The Ultimate Yes

On Being Seen...

I've just returned home after spending the last twenty-four hours with my girlfriend, Layne. (She's the other giggly gal in the photo.)  We've known each other for about fifteen years and during that time, she and I have gone through a helluva lot together. 

She and I both had the courage to cancel our weddings when deep down we knew the relationship wasn't the right one for us. (I'm happily married now, but was engaged to another man eleven years ago.)  Over the years as we changed jobs, homes and men, we've been there for one another as plans changed, hearts broke and fell in love again, and dreams were realized.  It's one of those friendships where you just know you're going to love and care for this person for the rest of your life...no matter what. 

And right now...as Layne is going through a tremendous medical challenge and enduring incredible pain, she has allowed me to see her in her most vulnerable state.  She has let me help her in ways I'm sure she never anticipated she would need or would want me to.  Were it possible for us to trade places for a few days so she could experience a body that was free of the disease that is currently effecting the quality of her life, I would do it in a heartbeat. She's seen me at my worst and I feel so grateful that she continues to let me see her during this not-so-great time of hers.   I would do anything for her and I know she feels the same way about me.

While it may seem that the longer you know someone the easier it is to be seen, that's not necessarily true.  To the degree in which we show ourselves (our "here-is-who-I-really-am" self) to the world, the more likely it is that someone will not only take notice, but will show up and let us know we've been seen. 

This evening as I made my way home, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few items.  As I entered the building, off to my immediate right was a display of flowers.  What caught my attention were some beautiful calla lillies in a variety of colors.  While I stood there looking at them, many thoughts went through my mind.  The dialogue went something like this;

"What lovely flowers.  And how interesting the deep, dark purple ones are.  They're almost black. Maybe I should get some.  Nah...they probably won't last very long.  But hey, I could enjoy them for a few days at least.  I wish they had some burnt orange ones like I had my wedding.  Hmmm...my wedding.  What a beautiful day that was.  I miss my husband.  James....."

And then somewhere amongst the dreamy thoughts of my husband, I decided not to buy the flowers and when I turned to resume my shopping, a woman who had been standing only a few feet away from me said, "That was such a lovely picture to see." And I said somewhat confused, "Excuse me?"   And what she said next took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. She said, "The way you were looking at those flowers.  I feel honored to have seen that." I just looked at her in amazement and said, "Thank you. What a sweet thing to say.  Thank you."  I felt like hugging her.  I felt touched by something more than just a stranger's kind words.  I was seen.

I believe we all need to be acknowledged for who we really are and when it happens when we least expect it, those are the sweet moments when you know we're all connected to each other.  Those are the moments one never forgets. 

It's the littlest of things...

"Let's dance around the Maypole today and celebrate the first day of May.  With May Day baskets in hand, we scamper across the land."

Happy May Day - Cannon Beach Elementary Fourth Grade

This was the sweet, hand-made basket that was given to me by a nine year-old girl as she wished me Happy May Day.  And then when I opened up the little piece of paper that was tucked inside and read the poem, I cried.  The entire fourth grade class of our local elementary school went around town today, walked into various stores and gave merchants and customers these baskets.  What a lovely gift.  What a simple way to make someone's day.   A gesture of friendship, compassion and just overall goodness.  I've been noticing of late that it's the littlest of things that have touched the deepest places of my heart.

Things like...

• warm, soapy water
• the swift and beautiful flight of swallows
• an unexpected compliment
• connections with strangers
• the soft glow of candles and the sweet smell of incense at dawn
• a gray hair that I pulled out of MY head
• that look my husband gives me that makes me tingle all over
• being still (which I don't do that often)
• walking to where I want to go instead of driving
• oh-so delicate and colorful hummingbirds outside my window
• the ache in my right wrist
• love...it's everywhere

Let's dance and scamper across the land everyday. Yeah...that sounds like a very good idea to me.

The Ache of Longing

I've been dancing...and running...and thinking...and dreaming big.  Two days ago, I was doing all four at the same time while on the beach and the strong, sure voice spoke again with a sense of excitement and urgency.  "Create the space and people will come to the beach and dance," it said. And it's not just in a very lovely and sacred space with beautiful hardwood floors and warm-colored walls, but they would come to dance ON THE BEACH!!!

My heart aches to make this kind of dance, this kind of self-expression, this kind of art available to others.  And while I'm dancing on the beach anything seems possible.  Ideas flow easily.  Negativity and resistance disappear and my ego goes with them.   In this place of utter bliss, I am more of the me I want to see in the world.  And then I return from my dance and I struggle.  Reality sets in.  How do I make something this BIG happen?  Where does the money come from?    And then the next moment, I shrug it off because I see signs all around me saying "Yes, yes, yes," but then I waver again and become afraid.  What if I fail?   And fear I feel is changing.  It's no longer the fear of failing because I tried to make this dream of having a community-based movement studio come true, it's the fear of giving up and regreting I never really gave it all I had. 

The longing isn't going away.  It's deepening.  It's burrowing its way into my being.  It's asking me what I'm willing to risk to have what I really want.  I recently read Steven Pressfield's "The War of Art" and in between fits of laughter (he's got us procrastinators pegged!) I tried to let the wisdom of his words sink in.  We each have a calling; something we are inherently gifted to do.  The question to ask ourselves is, "Are we going to answer that call?"   

So as I sit here at 11:11 pm on a Wednesday night feeling the ache of longing, I google it and it doesn't come as a surprise that it's available.   And now the voice whispers, "What are you going to do next?"      

Loving the parts of me I don't like

"Something we were withholding made us weak.  Until we found out that it was ourselves." ~Robert Frost

I really hate to admit I'm still learning to love myself.  Not just the parts and pieces of me I like and I'm confident about, but the ones that make me flawed and human.  The ones that sometimes whisper not-so-nice things in the middle of the night and the ones I can't help but see when I look in the mirror.  They're not physical attributes (although I wouldn't mind having straighter teeth, smoother skin, firmer thighs and rock-hard abs) they're the things I do (or don't do) that keep me from being more fully-expressed and living big.

Things like...

• Worrying about money all the time. 
• Comparing myself to others.
• Procrastinatinating and putting off things that are really important to me.
• Feeling like I always need to be doing something.  I hate to be bored.
• Unfairly judging people who have vastly different political viewpoints than mine.
• Flitting from one thing to another.  It's challenging for me to stay focused on one thing for long periods of time.
• Having way too much clutter and forgetting where I put things. (Might there be a connection there?  HELLO!!!)   

I'd love to point the finger and blame someone else for my blemishes and not-so-confident bits, but I'm old enough (and I like to think I'm wise enough now) to know better.  I take full responsibility for my life.  All of it.  What it's been, what it is right now and what it will be is of my own making and choosing.  Loving the parts of me I don't like is a life-long process.  I know this even though I'd like to believe I otherwise. Today I'm going to do the things that really nurture me and make me feel good so that when I look in the mirror all I see is love.

Feeling a bit grumpy of late

I feel a bit like this dried-up puffer fish this morning.  After spending several hours online yesterday watching streaming videos and reading articles about the Democratic primaries taking place, I am exhausted.  I gave up my daily newspaper habit and watching television years ago and now I'm seriously considering giving up visiting websites like this one.    I want to be informed of what's going on in our world, but I think there's a point where too much input messes with your mind.

What was it exactly that made me so grumpy?   Politically-speaking, there were plenty of things that happened yesterday that caused my irk-meter to rise, but what created the most chaos for me was reading people's negative, very prejudiced and sometimes downright vicious comments on a variety of newssites.  I'm all for expressing one's opinion, but when folks can't state their thoughts and feelings without having to resort to name-calling, fear-mongering and gossiping, ooohhhh that makes me so angry.  When I'm all riled up, I'll admit that part of me wants to jump into the fray, write a nasty comment of my own and tell everyone they're full of shit.  The bigger part of me says "be the change I want to see in the world" and so I will step away from it all, calm down and do something today that brings positive energy to this planet.

I feel better already.

An experience of "IT"

Ah...Neahkahnie Mountain.  It's one of my favorite spots along the Oregon coast and I feel fortunate it's only a short drive south from my home.  It's the place I've told my husband to toss my ashes if I go before him.  It's a place where I feel both free and utterly connected to everything. If I could fly, this would be the place where I'd earn my wings. 

This past weekend I felt like I soared and I believe I helped six other women to do the same.  Our flying took place during my annual winter-time beach retreat.  No, we didn't hang-glide off of Neahkahnie Mountain, but we all took plenty of leaps during the two days we spent together. There were leaps of trust and courage.  There were leaps into the places we normally hide and there were leaps into seeing things differently.   I saw moments of awe and appreciation, compassion and connection, authentic and creative expression and pure delight.  It doesn't get any better than this for a facilitator.  To see an idea you've created and have it be wholeheartedly embraced and expanded upon by those you hope to effect is incredibly rewarding not to mention profoundly moving. 

So as I sit here in the mid-afternoon Tuesday sun, recovering from the nasty cold that took hold of my body last Wednesday, I'm grateful to the women who chose to be a part of this weekend's retreat.  They  reminded me why I do what I do.  And even though I can't seem to find the right words to describe what "it" is, I know it's an experience we won't ever forget.

Leaping into the New Year

• Yes, the secret is out...I am like Mike in more ways than one.  I played basketball in high school and college. I can fly high when I really want to.  And (if you check out the link above) like Mike says, "I have failed over and over and over again in my life and that is why I succeed."

Even though I no longer make them, I think one of the greatest things about New Year's resolutions are the lessons we learn after we break them.  Afterall, life is as much about failing as it is succeeding, don't you think?   We don't intentionally set ourselves up to fail, but when we do, I think there's always a gift to be had if we're willing to look for it.

So I've been taking a look at my own failure recently and seeing what "gifts" I've received in the last couple months. I've learned...

• I need to have a scheduled time set aside each day for writing my book.  I cannot wait for inspiration to strike or sit down whenever I just feel like it.  Nope.  I have to treat my book-writing time just like I'd treat an interview for the best job in the world. There's no way I'd cancel it and nothing would prevent me from being there.  I am leaping into being better organized.  
• Blogging every day about writing my book is not the same as writing my book.  I've learned it's important for me to blog when I have something to say (whether it's about the book or not) rather than to blab on and blog every day.  I am leaping into being attractively selective.
• I am afraid of not being able to write brilliantly and I'm afraid of running out of things to say.  I'm realizing both of these fears are ridiculous.  I am leaping into being confidently courageous.
• I know I'll continue to experience sleepless nights and/or anxiety-ridden days whenever I'm procrastinating and putting off my writing.  I know how good I feel when I've paid attention to what I really want.   I am leaping into being acutely aware.
• I will continue to fail and succeed and fail and succeed with all that is my life.  I am leaping into being fully responsible.
• I am leaping into being an expression of what I love.

What are you leaping into this new year?

The gift is in the NOT knowing

It's been awhile since I've paid attention to my blogs and my writing in general.  I took a major time-out during last week's tremendous windstorm and have been slow to re-enter the mainstream media world again.   It was quite an adventure being without the things one normally takes for granted for five days.

About twenty minutes after I wrote my last post on Sunday, December 2, the power went out and stayed off for the next six days.  I'll admit the first couple days of candle-lit, gas-barbeque dinners were kind of fun, but by the third day, I, along with the rest of the folks who live along the Oregon coast, were a little stir-crazy not to mention very concerned with what was being done to restore our connections to the outside world.   

With the winds dying down considerably (we had sustained gusts of 90 mph!), I ventured down to the beach and watched the waves crash against a shore that had long ago disappeared.  The powerful high-tide tossed about huge logs as though they were mere twigs.  Muddy-brown water swept in so fast it made me question my inner dare-devil's desire to 'play chicken' with the waves.  I was surprised how long I just sat there observing everything that was happening before my eyes.  I had a front-row seat to the best live act in town!

Rather than feeling irritated by no electricity, no outside communications (long-distance calls and cell phone service were down for four days) and no way to really know what was going on except for the occasional radio broadcast, I gave up having to know and surrendered to the dark and the stillness around  me.  By the fourth day, I was actually enjoying the disconnect from my 'normal' life.  After almost a week of silence (I did have my cat and my boombox to keep me company), returning to the lights and the noise was a little overwhelming.   When my cell phone came back to life four days after it had shut off and rudely awoke me at 5:40am, I didn't miss the damn thing as much as I thought I did.

So here I am almost two weeks past since I first heard that a MONSTER STORM was on its way and the gift of not knowing continues to be a recurring theme in my life.   

• I don't know when I'll really get into the flow of writing my book.
• I don't know when I'll finish it.
• I don't know how I'll find the money to create a movement/dance studio along the coast.
• I don't know why I don't sleep well most nights.
• I don't know...a lot of things.

I wonder if I'll ever slow down enough to give up the constant pursuit of wanting to know what's next and how it all turns out and just be completely at ease with what...is...right...now. 

7 Random Things About Me

A few weeks ago I was tagged by Storyteller to participate in the latest game going around the blogging world which was to name seven random things about yourself.  I'm sure I'm not following the rules correctly (I pretty much make them up as I go along anyway) because I'm not passing this on to seven other people.  It kind of reminds me of the ol' chain letters that would say at the very end, "Don't let this chain letter die or else..." and then some silly sentence would follow stating what dire consequences you'd face.  I'm game for anyone playing and sharing their seven things or not. Now let's see...

1. I love dragonflies.  My love for them began gour and a half years ago when my friend Tamara died.  She loved dragonflies as well and ever since her passing, I see them everywhere I go.
2. I was a very fast runner in high school.  I won the 400 meter dash at the State Championships two years in a row.  My fastest time was 58.4 seconds. 
3. I can't stand having water in my ears.  One of the first things I do after I get out of the shower is have a major swiping session with a Q-tip.  It gets the water out and it feels oh-so good!
4. When I was 19 years old, I spent the summer working with schizophrenic and autistic preschoolers in Brooklyn, New York.  It was one of the best and worst experiences of my life.
5. I put grated cheddar cheese on my pancakes, waffles and french toast....with syrup.
6. One of my most cherished possessions is a book my high school principal gave to me on my 18th birthday. 
7. Several years ago, I saw Judd Nelson walking down the streets of Seattle when I was very inebriated. I followed him for several blocks until I got up the nerve to tap him on the shoulder. When he turned around, all I could stammer out was, "You're Judd Nelson!"  As those words came out of my mouth and he just looked at me, I couldn't believe I didn't say something more profound than the obvious. Something like, "I LOVED you in the movie Breakfast Club and I've seen it like...a MILLION times.  I love you, man!"  would have been much more entertaining.  He shook his head yes and then walked away without saying a word.  Even though I was terribly disappointed we didn't engage in any conversation, I practically skipped all the way back to where I'd left my friends and proudly announced for all of downtown Seattle to hear "THAT WAS JUDD NELSON!"   

Now that's what I'd call random, pull-them-out-of-who-knows-where kind of facts.  When my husband first met my parents, he told them that one of the things he loved about me was that I was 'suitably odd'.  No kidding.    

Taking things WAY too personally...

This is so damn funny.  This is the second time I've tried writing a post today.  I imagine I was about half way through what I wanted to say and then my computer froze up and shut down all of the windows I had opened up to the internet.  In an instant, my post was gone.   Did I take that personally?  You bet I did and how appropriate of a thing to happen just as I was ranting on about stuff I have no control over.

I can simply say how I really feel rather than trying to overanalyze why I feel the way I do.  I feel rejected and disappointed when people unsubscribe from my newsletter or blogs.   I find myself making up stories when I have absolutely no idea what the truth is.  I realize I really resent being rejected (who doesn't?) and that honest-to-God-truth is exactly why I'm not writing as much as I want to be.  It's a ridiculous fear, but it's a real one. 

I want to be like this baby who sleeps unknowingly next to this beautiful flower unaware, unassuming and utterly present.  She sleeps because she wants to.  I want my writing to be this easy.