Language of Love February 12, 2012

“I love you” I said as we snuggled on the couch watching movies.

The evening suddenly took on the feel of a family gathering where Jr. drops the F-bomb in front of Grandma.

We had known each other for years before we started dating and few months into our “couple-hood”  I had no doubt that what I felt was love. But instead of completing the romantic moment, Neil looked at me and said, “It is going to be a while before I can say that”.

I had no way of knowing that more than 5 years later – and having lived together for most of it – I still would not have heard those words from him.

And, what is even more surprisingly, I am mostly okay with it.

Neil has more than the normal allotment of stereotypical male communication issues. On the other hand, words are really important to me and I am definitely a communicator. I’ve always wondered why in the world he chose me – a writer who finds it easy to voice my feelings and is deeply passionate and outspoken about a million different things when he so clearly is…NOT.

Neil is very reserved and my zest for engaging life to the fullest must push his buttons in addition to our opposing communication styles. But even in that awkward conversation about love, he has never shied away from me. In fact, his whole-hearted commitment to me when I must drive him crazy, is part of how I know he feels the words he finds so difficult to utter.

So, I keep saying “I love you” and he routinely responds: “Why now?”

Even though asking “why now” is probably intimacy avoidance at its finest, it has given me a deeper understanding of my own layers of relationship and connection. I am sure Neil doesn’t intend to come across as an emotional ascetic – maybe he is learning what love is. It seems that I certainly am.

My best guy friend was thrown off when a girl he was dating said she loved him. He called me in a panic: “I don’t know what to do! It is too early! I like her a lot but I don’t know where this is going and it is too much right now”.

“I tell you I love you all the time and I have loved you for years. What is the big deal with this?” I ask.

“It is different.” He answered. But I wondered why? Was he worried that that statement of love was full of expectation? Ownership? Exclusivity? What do we mean when we tell someone “I love you”? What do I mean when I say it to Neil?

“I love you,” I say. We are playing golf, the sun is shining and there is an eagle flying overhead. My score is pretty good for once, the friends we are playing with are laughing and everything is glorious. “Why now?” Neil asks. Because we get to share this moment. We enjoy each other’s company and seek it out instead of finding it tiresome; we have common things to laugh at and do together. In our playtime I get to see us as friends, not just who we are in our relationship.

“I love you”. We are watching the finals on a TV talent show in which the performance has been breathtaking, and I look over to see a tear running down his face. “Why now?” Because he feels for these people, for their hard work, for the heart they put into what they do. He appreciates the beauty, lets himself be moved and doesn’t pretend otherwise. His sensitivity and innocence are why I am with him. I am reminded of what a good man he is.

“I love you.” I am on a hospital gurney getting ready for surgery to remove cancer from my body.  Things will never be the same, life is uncertain and I am terrified. “Why now?” he says ever so softly. Because love is all I have to hold onto. I need to hear something in my voice besides fear, and need to know that I part of something more than cancer. Through my love I remind myself of who I am and how much bigger life is than this illness.

“I love you” I say with a sigh. Frustration edges my voice. We are having a disagreement that stems from his inability to communicate and my tendency to make up for it by over doing it. “Why now?” He doesn’t believe me – I can hear it in his voice. I don’t blame him for his doubts, but the truth is that even when I am mad I wouldn’t chose to be anywhere else (or at least not for long!). Either one of can chose to leave, but instead we slog through the tough times together knowing there is more than just this moment. I appreciate his willingness to keep trying and am grateful that we respect for each other too much to demand that our individual position is the only correct one.

We are a society that throws “I love you” around a lot. We say it lightheartedly to people we barely know, toss it around when we are happy, and end conversations with it habitually. I’ve slipped up and said it as I am hanging up the phone when it was clearly inappropriate and not meant. Too many times in the past I have said it without thinking about what it means. Often what I intended by the words was felt as something different to the person hearing it. That doesn’t mean I should say it less – in fact, post-cancer, I probably say it more than I ever have. I just am conscious of what it means to me when I do.

When I pay attention to saying “I love you” to anyone – especially Neil, I come to a deeper understanding of what is going on inside me moment to moment. It challenges me to use language that is more descriptive to build a fuller picture of my feelings and fill in the gaps so that the person I am addressing understands what “I love you” means for me. By doing so, I give them space to experience the intent instead of getting tangled up in the baggage. And more importantly, I am better able to speak from my heart when I know what really resides there.

“Why Now?” may very well be a stalling or diversionary tactic from a man emotionally tied in knots, but through the untangling of my own I have become a better person. As I discover why I love, I am better able to actually DO the emotion of love.

And love is something we all could get better giving AND receiving.

Namaste Revisited January 20, 2012

I forget I have only one boob.  At least once every day – even though it has been years since it was carved off to save my life – I forget and have to go through the mental rearrangement to accept the unacceptable. Like popping a lemon drop candy in your mouth only to find it is cinnamon flavored, it takes a bit for the brain to re-arrange its visual input to coincide with reality. When it happens it is always hard; it is a scab that gets picked constantly by outside forces even when I’ve managed to move on.

As I re-started my yoga practice after several months absence, I  sat and took a deep breath as I brought my hands into Namaste and was asked what I bring to the mat to be released.  Tears pricked my eyes as I felt the pressure of one real breast and one latex prosthetic against the back of my hands, having forgotten AGAIN that this was my so-called “Divine” self.  I am reminded of how hard it is – how often I am reminded, how often I forget, and how much self-compassion it takes each day to move through this loss.

At the beginning and end of every yoga class, as well as multiple times throughout, we are asked to bring our hands together in Namaste.  For those non- yogi’s, the “Namaste” gesture is made by placing your hands in prayer position with your  thumbs resting in the center of your sternum at your heart chakra.  Namaste is a gesture of honoring that roughly  means “I bow to you”. My favorite translation goes something like: “The Divine in me greets the Divine in you.  And when You and I are in this place, we are One.”

I have always struggled with this concept of honoring the Divine in me. If I contain the Divine, than it must look something like Kali – the Hindu Goddess of Destruction, sprinkled with a bit of Mae West and the tiniest dash of a peaceful Bodhisattva.  Surely the Divine is pink lit and gentle, not this pain riddled, hyperactive, full-of -extremes joy-ride of a life.  As I sit here, again placing my hands in a gesture intended to remind me of who I really am, not what circumstances have made me, I try to breathe in acceptance of this moment  and this self, regardless of  its imperfections.

The Namaste gesture is held at the heart chakra  – and so is all my pain.  Not only do I have to work at accepting the meaning of the gesture, I must also consciously examine and release the physical pain that binds my chest following cancer treatment and thus, by proximity,  binds my heart.  The pain is not only uncomfortable but causes muscle tightness that restricts my breathing and mobility.  The more I try to shield myself from the pain, the greater it gets as I tighten down. As yoga opens up the musculature in my chest, it also opens the emotional body within me – releasing constriction  – and hopefully  freeing me to move more fully in the world – physically, emotionally and spiritually.  The only answer to my pain and to my healing is to accept it, and let go.

The heart chakra is also the home of compassion and balance.  The irony that my body is now partly masculine (flat chested and unable to bear children) and feminine (a full breast and still those hormones!) is not lost on me as I practice yoga. It reminds me to bring both aspects into balance within me.  The internal and the external realities of my self- perception may seem to be in conflict, but in truth only support one another, pushing me to be more than I think I am. My heart still lurches when I am reminded of my losses, but here on my mat I consciously open into that pain. In accepting instead of pushing away the grief, I bring the Divine joy in life and the grief of its losses – the polarity’s that make up my life – into balance.  In this acceptance lies the path to enlightenment – for both the peaceful Bodhisattva and for the Goddess Kali who had to accept grief in order to transform violence to love.

Accepting that the Divine resides within is accepting a life that is not void of pain, but one is greater than it.  Physical pain and grief are an endless well in me some days- the losses have been many and the compromises I have been forced to make are heart-wrenching.  But, such is the way of the Divine – it is encompassing, not exclusive,   and cares  only in how we choose to move forward, not what has occurred in the past.

Perhaps my continuous shock of realizing that I am missing a body part  is only a reflection of how whole I actually feel.  Maybe it is like the moments when I suddenly realize standing next to someone of “normal stature” that I am actually short. I feel GIGANTIC…how can I be so tiny?  This is not a moment of pain – it is a delight that I make such a large footprint in the universe with such small stature.  Maybe, as the years turn, this pain too – this loss and grief over my feminine identity – will turn to joy with the realization that I am so much more than this body.  In the meantime, as I bow my head and bring my hands into Namaste, I work again to honor the Divine in me – the blessed wound that keeps bringing me to a place of compassion and presence and examination of what is true. Though sometimes this wound is fresh, the pain always eventually recedes in the light of the joy that is this life.  A balance that is indeed wholly (holy?) Divine.

Namaste.

What Our Kids Really Need January 13, 2012

I was recently talking about my (adult) kids to a near stranger, “They are amazing people.  I am so proud of who they are.  I love hanging out with them”.  She was amazed and said that it was great to hear a parent say such nice things about their kids.  It struck me odd that this should be unique – even given that my kids are in the very difficult period of finding their balance between childhood and responsibility as they enter/leave college. They are both deeply spiritual, compassionate people who do the best they can in often challenging situations – we don’t always see eye to eye, but even if they weren’t mine, they would still be my favorite people.

Later I was talking about a management position I held where nearly all of my staff were my kids age  – and how much I loved working with them even though it was often challenging.  Again, this was received with amazement.  I don’t understand why; who wouldn’t want to work with kids who see the humor in a customer named Longe Dong (SERIOUSLY!),  or who required a chalkboard in the bathroom so they could leave doodles for each other? The joy far outweighed the extra work, and the effort of giving them the opportunity will remain with them their whole lives.

Yet, despite our own efforts,  some young people’s lives are easier than others. A friend of mine recently celebrated her magical daughter with an amazing blog post, while another friend has retreated into silence as her adult son is incarcerated for a series of bad choices.  Both are amazing parents, who did everything they could to give their kids the resources and support they needed on their difficult paths to growing up.  The outcome of their efforts will likely be vastly different.

Being young is hard. Loving young people through it all is challenging.  They are our future – and as such deserve our best efforts.

I have not been the parent I wanted to be – we were poor and they witnessed more bad situations than I wanted them to know existed. We were homeless. We were sometimes hungry and often did without things their friends had.  They have known the pain of racism and classism. They have suffered irretrievable losses from a father who is challenged by his role as a parent.  I grieve deeply for all I wished for them that I could not provide or fix.  And yet, they not only survived – but thrived.

I often wonder how they are so wonderful despite all that I did wrong according to psychologists and talk show hosts.  Though there is much they could discuss in therapy, I did much right – the most important things not dependant on money, resources or material goods.  Then and now, I fiercely support and defend their right to carve their own path in the world.  They know, beyond the shadow of a doubt that I have their back, and that I will kick their ass thoroughly if they are being stupid. They know I love them no matter who they are or the difficulties they face. I require them to have integrity, to be honest and compassionate and to remember that the person they are dealing with could be them.  They are free to have whatever hair, tattoos, clothing, music or political tastes hit them in the moment although I do take photos for blackmail later! I do not judge who they love as long as they are treated well. We talk about important and trivial things – nearly every day. My son and I go out for lunch together often to catch up. We have deep and profound connection and respect for one another. I have always thought that maybe they have as much to teach ME as I have to teach them.

I have also had the good fortune to mentor many young people over the years  - some of whom had  trouble  as they fumbled their way through the world.  Many of them suffered abuse, taunting and ostracism from their peers and family for all the ways they were different.  Some of them just needed the big love and strong shoulder of a person who held them to being their best self. I held them all to the same standards I held my own children to, and I was gifted back enduring love and respect.  A hyperactive kid who needed his first job was a handful, but he made me laugh and someday he will have my job. Another young man was quiet and shy, but as I gave him opportunities he gained confidence. He became the one everyone looks up to – the big brother everyone wanted to impress and be like. But another young man took his life when he could not measure up to the standards set for him by others.  I will never be free of the anguish of finding out that he didn’t come home because my love could not erase the pain of a box he couldn’t fit into .

We have gotten too involved in thinking that the “things” are what make us good parents/adults. We worry that if we get a divorce, made a bad decision or fail to provide them with the right opportunities, tools or toys they will we will harm  our children.  Or, we pay for expensive school and buy expensive dinners thinking that matter. Too frequently we neglect the very things that would make a difference for them – to show up and listen and to respect who they are.

Young people look to us for leadership and watch how we deal with our own experiences (good or bad) to learn how to be adults.  They don’t have a lot of tolerance for cover-up games from their role models, they will just find new ones . Who do you want them to learn from? They are smart, they see our mistakes and call bullshit when we expect things out of them that we neglect in ourselves.  Perhaps that is what scares us as adults – they see us for who we are, despite who we project.

Our youth deserve the same attention to relationship that we would give a spouse – just because they are kids does not diminish the level of care we should take in our interactions. They are magic – the younger they are the closer they are to God, and the older they are the more they can see through our thinly veiled façade.  They are our future…what do we want it to look like?

We can make a lot of mistakes as parents and mentors without losing their love and respect. Being a “good parent” is simply a matter of showing up and being real. Our youth don’t need the “right” anything – they need us.  They need us to be honest, to communicate and to support their best selves no matter what.  It might not save them all – each of us comes into this world with karma that often is counter to all other influences – but we can make a difference by making the effort.

Participating in our reality September 20, 2011

I recently got back from my first residency at grad school (which is why I haven’t written much here!) and something has been in the back of mind ever since.

I am studying Creative Writing in a low residency program that meets every semester for a week at notoriously haunted Fort Warden in the northwest corner of Washington State. For whatever reason during this particular residency the ghosts were especially active. Over breakfast one morning, a woman was relating the story of her previous nights haunting and wondered what to do about it.  “Just tell it to go away.” She looked at me in surprise “That works?”  Shrugging I reply, “It might. They are people – just dead people. Tell them you aren’t interested and to leave you alone”.  She walked off muttering, “Huh. Like a bad date….” She was shocked – since the supernatural was so far out of her normal experience, it  didn’t occurre to her that she might have a choice.

Later, I was in a circle where big energy work was being done and there was a lot of excess “stuff” flying around. Even though I kept grounding myself, I could hardly sit still. When the man leading the session got to me, the first thing he said was, “You know, you can choose how much to receive…”  As soon as I said ENOUGH, my agitation was gone and I was calm and clear.  Duh, of course I had the option of saying no!  How did I forget this?  I don’t have to be a sponge for anything – even positive things. Even though something is winging its way through the ethers toward us, we can still choose.

I get to participate in my reality.

In fact, I get to create it.

I have been experimented with this. While at my residency I realized that the job I was temporarily laid off from  was far too stressful to continue fulltime while in grad school. I strategized about how to work fewer hours and make my job less stressful, but by the time my boss called me to come back to work, I had decided I was done. The problem was I couldn’t quit or I would lose unemployment benefits. I wasn’t being lazy, but my priority was to have energy to write and it was in conflict with this particular job and company. Through a series of events that had nothing to do with me, after 8 years they decided to hire someone else. It was as if I had stated what I wanted to have happen and created it. The best part was, that since I had stated what I wanted, not just what I didn’t want, I immediately got a job that better fit my needs for mental health and school.

These days even “normal” people are well versed in the power of manifestation. The language sometimes gets a little woo-woo, but in reality it gets back to that skiing/golfing thing (see earlier post  “I am Committed to this…I think”):  we hit the target we are thinking about, even if it is not really the one we wanted to hit. Too often I have said what I didn’t want  (I don’t want to hit that tree) instead of what I did want  (I want to hit the green) . My focus was not on what I wanted, it was on what I didn’t want.  It seems like up until recently, I was always trying to manifest things as a reaction to something I didn’t want to happen in the first place – not because I was stating what I wanted to start with.  I was always running behind the bus instead of driving it. I have a great quote above my dresser:  “Remember to use positive affirmations:  I am not a dork is not one of them”. It is a reminder to me to watch my language and my thoughts.

I am learning that I can choose the direction my life was to take instead of being along for the ride.

I made the decision to go to get my Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing late one night over a bottle of wine. Really, that is about the truth of it. I had thought about grad school before – in Psychology – and had been accepted once. However, it didn’t work out and every time I tried to get it going again, something happened. I thought that Psychology was the logical and responsible thing to study given my interests. It seemed rather unimportant that it wasn’t my passion. Even though I had been teaching creative writing workshops in the evenings after my counseling practice and integrated writing into my therapy sessions, the bell never went off that maybe I was going in the wrong direction. Writing had always been my love but  it seemed pointless to pursue, because what could possibly come of it?  I tried to be a “responsible adult” and struggled through all the “adult” struggles in order to pay the bills.  It wasn’t a whole lot of fun.

First and foremost cancer teaches you that there is no time like the present. So I began to write regardless of how “irresponsible” it seemed.  It was all for fun, right?   Based my blog’s tiny successes, I decided to learn more since it seemed I might actually be good at this. I found Goddard online just a few  weeks before the admissions deadline, got accepted and got a small scholarship.  Wow….someone read not only my application packet and decided I was good enough (or that I REALLY needed the help!) but someone else decided I was good enough to throw some money at!! Maybe I really could do this….

Every time I have tried something new and attempted to do the “adult” thing it has fallen apart.  Surely, this leap into complete irresponsibility and self-indulged ego-centric dreaming would also cause me to crash to the ground. The week before I was supposed to go, I waited on pins and needles for something to happen that would keep me from going. Getting in my car, I thought I might get in an accident.  On the ferry ride over I worried it would sink.  I thought maybe I would get lost or sick on the drive to the Fort. But I arrived safe and sound and here I am, 2 months into it, successfully churning out well-received work and still very much alive.

The funny thing is that ALL obstacles were removed when I decided this is what I really wanted to do. This has NEVER happened to me before. In all these years of asking for a sign from God telling me I was on the right track, no matter how hard I worked, suffered or sacrificed I never heard a peep about if I was headed in the right direction. Now I step into the ultimate act of selfishness by spending more than an entire year of income to learn how to write better with no certain pay-off  simply because it makes me “ happy”,  and suddenly God is in a neon jumpsuit with brightly lit beacons guiding me down the runway to my dreams.

Part of me wants to shout – “Where the hell were you when my children and I were hungry?  Couldn’t you have made life easier then????”  But I wonder if it was me making my life harder than it needed to be because I had strayed so far from what I was really supposed to be doing.

A friend and I were talking about this and I heard myself say, “As ‘spiritually progressed’ people trained in manifestation, we set out goals and intentions and announce them loudly so that the universe will hear what we want and give it to us. We ask for guidance and help and proof of Spirit’s existence while we bumble around. We think God doesn’t listen when we don’t get whatever it is that we think we need. Or we think we are on the wrong path and change directions since if it is not working out, clearly it is a ‘sign’. Or we think that if we work hard enough our struggle with make everything okay.  We keep reacting to our failures, trying to figure out what the right thing to do is instead of what the thing we really want is. We wonder why in the world God is not listening; we ask if s/he could PLEASE give us a sign. We wonder where we went wrong.

But maybe, just maybe, a long time ago we whispered out hearts intent and the universe DID listen. And maybe all along Spirit has been trying to give us what we asked for. We have forgotten our deepest desire in the middle of all the other things we think we ought to have or be doing. But God didn’t. And She has been waiting all this time to help us get there.”

I never did the ONE thing that I knew made my happy because I was afraid to fail. I was afraid the dream was not worth it, that I was not worth it, that it was selfish and that it didn’t matter.  I was afraid to do what made my heart sing, because that didn’t seem like a good enough reason to do something. Having cancer showed me that there is no time to worry about any of that – the only thing we can do is throw our dreams to the wind and see what happens.

For the first time in my life, I am making the choices, not simply reacting to the spinning of the universe around me. It is a big difference to choose instead of to react. Choosing is an act of believing that you are worth the effort to pursue something. Reacting is the “shit happens so how am I going to deal with it this time” mentality. I have been far more guilty of the latter than the former.  And I am remarkably good at not only dealing with “shit that happens” but making some pretty interesting things out it! But that is not how I want to live my life any more.  I want to choose.

By choosing to put myself first in line for what I ultimately wanted – even when I was full of doubts about the worthiness of it – I created the potential for it to happen. My dreams are happening. The target that I want to hit is to write and to make a difference in people’s lives.  I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet, but I am trusting that things will unfold along the way that will give me more knowledge to make more choices and better define my direction.  I am not going to let my own ghosts – or anyone else’s,  get in the way of my focus on how I want my life to go. That doesn’t mean that every day or every event, works out well. But it does mean that I am not spending my life reacting to what I don’t want. I am picking my target and keeping it in mind the whole time – not thinking about what can go wrong.  And I get to choose – it is not chosen for me by anyone or by misfortune or chance.  It is my decision.

Obviously, I am only beginning to see how this new shift in my perspective changes my life and creates opportunity and happiness for me.  I don’t know if it works, any more than I knew that telling a ghost to go away would work.  But it seems like it should…..our experience is our reality after all, so if I shift one, the other must follow.  I will let you know!!

Running Shoes July 4, 2011

My running shoes are sitting by the front door. Not my real ones – those are still sitting in the closet collecting dust. These are the shoes that magically appear and starting screaming RUN! when change is in the air leaving me feeling out of control and desperately seeking solid ground. Like a deer fleeing a forest fire, rather than hunker down and wait out the storm, I start double-knotting my shoe laces in preparation. It is in these moments of uncertainty that we have the greatest opportunity to practice having faith.

After observing my real life soap opera over the years, I can see the warning signs of imminent change:  it all starts with the overwhelming feeling that thing something is coming – like waiting for Christmas, but not sure if it is good or something else.  My dreams are full of momentum then suddenly they shift and all the things that scare me come creeping. Tears for every reason are followed by those for no reason that move into an alarming silence. Deep, expectant, interior silence where every thought echoes and I am overwhelmed by the stillness of my inner landscape. Finally I can’t stand it and I get the itch…a burning desire to run in any direction to anywhere – as long as it means movement and bridges the gap between what has been and some other time in the future.

Often I have run from people, places and situations that have become stagnant, seeking relief from the insistent urge towards a more fulfilling life.  Much of the time is was the correct course of action, but I have also picked fights, made bad decisions and burned bridges that I should not have simply because I needed to regain control of something in order to halt the free-fall into the unknown.  As I feel the energy shift inside me towards creating space for new growth the real-life crows in my garden (mythical harbingers of change as well as opportunistic death feeders)  stay unnaturally close to me as I weed.  Their insistent hoarse cawing and general blackness make me edgy as if they are waiting to guide me into a timeless place of transformation whether I want to go or not.

Regardless of my deep spiritual belief that change is a necessary and natural part of the wheel of life turning, the in-between place of what was and what is to come is a place of fear and uncertainty.  It is in these moments of deep uncertainty that I feel most alone and helpless, wanting to DO anything to wiggle out of the feeling. Even when the upcoming changes may be good, my lack of control regarding all that must shift to make way for the new is hard to swallow. When the wheel is turning regardless of my actions, it is hard for me to breathe much less to stay still, yet to overcome the urge to self-destruct I must do just that. The more irresistible the urge to run, the more important it is that I choose another “action” path and have faith.

I am not talking about staying in bad relationships or situations – if you are in one now and are able to pick yourself up and run, DO IT before hopelessness immobilizes you again. I am talking about those times when there is nothing major “wrong”, but there is also nothing major “right”. Or those times when things are okay, but your skin crawls with the need to be more of the puppeteer and less of the puppet in your own life. Perhaps you know that things need to change…that they ARE going to change…but you are not sure how, or when, or why. Maybe you took the steps to shift your life and now that things have you are left wondering what kind of monster you just let loose. New anything…jobs, locations, and opportunities stemming from both “bad” and “good” create anxiety as we move from the usual into the unknown and we often find ourselves resisting or working against the flow as we try to regain our footing.  As we struggle to feel more secure, we could be using our energy more productively by listening to Bob Marley’s advice to have faith and “don’t worry about a thing, ‘cause every little thing is gonna be alright”.

Faith is a big word full of religious connotations that somehow have always been connected to a lack of power and personal control in my mind. Years growing up around various conservative churches drilled into my skull that faith is about believing in the impossible and improbable  without question and relinquishing all control of our lives to an invisible being that could only be clearly heard by a chosen few with really bad hair. But several years ago I found a sticker that remains on the water bottle I use every day that shifted my thinking about passively giving over your life to the unknown.  It says: FAITH:VERB.

And, of course, the simplest definition of a verb is “an action word”.

Duh — of course faith is an active thing. But how often do we all say we have “faith” when we really have that tone of “oh my god, I HOPE this is going to work out because I really don’t know” in our voice? For many of us faith has become a THING – a noun – something that is. It has become something that exists outside of us and can be quite elusive when we are troubled. It has become something we think we have (or don’t have) not something we DO. Indeed, our ability to actively DO faith seems to be the first thing we drop when we get scared and start our personal version of clutching at the strings of control.

In those times when things are most uncertain, having faith is the only thing TO do as we deal with the uncertainty of our temporary blindness. And what are we supposed to have faith in????   First, simply that we will know what we need to know, when we need to know it and all will be revealed to us in time. When we begin to make rash decisions that are contradictory to our truest selves because we are grasping at control we can prevent the next best thing from easily happening to/for us.  When we react to our own fears instead of sitting in the uncomfortable in-between place of not knowing, we use up our energy spinning in circles instead of getting ready to act on the positive things coming our way. By practicing faith that the world will still rotate without us having our finger on the control button, we begin to see our discomfort for what it is….fear that things are changing and that our personal desires and plans are going to be forgotten in the storm. Fear that the “bad” patterns will keep repeating if we don’t hold on tight. Fear that everything will be different, that we won’t get to choose, and that we can’t see the right path. Uncertain about our future we feel it is only us, not something greater, that is watching out for us and we feel alone and small.

And the most important part of faith is knowing that this is not true..

If you ask me when I feel the itch to run if I have faith that everything will be okay in the end, and if I truly believe I was a beloved child of the Universe, I would tell you yes, of course. But that would not necessarily stop my failing around as I tried to figure out a course of action that would result in feeling like I was driving this life again. And this “child” of Universe would certainly still have thought that she knows better than any higher power when she was stressed! How is it that if I cannot see around this particular corner in my life, I still think I can choose an action that will result a positive outcome? What is all this energy I use to run, make demands on the universe and generate a river of tears actually gaining me? When I don’t know what to do, or what is going to happen, why am I so hell-bent on believing that I will have the answers if I only beat my head against the wall hard enough???  Where did that part about believing it is all going to be okay in the end disappear to???

Regardless of how contradictory it seems when our fight or flight mechanism is going crazy because things are up in the air, we need to sit in our itchy, squirminess until we are clearer about which way to proceed. When we can feel change in the air like the coming of the rain, remember that we must open our hands in order to accept a gift. A clenched fist can neither let go of what it doesn’t need, or receive something precious. And our desire to be the one in control is most definitely a clenched fist – and frequently a clenched jay and stomach too!

Breathe. Open your heart to the very real possibility that everything is going to okay and know that you are on the exact path that gets you right where you are supposed to be. Stop fretting as if there was some way you can speed the transition from here to the future. Take the time to rest your spirit and wait until the way is clearer. Be kind to yourself when you are feeling powerless and know that vision is achieved by observing not doing. Resist the urge to think that whatever we might do in this deeply uncomfortable moment is a better choice than listening for further instructions.

Regardless of your personal belief in a higher power or divine being, take comfort knowing that everything evolves out of chaos. Allow yourself – and the universe – to sort through the endless possibilities for your life and create room for good things to enter.  When you fret that change has brought bad things in the past and that you HAVE to stay in control so that bad doesn’t happen again….consider the possibility that maybe letting go is exactly what is called for. Maybe you really need to just get out of your own way.  I know I need to get out of mine.

Use faith as a bridge to get you from this moment of uncertainty to the place where things seem more settled. Every little thing WILL be alright. Pack up your imaginary running shoes …or better yet, use your real ones them for what they are made for and create some physical momentum to eat up the anxiety while you wait for the rest of life to catch up.

Enter the Dragon – PART TWO May 15, 2011

Please read Enter the Dragon PART ONE first!

From the first day I heard my dragon tattoo calling to me I have felt different about my body.  I look in the mirror and feel stronger, sexier, and more ME already.  But in order to get us together, I have some huge steps to undergo.

Imagine if you will the following phone conversation I made to Dustin, my new tattoo god:

“Hello, my name is Robyn.  I am a breast cancer survivor  with a mastectomy and I want to tattoo my chest.” (deep breaths)

“Okay, do you have a nipple?”   (gulp!)

“Nope”  (hyperventilating)

“As long as you are healed it shouldn’t be a problem”

No it shouldn’t be a problem…but it IS. Even admitting I don’t have a nipple makes me want to throw up. I am going to have to take my shirt off to show Dustin my chest to even start the process and then spend  hours shirtless while it is getting done!  The whole idea makes me sick. And excited.

Into Project Tattoo Studio I go — ALONE.  Nice, above average tattoo place empty except the three artists hanging out – young, dressed in black and off course heavily pierced and tattooed. As I explain to Dustin (my distantly related cousin) that I have a unique tattoo situation, he interrupts me:  “How do you catch a unique rabbit?”  I reply gleefully “ You NEEK up on it!”  This happens to be one of the very few jokes I can remember! The fact that this heavily tattooed, young, pierced guy I am about to bear my chest to randomly knows and tells me this joke feels like a sign from God.  I know here is no question that I am on the right path with the right guy.

And then comes the moment.

“Let’s see where we are putting this”.  Taking a deep breath, off comes my shirt.  In the middle of the shop.  Facing the windows and the door.  I whisper that no one has seen my chest up close except my boyfriend.  Dustin smiles as he keeps drawing – his is head full of making my dragon come to life and he dosn’t see what I am lacking.  I am shaking as I leave, so excited and nervous about what I have just done and what I am about to do.  I still have to wait two weeks to see the design he comes up with and I need time to sit with the magnitude of what is happening to me.

***

Dustin finally calls and sent me photo of “HER” on my phone.  I have been dreaming about him drawing – her coming through his hand onto the paper.  I don’t really know what she looks like, I am trusting  the artist to come up with his own version of my idea.  I trust this process but I am scared that I won’t like what he has drawn.  She is so strong….I don’t want it to be a biker tattoo….I am scared and I ask everyone I know what they think.

Neil and  I go in the next evening to see the drawing.  Neil is out of his element to say the least.  I am far more comfortable in this realm, but when Dustin pulls the drawing out I think I am going to pass out.  My face is so hot….

She is BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!  He has only drawn her head and she is bigger than I imagined – but she IS going on my whole torso. She will be my whole right side….my side of power starting in the curve of my pelvic bone and going  up to my armpit. Dustin wants to freehand tattoo her on my body in order to match my own contours and incorporate my scars into the design.  What a leap of faith that is to have someone draw on you without knowing FOR SURE what it will look like!  Breathing, I say yes to the process and make my appointment for 3 days later. We are planning 4-5 hours in the chair the first day to do all the lines and maybe 2 more sessions afterwards for color after the line-work heals.

In the car later, I ask Neil what he thinks and he mentions that no one will see her if she starts below my waistband.  I smile – it isn’t necessarily for anyone else to see , I say – this is for me.  Whatever anyone can see should only want to make them see more….which is exactly what I want – and not just about my tattoo.  I am so much more than this body.  So much more than the tattoo that is coming to life in me.

***

As the days pass there are big changes in me.  When I look in the mirror I don’t see my scar anymore and I don’t try to cover up all the time.  And  I make the decision to go to grad school to pursue a creative writing degree.  Being a writer is something I always dreamed about but never thought possible but somehow all the excuses for not doing it are gone.  Transformation is in the air and even Neil begins to make plans to pursue some long put off dreams.  Could all this be connected to the tattoo? I have always said that when you change one thing in yourself everything has to change accordingly because we are so connected.  Maybe deciding to act instead of to continue to  mourn has shaken this  little snow-globe of life.  I wonder how everything will land….

***

Finally it is time. I can’t sit still, I can’t eat, I am a mess.  Neil is going to be there to get it started and them my mom is coming to sit with me.  I take a Xanex as I am getting out of the car to settle my nerves because I am shaking.  Dustin sets up and says OK…and off comes my shirt.  Neil smiles at me and then we are off and running.

It is incredibly vulnerable to be shirtless for the world to see right by the front door, and I am completely exposed as Dustin draws the rest of the design on  my chest with sharpie. As the needles start, the other tattoo artists start telling jokes and I get the giggles until Dustin yells at all of us.  When the needles hit tender areas and then move up my rib cage there is no joking around as I breathe deeply to absorb and release the pain.  This hurts FAR worse than my other tattoo’s and often takes my full concentration.  Mom takes pictures and I am reminded of being in labor with my kids.

I am changing…I feel like instead of something being drawn on my skin, something is being drawn out of it.

Three hours later my pain level has peaked just as Dustin is finishing up.  I nervously stand up and look in the mirror and am in awe.  There are no scars, no discolorations, no sign that anything ever happened to me.  And She is amazing!  There are gaps in the design that will be filled in with shading and color as the weeks go by, but she is truly amazing.

With tears in my eyes I tell Dustin thank you – he has no idea what he has given me back.  As I leave the other tattoo artists ask respectfully if they can see the work Dustin has done, and I am proud to show them. For the first time in 2 1/2 years I am not ashamed of my body.  I can look at myself and see strength and beauty instead of loss and regret.   I have so much ahead of me and nothing is holding me in the past.

Enter the Dragon PART ONE May 12, 2011

It is a hard thing to communicate what is closest to the  heart and as much as anyone I often struggle with putting words to paper.  While I have written about body image here, I have  only touched the surface of how deeply traumatized I, and other young women, are at the loss of a breast.  Our breasts are such a revered part of womanhood, that losing one leaves us feeling less sexual, less feminine and thoroughly just  LESS. Regardless of the personal work one does around the issue, daily interactions  leave us back pedaling and struggling with what we KNOW deep down inside vs. what  we are being shown everywhere else. How we feel about ourselves internally and how we see ourselves is  in the mirror is often warped by society, our  histories and  fears. Regardless of how we project ourselves in the day to day world, these  insecurities follow us around and shape us without our intention.  The past 2  ½ years have been a daily emotional work out when I look at myself in the mirror trying to absorb, accept and get over  what has been done to my body in order to survive.  Everything about how I walked in the world changed when they cut off my breast.  It wasn’t intentional that I changed…I wanted to be the same as before… but the suddenness of diagnosis, the ensuing  trauma, and the loss of a piece of my sexuality took its toll.  While I lost less then I gained, a piece of self confidence/self perception was gone that I felt I would never gain back.

Most women who have a mastectomy these days have a smallish scar in an even line across their chest.  Many are still able to keep their nipple and surrounding areola so that reconstruction is more natural looking.  Most younger women choose to pursue reconstruction fairly quickly and while the new breast is not the same as the old, at least it is there.  Not so with me.  I had so much cancer in me that they took everything on my right side, right down to the muscle, damaging nerves as they scraped away tissue. While it initially looked good and I was surprised at how small the incision was, in the end, my surgical wound wouldn’t heal  – my body rejected the stitches  and I was left with a gaping hole in my chest for weeks. From a tidy simple line following careful surgery, it turned into a gnarly scar tissue filled gash.  The moment that healed, I started radiation which again didn’t go as planned and left scaring and discoloration from third degree burns from my armpit across and down my ribcage.  Needless to say all of this contributed to me not wanting to do any more surgeries out of fear of the side effects. Besides, the damage had already been done and nothing would make it look better.  No matter how much time I put into the emotional and physical healing of my body it is still difficult to cope with when I see myself in the mirror. Of course, this is all my own perception of what I see – it is probably not as bad as I think it is – but how I feel about myself is all that matters.

I have tried to get over it, tried to accept it and tried to be bigger than what I look like.  And, mostly,   I have.  Facing that gash every day I have learned so much about myself, about how I grew up feeling about my body and the results of abuse and our hyper sexualized society. I have observed the way I have changed, the way I have held back, and how different I feel about my physical self now that I can no longer claim a standard of “normal” attractiveness.  I have written, thought, prayed about and explored the issues around healing the physical and emotional wounds that cancer opened up for me.  The irony of having my surgical wound heal so slowly is not is not lost on me as I still struggle with self-acceptance in the face of the amazing power and strength I have shown.

In the end I realized that I get to chose how I see myself, regardless of the visual evidence left in the aftermath of disaster.  I do not have to be sad, embarrassed, ashamed or angry.  I don’t have to force myself to accept the unacceptable.

So, I began to think about what it would take for me to feel good about what I saw in the mirror.  I certainly did not need to recreate a breast – I am over the whole thing about that particular body part being  important and I have given enough time to cancer.  But I can’t stand the scar…I can’t stand having to see the ugliness when I don’t feel like the experience itself was ugly.  While some people can wear their scars as a testament of their strength, my scar still reminded me of all that I was forced to change, about how life goes haywire despite your precautions, and how little control I have.   I needed to change that scar into a thing of beauty and strength that reflected who I have become.

And so SHE came to me one day. SHE is a dragon….multicolored colored and smiling but fierce, powerful, beautiful , and proud.  She represents the protector, wisdom, luck, prosperity, transformation and the ability to adapt to all elements.  She is cross cultural appearing in both eastern and western mythology and is revered everywhere for her ancient knowledge.  Where there is dragon, there is treasure hidden deep within.

And so she will be tattooed on my torso….she is not hiding my scar, she is encompassing it and making it part of her own body.  She will move my eye’s line of sight to what IS there  – the beauty and fierceness – and away from what is no longer.  The focus is shifted for me from loss to creativity, from what happened to me to what I chose for myself.  It is not a hiding from what is or trying to go back to what was, it is an open hearted acknowledgement that cancer happened….and here is what I did with it.

While this may seem like a radical decision and is certainly not an option most would consider, I welcome the opportunity to shape my body – and my experience  - in a unique, strong and beautiful way.  I am not doing this for anyone but me and I have the feeling that she is going to teach me much in our journey together.  I can’t wait!

It Gets Better May 5, 2011

Recently there have been numerous news stories detailing the deaths of young people who were tormented for being different or because they were gay.  While youth is always a time of great change and those who stand out in the crowd have always been targets of others insecurities, the extreme violence surrounding many of these deaths  in  a time in which we believe ourselves  to be so progressive is stunning.  In the past year our youth have been beaten to death, lured to “parties” in which they are tortured and raped, videoed and publically humiliated, and bullied to the point they can no longer bear staying alive.  A recent news story told the tale of two 13 year old girls – best friends – who killed themselves at a slumber party. Their parents suspect they had been planning it quietly all along and they did not want to be stopped . This was not a “call for help” as we traditionally have viewed suicide. In their minds, death was the only way to end the constant abuse they suffered at the hands of their peers .

Closer to home, last month over dinner a young friend of mine spoke of a 13 year girl at her school who was different, never seemed to fit in , had family troubles and who took her own life.  I have seen so many of these kids over the years.  A  young man named Colin stayed with me while he escaped the abuse he suffered at the hands of his extremely religious parents because he was different.  He disappeared one day and his parents found him two weeks later hanging in the woods in their back yard. When I practiced counseling and did crisis intervention my office was full of teens struggling to stay alive, afloat and in one piece.  These kids were rebels, honor students, athletes and GLB teens who felt they did not – and could not – measure up. They were tormented at school and often held to unrealistic standards by parents with deaf ears. Some felt themselves to be so different it terrified them and they could see no way they would ever fit in. Their problems were belittled, the stresses they were under discounted and they sought control by acting out, through self-abusive behavior and ultimately by ending their lives. They did not believe there was help to be had and could only see a lifetime of the same garbage ahead of them.  It is no wonder they chose to close the book.

To my young friends out there:  I want you – all of you,  wherever to you are – to know that YOU ARE NOT ALONE.  And, it does get better.  SO MUCH BETTER.  I PROMISE.  I know what it is like to be bullied, shunned and tormented for being different.  I know how hard it is to shine.  I know all about hating yourself for things you cannot control, and how difficult it is to believe that things will ever be better. I know what it is like to feel so unbearably different but I also know  how scary AND  exquisitely beautiful it is to find out who you really are. There are many people who understand, who will lend an ear and a helping hand.  Believe me when I tell you I know how hard it is to face another day knowing you cannot, and will not,  ever be what they want  and it seems so easy to just disappear.  Looking back, I am so very happy that I didn’t let the bastards win.  Keep fighting the good fight- it will not be forever.  You will find your place, you will find many others like you  – you are not now  — and will not ever be— alone. If you doubt my word…TALK TO ME  — here is my email : becomingamazon@gmail.com – I am ALWAYS available to you.  Please do not end your story before it even gets to the good parts.

To the “responsible adults” around us:  This is a nation founded on the principals of rebelliousness and individuality.  Our country’s founders came here to escape intolerance.  Why then do we as a nation silently condone persecutory behavior when it is directed at the shadows of our societies – those we marginalize due to race or sexual orientation?  Your families were once the very people hiding their beliefs, hiding who they were, running from the religious zealots who said they were wrong and who dictated “gods” word differently than your families believed.  Have we forgotten why we came here in the first place????

We need to instill a tough national ZERO TOLERENCE policy around bullying, discrimination and discriminatory violence regardless of the age of the perpetrator.  Both children and parents should be held equally accountable for acts of terror and violence targeting other youth.  Teachers, principals and school boards should be held accountable for acts of bullying occurring on their campuses  AND  for acts of violence that occur off campus  when the  seeds were planted and word was spread during school time. Family, friends and neighbors need to stand up for our youth; we need to speak out, jump in, notify authorities and stop pointing fingers or saying “it is not my problem”.  IT IS OUR PROBLEM.

Every evening the news carries stories of youth being bullied, after school “fight clubs”, malicious texting and abusive social media interactions and we turn the sound down, throw our hands up and wonder who is responsible.

WE ARE RESPONSIBLE.

WE DID THIS TO OUR YOUTH.

WE CREATED THIS PROBLEM.

AND WE NEED TO PUT AN END TO IT NOW.

 

We need to create more opportunities, both educational and social in which individuality and self-expression are supported, explored and celebrated.  When we foster competition over creativity and when sports teams are funded while the arts are being shut down  we are raising a generation more aggressive and less tolerant of those who are different. We need to back off on the pressures to succeed that we put on our children due to our own adult fears of failure.  Let them be kids, love them for all their crazy glory.  Stop trying to make them little adults imposing on them some weird standard for plastic perfection.  Let them PLAY and explore and create, then ask them to be responsible – not the other way around.   Our priorities need to change.

Our youth are our future.  In a society where adults turn a blind eye on youth picking on those who are unique what does that say about our future?  Where will our creativity disappear to?  Where will our individualism and all the things this country was founded on disappear to when our children are too afraid to stand out? Are we becoming a nation identical to the ones we fled from so many years ago?  Keep in mind that the world’s richest man was a geek – shunned for not being an athlete and meeting some “american standard” for athleticism and aggression.  What if he ended his life at 16  because he was weird and bullied?  What would we have lost?

To the parents out there:  Shame on you to those adults whose own closed minded perfectionism bred such intolerance in our children. Shame on you for closing your eyes, for your lack of accountability and your apathy.  You have forgotten your role.  As parents we hold great responsibility  – our children are not ours  to use as pawns or tools to foster our hatred and biases. They belong to the future and as such need guidance in staying the course of integrity and strength in the face of pressures to follow the easy path of conformity. And though you will never see this, to the parents of Colin:  I will never forget that your child died because you couldn’t love him for who he was instead of who you wanted him to be.  He was an amazing young man — too bad for all of us that you didn’t see that.  You set an example for all  parents to learn who our children really are …you may be pleasantly surprised.

Thankfully many, many more parents work hard to raise conscientious, caring and compassionate kids….THANK YOU.  I have the good fortune to know and work with many of your young people, and I love them dearly for how hard they work to do the right thing. You are teaching them that regardless of your  specific beliefs we all hold a piece of God, and to extinguish that  through demands of conformity or acts of violence, robs us all. I am so grateful for your compromises, your wisdom, your words and  your silence  even when your were scared.  As a single parent of young adults, I know how hard it is….but I also know that the most important thing we ever give our kids is acceptance.  And sometimes, that is a hard thing for us to give without any attachments.

To my fellow warriors, rebels, GBLT rule breakers, artists and creative souls….I love you all.  I honor all that you are, all that you have been and the challenges you have faced.  So many of you hid when you were young waiting for a safe time to be truly you….and I love who you have become!  I am so glad that you stayed here with us as you continue to brighten so many lives.  I wish that these kids could see you then and  now so that they would know what is possible. They so need to know what love and acceptance really looks like.  Thank you for helping all of us step up to being better people.

Please check out the following resources:

It Gets Better Project founded by Seattle’s Dan Savage

Pink  ”Perfect” explicit

Lady Gaga Born this Way lyrics

Cultivating asparagus April 20, 2011

I have been putting in an asparagus bed this Spring – an interesting process for a girl with some serious commitment issues. Growing asparagus takes a lot of preparation and care and needs to be left alone for two years before it is harvested. And not only does it take forever  before you can eat it, it hogs a whole lot of energy and valuable space. In order to make room for it, 2 large sheds got taken down, a ton of gravel was moved and a hundred wheelbarrows full of dirt were hauled across the yard to fill the 4’x11’x14” bed that will house a cluster of weedy looking roots. Counting a full year of planning and preparation, by the time I have a piece of roasted asparagus on my plate, nicely seasoned with olive oil, garlic and a little lemon pepper, I will have labored over it for three years without it even reaching its peak production for  several more. I’m preparing to commit to this vegetable longer than most things in my life.

My kids and I moved nearly 20 times in the nineteen years we lived together. We relocated for good reasons, and for bad….we have moved all of our stuff into storage units while we lived out of boxes, and unpacked full of hope time and time again. Each time I carefully packed the collection of bird nests my daughter said I kept because I was looking for my own place to nest. Each new home was like a new garden…an empty space waiting to be filled, full of promise that if I worked hard enough, it would be bountiful. In each I tended a garden of some sort, full of hope that the seeds I planted would unleash abundance on us.

Gardening is where the dreamer in me shines – where I can jump in head fist and watch the magic happen. It is a small world I get to be god of. I spent many winters reading garden catalogs, making plans and buying far more seeds than I ever really needed. Always hoping that this would be the one I got to keep, I threw my whole heart in with wild abandon. I dug every new garden myself, asking for and receiving no help…moving turf, hauling rocks and constructing beds.The problem was I spent little time distilling what I REALLY wanted, had the time and energy for  and whether the conditions were really right. It was one big all-or-nothing-try-everything-in-hope-that-something-works. Regardless of the suitability of the land to what I wanted, I attempted to build my dreams in an energetic frenzy of dirt moving and shit hauling.

Ironically (or maybe not) no matter how many times I planned, dug and sweated, or even how long I was able to tend that particular garden, I never really harvested what I planted. I confess – shamefully – I was a lifetime gardener who didn’t enjoy the fruits of her labors. Sure, I would nibble out of it and give stuff away to neighbors and friends, but as for harvesting and making the most of every zucchini, bean or lettuce leaf – well, most of it rotted. For all the time, energy, and work I put in, I never really got to be nourished by it. I dove in headfirst with enthusiasm and hope but was blinded by the enormity of possibility. I would lose focus, forget to water, get distracted and soon  it was too late. The window of opportunity was gone.

In my garden I had a big idea of what I wanted – but it was like comparing a relationship to a grocery store romance novel — little connection with reality or possibility. Even though I dreamed big and worked hard on it, it wasn’t necessarily what I wanted or capable of maintaining and I had to give up mid-stream. And all these years of running to and from many things – and myself  - meant that I had never learned how to cultivate my dreams. My lack of abundance in other areas of life left me seeking, yet unable to harvest, my dream anything much less garden. A lack of clarity about what I wanted had me planting far more seeds that I was interested in or able to take advantage of. I was a spectacularly hard worker but not so good at doing all that would have resulted in a successful harvest. When the garden had finally reached its maximum fertility and was ready to give back, I let the branches break for the weight of the fruit, and the stalks fell over top-heavy.  It was survival of the fittest…the toughest plants survived the attention/neglect then got packed up and moved on with me. The rest was left unapologetically in the compost heap.

This post was about gardening right?

To an outsider gardening looks like you can just plant, sit around watching it grow, pull a few weeds and then feast. It takes a great deal more planning and preparation in order to be successful. Choices about time and place, long term goals and quality of the available resources are critical to being able to continue productivity for the long term. The daily tending is critical to keeping it healthy.  And like so much of life, it is the small things you do that result in abundance. Sometimes in the in-between, when you are just tending to the dream, it is easy forget your intention and get distracted. Gardening and life are a constant re-commitment to the process –even when it looks like nothing is happening. We have to trust in the unseen, to believe that our care matters. Sometimes we have to re-evaluate mid-stream, make different decisions about our resources or take a break to rest the soil. We have to plan ahead to prevent disaster and anticipate our successes so that we are ready to receive.

Cancer changed much in my life, right down to the fact that my “garden” became 2 pots on the back porch and some real evaluation about what I wanted in life. Now that my kids had moved out, I only had my needs to consider and a clean slate. I had a gnawing sense of immediacy and my world had become a daily investigation of what was important to me in the moment. Gone was my endless energy for big, vague dreams and instead I asked myself regularly, “is this making me happy?” and “what do I really want?”.I was often surprised by the answers.

Some of that big dream I thought I wanted didn’t really apply to me. The job I thought was so important was not. And neither was questing after the status of being important. I wanted small, not large. What was actually valuable to me in my relationships was not necessarily what I had thought. I was really satisfied with the “happy hour menu” instead of the whole big sha-bang.  Most importantly, I began to realize I was worth the effort to plan for and have what I wanted then to enjoy whatever it was.

My boyfriend Neil began looking for his first house to buy while I lay in bed recovering from surgery. As he was working through finding what he really wanted I encouraged him to make a “treasure map” of what was most important and to firmly believe that it would lead him to the right home. I taught him the very work I was trying to embody myself and hoped that teaching would help the learning sink in. While he manifested his way to a new home, I mapped my way into a new life, questioning the importance of each step to make sure I was not throwing it all to the wind as I so often had.

And sure enough the house appeared – in not quite what was be anyone’s dream location, but certainly full of possibility and possessing every strength Neil considered important – down to room for the roses he hoped to grow. Though it was Neil’s home, I had made my own treasure map of what I hoped for in this next move: space to build love, the strengthening my health, staying close to my parents, time to self-reflect  wrapped in the sweet smell flowers and of course, a garden. We got the got the keys the night before my last radiation treatment. Come spring, we counted 30 rose bushes (!) and those mysterious tree-like plants all over the yard turned out to be a dozen different lilacs. The previous owner was a gardener and as it warmed up and my energy began to return, I filled her garden beds with vegetables and munched on the raspberries she had tended so carefully.  As I settled my nest collection into its new home, I couldn’t help but wonder if finally I had learned enough to have found my own nest location too.

That first summer I carefully tended a garden that had been there for many years with the tools that the little old lady had left for me to use. Fenced in and protected, there were many plants that were long established and an abundance of surprises. I grew only what I knew we could eat and what I had energy for, I shared the excesses of raspberries and beans but kept enough for me to make jam and put things away in the freezer for deep-winter treats. I planted flowers that I cut every week and tended the dozens of rose bushes making sure that I always brought the beauty indoors to enjoy all of the time.

Cautiously I dug into the dirt, my home and my relationships. I re-established connections with friends I hadn’t seen in years because I had felt so toxic. Neil and I remodeled the whole house  making it ours, sorting out the nuances of what we each wanted. We learned how to work together amidst the piles of rubble and dust left from tearing down the old in so many ways.  We called our friends and loved ones for help with the hard things and to join us in celebrating our successes.  Tentatively I extended little tendrils of roots and closed the exit doors I usually left open for me to escape. Where I used to plan far ahead and close myself off, now our house and garden is full of the laughter of family and friends who often stop by unannounced. Many quite evenings have passed with a glass of wine in hand watching our chickens root around in the dirt. And I have fully harvested two years worth of gardens, with a freezer full to prove it.

When I told my kids I was planning to plant asparagus they said “Whoa Mom, that is BIG!” And it is. This wasn’t something I could dig up and take with me in a pot or pack into a box.  Planting asparagus is a statement that I plan to be around to stick around to see it grow, to do the cautious work of preparing its home, to take care of it and enjoy it thoroughly when it ended up on my plate.

There is something way bigger at work here in this garden. I have stopped envisioning my life in big fairy tale format that had little connection to my sanity and dreams. I spend more time asking if this is my desire or someone else’s and try to act on that. When I focus on what I want, I stop running away from abundance and instead become more able to receive the fruits of my labor.  I allowed for the wisdom, tools and helping hands of the people around me, past and present, to help me tackle challenges instead of hiding, ashamed of my struggles and limited knowledge. As I become more comfortable with what I want and who I am without the extra distractions, I am able to set down roots. All gardeners know that the more nourished the roots the deeper they grow and the healthier the plant. And I feel my roots growing strong and deep and reaching outwards to anchor myself to this place.

The Jersey King asparagus that will arrive any day now has no idea how incredibly important it is. When I finally get to that dinner, I will have worked the same garden for 4 years – longer than I have ever stayed put in one place. It will also mean that I have allowed love in my life, and consistently maintained close friendships that nurture me, for the longest time ever.  Its survival means that I will have successfully cultivated hope and acted on my dreams in many aspects of my life for longer than I have ever. And most importantly, I stuck through the rain and dirt, sunshine and beautiful days to actually enjoy the effort I have put in. A lot rides on something that could die regardless of my attention. This asparagus – not even planted yet – represents far more than a tasty side dish. It represents the most important commitment I have ever made – the one to constantly and lovingly tend my own inner garden.

Light it up March 30, 2011

“Contradiction

I’m conflicted with being a hypocrite

And through these songs you can witness it

The difference is that I admit this shit

‘cause I’m just like you

Walking the fine line between saying it

And living it”

~Macklemore

I have quit writing more times than I can count.  In fact, I have quit many things – and people – more times than I can count.  I have avoided, belittled and stalled on amazing ideas and plans and I have been far less than I could be. I had gone into hiding and shirked my calling. I have ended friendships, jobs and avoided being recognized. I used to think that it was just a “commitment” issue that caused me to be unable to fully engage, but recently I heard words come out of my mouth that told a different story.

I was giving a long list of reasons why I really shouldn’t write to my son the other day.  He got frustrated with the never-ending excuses and said JUST DO IT MOM.  “I can’t” I replied.  “If I do, someone will find out someday that I can’t always live the story I tell, and they will call my bluff and everyone will know that I am a fake and it will be horrible”.  Openmouthed he looked at me and with thick eighteen year old sarcasm he said “REALLY, Mom?????”  Confessing this to a young adult fully in the throes of self-discovery shook me into realizing how universal this fear of being judged is, and how limiting.

The next day I got in the car and plugged in music my son introduced me to from Seattle hip hop master Macklemore in which he talks about the difficulties of being a white, middle class hip hop artist.  He speaks of the need to share your story and of the urge to create that goes beyond your own self-imposed boundaries. He totally gets the paralyzing fear that you are going to be called out on how well you walk the talk.  He challenges us to honor the places we are contradictory so that we are more true to ourselves and liberate our creativity from self-judgment.  Hmmm…..

I am often front and center in leadership roles that mask my own insecurities. I would love to live a quiet life out of the path of action but something keeps pushing me into it.  Destiny, karma, or whatever, has given me the ability and opportunity to serve others even though  I’d rather be unknown .  I have tried, but I can’t fight it. I have this over riding sense that I am supposed to speak up and speak out even as I worry that someday the skeletons in the closet are going to have a big ol’ dance party in front of everyone I know. I still hear the voice of someone I loved challenging me:  “How can you help other people when you are so screwed up?”.  Said years ago, it continues to echo within me.

Writing in particular is a challenging and often completely bipolar exercise. Some days I get up so excited to write that it is all I can do to get through the day until I can sit at the computer.  The words just flow out of me and the connection to a deeper wisdom is effortless.  It makes me incredibly happy and everything is good.  Other days the voices in my head drown out any enthusiasm with their shouting about how worthless it all is, how self-indulgent and arrogant I am. Worse yet….what a liar. I struggle with getting out of bed, much less with how to be my truest self.  I am often not a very good cancer survivor, and frequently can’t find anything positive about who I am now because of it. Most of the wisdom found on these pages was discovered at the end of many a long road of hardship that a truly wise person would have seen coming and avoided like the plague.  While I feel the truth in the words that flow so easily on those magical days, the reality of living them fully is often daunting enough for me to hide not only my gifts, but myself.  What if I am wrong?  What if I can’t?  Who am I to say these things?  For God’s sake, what if someone finds out I am human!???

In my all or nothing life, I frequently judge myself too harshly –if I am not all wise, than I am nothing.  And if I am nothing, well, then that is just how it is so I should keep my head down and maybe no one will notice.  Certainly don’t put myself in front of an audience who will all be there to see me fall.

But,  there it is….I sit with the knowing that I am both wise and stupid, successful and not, and to live this life fully, both sides of the coin must be embraced.  I do walk the fine line between saying it and living it, and am nothing if not a frequent contradiction.

Perhaps I need to remember the day I went to give a speech (for which I had paid a lot of attention to how I looked)  to have my mom tell me I had chicken shit on my stilettos. We laughed it off after a cleanup and I went to the microphone relaxed.  The speech went great -I came off as smart and funny and looked pretty good too.  No one knew about the poop….and maybe it was just what I needed to keep me grounded and focused on what part of me was most important.

It would seem fairly obvious that we all are in process, and we shouldn’t judge ourselves so harshly for where we are not living up to the face we put on for everyone else.  But we do.  I have too many friends that agonize over where they think themselves a disappointment to others, who choose not to love fully or pursue their dreams because they need to keep their carefully developed persona intact.  We are so aware of our own faults and mistakes that we wear them as a shield to protect ourselves from our dreams.  It is an awfully heavy burden to lug around.

I challenge you to look within at the areas where you act as if you are less;  where you don’t stick your neck out, say what you need to say, act on your dreams or love as fully as you would like because someone might see the contradiction in your intentions and your actions. Don’t listen to the people who scoff at how “you talk one thing and do another”, who question the validity of what you know, who hold you back because of what it means to them if you take risks.  If we change ourselves, the whole world will change with us because we are all so connected.  And if we call our own bluff and show the man behind the curtain, everyone will all be affected and called to a deeper place of integrity and honesty that will change all of us.

My confusion about the right path to take and the way I often flail around in my life are the same struggles others face more or less publicly.  We are not diminished by our challenges, but fed by them.  We all live lives of contradiction because we are complex ever- evolving beings.  There is grace in holding both the wisdom and the idiocy, and true depth and meaning come from a heart that has been strengthened by both.

I am sure there will be many more days where I feel like a hypocrite and unable to live with the contradiction in what I am able to do vs. what I write about.  I write this not as an apology or a public exposure of my weaknesses in order to cover my ass, but as a way for me to speak the truth about all that I am so that I can be more.  I have written nearly everywhere in this blog that we must live into what we choose instead of into our fear not because I am good at it, but because I must keep reminding myself.  We hide all we can be because we fear that in showing our brilliance we will also expose our dark.  As the chorus to the Macklemore song goes, we must “light it up to burn it down”.  And so I write today and each day  to light a match for me and for you and you and you and you and you…………..

(Check out this amazing music….Macklemore \”Contradiction\”)