beneficial things I can do.

I believe learning to approach anger with curiosity rather than fear changes everything.

July "I Believe" Challenge - Day 1: Purpose

2010-07-01T16:49:00.000-07:00

I have enlisted in my first blog challenge over at Dani Fake Webb's site. Dani has a list of topics, one per day, which a group of us will be using to clarify our beliefs. I usually blog about twice a week, so every day seems a bit daunting - and it's nearly 7pm on Day 1 and I already feel behind. We have company at the house, and quite time has been hard to come by. Plus, when I saw the topic for the very first day, I cringed inwardly - PURPOSE. Wow. Really? I'm supposed to write about what I believe about purpose.

Well, here goes. I believe in the purpose of this exercise. I think that clarifying our beliefs, articulating them, stating them out loud, is important. Phenomenologically, my world has shifted significantly in the past few years, and I don't always do a good job of articulating what I truly believe - for lots of reasons.

Purpose is hard for me. Because I am reluctant to say that I believe we all have a specific purpose for our lives, a plan already laid out beforehand that we have to search around in the dark to find. On the other hand, I think every one of us has something to contribute - a purpose. So what do I really believe? I believe that my purpose is to recognize and honor the imprint of the divine in every person I encounter. I believe that my purpose as a therapist is to see and honor the person sitting across from me and be a witness and an encouragement on his or her journey. And I believe that acting with a purpose in mind means that I act intentionally, consciously, making choices -- instead of reacting from an unconscious place. Purpose can only be filled through awareness and intentional action.

So, for the next month, I'm going to try to try to purposefully, intentionally set out some thoughts about what I believe. Here we go......

*8 Things: Anti-Power Messages

2010-06-27T07:43:00.000-07:00

I really like Magpie Girl's *8 Things lists. Yesterday she posted about 8 messages she is trying to counteract in order to stand in her own power more and to enable her daughters to do the same. Teasing out those old tapes that keep us from risking growth over security, the messages that keep us stuck, can be a long and painful process. I've identified many of those messages and hopefully begun the process of counteracting a few. Here are some that I'm working on - and like Magpie Girl - they aren't just for me, I'm doing my best to give my daughters other messages, messages that help them stand in their own power and take the risk to grow.

1. No pain, no gain.
2. Never let them see you cry.
3. Don't be too smart or no one will like you.
4. Emotions cloud your judgment.
5. Never tell a family secret.
6. Good girls don't.
7. Boys are better than girls.
8. God = male.

While I could write a paragraph or several on each of these messages, they are pretty clear in their succinct form. And they represent just a few of the paradigms I'm working to change in my own life while giving my daughters more options and a broader view. We try to honor emotions, have open and vulnerable conversations within and outside the family, listen to our bodies and make healthy choices, develop our abilities and talents to the fullest, keep open to possibility, and recognize the divine all around us and in each one of us.

In July, I'm going to be trying something new, something that will probably pick up on some of these themes. I'm taking a challenge to write about something I believe EVERY day during July. If I manage to do it - my monthly output here will increase about four fold, but I also hope to be able to figure out and articulate what I believe about a range of topics. More details soon.....

Adjusting the Temperature

2010-06-25T07:19:00.000-07:00

Over at Renegadeconversations the other day, Ronna put up a post called "I'm not in charge of the damn theromostat!" It's a great piece, and it's had me percolating on several different levels for several days now.

I bear scars from the thermostat wars. My mother radiates heat from her body, drips sweat from her hairline, and gets irritable in temperatures over 75 degrees. My father must have ice water running in his veins. He wears long-sleeves, jeans, boots and a hat in the middle of August in West Texas, and I didn't know his pickups had air-conditioners during my formative years. We had central heat and an evaporative "swamp-cooler" system that kept us comfortable in all but the hottest and most humid weather. But comfort was relative - and in my house, everyone could not be comfortable at the same time. I was the thermostat pawn. During the winter months, Dad would usually start things. "Go turn the heater up", he would say. Dutifully, I'd adjust the dial, bumping up the temperature by a few degrees. But it wouldn't be long until Mom came fuming into the living room hallway as if she were on fire. "Who turned the heater up? It's burning up in here. I'm dripping! Turn that thing down!" And so, ever the dutiful daughter, I would trot over and bump the dial down, this time trying to find a happy medium between the two preferred set-points, usually a no-win situation. My feet were always cold. In the summer, without central temperature control, things were a bit less contentious because the only adjustment to be made involved the speed of the air being circulated. But after a hot day outside in full dress, Dad was often cold in the evenings under the higher fan settings. And although I don't think he won the war, he did win the summer nights battle, relegating all of us to sweltering and praying for a breeze, because we didn't run the AC at night.

I survived those wars and live in gratitude for central heat and air with a programmable thermostat, plus a husband who is a bit more compatible with me than my parents were with one another. But physical temperature is not really the point at all. Ronna's post made me think about how I adjust what I say, how and whether I share my feelings, how I behave based on what will make everyone around me comfortable. So often, just like I did with the thermostat as a child, I will try to position myself at the perfect in-between, creating comfort for everyone around me. My tendency to do this increases with the threat of conflict. I'll do anything to keep it comfortable for everyone else, no matter how much it makes me sweat, or how cold my toes are. If it will keep you happy, I'll hide my own discomfort, my true feelings. I'll tone it down and cool it off. Or I'll warm it up even if there is icy rage sitting in my chest. Just to keep it comfortable. To keep someone from yelling at me about the temperature. Or at least I've operated that way in the past.

But I'm with Ronna - and I'm ready to stand up and shout - "I am not in charge of the damn thermostat!" If you are too hot - take off a layer or move away from the heat. If you are too cold, go put on a sweater. But I'm done with adjusting my own internal thermostat in fear of making someone uncomfortable. I'm tired of being the uncomfortable one. I'm going to start taking responsibility for maintaining my own temperature, paying attention to my body and turning up the heat when things need to see a little action, or cooling it down a notch when it's time to chill. And I'm going to work on not feeling responsible for managing the comfort level for anyone else at the expense of denying my own feelings.

As I sit here writing this post, I am acutely aware of the guilt and unease washing over me just from typing the words above. The voices are saying "wow, that sounds really selfish and egotistical of you, you really don't care a whit about other people, do you really think anyone will like you if you act the way you are describing?" And those voices are strong. But here's the rub. What I'm saying isn't coming from a place of selfishness and egotism. It's coming from a deep pull to be authentic and open and vulnerable. It's coming from a place of compassion that empathizes deeply with the discomfort of others. It's coming from the voice of the inner self that says I must own who I am, what I believe, how I feel in order to bring my gifts into the light and use them for good. I am not advocating running over anyone or being mean or selfish. I'm just going to be me. I'm always working on being the best, most authentic, most compassionate and loving me I can be - but if me doesn't work for you - then I need to leave the responsibility of that where it belongs - with you. I'm not a little girl anymore who has no choice but to respond to the conflicting demands of her parents. I am a grown woman with deep thoughts and real feelings that I need to honor, even if no one else does. I don't need for anyone else to tell me if the temperature is just right. I know it for myself and I am the only one who can adjust it for me if it's not right. My hope is that in learning to do that for myself - I create an environment where others can do it too and we can all manage our own thermostats and stop yelling at someone else to adjust the temperature to our liking.

Spreading the Love

2010-06-21T17:01:00.000-07:00

I got my first "blog acknowledgment" today, from Angie Cox. There are rules apparently, so here I go, although I'm not always a big rule follower.

Rule 1: Thank the person.
Well Angie, thank you! I'm honored to be on your list of favorite blogs. Angie describes me pretty well in her blurb about my blog - and that description made me laugh. For someone I've never met, she has me pretty well figured out.

Rule 2: Ten Things I Love:
1. The house to myself in the early mornings while everyone else is still asleep.
2. A steaming hot mug of coffee during above solitude.
3. The laughter of my 7 year old when she is being tickled.
4. Being in the car by myself on a long drive.
5. Sunshine.
6. The Alps.
7. Old town Vienna.
8. Cuddling.
9. An ice cold diet coke on a hot day.
10. Freshly mowed grass as the sun sets in the summer.

Rule 3: Pass It On.
This is a bit difficult (see I told you I don't like to follow the rules). I'm supposed to pick my 10 favorite blogs to pass this award along to. And I've avoided making this list several times. I have an aversion to choosing in any way that might look like I'm playing favorites or where someone might possibly feel left out. And I don't want to guilt anyone into participating in something they don't want to participate in.

So.... here's the deal. Most of the links on my sidebar are blogs. A few are full-fledged sites, but most are there for the blogs written by some fabulous individuals. I LOVE all of these blogs. But in honor of the spirit of the game, I'll pick a few blogs of women who were strangers just months ago who have become an important piece of my life over the last little while. If they want to play, they are welcome. If they want to just soak in the fact that they are changing lives with their virtual presence - that's perfectly okay. Every one of these women has commented on my blog and responded to my comments on hers. They have become a significant part of my support system and they give me the courage to continue to find my voice. And since Angie passed this on to me - I'm not passing it back - that would just be a silly yo-yo - but SHE is definitely on this list:

Elissa Elliot at Living the Questions
Julie Daley at unabashedly female
Lindsey Mead Russell at A Design So Vast
Jena Strong at bullseye, baby
Ronna Detrick at RENEGADEconversations

And from my real as well as virtual world - two of my favorite people. One who blogs regularly and one who should -- and both of whom my life would be much less rich without:

Jeanie Miley and Strand Girl

So - if you find yourself on the list and want to play along - consider yourself invited. If you don't - no guilt, no pressure. Only love and gratitude for what you've added to my life.

Father's Day Confessions

2010-06-20T05:28:00.000-07:00

Much of what I write slants in the direction of feminism - from my political leanings and my ideas about social justice to my ever shifting theology. Claiming my feminine strengths, finding a balance, wishing the world did not require "manning" up, finding the feminine side of the divine, hoping my girls grow up with a different paradigm than I did consume much of my writing time and energy.

But here is the confession: I live a VERY traditional life. I've been faithfully married to the same man for almost 16 years. We've been together since I was 22. I have two daughters, whom I've stayed home to raise since my oldest was born 11 years ago, leaving my career as a computer programmer, where I had worked hard to establish myself. I do most of the cooking and cleaning and laundry and doctors visits and carpool. For many years we went to church every Sunday, without fail, unless we were out of town or sick (this morning, I'm sitting at my computer instead, enjoying the quiet of the house before everyone else is up). I volunteer at school. I've been a girl scout cookie mom. I do however, draw the line at sewing! There is nothing wrong with any of these things. I am not ashamed of them. But unless you know me in real life, you might get an idea from the words on the screen that my life looks a bit different than it really does.

But, there is a bit more to the story. When my first daughter was born, my husband and I made the decision, together, that I would stay home with her for a while - an indefinite period of time. I HATED my job during that time and did not see my work situation improving much. So staying home was an option I took - gladly. And it was the hardest thing I have EVER done. The next year proved to be a time that stripped me bare and left me puddled in a heap on the floor. My life came untethered and I found myself completely adrift. Looking back at that time, I can see how it laid the foundation for where I am now, by ripping me away from my moorings and forcing me to remake my life. I had no idea how to be a mother. Courtney's birth ripped me apart, both literally and figuratively. My marriage almost fell apart. I lost my identity, an identity I had worked for with unrelenting focus since 5th grade. I had no support system. I had no idea who I really was or what I was doing. I had to dive deep and I had to grow up.

And through that process, I found myself. I discovered what it means to nurture. I began, for the first time in my life, to make friends with other women. I learned to embrace the rhythms of the days and the seasons. I nourished my family, physically and emotionally. I learned I had untapped resources that were of value. Eventually, I re-framed my own life, and began to see more accurately my own personal myth and the value in my story. I braved a 180 degree change in my "career path" and now am on the cusp of doing what I am really designed and equipped to do instead of sitting behind a desk working on a computer all day. I found the feminine by taking a route contrary to what most radical feminists would prescribe. I found wholeness somewhere among the laundry and the dishes.

And there is another aspect to the story, that today, needs acknowledgment. I could not have done any of this without the support and encouragement of my husband. While our role division appears traditional, he is the least traditional man I know. He can and does cook and clean and do laundry. He nurses sick kids better than I do. He wanted another girl the second time around, because he feared a son of his would get picked on for not being "macho" enough. He believes our girls can be anything they want to be, and he encourages them. Just last night, at the dinner table, he facilitated a discussion with them about not settling for a man who would not or could not take care of himself. He told them not to knuckle under to social pressure to get married. He will teach them to be strong, independent women. He does as much to raise feminist daughters as I do.

And he has been an unfailing support to me during this period of remaking my life. He has not once complained about the juggling of schedules, he has given me time and space to study and grow, he has been a true partner as a parent, and he has loved me and encouraged me even when I wasn't completely sure of myself. My life would look very different without him by my side. So on this day created to celebrate fathers, I celebrate the father of my daughters, the man I love, the partner I would not trade. Thank you my dear, for who you are. Happy Father's Day!

After the Whirlwind

2010-06-18T13:20:00.001-07:00

I'm glad it's Friday. It is finally time to take a breath. The first big breath I've had in a while. School has been out for two weeks today for my kids, but today marks the start of summer for me. And I'm seriously considering napping for several days straight.

The last couple of years have been a whirlwind. I started grad school in August 2007, saying I would only take one class a quarter until I got both my kids in elementary school. The first two quarters, I did just what I had intended, taking 3 hours every 10 weeks. Busy, but very doable.

The next quarter - I signed up for 2 classes, a regular class and a weekend intensive - Counseling Diverse Communities. And that point, my world began to fly apart. The diversity class proved to be one of the most intense experiences of my entire degree program. And during that term, I also signed up for a week intensive summer course in Taos, NM - Sexual Counseling and Therapy. By the beginning of year two - I had 18 course credit hours under my belt - a full load in most graduate programs - and the foundations of my world had cracked and every bit of ground under me began to shift and hasn't stood still since.

The next year, from August through July, I took 33 course credit hours. An insane load - almost double the full time load in most programs and six hours more than our program recommended. That left me with 3 classes this past year and my practicum and internship experience. I finished up my internship in April, graduated in May, toured Europe for the first time just two weeks ago, and then came back and worked a full week of VBS (vacation bible school -- for the uninitiated) in a leadership role that I did not ask for nor anticipate.

To say I'm dead on my feet doesn't even begin to describe it. VBS always wears me out. More so this year, partly because I was completely unprepared. And partly because I've really outgrown some of the things about my current community of faith. So amidst the usual chaos - I also was dealing with my own lesser strengths and a not insignificant amount of cognitive dissonance.

But I've realized a few things through this entire process:

~ School makes me as happy as it always has - I LOVE to learn - I LOVE the classroom experience - and I already miss it.

~ I can write. Academic papers, commentary, more creative pieces. I've had great encouragement for my writing through these past few years; something I didn't really anticipate.

~ Hope and healing through the telling of our stories makes up a major part of my life's work. I'm excited to get started.

~ I haven't had a solid two week break since I started this process.

~ My kids are fulfilled where they are - and that's okay, even if it no longer fills me in that same way.

~ I can be a baptist and honor the goddess in me at the same time. And the choice I make today doesn't have to be the choice I make tomorrow.

~ I could have never made this journey alone.

But most of all - right this very minute - I am looking forward to absolutely NO obligations for the next two weeks... except for the things I've already added to my calendar this afternoon.....

Ten Things I Know

2010-06-14T04:26:00.000-07:00

Traveling stretches and changes me in ways I never imagine before I leave.

Certain places resonate with our souls, and we know them instantly when we set foot in them, even if we've never been there before.

On the other side of fear, I always wonder what there was to be afraid of.

Summer activities should never start before 11am.

It's impossible to give yourself a real hug.

Every once in a while, almost too good to be true works in my favor.

Friendships are worth the time and effort. Pets are questionable.

Solitude can be hard to come by when school is not in session.

I can trade a certain amount of solitude for the laughter of my children and be happy.

I wish my mother had a big red plate.

Around the World and Back Again

2010-06-11T06:58:00.000-07:00

I'm home. And after a couple of days delay, back at my desk, looking for words and wondering where to start the story. The theme running around the blogs these days seems to be movement, shift, process, journey -- the stretching of boundaries in order to grow the Self. It's funny how the energy flows among and between us all, seeming to create these themes in waves. Well, stretching and movement, shift and change, widening of boundaries certainly provide a framework for my own travels.

We arrived back in the U.S. on Tuesday, home on Wednesday, and this morning marks the first day my body clock has some idea of what time it truly is. Travel across time zones exhausts the body, and this trip exhausted my mind. It takes a bit to recover from the exhilaration. Re-integrating into my "r"eal life means dealing with the aftershocks from the seismic event of parental absence. Grounding my kids and holding them until their world stops trembling means reaching down for something deep inside of me in order to find the energy somewhere beyond my own aching bones. Today, finally, the tremors have stopped and we all feel steady on our feet again.

But travel, and all that comes with it, has shifted something deep inside of me.

First a bit about the trip. We traveled with a group from Lucerne, Switzerland up into the southern tip of Germany, through the Bavarian and Tyrolean countryside, to the hills of Salzburg and the cosmopolitan landscape of Vienna. We toured castles and cathedrals. We walked across bridges that have been in existence longer than our country. We stood where Mozart and Wagner, Jung and Freud, kings and tyrants have trod. We marveled at the breathtaking scenery and sat mesmerized at the recreation of a desperate plea for salvation that has turned into a recurring act of worship. We listened to amazingly intelligent and informed guides recount layers of history I didn't even know existed. We ate and drank in excellent company in the shadows of the Alps and the Vienna Opera House. And we did our best to soak it all in.

The whole of it simply overwhelmed me at times. I had a minor breakdown in Salzburg, so completely inundated that I literally shut down. I had to take a look at my limits and how my inability to ask for what I need pushes me into a space inside myself I do not like to go. I recognized in myself how important times of solitude and quiet have become and how my Self runs dry and becomes depleted without those times. I became more in tune with my ability to hold toxic judgment at bay and accept and integrate true connection. I faced how my need for external validation keeps me stuck in situations that only damage my soul. And I realized how much the connection and community I do have, both physical and virtual, keeps me grounded and how much I missed it while I traveled.

Taking this trip involved taking a risk and pushing the boundaries, for me. To many, a trip like this would be nothing, no big deal, a simple adventure or a pedestrian occurrence. But for me, it was a milestone. A marker in the journey of how far I've come from a West Texas farm girl who only knew the world was bigger than the states surrounding Texas because I watched Dan Rather or Tom Brokaw on the evening news. Moving across central Europe, seeing my deep history mirrored in faces but speaking in tongues, standing on the layers of history, lifting my eyes toward the divine in sacred spaces leaves me without adequate words. I experienced something deep. And I felt calm and assured and grounded, not uncomfortable or foreign or afraid. And I want to go back. I will.

There is more, these are only the highlights. I have a feeling I will be processing the meaning of this trip for a long, long time. So if you are interested, stay tuned. For now I have an alpine mountain of laundry to do.

Break Time

2010-05-28T21:03:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be on a little blogging break for a couple of weeks. This comes at a bit of an inopportune time - just as I am beginning to revel in the connections. But I feel confident my virtual friends will still be around when I return. Just wanted to say that I haven't simply disappeared - and I will be back. With lots of posts to catch up on reading and hopefully some inspiration for writing some new ones of my own.

Blessings to all while I'm gone. See you soon!

Connection

2010-05-27T08:23:00.000-07:00

That's what is so powerful about women connecting. We get to remember something within us when we witness it, truly witness it, in another woman. Something sacred wakes up again, wakes up from a slumber that was meant to keep this sacred feminine safe until a time when it could come forth again. That time is now. We are birthing Her. Together. Always together.
~ Julie Daley

I've participated a few times in Magpie Girl's 8*Things posts. One of these challenged us to list eight people who supported us, either virtually or in real life. I started to write something more than once and then stopped. Narrowing a list to eight proved difficult. I feared hurt feelings if I left someone off, especially one of my face to face friends, in order to include some of the new "virtual" friends I've found lately. So I ended up posting nothing.

Then I wrote "Enough" and posted it on Saturday. Every time I thought about what I'd written, I cringed and wanted to rip it down and hide it away. And then something rather amazing began to happen. Women began to comment, supporting, encouraging, identifying. I received a couple of comments by email, from friends I interact with online but also know face to face. But every public remark identified a friend I only know virtually. And those comments, and the subsequent emails, made all the difference. That post still leaves me feeling a bit vulnerable and exposed, but the support from an online community of women walking the same path while in distant cities helped me to own my voice in a new way.

So I have been reflecting on the power of community, both face to face and virtual. We all need connection with people in our lives that we can see and touch. Sometimes nothing but a hug will do. But technology has given us a new way to reach out and connect with people we might have never had the privilege of knowing before the social media craze. On this path of re-imagining my life over the last four years or so, I have formed two friendships that have changed my life, primarily through online connection. And lately, in the past month or so, I've met a double handful of amazing powerful women who have given generously from a well of support and encouragement and challenge. I have remembered and woken up something sacred inside myself by witnessing it in these women - just as Julie said so well.

All of these women write. All of them honor the divine feminine in their own ways. None of them hesitate to ask the hard questions. All give generously. I feel the power in the connections and find myself amazed at the overlap. I read a blog and then see a comment from someone I "know" from a different space. The threads form a web, interconnected, so tangled together the start and end are impossible to unwind. And this web has a strength that holds and supports us all.

I'm tempted to make a list of these women - but somehow that seems too concrete and confining. And truly, the list already exists on the left hand side of the page in my blogroll. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the warm support and responsiveness of each of these women. And for the continued support of my face to face friends, some of whom don't or aren't currently writing for the blogosphere. I have NEVER had a tribe, a community, a circle of women like this. The feeling of birthing something together leaves me at a loss for words.

I don't know what all of this means. But I know there is an energy here, around these virtual connections, that feels new to me. Virtual connection allows for an instant connection to the heart and soul of a matter without the usual social niceties getting in the way. We don't first assess how someone looks. We don't ask what someone *does* or how many kids they have or where they live. We connect around deep thoughts, sacred ideas that resonate. We encourage and support one another without competition or comparison. Somehow the virtual space allows for the display of feminine strengths and facilitates connectivity in a way that the face to face world makes more difficult.

And all of that leaves me with the question of where is this all going? what do we do with all of it? Maybe there are no immediate answers to those questions. Maybe the virtual connections simply allow us to step more powerfully into the lives we each live. But maybe, just maybe, there is something more. Something shimmers on the horizon just beyond my view - so I keep moving, wondering what's just over the horizon, and glad to have companions on the journey.

Enough

2010-05-22T12:00:00.000-07:00

I feel the flow, in and around me, such force.

Something so powerful, so connective, so deep and ancient must be named.

And once named, must have shape, a form - but no shape nor form, nor all of them together encompass enough to define the mystery.

But definition demands form - so human, like me - but more.

Such force must be harnessed, categorized, captured and controlled. Great structures and works built to honor and pacify, hierarchies and rules because rules take away fear, give safety.

And good and evil must be separated, so good can be clung to and evil avoided. But such artificial division only serves to confuse and confound.

And a way must be made, to understand, to capture, to ensure certainty. Maybe the divine wrapped in flesh might be understood, explained.

But the explanations only cause strife and conflict and heartbreak. The need to know, to be right, to win drowns out everything else.

In the fighting, everyone loses. The boxes built to contain only serve to condemn.

So, I say, to hell with the boxes - let me simply step into the flow, let the current carry me where it will, whether I float or drown.

Enough of trying to capture the rapids in a cup, to define the undefinable, to explain the mystery away.

Enough of sin and salvation, heaven and hell.

Enough of rules and power plays.

Enough.

I feel the flow - can you feel it too?

Gathering the Threads

2010-05-18T07:29:00.000-07:00

In between times always throw me for a loop. I don't do drifting very well. I work best under a little pressure, with a goal or a deadline or a finish point (usually defined by someone else) clearly marked. And life right now, in this post-graduation limbo, appears a little hazy. More than one project clamors for my attention, but I'm not very interested in tackling a big project right now. I'm doing what has to be done but not making much progress on things I should and could be doing.

Here's what's next:

A trip. An important adventure. One that feels like it has the possibility of blowing my world apart in a myriad of ways. Other than a brief little cruise in the gulf, I've never been on a trip that required me to carry a passport. And although I have found the safest, easiest, least adventurous way to do it - I will be traveling internationally for the first time in my life. It feels big, and the preparations have brought with them more untangling of deep stuff than I expected.

An test. An objective measure that puts a number on all the of experiences I've had over the past three years. A numerical assessment of whether my knowledge and skills meet the requirements. Two hundred questions that mean everything and answer nothing about the real reasons I do what I do. I've made my life around such tests, with right or wrong answers and perfect scores. I know how to take a test. The results of the tests I've taken before have set me apart from the crowd. Others look at my scores and recruit me to their teams. But those test scores have covered up the real me. They are a mask I can wear. They are an ideal I feel like I have to live up to while underneath I often feel like a fraud.

An interview. A chance to practice what I've learned. Maybe a place to stretch and grow and begin to let this person I've found under layers begin to emerge. Maybe. I feel a resistance in myself though - and I don't know what it is just yet. This interview fell into my lap, and for that I'm thankful, but I didn't anticipate everything falling into place as it did. So, somehow, I feel like maybe I haven't paid my dues. And the process of meeting all the regulations and requirements in order to be able to work in my field circles around on itself, without a clear linear path, causing me additional distress. Exactly what order should I do things in? Can I interview before I've posted a score on the above mentioned test? What should I do first? And then, too, what happens if the interview doesn't go my way? Should I have a backup plan?

A death. My grandfather is dying. No one knows the timing. The process may be long, drawn out, painful and exhausting. Or, the end may come quickly and unexpectedly somewhere along the way. But recovery, returning home, relief in this life are not options. He is a lynchpin in a system and process that spans generations of my family. A system I've worked desperately to differentiate myself from, one small and painful step at a time. This incident, this illness, should be a time to rally around, dissolve into the family unit, reprise my role as good daughter - but I do not want to. I haven't made the trip out yet. It's been convenient not to go. I have a myriad of excuses and I've used them. A truly differentiated person would be able to stand and say "I'm not coming" and offer no excuse. I am not there yet and I'm struggling with obligation and duty and compassion and comfort and how all of those things look inside my family system.

There are so many threads, so many pieces to fit into the puzzle. So much to look and and examine and decide about. Where am I headed? What's next? Why do I do what I do? On one hand, I see myself making progress, taking small steps and big ones to move me forward. On the other hand, somewhere in the deep recesses are distant dreams that I am afraid to even articulate. So do I celebrate the progress or confront the fear? Can I do both?

Every thread I gather only seems to increase the tension, making it impossible to hold without stretching out my arms to embrace the totality of it all.

Graduation Day

2010-05-15T08:39:00.000-07:00

Today is it. Graduation Day. Again. For the third time in my life.

At the first one, I had no idea where I was headed. On the verge of adulthood, my life spread before me, without a clue. I didn't know enough to be scared - and I stepped off the cliff into the wider world. A world that began to work on me, tore down what I thought were my very foundations and gave me a brick or two with which to rebuild.

At the second one - four years later - I still had little concept of where I was headed. I had trained for a career. I had a few skills. But barely old enough to drink, having voted in one presidential election, I really didn't have any idea about how to conduct my life. Headed to Dallas based mostly on my gut, I hoped I would settle in somehow. Finally I did, little by little.

And now - this one. Seventeen years after the last. I could fill volumes with what I've learned in the past seventeen years. But much of it has come in the last three. Because I took a detour. I found MY road less traveled. I've journeyed into the depths. And I'm still there. No end will be found in crossing the stage today, in moving the tassel from right to left. Only a mile marker on the path. The steps cost more on this path, take more strength, sometimes seem less stable. But the view I catch glimpses of makes my soul sing.

I wonder how I will feel twenty years from now - about this time, this place? Will the me of the future see the me of now as the me of now sees the me just graduating from high school? Will there be more large detours along the way, with major turning points? Does my certainty about the path I'm on echo the exuberant hubris of my senior self ready to tackle the world?

I don't know those answers. All I know is that this moment is right. I will set down a stone in the path today to mark this passage. I will celebrate the thousands of footsteps that have brought me here. I will thank those who have held my hand or a light for me along the way. And tomorrow, I'll pack up and move on down the road.

In My Circle

2010-05-14T08:32:00.000-07:00

wise grandmother & tattooed biker chick & naked woodland nymph & author & prostitute & scholar & great mother & teacher & priestess & beggar &
social debutante & princess & innocent child & prophet & white witch &
green witch & black witch & poet & bitch & dreamweaver & shaman &
glowing bride & artist & mystic & friend & student & queen & coward & martyr & seductress & midwife & church lady & heretic & seer & slave girl & Hera &
a storyteller & weaver & dancers -- a ballerina and a wild native with a drum & wife & others who still stand in the shadows, waiting to be seen

Eight Things: Small Gratitudes

2010-05-13T17:00:00.000-07:00

I like Magpie Girl's 8*Things lists. It's been a pretty glum couple of weeks around here with lots of existential angst (surprise, surprise, right?). So I thought maybe this was my invitation to focus on the positive for a few minutes. If you live for the existential angst - check out my other post for the day and come back soon - I'm sure there will be more.

Small things I am grateful for:

1. Hot baths
2. Friends that listen to my ranting and raving.
3. Longer light in the evenings.
4. A space to write.
5. Benadryl
6. A husband who never minds going out for a bite when I don't want to cook.
7. Homemade Mother's Day cards and gifts.
8. Possibility and another chance every day.

Every Little Step

2010-05-13T10:56:00.000-07:00

The journey of a lifetime, of my lifetime, often can only be measured in millimeters. Every step away from the things that constrain me, hold me back, ask me to play small and dumb, bury me requires tremendous effort - more effort than I think I have on some, maybe most, days.

The systems of family, religion, culture, society that like the status quo offer fierce resistance to forward progress. Within the web, I can hold certain positions with ease, weightlessly, effortlessly. I can move around inside this confined space fluidly, gracefully. It's easy. It's dark. It's suffocating.

But move toward light, approach the boundaries and the atmosphere becomes more viscous, thicker, harder to navigate. Movement requires more persistence, more strength. Progress becomes slower and slower, until I'm not sure I'm moving at all - and the pull of the web draws me back, closer to the center.

Every word, every step, every though that takes me out of bounds has to be hard won. Nothing seems easy. Doubt, guilt, fear - no terror - make it nearly impossible to take the next step.

From the outside looking in - and sometimes from the inside looking out - these tiny steps seem ridiculous. Amounting to nothing. Simply no big deal. How can such tiny movements induce such inner turmoil?

A Hero's Journey? I don't know. A journey to what destination? I'm not sure. All I know is that I have to keep moving, bit by tiny bit, toward light, air, freedom. If I don't, I will drown.

Motherhood - The Complete and Virtual Annihilation of Self

2010-05-09T19:24:00.000-07:00

I have never enjoyed Mother's Day sermons at church. Too often, the rhetoric and recognition only serve to further damage the tender hearts of moms with no babies to hold in their arms and moms with children who struggle and test them in ways most of us cannot imagine, those who have lost mothers recently, moms who chose not to be moms and who must replay that decision when deciding whether to stand, women and men who are separated from their children, or who desperately want a child and do not have one. Sometimes, those aching hearts receive a nod, too often they simply break in silence. And then, the words offered up fail to do justice to the moms who do have both feet deep in the mucky work of parenting every day.

But today, the sermon I heard made all others pale in comparison. The words not only damaged every tender and vulnerable heart in the audience, they ripped at the self-esteem of every woman present - mother or not. I'm not sure what the intent of the message was supposed to be. But I know what the take-away was. The phrase "complete and virtual annihilation of yourself" echoed around the room no less than a dozen times. Held up as inevitable, and lauded as sacrificial, in order that women could somehow understand the depth of God's love. Frustration in motherhood equaled sin. The all too prevalent depression women experience upon giving birth brought a woman to the place where grace could be experienced. Giving up hopes and dreams to protect and propel progeny garnered applause.

Every mother I encountered afterward expressed deep incense and anger. Every young woman not yet a mother expressed fear. Is this REALLY the message we want to communicate to mothers, future mothers, former mothers, husbands and fathers of mothers? That the experience of motherhood draws us somehow closer to God through bifurcation, pain and ANNIHILATION of self? WTF?

I struggle with my flawed community of faith. There are positives there for my family. But I am tired of needing to debrief my daughters after the sermon. I found some affirmation today in the fact that I was not the ONLY one. Several other mothers left fuming and expressed their frustration. Often I feel alone in my protest, but today we found solidarity in our status.

Every week, I move closer to leaving, but it is not as simple as just walking away, for reasons too complicated to write. One of these days I will. But in the meantime, I will reach out and debrief, not only my daughters but anyone else who will listen. I will provide counterpoint to the 4 alliterative points. I will do my best to speak up, speak out, speak the TRUTH to anyone who will listen - even as I count the cost. But no cost is as high as "the complete and virtual annihilation of SELF" - that is a price I refuse to pay.

Life Changers

2010-05-06T12:33:00.000-07:00

My friend Elissa just posted a list of books that changed her worldview, based on a challenge from her editor. It sounded like an interesting list, so I thought I would do mine here.

These are not particularly in order except maybe close to the order I read them in and some of them are not #1 best sellers, but they have all made a serious impact on how I look at the world.

1. The Dance of the Dissident Daughter - Sue Monk Kidd
This book opened my eyes to a world beyond what I knew - a world that recognized an aspect of the Divine that was LIKE ME. Kidd's journey from a world very similar to mine into a world I didn't even know existed stirred my mind and opened me to the experiences that were yet to come.

2. The Red Tent - Anita Diamant
Diamant gave me a new read on biblical history and made the think about the back stories and the stories we didn't get told as kids. It also made me yearn for a tribe that honored womanhood in a new and different way.

3. The Spiritual Art of Creative Silence and Christheart - Jeanie Miley
I cheated here and put two. When I discovered Jeanie, I had my eyes opened to a whole new way to relate to God, and a whole new way to look at the world through the eyes of Jesus. It changed my world and set me on the path I'm on today.

4. The Road Less Traveled - M. Scott Peck
What can I say? It's a classic.

5. Stages of Faith - James Fowler
This book helped me see I wasn't going crazy. Following a developmental model that I understood, Fowler showed me that what I was experiencing was a growth process, and one that others had gone through. It gave me a framework to hang onto when the seas were rough.

6. I Thought it was Just Me: (but it isn't) - Brené Brown
For anyone who lives with shame (which is all of us right?) this book is a must read. Brown's thorough research and exercises to identify and counteract shame moved me through a tough period and helped me see that I really was going to be okay.

7. Jesus for the Rest of Us - John Selby
Blew me out of the water! I don't even have words to really put around it. This book changed my already shifting perception of Jesus and what it means to be divine. I'm sticking a warning on this one for any of my more traditional friends - it will blow your mind.

8. The Drama of The Gifted Child - Alice Miller
I threw this book at my analyst after I read it. I also poured out life-long toxic feelings into a letter I never mailed that elicited a phone call to make sure I wasn't standing on a ledge somewhere ready to jump when I shared it with someone safe. But after that, I wrote a fairy tale that was in some ways the antidote to all that poison - and opened up a creativity inside of me that I had never tapped into before. It's a short book - but a dangerous and possibly painful one.

9. The Invisible Church: Finding Spirituality Where you Are - J. Pittman McGehee
What is church? What ideals and responsibilities do we lay at her feet? How do we take responsibility and authority for our own lives? McGehee sets church in it's place in myth - and showed me how what I was really looking for wasn't going to be found inside the institution.

10. Family Evaluation - Michael Kerr & Murray Bowen
This is a textbook. It isn't fun reading. But Bowen's concepts of family systems changed the way I look at my own life and the lives of everyone around me. None of us are islands to ourselves. Our families leave imprints and we make decisions often unknowingly because of them. Becoming conscious of the patterns changed my story - and is helping to change my life.

There are others of course - Ernest Hemingway and JRR Tolkien in high school. Clan of the Cave Bear series by Jean M. Auel. Madeline L'Engle. Maya Angelou. Carl Jung. Thomas Moore. But these ten jumped out particularly. And like Elissa, my list consists mostly of books that have revised my faith, my view of family, and my self-concept. Only one is fiction. But all of them have shifted something within me in a significant way. What are yours? How have the moved you?

*8Things: This I Know

2010-05-03T06:09:00.000-07:00

Over at Magpie Girl, just before she launched her new and awesome looking site, a post caught my attention. A list. Eight things I know to be true. Things that help me "Stand in my own Power". Maybe things to help articulate a dream? These eight things won't get me there. But they ring true for me now, when I stop long enough to listen to my own voice.

1. Connection with others feeds my soul.

2. Others want and need to hear what I have to say, even if my gremlins tell me I've got nothing.

3. My passionate desire for my daughters involves community, courage, and confidence -- and I'm helping create those things for and in them.

4. Using my voice, speaking my truth, doesn't always mean peace and harmony.

5. Fear hasn't killed me yet, but giving in might kill me slowly.

6. Systems change SLOWLY.

7. I am making a difference.

8. There is much much more to come.....

Say it out loud?

2010-04-29T20:36:00.000-07:00

"The most common response I have received from readers of 'The Road Less Traveled' has been gratitude for my courage, not for saying anything new, but for writing about what they had been thinking and feeling all along, but were afraid to say."

~ M Scott Peck MD

A friend of mine just posted this quote on facebook. These past two weeks have been filled with wrestling with how and when and where to say what I'm thinking and feeling. As I have spoken my truth - truth that, as another new connection of mine said tonight in an email, is both dangerous and liberating - I've wondered whether what I thought and felt resonated with anyone else.

I've also puzzled over the appropriate ways and the best places to speak my truth. Am I effecting change, edifying others, emanating love? Can I do all of those things at the same time? Sometimes the truth - as I see it - seems hard. Sometimes confronting injustice doesn't feel loving at all. Often, I wonder if change is even possible.

I think I'm in a bit of an identity crisis. I'm in a lull in my professional journey, with nothing to do but wait. And the next steps are not defined. What do I want to be about? Where do I want to invest my energy? Can I do what I want to do effectively from where I now stand - or do I have to shift? What costs come with the choices?

I haven't really articulated my dreams. There is a lot of energy around the blogosphere right now about dreaming big. Putting it out there. Letting action follow intention. Taking risk. Speaking truth. I want to be able to throw caution to the wind... but then fear rears its head and the voices of the gremlins get louder.

So - my goal for this downtime is to get clearer about my intentions. To face the fear and put the dreams into words. To be purposeful about what I say and what I do instead of letting the fear and the old voices drive me to reaction.

So stay tuned - I'm going to see what I can say - out loud....

Last Night as I Lay Sleeping by Antonio Machado

2010-04-27T11:40:00.000-07:00

My friend Elissa posted this in the comment section of my last post. It was too good not to share with everyone - so here it is. Enjoy!

Last Night as I Lay Sleeping

Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was a spring breaking out in my heart.
I said, "Along what secret aqueduct are you coming to me
Oh water, water of a new life that I have never drunk."

Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was a beehive here in my heart.
And the golden bees were making white combs
and sweet honey from my old failures.

Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was a fiery sun here in my heart.
It was fiery because it gave warmth as if from a hearth
And it was sun because it gave light and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was God here in my heart.

God, is my soul asleep?
Have those beehives who labor by night stopped, and
the water wheel of thought, is it dry?
The cup's empty, wheeling out carrying only shadows?
No! My soul is not asleep! My soul is not asleep!
It neither sleeps nor dreams, but watches, its clear eyes open,
far off things, and listens, and listens
at the shores of the great silence.
It listens at the shores of the great silence.

by Antonio Machado

Time

2010-04-23T06:40:00.000-07:00

Time, you move so strangely through my life. Tomorrow seems to never come and yesterday seems miles away, so that all we have ever is today.

But then I look at the scar on my firstborn's cheek, cut open by a surgeon's scalpel after they wheeled her away and find it impossible to believe the scab has already healed some ten years later.

Arranging pictures, I see my younger with her short curly golden hair and dimples -- contrast with the now toothless grin and flowing dark tresses and wonder where my baby went.

How can it be that I make preparations to walk across the stage marking the ?end? of a journey I only started weeks ago (or months, or wait, really - three whole years?)

Celebrating 15 years in this house, foundation laid before we said "I do", I realize I've lived in this spot longer than I've lived anywhere else in my life. And moved more.

Not the same person as when I marked any of these events, but changed how? In the blink of an eye? For that is how it seems, although in the moments of growth and the pains of labor - time stretches out eternal.

Time, a strange friend and subtle enemy -- but always my constant companion - can you stand still for just a moment? No? Well, then I'll journey with you I guess, wherever you take me next.

Living on the Edge

2010-04-22T07:16:00.000-07:00

Today is Earth Day. Apparently the day has been a topic of conversation for my daughters at school this week. This morning in the bathroom, my younger chided her older sister for leaving the water running too long saying "you are not being a good Earth Day person!" So we had a little chat about leading by example rather than criticism and as my husband kissed me before he walked out the door, he whispered that he blamed me for their liberal agenda.

He was teasing me, mostly. But my slide to the left in all things social, political and religious has provided more than one tense moment in our relationship. We've finally reached a balance point and don't seem to be on the verge of tipping into chaos quite so often, but it has not been easy.

I am many things. I am a feminist in a patriarchal world. I am a democratic in the most republican county in the United states. I support a woman's right to control her own body while surrounded by people who picket Planned Parenthood. I think there is more than one way to God in a community that preaches hellfire and damnation for non-believers. I am drawn to Jungian theory in a evidence-based medical model world. I support GLBT rights and marriage while the AG of my state refuses to grant a gay couple a legal divorce and in a city where churches are called on the carpet by their denominational boards for being inclusive. I am inclusive in an extended family where jokes about the President's race and calling for his demise are applauded as funny. I think helping others holds value, even if it means sacrificing some of my own wealth and privilege. I think real sex education and open communication beats "True Love Waits" pants down! The list goes on and on.

And I'm constantly afraid. Afraid of offending someone with my beliefs. Afraid of losing relationship because my friends cannot understand. Afraid of emotional abandonment by the people I love. I rarely feel like I fit in anywhere. And when I speak up and speak out, and meet resistance, disagreement, hostility and fear from others, it hurts. It makes me want to hide, to run away, to be silent and good and agreeable so that I won't have to experience the pain of rejection.

But I'm finding more and more I CANNOT be silent. I MUST speak up. I must stand up for those who do not and cannot have a voice. I have to live my life true to who I really am, not who others think I am or want me to be.

If that means my husband chides me for being a liberal - so be it. If that means my mother refuses to come to my daughter's weddings because of her prejudice (a threat she made recently) - so be it. If that means I am constantly at odds with my community of faith - that's just the way it is. But here is the rub.... all of this stuff doesn't just affect me - it affects my husband, and my children. And that pill is hard to swallow. I have to be who I am. But I don't want them to have to pay for that by loss of their friends and their communities. And I'm always afraid they will have to pay. And that too works to keep me silent - or at least very muted. I don't have a good answer to that tension of the opposites just yet. I'm not sure I ever will.

So I feel like I am living on the margins. Out on the edge, but not quite able to break free - and not always convinced I want to, but compelled to keep moving just the same, even if it puts me in danger of falling off the cliff.

Angry

2010-04-17T06:59:00.000-07:00

This article makes me angry, as does the idea that Roman Catholic parishioners must do penance to pay for the ongoing exposure of the truth.

I have a lot of things to say. And I have a forum to say them, whether many are listening or not. Others have things to say too, some with a forum and some without. But position and power rule with threat and violence and fear and too often our voices stay silent.

This is not a Roman Catholic problem. I am not a Roman Catholic. In fact, I grew up in a denomination that preached that ALL Roman Catholics were going to hell and indeed stories like this served only to fuel the flame, while our leaders walked around with self-righteous pomp because they were indeed washed in the blood.

Abuse of power and position, sexual abuse of the body, and spiritual abuse of the soul leave wounds that never really heal. Survivors do just that - they survive. Some of us thrive. But nobody ever completely recovers. And blaming and silencing victims through shame, threats, and isolation only pulls open the wounds over and over and over again.

Are these leaders really SO powerful that we cannot stand up and speak? Potentially. Jesus found that out the hard way I think. Fear and silence or finding a voice and punishment - not a very good set of choices I think.

Wishes and Graces

2010-04-14T07:38:00.000-07:00

I wish:

We never had to say goodbye.

People we loved, and strangers we don't know, never had to suffer.

Time and money never prevented anyone from following their dreams.

Good intentions always culminated in productive action.

We could spare our children pain.

Love didn't come at a price.

But I'm grateful for:

A warm and wonderful place for my children to learn, with teachers who have sparked their imaginations.

Friends who chase their dreams.

Sunshine on a beautiful Spring day.

Abundance and choices.

A family who grounds me, sometimes creating the tension between physical and spiritual and sometimes transcending it.

The threads of gold woven into the tapestry of my life (thanks Jeanie for that image)

Practice Makes Perfect?

2010-04-08T20:17:00.000-07:00

Somebody asked me today if I had a spiritual practice. I immediately answered no. I do not have a set place, a set time, a particular ritual or routine. At various times in my life, I have tried. I've bought devotional books and books on prayer, I've set the alarm 30 minutes earlier to find solitude, I've been on retreats, I've listened to the admonishment of experts in the field. I've tried reading scripture. I've committed to journaling every day. I've co-opted tips and tricks to remind me and motivate me. Discipline comes easy for me in some areas of my life, but not so easy in others. The area of spiritual discipline seems to continually elude me. I lose focus and attention, I get bored easily, I feel silly and unconnected to anything remotely spiritual, just going through the motions. And I give up.

But as I thought more deeply about the question and about the statements of somebody else that we find our practice in our laundry basket and our kitchen sink, I began to reframe my answer. I do have a spiritual practice of sorts - although you wouldn't find it described in any book on spiritual practices, Christian or otherwise.

I practice:
--by reading half a dozen blogs about life, living and spirituality each morning (you can find most of them on my blogroll)
--by staying in almost daily communication with a unique and deep support system that has miraculously materialized over the past couple of years
--when I slow down as I round the corner of my alley after delivering my children to school and notice the twigs turning into green sprouts, the trees budding and blooming and unfurling fresh green leaves, the azaleas beginning to blush pink
--when I stop to watch and listen as the mockingbirds and bluejays chatter to welcome the day
--each time I look deeply into one of my daughter's eyes and see the singular grace that lights her from the inside
--when I snuggle with my husband before drifting to sleep each evening
--by spending an hour almost every week laying out, looking at, and trying to re-arrange the deepest parts of myself in the presence of someone who holds out unfailing faith, hope and love
--by reading books from varied and deep thinkers who write about faith and practice, psyche and soul
--every time I tap into my creativity by writing, on this blog and elsewhere
--when I decide to listen to my body and rejuvenate myself with a short afternoon nap
--every night when I immerse myself in a hot bath and soak while I let my mind drift into a deep level of thought and relaxation
--by joining with my imperfect and flawed community in songs of joy and recognition of the divine
--by making time to linger over a meal with good friends, sharing our ideas and our hearts
--and most of all, by simply paying attention

I do all of these things on a regular if not routine basis. I do not always do them with the focus and attention needed to make them a spiritual practice, but much of the time I do. I've worked to discipline my mind and my heart to really focus on the moment I am in when I am in that moment, to observe my internal reactions and notice the reactions of others. To simply acknowledge my feelings as they come and not immediately judge and censor them. And I think I've made progress, although there is always farther to go.

I also am almost constantly aware of myself and the world on a spiritual level. I acknowledge the presence of the divine in and around me in almost everything I do. I think part of my problem with tradition Christian spiritual practice is the outward focus of much of it. God is out there somewhere, I have to go find Him. And then I have to appease Him with my worshipful presence. My concept of God has shifted a lot over the past 20 years - from a "HE" up there somewhere that I have to figure out how to make happy and then push off on someone else to a more universal presence manifest in creativity, individuality, beauty and synchronicity - a life force within me and within every person I encounter, a directional flow that I can participate with to make a difference in people's lives if I will pay attention. That sounds sort of "new-age" even to me. But it isn't. It's old and deep and real - it just doesn't fit well into the words I grew up using, so I have to choose others, because those old words hold tainted images for me. My faith today is stronger than it has ever been. I see God everywhere - including inside my own soul.

So, I find myself considering how to articulate and define my spiritual practice. And I wonder if I need to add something more concrete and recognizable, or if what I have is enough. I'm not sure I have the answers to those things right now. But all I know to do to find them is to keep practicing, because I know I'm far from perfect.

Sharkarosa - was it heaven?

2010-04-06T19:12:00.000-07:00

I spent the day on a field trip with 60 first graders, ecstatic to have escaped the confines of the classroom, especially on a day where expectations ran high for older students engaged in the Texas version of child torture, a high stakes test called the TAKS. I've been on testing day field trips before. The normal destinations around town burst at the seams with seas of swarming children outfitted in rainbows of matching t-shirts. Invariably, the end result for the chaperones, after a long loud bus ride and a hot day herding cats, turns out to be tired feet and a pounding head. But the smiles on our darlings' faces because mom or dad came along on an adventure outweigh any sacrifice on our part.

But today turned out differently. We traveled about an hour outside of the city limits, into the rolling hills of the horse country just to our north. And we didn't have to ride the bus! All our little darlings and their teachers fit on one bus, but taking parents on the bus would have necessitated another bus, charged at $4 a mile! So we parents suffered our fate and carpooled with our coffee in hand. The kids seemed to survive the trip just fine without us. And to my complete surprise, when we arrived at our destination - we were the ONLY ones there. We had 128 acres, scores of fascinating animals, and the attention of the highly qualified staff all to ourselves.

We interacted with baby kangaroos and watched a queen lemur (who knew King Julian only existed in Disney fantasy?) climb and jump with her twin babies clinging to her body. We learned about noctural animals, marveled as a bearcat hung by its tail, and discovered the super-long tongue and pollinating function of the kinkajou. We watched zebras and deer and the ancestors of the llama eat just paces from our safari car, and got to pet some beautiful draft horses and less beautiful but very interesting camels. Sharkarosa is a wildlife sanctuary, taking rescued animals, nursing zoo animals that need extra attention, and working to preserve some endangered species. I know there are mixed opinions about the merit and virtue of these places. I have no political statement to make. But the staff at Sharkarosa obviously loves each and every animal there and loves sharing their knowledge with the kids.

But what I took out of the day came from the laughter and the wonder on the face of my kid and the kids in my charge for the day. The experiential learning, being outside, seeing, touching, experiencing just lit each of them from the inside. So often they are told to look and not touch, to stand at a distance, to listen and learn - and they follow the rules but don't learn a thing. Today, they touched and smelled and observed up close instead of from far away, and they loved every minute of the learning they didn't even realize they were doing.

The blogosphere seems to pick up a theme and run with it for a while... right now, the theme that resonates is BE PRESENT. I watched six and seven year-olds do just that today. They could not have been less concerned with what came before or what was next, they reveled in the moment. They engaged their senses to live and to learn about their world. And for a few hours, I found myself able to do the same.

This story of mine, this journey I'm on, sometimes causes me to wallow around stuck in the past or worry about the future. Re-visioning my faith sometimes makes me feel as if the ground under my feet shifts constantly. But I think I saw today, in the faces of first-graders absorbed in life, what Jesus meant when he said we need to become like little children before we can experience heaven, even if he's never chaperoned a first grade fieldtrip to a little place called Sharkarosa.

Knowing Our Story

2010-04-01T11:15:00.000-07:00

From Here All Dwell Free by Gertrud Mueller Nelson:

Our responsibility, then is to find and know the story that is our own. We then reach out to grapple with it, choosing to suffer the conflicts that pull us back into our fate and forward to our true selves. As we become healed and autonomous, we reenter our community and our history, offering our gifts to benefit all, and taking our place as cocreators of our personal and communal destinies. All three of these tasks, though developmental in nature, are not necessarily done in stair-step order, but cycle around and around, deeper and deeper, as we grow in consciousness and responsibility.... Only where we allow ourselves to be fully human can God meet us, and here we encounter our true selves, as if for the first time. Here all dwell free.

Hair and Hormones

2010-03-28T13:41:00.000-07:00

We woke up a week ago this morning to a foot of freshly fallen snow powdered over the sprigs of green in the yard and the daffodil blooms in the flowerbeds. By noon most of the snow had melted, and Monday found us in our shirt-sleeves as we prepared to get back into the groove of school after a week of Spring Break. And what a week it has been. The girls had class pictures on Tuesday and we had family portraits for our church directory made on Friday. So I've blown dry and curled two heads full of long, thick hair twice this week.

Doing hair at our house always involves some measure of drama and this week the duty and the drama doubled. Tears book-ended the week because of sibling rivalry and friend issues and all of that angst came tumbling out with the tangles. I tried to dry tears as well as tresses and create conversational moments along with the curls. I'm not sure how to measure success. The hair came out lovely, but in the midst of the up-dos we also had shouts and even a fainting spell.

Raising two girls and shepherding two young women through the throes of puberty promises to turn what hair I have left to solid gray. During the process of getting ready for family pictures on Friday, I continued a conversation with my 11 year old about the film she viewed the week before - the 5th Grade Film - PUBERTY! I'd heard some commentary from other moms about conversations taking place, and I wanted to make sure Courtney didn't have any questions. While she indicated she had not been involved in the discussion of birth control, somehow she had heard part of a conversation about epidurals. Confused, she wanted to know why you needed drugs when you were having a baby. I tried to follow developmental wisdom and only answer what she was asking, but she continued to dig. In my quest to ensure she has the information she wants and needs, I continued to answer. It was hot and humid in the bathroom and she was wrapped in her fuzziest robe. After several pressing questions about why childbirth hurts enough to need drugs, she looked at me in the mirror and said "Mom, can we stop talking about this now, I feel...." and before she could say dizzy, or sick, or funny - she fainted dead away.

Now she has fainted once before, when she cut her chin open and stood contemplating stitches - so I've seen it before. But let me tell you, when your daughter collapses in your arms, eyes rolling back in her head, body jerking in a seizure, tongue curling back in her throat, it strikes terror in your heart. She came to immediately and felt fine after lying still for a few minutes. But I felt horrible. Did I share too much information? Is my drive to make sure my girls are equipped and informed pushing me to go too far?

I don't know the answer to that question. I am often at a loss as a mom of a growing tween. How do I convey information about which clothes are becoming on her developing body, especially since she doesn't fit the twig model so many tween clothes are designed for? How do I support her when girl friends shift alliances and she feels left out without being a total helicopter mom? How do I ensure that she and her sister feel adequately, equally loved but still assign responsibilities appropriate for their ages? Can I do anything to make sure they recognize what a treasure they have in each other or is that simply something they have to figure out on their own in the midst of constant bickering? And how much of it all is my projection of my own pain in those years instead of what she is really experiencing?

I don't know. But I do know this. When I was in 5th grade, my mother and I fought constantly over my hair. She had preconceived notions of what I must look like to pass muster to leave the house. My hair was long and thick and curly - and a ponytail often would not do. So she combed and pulled and prodded and curled and sprayed and combed some more, with me fighting her all the way. If there ever was a calm moment to share my hormonal angst about my friends or lack thereof - somehow she turned it into a lesson on civility and morality. I dared not ask a question about puberty, sexuality, my body, boys or anything related to those topics. Finally, I cut my hair short, and started doing it myself, even in the face of pretty constant criticism at first until I learned how to effectively use a hair dryer and a curling iron. And we stopped having screaming matches over my hair. In fact, we stopped having much conversation at all.

My girls have long, thick, beautiful hair. My 11 year old manages hers completely on her own most of the time, except for special occasions. When she requests my help, I try to respect her sense of how she wants to appear and help her achieve that goal. I tell her, out loud and often, how beautiful she is. My almost 7 year old needs more help. Her hair, also long and beautiful, is often tangled and wind-blown. But I let her do what she can, and I try to make my helping time a positive interaction. I don't want my girls to remember fighting over their hair. Fainting because of too much information on the pain of childbirth... well that's another matter entirely!

Green Glasses

2010-03-23T06:41:00.000-07:00

I remember the green glasses at the dinner table, rough and bumpy, heavy, hard for little hands to hold. Sitting late at night, filled with cornbread and buttermilk, a treat for him the rest of us turned our noses at.

I remember waking before dawn, peering down the hall in the darkness, waiting for the first stirrings and the big shoulders at the sink, creeping in to check my imagined wakings and being sent back to bed until light began to appear on the horizon and I could sit with him while he drank his coffee and read the paper.

Gone far too soon, I have too few memories, and then the chair opposite hers sat empty. Oh others held audience there, but none like him. My mother, my uncle, companions to fill her time and keep her attention, a revolving crew of grandkids who fought for the right to claim that seat. Looking out the picture window at the driveway sloping toward the quiet street, the rocks in the bed collected on various adventures, pickups carrying layers of dust coming to and from the fields, life passed by.

Time passed, things changed, but the chairs flanking that window were constants. And the swing in the back. And the line of pine trees. I remember swinging with all our might to pull the sour grapes from the vine that twined through the trellis above the swing. Spending hours huddled in the basement on summer nights, waiting for the sirens to stop and the storm to pass. Eating thin buttered toast, crunchy from the funny double-doored oven and malt-o-meal on tv trays for breakfast. Sitting opposite her in that chair, reading Prevention magazine.

And of course there were birthdays and Christmas and dinners and events. But I treasured the time I spent there alone, the only girl and favored a bit, safe there and loved. I resented having to share her with a new family. I resented her splitting her time between that home and another house. I felt the loss each time I passed by on my way anywhere, since she presided over my main route, and her carport sat empty.

And then, suddenly, with an addressed invitation to my graduation not yet arrived in her mailbox, she was gone. The house filled with busy women, holding off the grief with idle chatter and food. Asking questions to which I had no answer. Talking on the phone to relatives and step-relatives I didn't even know, relaying details of an event I could not comprehend. Time passed in a whirlwind and a blur, but I remember him sitting down in that chair, looking so much like his brother who had been gone so long, and feeling the memories flood back to me. For once, someone belonged to that chair, that place again, even if only for a moment.

I sat in the swing in back on my 18th birthday, still grieving, and felt awareness of my own life dawn as my mother plucked my first gray hair. I cherished the sparkling new Pontiac Grand-Am she gave me for graduation that she never even got to see. I drove it away into my new life, leaving behind that place.

And time marched on. Construction crews and con-artists changed the house, putting pressure on the foundation that finally caused it to crack. My mother could not let go. She clung to the memories desperately, driving the wedge deeper and deeper. My brother lived in that house, vastly different, yet still the same somehow, and watched as everything crumbled. I spent only one summer there, and left in August knowing home had vanished, never to be returned to again. And through it all, the chairs never changed. Oh furniture came and went, but always always two chairs flanked the window, looking out on a street that saw less and less traffic.

My firstborn visited that house only once, barely old enough to hold her head up. The sign already in the yard, the leaving already done. Now the swing is gone, the rocks are no longer in the bed, the pine trees have been cut down, and Pontiac is a brand of the past. Strangers live in my house, the house that holds the roots of my family tree. Chairs no longer flank the window. My grandparents and my uncle lie beneath a stone a few miles down the dust road. My mother sits in other chairs, looking out other windows, with someone who fits somehow better than my father, in the puzzle of her life.

There is no where to go home to.

But I have the green glasses.

Weather for a Texas Girl

2010-03-20T08:32:00.000-07:00

It's supposed to snow here today, March 21st, the first day of Spring. The snow is supposed to arrive about noon along with the turning of the seasons. In many places, snow on the first day of Spring just comes with the territory, but it's a bit unusual for us. Our trees have burst into bloom. Flowers color the beds with the yellows and purples that herald sunshine and warmer weather. We spent a beautiful day at the zoo yesterday, enjoying warmth and spring breezes. But this morning I am listening to a cold rain that has flooded already saturated soil overnight and anticipating the first flakes.

We think of the cycle of seasons in a rather linear fashion, Spring follows Winter follows Autumn follows Summer. Snow in the summer? Unheard of in Texas. One hundred degree days in December? Not what we normally anticipate. But Texas weather has a reputation of surprise and extreme changeability. Our cold spells are driven by fronts, so without a strong one a hundred degree December day isn't out of the question and with one, snow on the first day of Spring or killer cold snaps into April sometimes occur. May through August can be counted on to be hot, but we've had a rainy July or two where the sun barely showed up.

Life seems a bit like the weather in Texas. My expectation of some linear or predictably cyclical progress often ends up disrupted by some unexpected turn of events or my unexpected reaction to something or someone. Weather forecasters warn us of upcoming weather changes, but my internal weather often shifts without the benefit of any foreshadowing. Sitting with what is, honoring what my soul tells me I need today, instead of fighting the feelings with musts and shoulds isn't as easy as checking the forecast and dressing appropriately for the weather.

I've written lately about this feeling of hibernation, pulling inward, wanting to hole up, curl up, burrow and hide. It's Spring. I SHOULD be bursting into life. It's the end of my push for school. I SHOULD be ecstatic. I MUST be about looking for "what's next" and figuring out how to put all this education and experience to use. But I just want to curl up, pull the covers over my head, hide, and maybe cry for a while. I don't WANT to feel this way, but I do. I want to have an answer to the question - what's next? But I don't. There's been a lot of collaborative energy around life and Spring and worth these past few weeks in the blogosphere and I've been involved on the periphery of that energy. But I want to feel it in my bones and in my soul, and I don't.

I've lived in Texas all my life. The saying about the weather that everyone here knows goes: "If you don't like the weather in Texas - wait 5 minutes - it will change". Maybe that's true of my own interior weather too. Maybe the sun will come out tomorrow and illuminate a path I've yet to see, a direction I feel inspired to take. A poem that needs to be written. A chance I'm compelled to take. But for today, I think I'm just going to huddle up under a warm blanket and watch the snow fall.

Being Born

2010-03-16T06:30:00.000-07:00

No one told me about the pain,
or maybe they did but without experience I couldn't listen.

It comes in waves that I cannot escape,
building to a point so intense I think I might,
no...I think I want to die.

For me, it never settles into a rhythm I can anticipate.
Sharp, excruciating, breathtaking pain.
The intermittent relief marred by the certainty of return.

I should walk or soak or rock or squat,
but screaming steals my energy.

The midwife urges me to breath, encourages me onward,
until finally I sense the end.

But I'm not done yet.
I must push, through the fear and the pain, I must push.
But this life inside me is already large with plans and dreams and destiny.
She can't come gently.
She rends her way out with a force that nearly ends me.

After her initial screams of protest at the shock,
when they lay her in my arms,
we gaze at one another
and wonder "now what?"

It is Spring

2010-03-11T14:30:00.000-08:00

I love the willow trees the most, bare one day the next a stream of green rivers cascading to the ground.

Pears, plums, and redbud span a spectrum of clean crisp white to deep purple bursting out of the gray monotony.

Daffodils in every shade of yellow turn their faces to the sun, collecting rays in their open cups.

A mockingbird practices runs of every melody and sound he has ever heard, showing off his talents for all of us, but especially I suspect for that special some-bird.

Dawn cracks the window a bit earlier and my two chirping birds rise more easily - at least for a few weeks until we push forward to take full advantage of the afternoon light.

It happens so suddenly. Wasn't it just weeks ago that the ground lay covered knee-deep with white and dormant tree branches sacrificed their limbs to the snow-creatures on display?

Now I look out and see the beginnings of a crayon-colored spring, like a half-finished picture my child works on with her rainbow in a box.

Yesterday I stood outside and turned my face to the sun, soaking in the warmth, the light and feeling my own soul spring to life. I pay too little attention, but my being corresponds to the seasons of the earth. The colors burst forth suddenly, with possibilities that have lain dormant through the cold and the dark.

The world and I, we are waking up. It is Spring.

From one Extreme to the Other

2010-03-10T08:56:00.000-08:00

"Wisdom tells me that I am nothing; love tells me I am everything.
Between the two, my life flows."
Nisargadatta Maharaj

Jeanie Miley used this quote in her blog post this morning, a third post in a series of four about ambiguity. This series is part of a larger set of posts exploring the book by Jim Hollis What Matters Most: Living a More Considered Life. Go explore, it's good stuff.

Brené Brown is hosting a discussion of enough and worthiness this week on her blog in conjunction with the release of a CD of her work.

And it all has me thinking. In the depths of a particularly painful increase in consciousness not terribly long ago, I cried out in despair "If I am okay just as I am, why do I need to be transformed?" That question echoes the quote from Jeanie's post this morning, and it's a question I don't know if I have the answer to.

Yet I do believe deeply in the inherent worth of every life. I see the divine spark in every soul. We are indeed worthy, now. We are indeed enough just as we are. Yet the ambiguity is that we all still need the transformation.

Part of the trick for me is in listening to my Self, my soul, and following where she leads me. Constantly "stuff" floats up from within that forces me to look deeply at my life, see the rough areas I need to polish, feel the dark emotions I need to express, move through the fear to do something out of my comfort zone. The push comes from within, from a divine place that holds me in the fire until I am transformed.

And the other half of the trick is in NOT listening to the voices that want me to play small. The voices that say "you are too fat, too lazy, too insecure, too neurotic, too harsh, too imperfect to matter". The voices that tell me I am not enough and never will be. Those voices - whether internal or external - have to be silenced. Because they strip me of my worth.

How do we strike a balance between the need for forward movement, growth, yes - transformation and a healthy view of our worth, our goodness, our power, our light? Holding the opposites hurts. Finding the ground, even if it is shifting, where I can own my power while at the very same time owning my flaws proves incredibly difficult most days. So maybe it isn't about finding that sweet spot - but as the quote says - flowing back and forth between the two ideas. Like water flowing produces energy, in the movement of our lives between the two poles of wisdom and love we find the transformation.

Coming of Age

2010-03-03T19:48:00.000-08:00

My oldest daughter turns 11 a week from tomorrow. Her elementary school has Open House that evening and the next week is Spring Break. So we plan to celebrate her birthday tomorrow, without competing interests and before her friends flit away for snowy peaks or sandy beaches. I remember vividly the day she entered this world. And I remember the many joyful, painful, unbelievable days of growth I underwent in those first months of her life. The act of being a parent blows apart any expectations of being a parent that pre-existed the child herself.

I signed a note from school yesterday giving her permission to view THE 5TH GRADE FILM on the day after her birthday, at 2pm in the afternoon, on the Friday before Spring Break. Any chance that timing might be coincidence? I don't think so. The school has set everything up to show these videos, to segregated classrooms of 10-12 year old boys and girls, moments before they march out of school into the warm spring sunshine and promptly forget most of what they saw. The timing is meant to push questions toward home and suppress gossip and giggles with the hopes that the excitement of the topic will have died down by the time the students return.

I knew the film was on the horizon. Courtney seemed concerned when she handed me the paper. I assured her that she had my full permission to watch the film. And that I expected she would not encounter much new information there. We have covered everything in the film and more. As parents, the school permits us to preview the film. I don't need to do that. I know the more informed she is, the better able to make good decisions she will be. So I have informed her. In bits and pieces, ever more in depth, as the time seemed right. I have entertained her questions. We have had deep discussions. Some too early for my liking, precipitated by some conversation or event I couldn't control. But that's life isn't it? Encounters with awareness and information to be processed, not always at the time that might be the most convenient.

She has friends, coming to the end of their 5th grade year, who know NOTHING about the changes coming soon for them. Why? Because we are afraid. Because somehow we have internalized such shame about being a woman that we cannot even talk to our daughters about the beauty of the ability to give life. We certainly don't celebrate their budding sexuality, their feminine power, the inherent beauty of the divine within them. Instead, we separate and segregate, send home scary permission slips, and hide on the front edge of vacation. Even the school, trying to do the job no one else will do, sets things up in a way that hints at shame.

I say NO MORE. At least not at my house. We will honor and celebrate. We will talk freely. We will embrace and engage our feminine selves. Or at least I hope we can. I am scheduled to present similar information, although I will do it with a twist, for my daughter's girlscout troop in May. We have plans to party. We will meet the requirements for the badge, discuss the developmental, look at the pressure from society to look and be a certain way, entertain any and all questions. And then we will celebrate. We will pamper ourselves with pedicures and take pleasure in the delight of a good meal. We will even have dessert - and talk about how to enjoy food in healthy amounts with a healthy attitude, not with either indulgence or denial. I hope the event will be memorable, celebratory, supportive.

And yet, last night, my younger daughter announced while watching the election returns that the governor should be a man because men were taller, had better hair, shinier teeth, talked louder and were smarter. So, while I'm making ground on one front I seem to be losing it on the other. She said it with a grin, knowing her statement would push my buttons, and taking great delight in doing just that. Humor ruled the moment, as she intended, but the underlying message - accepted so easily - does bother me - even as a joke.

So I press ever onward, sometimes feeling like I'm fighting the battle alone. And then I ran across this post: http://www.unabashedlyfemale.com/2010/03/02/theres-no-voice-like-yours/ I've been reading Julie's blog for a few weeks. I'm adding her to my blog roll. She touches the deep places in my soul. She makes me feel that the community I want for my daughters, might, just might, be possible.

And so, we move into a new year, ever closer to the teen years, with at least a little hope that my daughters will live in a world without shame about who they are. That they can spend their energy fighting new battles instead of the same old ones. That they will grow into their own voices and not need to find them, because they will have been there all along.

Before Spring

2010-02-26T08:37:00.000-08:00

Before spring, everything sleeps.
Trees stand bare, flinging branches skyward, searching for the sun.
Seeds hide silently, waiting for warmth to coax out tender green shoots.
This winter, even here, snow has covered the ground like a blanket.

And I too wait.
Trying to patiently endure cold grey skies.
Hoping for some sun.
Waiting to feel the life surge inside - a burst of energy to spring forth new life.

I see hints of green.
I feel surges of the sap rising.
Words and ideas remain buried, anticipating the right time.
Waiting for spring.

Anxiety and Gratitude

2010-02-19T07:51:00.000-08:00

I don't like being in a lull, a slow period, feeling dull and unmotivated. Beyond being down with a cold that continues to linger, I feel generally unmotivated and a bit anxious. Part of it has to do with having a finish line almost in sight but refusing to stand still. I plan. I like to be IN CONTROL. And this shifting end-point makes me feel a bit crazy. So far, no antidote has worked very well. I'm forcing myself to accomplish small things, but finding no spark of motivation in checking off items on my list. My creativity feels dried up and cracked like a set of kid's watercolors unused for too long. My patience runs out before the day does. I feel just a bit off-center, out of kilter, unbalanced.

So I'm going to try a Friday exercise - and see where it takes me. Naming my anxieties and fears paralyzes me. I don't want them out there for the world to see. I don't want someone to look at them and say - "silly, why in the world are you worried about that?" But putting them down in writing helps put them in perspective somehow. So (with some fear and trembling) here I go:

1. Getting my hours in by the deadline to graduate in this quarter
2. Juggling my schedule to try to get those hours in
3. Upsetting my family because of my schedule juggling in the next 6 weeks - including evening meetings and rearranging the start time of my daughter's birthday party
4. Disappointing friends because I'm not spending enough time with them
5. Leaving my kids for 9 days at the end of May
6. Spending money on a trip that is a stretch for me in a lot of ways
7. Graduating - because then I have to DO something
8. Neglecting my family in order to follow my dream
9. Spending money to follow that dream
10. Doing it all without dropping any of the balls

Wow. Okay - by the time I got to 7 or 8 on that list - it hit me. My concerns are all about time and money and the way I choose to allocate them. I feel guilty using either one just for me. Something to chew on here I think.

But the other half of this game is gratitude - possibly an antidote to my recent malaise - and definitely deserving equal air time.

Things I am grateful for:

1. A husband that has unfailing supported me in rewriting my life over the last 3 years. Grad school isn't an easy undertaking, and he has never wavered in his support, going above and beyond to make it possible for me.
2. Professors that believed in me and sometimes saw in me things that I couldn't see in myself.
3. Jeanie - a mentor who has walked me every step of the way, holding my tears, celebrating my successes.
4. Tess - my analyst and the wisest woman I know.
5. Finding my creative outlet in words.
6. Friends who stick by me through thick and thin and who don't keep track of how many times I have to postpone or reschedule.
7. A husband who loves to travel and is adventurous enough to say "let's do it"
8. Two beautiful daughters that bring light and laughter into my life.
9. Wide open possibilities in front of me in the next few years.
10. Enough.

And that last one is what I have to keep in mind. It is enough. I am enough. There is enough to go around. Even when it feels like things are a little out of control. I think that is my mantra for the day. Enough!

Hibernation Part 2

2010-02-11T09:30:00.000-08:00

I'm still not moving very fast. Still not completed recovered from my cold. Still lacking the motivation to tackle some of the tasks that need my attention. I am still very much in the ebbing phase of this energy cycle. I think some of it has to do with this "in-between" state I'm in on my professional journey. Biding the time until I can make the next major step. And I could be preparing for that step. But my body and my mind seem to just want to rest.

It is snowing here today. Big beautiful flakes. Piling up on the grass. Hopefully it will stay long enough for the kids to get to build a snowman after school. So maybe I just need to give myself the grace to sit and sip a hot drink, burrow under the covers and take a long nap, give my physical body the time it needs to completely recover, and my mental and emotional energies the chance to recharge.

It's difficult, in this capitalistic society in which we live to consider down time productive. And I waste mine, probably extending the duration, by wondering why I'm not up doing something, being efficient, using my time wisely. But this ebb and flow of energy has a rhythm that demands my attention - and I think maybe there is wisdom hidden here in the down days, if I can just give myself the time to find it.

Hibernation

2010-02-04T06:39:00.000-08:00

Hibernating - that's what I've been doing. Pulling in, saving my energy, holing up, moving around slowly in a sleepy daze. The weather here, while not as brutal as in other parts, has been cold, wet and dreary. My body craves the sunshine, but the groundhog says no, I must wait six more weeks. I can't even claim I've been curled up with a good book by a warm fire. I haven't read a thing except for the brief shining interlude lit by reading a draft of a friend's work. I haven't written anything either. Words are like food for me, and somehow this winter mode has me existing on only what is already stored, nothing consumed, nothing produced.

I have a list of to do's that probably should provide some motivation to get moving. But it hasn't. Oh life keeps moving, and I'm taking care of necessary things, barely. But I am not invested in anything. This past week, I've been nursing myself back to health from the brink of a nasty upper respiratory bug that has zapped what little energy I did have.

But while I've been moving in this viscous reality of the winter doldrums, things have been happening. After dreaming last night about dreaming in nightmares of the inability to move or to talk - yes dreaming about a dream - I've finally made a solid decision on something I've been waffling about for a while now. I have found my voice. My decision won't please everyone around me. Some will think I'm taking the easy way out, not giving this endeavor my all. But it is the right decision for me.

So maybe my inertia has been driven less by the seasons and more by this decision making process that has required every ounce of my energy. Simply making the decision hasn't restored my motivation - I haven't acted on the decision yet - and can't until next week. Maybe taking action will spring the lock and let me step out into the sunshine. In the meantime, some REAL sunshine and a hint of spring wouldn't hurt.

Watching them Grow

2010-01-27T18:01:00.000-08:00

They grow so fast. There seems no time at all between sticky fingers, wet kisses and giggly secrets whispered in my ear to a furtive smear of lip gloss and giggles with friends, glancing up to make sure their secrets are safe. Too little space between Good Night Moon and Twilight. Not enough room between two wheels and four. And the questions, oh the questions. Questions I want to answer because I don't trust the answers to anyone else but questions that strike fear into the heart that just wants to protect her from my own hurt. How much to answer, when and why? How much of me does she need to know? All of me, or only the good parts? Fallibility seems a quality that might make a parent more approachable - but then again - maybe it just provides an excuse. So we hurtle toward adolescence at the speed of iPod's and texting and words posted on facebook, with my mother's voice sounding outside and in. She says "what are you doing? why are you doing it that way? why are you always busy? why don't you do it the way I did?" And I want to scream an answer to her that captures all that I wanted to be different, all that I try to do another way. But if I take time to argue, she'll grow another foot and I will miss it. So I pay attention, and try to be brave, and live my life out loud so she can see how it's done.

Frustration

2010-01-23T18:30:00.000-08:00

Texting $10 to the Red Cross and watching hundreds of thousands without food

Taking lunch to a friend and feeling helpless to ease the pain

Talking to my children and having them pretend they are not listening

Trying to speak truth to power and still having security threatening the peace

Feeling like actions thoughts and words have no hope of affecting change

Except for the shift I sense within

Random Ramblings

2010-01-17T12:55:00.000-08:00

Been a while since I've posted anything. Feeling like there should be something worthwhile to say, but not much motivated to say anything at all. How do I wrap words around something like the destruction we are seeing this week? Others are doing brilliant jobs of it, and making me cry as I read with my heart breaking. But I have no words. The pictures turn my stomach, thinking about the suffering makes me ill, and I feel small and helpless. I've sent some relief winging it's way toward those hurting souls, through organizations with feet already on the ground. Little else that I have to offer provides much relief for those in such pain.

And at the same time, my life goes on. I've encountered some bumps in my path these past couple of weeks. Bumps big enough to make me wonder about the path, question the journey, doubt myself -- and then feel guilty because really, what do I have to worry about? I have a roof over my head, food to eat, clothes to wear, knowledge of the whereabouts of those I love, and freedom to complain out loud and electronically.

I don't know how to make a difference in the face of such great suffering -- and yet at the same time, I don't know how to do anything but live the life I'm so very fortunate to have and somehow trust that by making a difference where I can, I am doing what I've been designed to do.

And we all just put one foot in front of the other...

Higher Ground

2010-01-09T08:17:00.000-08:00

"Take a step, take a risk, speak your mind, try something new" she whispers.

"But I'm afraid. Everyone will laugh. No one will understand. I might fall or fail" I murmur with my eyes downcast and my chin lowered to my chest.

Gently she lifts my head with her delicate fingers. Peering into my eyes she assures me I am not alone, that I am strong enough.

She reaches out her hand waiting to see if I will take it. She never forces, never drags me forward -- she only offers a choice.

When I am brave enough to accept her proffered hand, she walks with me, sometimes ahead sometimes beside me and I am not alone. Sometimes we walk in the dark. Sometimes we tread through icy streams. Sometimes people do laugh, and often no one understands. I do fall and fail.

But with every step of the journey I find courage. I grow stronger. And eventually the sun dawns, lightening the dark. We stop to rest awhile on a new plateau, heaven's table land?, higher ground.

And then she whispers again.