MUSINGS: Freedom from Grief

I began the week with one foot in grief and the other in the present, trying to stay centered with what needed to be done instead of sinking in the quicksand of what couldn't be.

The recognition of grief is profound, considering I used to not know when I was grieving, unless, of course, someone actually died then I could put two and two together.

What I didn't know was that grief accompanies any loss, large or small. And, as one dear friend of mine suggested, feelings are meant to flow in and then flow out. My feelings flowed in alright, but I wasn't big on letting them flow out—that might mean I'd actually have to feel them.

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My grief centers around the lost-plan of moving back to Montana. Now, me wanting to move back doesn't mean that where I live now is wrong or bad, because that couldn't be further from the truth. Which brings up the other realization I had: I can have multiple feelings, even conflicting feelings, simultaneously.

I used to think one feeling canceled another, or should, but that's not true. 

I have grief in not moving this year, but I also have gratitude for where I am.

When I dropped my boys off at school this morning and stopped in the Metro for a cup of coffee, I was delighted to be there. I appreciated every minute in the Metro, writing non-stop on a short story I'm finishing for a submission later this month.

And later in the day when I locked my keys and purse in Luna (our Landcruiser), I was pleased to know that I had friends that would come and help me out. And I got the added bonus of visiting with a friend while we drove all the way out to the airport to get my husband's keys.

In the middle of what is pleasant there is grief, right under the surface, not enough to pull me under the water, just enough to periodically poke me in the side. What I've learned, when that happens, is to let the grief flow in and then flow out, so I can feel it, as it is, without embarrassment or judgment.

Amazingly enough, the grief passes and then the pleasant I'm-okay-feelings surface until the grief flows in again, but with each letting out the grief is less potent, less consuming, and before long I begin to feel freedom from grief.

What a magnificent process.

The Unwanted Fervent Love of Mosquitoes

While watering the yard this morning, hose in hand, spraying the green grass and wild flowers, I killed a mosquito who was sucking the blood from my arm. I truly dislike mosquitoes.

Every summer I wonder the same thing: Why are there mosquitoes?

I know the general "food-chain" reasoning, knowing that another bug benefits and so on down the line, but what the heck do they have to do with me and why do they keep pestering me?!

Why are some people tastier than others? Is "tastier" even the right connection? So my musings this morning stem from this need to know: Why me?

I found great information in an article by Joseph Stromberg,  Why Do Mosquitoes Bite Some People More Than Others. He specifies eight different reasons for the extra loving I receive from mosquitoes. Of course, not all eight apply to me, but I now have a better understanding of why my body is the ultimate love-fest for mosquitoes.

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Number One: Blood Type Anyone?

Supposedly, those darn, pesky mosquitoes are picky on what type of blood they prefer. They have a favorite. Type O seems to be the one they most gravitate toward. Type B was their next favorite, and Type A was their least favorite. Unfortunately, as of this moment, I can't recall what blood type I am, so I'm not sure if this reason is a deciding factor for why they love me so much.

Number Two: How Much Carbon Dioxide Do You Blow?

As we humans breathe, we exhale carbon dioxide, and mosquitoes are attracted to how much we emit. Now they say that generally how much carbon dioxide any one person emits tends to depend on how large they are. I'm guessing for myself I'm sitting in the middle on that one, since I'm not large but not petite either.

Number Three: Are You Exercising? Increasing Your Metabolism?

Mosquitoes smell our sweat, which contains ammonia, lactic acid, uric acid, and other substances, which help them find us. They also like higher body temperatures, which makes sense they would zero in on us if we're physically exerting ourselves. Our warm bodies are attractive. I have to say, I am guilty of this. Hurray for exercise!

Number Four: Skin Bacteria. Say What?

Mosquitoes enjoy the bacteria on our skin, but they don't like a plethora of different kinds of skin bacteria. They like it better when the person just has a few bacteria friends. For myself, I've never taken the time to figure out what or how many bacteria adhere to my skin. Your guess is as good as mine.

Number Five: Had Any Beer Lately?

Mosquitoes love it when people drink beer. "Just a single 12-ounce bottle of beer can make you more attractive" to mosquitoes, though the scientists have no idea why that is. What's good for me though is I don't drink. Drinking beer is not the reason why they love me so much.

Number Six: Are You Pregnant?

This makes sense, considering what we've learned so far. Pregnant women are warmer and larger. Between the extra heat they generate and the more carbon dioxide they are sure to exhale, they are prime targets for a mosquito's love nibble. Great news for me—I'm not pregnant!

Number Seven: Really? The Color of Our Clothing?

Yep, the color of our clothing. Mosquitoes like their victims fashioning mosquito-trendy colors, like red, black, and dark blue. These colors are similar to glueing a bullseye on your back.

Number Eight: I Knew It! It's My Parent's Fault!

Genetics may be the deciding factor—a whopping 85%. 


As Stromberg points out at the end of his article, the benefit of some not attracting mosquitoes like the rest of us is scientists may be able to use "chromatography to isolate the particular chemicals these people emit" to create a bug repellant that us unfortunate ones could use. 

At last, there's hope.

Okay, now I'm informed, though I'm not sure any of it truly helps me feel better about the love-hate relationship mosquitoes and I have (they love, I hate). I guess I'm stuck with bug spray and covering up when the sun goes down and staying out of marshy areas with tall grass.

THE COTTAGE CAFE: A SPECIAL PLACE IN MY BACK POCKET

Today I found a new place to eat, a small eatery hidden in a residential area, The Cottage Cafe. It's quaint, packed, and delightful.

The waitress set us at a two-person table with our own water decanter with small-sized canning jars for water glasses. Hewn logs covered the walls, resembling the interior of a log cabin, and old wooden doors, shabby chic style, peppered the ceiling for decoration, along with bird houses and various ornaments of old-farmhouse history.

I figured I was about to get a home cooked meal, something unique and tasty. That's exactly what I got.

I ordered a herb-incrusted salmon salad with a cilantro vinaigrette with a cup of the tomato chive soup, both accompanied with sliced applies and cottage cream and warm honey, whole wheat bread. I ooed and awed, very pleased with the satisfying sensation I experienced while I ate.

By the time my plate was empty, I cradled a  sense of comfort and ease, enough, so tears wetted my eyes. Strange to say I almost cried after eating but true nonetheless, and primarily because I felt contentment and goodness.

Even before eating, I told my husband I had found a special place to put in my back pocket, a place worth going to any day, whether in need of a respite from everyday life or of no need at all.

A NIGHT OWL

Thunder rumbles the night and raindrops pat gently against the ground like mice skittering.  My boy's bed creaks.  He's bent on moving, stalling sleep, even though it's time to loll into dreams.

A child fights sleep until the bitter end, but I can say the same about me.

I'm a night owl by nature.

A speck past nine at night and suddenly I'm energized and creative.  That's when I'll pull out books and glue and scissors and begin moving furniture to a more desirable position.

Being a night owl doesn't coincide with mainstream society and the regularity of school buses and breakfast, so I adapt.

I practice being the good mommy who goes to bed at a decent time and who gets up dutifully to fulfill my mommy duties, but each night is a struggle against every cell in my body, telling me to stay up.

There's so much to be had when everyone sleeps.

Tonight's fine.  A weekend night.

I can linger with the late hours and chit-chat and conjure make believe worlds and imagine my living room differently (though it wouldn't be prudent to shove the furniture around now, not with children finally resting in squeak-less beds) and surround myself with my books and scissors and glue.

Darkness has a way of thinning my perceptions of what's normal, altering my angle of view, and I witness something tangible beyond what's offered during wakeful-hours.

There's possibility in these moments.

I cherish them when they come like nourishing gifts, even if all they may do is remind me I am an individual, outside my mommy suit.

SPACE

There is space in between the moments like Corpse Pose, where the blood in my veins whispers and regenerates my insides, my being, to be what I need to.

Space can be uncomfortable and unfamiliar, almost similar to a pesky mosquito that just won't go away, though my perception of its annoyance is my own and not the truth.

My breath falters when there is no space in between the moments of action, and, yet, I will again try to attempt to live life like there is no need for space or breath.

A series of events have propelled me into a new way of living, which, with practice and time, brings about a willingness to settle in the space and breath, to find peace when the lightening-problems scorch my sky and rip it into shreds.

Of course, my lightening-problems depend on how I see them. Space and breath give me a chance to gather truth and light, a means of seeing through the burnt embers and smoke to what lays beyond, a path worth trudging.

WEEDS

My husband and I have lived in different places, and, regardless if we own or rent, we always care for the yard, add a garden or flower beds.

We're currently renting where we are now, and when we moved in to this cute two bedroom the backyard was mostly dirt with a small section of grass, which was really more weeds than anything.  I asked the landlord if we could plant grass, and he said yes, pretty much free reign.

We planted grass and a vegetable garden, a simple one, and I surrounded the veggie garden with rocks and wild flowers from seed.

After a few weeks now, the grass is growing and seems like a regular yard, where two rambunctious boys can play and wrestle, and the veggie and flower gardens are maturing, a promise of color and deliciousness.

This morning, early, I began the arduous task of pulling weeds from my flower garden.

What came to mind for me this morning while pulling weeds is how weeds will over take, suck the water from the ground, and hide the sun's rays, stealing both from the flowers and plants I want to grow.

These weeds are similar to behaviors I keep with me from long ago that no longer offer a benefit to my life, like throwing temper tantrums or manipulating or whining or staying up too late or being hungry and forgetting to eat or eating too much when I'm full or being sarcastic and flippant when I really need to voice what's going on with me or judging and criticizing others for things I need to change myself or pouting because no one patted me on the back for a job well done or waiting for someone to reach out to me when I could call them and get the ball rolling or watching television instead of joining the world, out there, where things happen and so on.

I collected a lot of "weeds" while growing up, normal it seems, behaviors that worked as a child, or, at least, I thought they did.

When I'm tired or hungry or stressed or overwhelmed or unsure my tendency is to rely upon these old behaviors because they're well-used and easy to slip into, instead of trying something new.

What's funny is, I had a friend several years ago say, "They're not old behaviors if you're still practicing them."

She was right, though at the time I didn't like hearing it because it meant I was choosing to participate somehow.

Looking at my "old" behaviors and being realistic on whether they are still standbys for me to fall back on is like pulling weeds from my garden.

If I don't take the time to assess how I'm showing up and try and practice doing the opposite of what those old behaviors say to do, they will grow and block the sun's rays and suck the water from the behaviors that I want to grow.  I will create an environment where I will wilt and shrivel like the flowers I saw this morning that were desperate in trying to survive the weeds' thievery, but just couldn't do it.

And now, with the weeds pulled and a little water, the flowers have perked up and have the chance of reaching their potential, which, from my perspective, seems amazingly profound and beautiful.

IT'S ABOUT TO BEGIN

This morning, conversing with my husband, I realised my birthday is this coming Saturday, and I will officially be embarking on the last year of my thirties.  Curious.

What I find to be curious is the movement of time and how, at the moment, I don't feel like a girl in her late thirties, but, the reality of it is, I am.  Things are different, but I don't always feel different, or more like my state of being seems constant throughout the years until I am reminded otherwise.

For example, when I was at the swimming pool with my boys yesterday there were these two young teenage girls in their skimpy, two-piece bathing suits, and, by the way they were walking and sitting and leaning against the side of the pool, I could tell they were more interested in showing off their bodies then actually getting in the pool to swim, which I don't think they ever did anyway.  I remember doing that, flaunting what I had to get attention and trying to hide the fact that's what I was doing.  And now, I'm more interested in swimming then getting the life guard to goggle at my ass.

Another example, chatting with my boys and telling them stories of "When I was a kid..."  When I was a kid there were no cell phones or computers or answering machines (remember the old ones that sat on a side table, and you had to use mini tape cassettes) or internet or cartoons on any day except Saturday or 24-hour television or satellite radio or CDs or DVDs or Blueray or Xbox or Play Station or iPads or texting or any other thing that has made life quicker than it used to be.

I remember riding my bicycle a lot and playing in the dirt and reading books and collecting cassette tapes to play in my boombox and waiting all week for Sunday night to watch the Disney movie of the week and saving up to go the movie because that was the only place to see it, unless I wanted to wait for the hoped-for-day when it would be edited for television.

My boys give me wide eyes and open mouths, like I speak of a world that is inconceivable to imagine, and I see that and remember when I did the same to my parents and aunts and uncles and grandma, well, grandma just came from a time so long ago I couldn't even comprehend how she survived it.  It feels odd, them doing it to me, and, yet, there I am, a woman who's in her late thirties with a suitcase full of things that are outdated and most likely collecting more.

When writing the word outdated I thought of attaching the word unusable, but I know that's not true.  The things I used to do may be outdated and some of them are not ones I would care to repeat again and don't feel the need to, but some of them are still usable and beneficial to me.

Take cell phones.  I have one for emergencies, and I don't use it.  I don't answer it unless it's a planned thing, like I'm traveling or I've told my husband I will have it turned on for a particular reason.  I used to have the best cell phone and would have had it seared to my hip if it had been feasible and not painful.  I thought I needed it, couldn't live without it and there were a lot of "what if" scenarios attached to it.  I've found I'm less stressed by utilizing one only rarely, if that.  Living like there aren't cell phones is beneficial to me.

Books.  I love to read, to get lost in another's world, using my imagination coupled with their words to get there.  I remember before my husband and kids, the one possession I had were my books.  I'd pack them in blue milk crates that way I had a bookcase in the making, and the moment I stacked the crates up with my books gleaming forth I felt comforted, like the dinky little bedroom could be home to me, if only temporarily.

My boys are more interested in playing with their iPad or getting on the Xbox then reading books, so, of course, it's a constant topic of discussion or argument on their part to convince me that technology is better for them than books.  Another thing about books is the feeling of having one in my hand, the smell, the texture, the sound of flipping paper, the tangible essence of creativity, and the benefit of not bothering my eyes or mind with a computer screen's light, even if it's dimmed.

I know there was the benefit of not having everything at my fingertips, of not being able to get a hold of everyone at any moment of the day, of having built in pauses in my day because there was no other way around it except to wait.  And now things are fast and demanding, and I have found there is an underlying expectation from people of having to be available because it's possible, and, of course, everyone's doing it.

People look at me odd when I tell them my number is a landline and not a cell phone, and if they want me to call them back, they need to leave a message.  I'm not big on checking to see who called me and then feeling obligated to call them even though they didn't tell me they wanted me to call them, plus my caller id light doesn't work.

All in all, regardless of what's different, I'm still here, participating and experiencing my life and the inevitable change that comes with it.  I get to pick and choose what fulfills me, and I choose to try and live a little simpler, less consumed with the latest gadgets and whether the life guard's eyes are locked on my ass.  Though I do have to say, I did have a moment where I wanted the body I had when I was 20, things stayed where they were meant to.

I am embarking on the last year of my thirties this coming Saturday, and I choose, today, to enter it with gratitude for having more time on this earth to hang with my boys and go swimming and walk my dog, Stella, and laugh with friends and ride motorcycles and hike amazing mountains and so much more.  My life takes the hue of my perception, and mine is bright with color and joy, today.

QUESTIONS THAT BEGIN WITH WHY

I started this blog a little over a year ago with the intent of practicing putting myself out there, to the unknown masses, with my writing, and I have done that.  Hurray for me, so excited, but here I am not sure what to write and having one of those days where, even though I've written almost 2000 words this morning and feel I'm in the meat of the short story I'm working on, I feel lost or maybe just unsure of what the hell I'm doing, once again.

I have these moments, where nothing seems to make sense and my mind banters me with questions, deep life-changing questions, like why am I here, and why am I compelled to write, and why do I feel uncomfortable letting people get to know me, and why do I have the tendency to isolate and why, why, why?  It goes on, and, of course, I do know the answers to some of these questions, but having the answer doesn't always solve the problem of asking the question numerous times.  My brain exercises a glitch of repetition, wishing for a different answer then the one it received, so it questions again and again in case the true-right answer pushes up from the definite daisies it has being hiding under.

Why am I here?  Here, I'm guessing, means alive on this planet we call earth.  My answer:  I don't know, won't know, don't need to figure it out.

Why am I compelled to write?  My answer for this one is milky and more like the tip-of-the-tongue-phenomenon, where it's right there, but I can't touch it no matter how much I reach for it.  Again, I don't know, not really, but I do know how I feel when I do write and after I'm done.  I feel whole like I found the puzzle piece I needed for the moment, clicked it into place, and it fit.

Why do I feel uncomfortable letting people get to know me?  Easy.  Fear of being hurt.  That's what it comes down to though I don't necessarily enjoy saying that out loud because it would be cooler to say something other than that or to just not have the issue in the first place and be social and open with everyone who crosses my path.  I can say that I've made huge strides of growth with this and don't go straight to "What the @#*& do you want?" when someone says hello.  I used to.

I remember my husband and I moving into a new house, several years ago, and a neighbor across the street came over to welcome us, and my mind went literally to what I just quoted, and I know I had a scrunched-mean look on my face.  Gratefully, my husband doesn't live by the same emotional-means I do and said hi and was friendly, thank goodness.  Now, my defenses are subtler and not always easy for me to recognize when I'm hiding behind them, but I keep my hand out there, keep chatting and listening, and keep writing.

Why do I have the tendency to isolate?  This one rides on the coattails of the one above, so I counter balance it by leaving the house and trying new things.

And the other whys, well, they are just too numerous and once I move through the ones already mentioned, I find I don't need to answer the others because they're irrelevant for the day.

The main question I need to answer today is "Am I experiencing today in its entirety?" because if I am, then none of the other questions matter.  If I am experiencing today in its entirety, then I'm not trying to figure out why I'm here because the simple fact of being here is enough.  Why I'm compelled to write doesn't need to be dissected any longer, it just is.  Why I feel uncomfortable letting people in and tend to isolate becomes mute because if I'm experiencing my day in its entirety, then I'm not hiding, I'm living and feeling and laughing and talking and so on.

At the end of it all, after the feeling of what-the-hell-am-I-doing passes, I find I'm okay, and life is simple.  If I show up on this journey called life, I'll be wherever I need to be when I need to be there and will know whatever it is I need to know at the time of needing to know it, and, in the meantime, I get to enjoy where I'm at and the possibilities that come with change and challenge, as long as I cultivate an open-mind to what could be while I keep moving forward.

THE BEARTOOTH HIGHWAY: A JOURNEY OF A LIFE TIME

Two summers ago I had the opportunity to ride my Suzuki SV650 motorcycle, Mazzy for short, from Missoula, Montana down through West Yellowstone and back up and over the Beartooth Highway, which splits between Montana and Wyoming.  What a fabulous ride.  I thought of it this morning, when I was listening to The Black Keys on my way to yoga.

I had just picked up The Black Keys' Brothers album the day before our Beartooth trip.  It became apparent the grooves and blues melded quite well with the road and my tires.  And once in West Yellowstone, where the speed limit dropped to a crawl, at least for a girl on a sport bike, the music's rhythm eased the drag of such a leisurely pace.  Don't get me wrong, slow is good for some-

Climbing up the Beartooth Highway

things, but 55 mph on a sport bike is torture; I could walk faster.

Once we sidled into Cook City, filled up our gas tanks, edged out of town, and chose the directive sign toward Beartooth Pass, the rock of blues and warm asphalt jived with unbelievable synchronization, and the real journey began.  At first, the scenery was as anything else I had seen and smelled, living in Western Montana most of my life, fresh mountain air, Pine trees, wild flowers, the basic loss of all civilization, but it took on a state of something grander, majestic.  The convenience of city life is enjoyable but to step outside of that and be set in the middle of a wild, mountain range is awe inspiring, and my intuitive self that connects with the spiritual came to life, and I forever have been altered by the experience.

The Beartooth Highway, toward the top

Elevation increased at an alarming rate, higher and higher, and everything changed, the air, the trees, the foliage, and then there was snow, and the fresh mountain air was crisp like a winter kiss on the brow.  The Beartooth Highway  soars to 10,947 feet, and the views from such a height are mind-blowing and heart stopping, views so out-of-this-world that words fall short of ever describing them in their entirety.  They must be experienced, seen, felt, smelled, touched, and if I hadn't had to get to camp before dark, kneeling down and tasting the earth would have been worth it too.

The challenge of motorcycle riding and such magnificent country is keeping my eyes on the road.  I constantly had to adjust my eyesight to not target fixate and fly off the mountain with the birds.  My husband, the year before this, with a friend, stopped on top and camped under a tarp tied to his bike in a make-shift lean-to and slept under the stars.  They were frosty and chilled by early morning, but he said the morning was vibrant and stunning, not something to be missed.  Next time I will do this too, camp on top in a wildflower meadow and enjoy such closeness with the vastness of what is and what can be.  Motorcycle riding and the adventure of being on the road and getting to places I've never been before, especially curvy mountain roads, is like sitting with God and having a cup of joe.

The Beartooth Highway is riddled with tight, smooth corners, a sport biker's dream, though one wrong input or a corner taken too fast would put even the best rider off the road and into the air.  Whether slow speeds or not, the highway is spellbinding and invigorating to a motorcyclist's soul.

I haven't had the chance to get back there since, life has a way of happening and diverting my intentions, but it is in the back of my mind, a special place in need of visiting, experiencing again, and I know I will get there, ride up that twisty, windy road, feel that crisp winter, summer air caress my cheek, and sleep under multitudinous stars, so many I couldn't fathom there not being something beyond me and my small world.



If you're interested in learning more about the Beartooth Highway, check out http://beartoothhighway.com/.

Staying Sane Through the Summer

My goal for the summer is to have fun with my boys and let them experience summer in all its glory but mostly I just want to stay sane.  I want to keep on laughing and stay relaxed and not be counting down the days until it's over.  I don't want to hate summer, and I don't wish for my boys to hate me 10 days into it all.

If sanity is my goal, how am I going to accomplish it?

MAKE A LIST OF THINGS TO DO

First, I sat down, when my children were tucked into bed and sound asleep, and made a list of possible activities or ideas for the summer, things we can do.  I probably came up with 20 to 25 items, ranging from taking walks to going to the movies or swimming at the pool to traveling to a nearby town to see a museum.  I keep this list close to my special chair, where I keep the latest book I'm reading and my laptop, a place where I frequent.  By keeping it there, I can check it periodically to refresh my brain for those times, which are inevitable, when it is no longer working, and I don't know what to do with my children.  It's already come in handy.

TAKE ONE THING AT A TIME

In the morning, before I jump into the day with my boys at my side, I remind myself I'm not doing the whole summer right now.  I'm only doing today and even then if I need to break the day up into sections, I can do that.  I don't know how other parents are with their children, maybe there are those of you out there that just can't wait to spend 24/7 with your children, always with a broad smile on your face, but I'm not one of those.

Instinctually, I settle into a book and read or write and listen to music or go for quiet walks with my dog or drink coffee with a friend, which tells me I'm very much a loner to a certain degree on this thing called life and would much rather take care of my needs instead of anyone else's.  But being with my boys requires me to be outside my comfort zone and to stop thinking and reading and writing and just be, here in the now where they want to play tag and soccer and laugh at who farted and burped and "Hey Mom, look at the beetle I found" and the constant interchange of who did what and why it's not fair and so on.  I have to remember to not be so serious about it all and that it's okay to laugh with them and look at the beetle that creeps me out and say "Wow, that's a cool beetle."

KEEP IN CONTACT WITH OTHER ADULTS

But I also have to be realistic in knowing my limitations and even though I'm outside my comfort zone, and I'm doing all this fun stuff with my kids, and it's fabulous in trying to be a Great Mom, I do need to interact with other adults.  I need to remember there's a whole other world out there, where linear conversations exist for longer than three seconds, and I'm not the boss, telling others to close their mouth when eating or to cover their mouths if they need to burp or stop hitting their brother.  A world where the responsibility of keeping an eye or having an answer or knowing what we're going to do next is not solely mine.  Plus, I need those other adults and parents to help me laugh at what my children are doing or to remind me I'm not alone on this parental journey and mistakes are common and almost a right of passage.

HAVE SOME QUIET TIME

I also know for myself I need to make sure I have some downtime, where I'm not with the boys or with anyone else, where I'm alone.  Time where I can nurture those parts of me that need to read and write and relax or practice yoga or close my eyes for a few seconds or watch a movie.  I need time where I exist on my own without boy appendages because those experiences will give me the relief I need to show up for my boys when I'm with them. They will rejuvenate me, just like the contact with other parents and adults will remind me I'm not alone.  Of course, the time available for this kind of nurturing is limited for me because my husband works out of town, so I find it when I can, like early in the morning before they wake or later after they go to bed.

FIGURE OUT WHAT WORKS BEST FOR MY PERSONALITY

It has taken time and experience to know what works best for my personality.  I used to think, time and again, that getting up on Saturday morning and watching a movie was something I deserved and wouldn't slant my mood in any negative way, but it does.  When I begin my day with escapism, because that's really what it is for me, I'm already in a state of not wanting to begin my day, and I jump right into ignoring it or putting it on hold, which never mixes well with my boys and myself later on.

I know now if sanity is my goal, starting my day well is one of the best things I can do for me and my boys and anyone else I come in contact with.  I need to get in the shower and get on with getting ready for the day.  Me taking a shower and getting dressed is like a miracle worker on my mood and my ability to be available to my boys and others.  I also need to have a general idea of what I'm going to do after I'm ready, at least one thing to begin with, even if I don't know how the rest of the day will go and even if it's something minor like making breakfast.  It's best for me to have my next step in view, though I know with my children things change and the view can get quite different, but that's where I can get back to not having to do the whole day at once just this moment, until I have more information, which is bound to come.

This list has been helpful to me, and I'm sure, as I go along, I will find other tools and tricks that will help me along the path of maintaining sanity or for those times when it's lost, finding it again.

1. Make a list
2. Take one thing at a time
3. Keep in contact with other adults
4. Have some quiet time
5. Figure out what works with my personality

Simple, right?  Not always, but gratefully I have something to work with, and most days I lay my head on my pillow at night with some sanity left and a light heart of knowing I loved my children and showed up for them with laughter and tolerance in the best way I could for that day, and if I made a mistake or got messy in my interactions with them, I can look at doing better the next day.

And probably something that needs to be added to the list, that I can use as a mantra in my head, is not to be so darn serious about everything, whether it's the traffic or the heat or the boys yelling at each other or the dirty house or the creepy beetle that is now scurrying across the couch or the fact I didn't get any quiet time for the day or the dog pooped in my compost pile, which really did happen.  Darn dog.

Life is sometimes very funny, especially when I'm not so serious about it.

If you have any other tools or tricks in keeping your sanity, please tell us in the comment section.  It would be great to hear what works for you.

Letting Go of the Darkness

The morning is light blue and promises bright, warm sun, once the horizon lets go of its hold on the night.  The birds twitter and sing for me, and I breathe clean air like my lungs have never breathed before.  My children are still asleep, along with my husband, and I turn on the stereo and put poppy Bluegrass on to wake them from their deep slumber.

There was a time, even when the sun shone, only darkness enveloped my morning, my afternoon, my night.  The reprieve of living, of feeling what life had to give, did not enter my heart or my mind, and today the grace of what is lives here in the here and now, where I am if I choose to stay.

The promise of the sun is not the only promise I can capitalize on today.  What's my choice to be?  Mmmm... today the choice is not difficult to make.

Each Moment's Potency

I walk each morning with my dog Stella at the local dog park.  I chat with the other dog owners, and Stella smells the other doggies, and we all get along quite well.  Then we move on down the path to wrap around the circumference of the park and enjoy the brisk air and the limited rays of sun that grace us with their presence every few steps due to the clouds' wayward movements.

I find peace here and connection with the silence of the morning while we distance ourselves from others and climb the rolling hill and disappear behind leafless trees and spindle-like-brush.  Whatever needs to be decided for the day seems doable and unimportant in the moment, like all things have their space and time and none of them reside in the moment I walk in, except walking.

Stella runs ahead and runs back with her medium-length ears flopping about her head, and I see enjoyment light up her furry, burnt sienna face, and I laugh and breath deep.  I listen to the birds chirp and sing and watch the fat squirrels scurry up nearby trees with Stella on their tails.

Time has convinced me of the necessity of quiet and calm, of leisure and gratitude, of walking and breath.  Our world feels hectic to me most of the time, and I can feel swayed by it's urgency and even begin to think I need to be fast to be more productive.  I have not found this to be true, more like my productivity is attached to my efficiency, and if my efficiency is lacking, it won't matter how fast I go my productivity will falter.  My efficiency comes from being and then doing and being requires me to experience the present moment now not two days from now in hindsight.

I walk with Stella and look at the blue sky and languid clouds and hear the birds chatter and the squirrels skitter over tree bark, and I know I'm right where I need to be, for each moment's potency nourishes the well-being of Me, in my entirety.  My being now will bleed into the doing of my day, which will inevitably cultivate efficiency and therefore productivity will ensue.  And, as a bonus, I won't be a fretting, impatient, irritable mess by the time I meet up with my kids after school.  Life is simple if I treat it so.

Perfectionism

Perfectionism.  Mmmm.  Can I say that my little friend has dogged my days, months, years for a very long time?  Though I do have to mention, progress has been made in lessening its deathly blow to my spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical well-being, and yet it's still there periodically picking at me.

It rose its ugly head the other day with a decision I had come to, but I couldn't just accept that decision because I was fueled by grandiosity and approval seeking and just had to make sure I was doing "it" right.  Of course, my sound decision was thwarted with another idea, and I quickly implemented it because the quick decision has got to have more merit than a well, thought out one.

And once again there I was with my perfectionism-buddy.  I heard someone say that perfectionism is not  going back over something to make it better but only to find the for-sure wrongness of it all.  It becomes a negative excavation and soon I have dug myself down in a hole that has no light and I cannot see any truth of what is only the fear of what I believe consumes me internally, an awful form of inadequacy that can never be healed or made better because I am not perfect.

Can you imagine such a thing?  Me not being perfect?  This is a moment where I am definitely laughing because experience after experience with my imperfections shining through is flipping in my mind's eye like a slideshow.  I also can reference those times when my greatest growth occurred out of a mistake or what I considered a mistake or me not doing "it" right.

Does the appearance of my life represent the essence of my soul and what kind of person I am?  I believe not and yet sometimes I don't act like it.  Sometimes I bend over backwards to make sure everything looks good "out there" so you'll think I'm doing it right, when in all actuality I am withering away inside my skin-suit.

It is a guarantee that I will fall down and will have to get up again.  And in some ways that is the beauty of living this life.  To adjust to the fact that by acknowledging my limits, my humanness, I can be more helpful to others, more available to my children, more vulnerable to love and laughter, more concerned with walking in the sunlight, more open to what can be instead of devastated by what can't.

Perhaps, life is really simple, like stopping at a stop sign because there's a stop sign or eating because I'm hungry or laying my head to rest because my body is tired or laughing because something said or done was funny or hugging someone because I love them or moving on to the next thing because it is the next action to take because I've given it my all and need to be done, regardless of what my perfectionism-buddy says, which always seems to entail worry and over-correction and an angry voice telling me I should do better.

Exhaustion doesn't lead me to fresh streams and easy dreams.  Emotional blackmail and verbal abuse doesn't lead me to self-esteem and self-confidence.  Starvation whether emotional, physical, mental, or spiritual doesn't  set me on the right track for a happy life.  Working within my limits, loving myself as I am, letting go of what I can't do and nourishing what I can do, all these things and more, fulfill me with hope and grace and joy and freedom.

There it is, loud and clear.  By being imperfect I exercise the perfection of being human and seem always to have a bountiful well of growth, of change, of love, of laughter, of connected-ness with the human race.  There is such grace in letting things be as they are, in letting myself be who I am, and in letting the revelation of the simplicity of life wash over me like sun-heated bathwater.  It is a wonderment to behold.

Freedom's Echo

Emergence from the depths of the flu brings about a rebirth sensation, like the world is new and fresh and ready for the taking.  I'm not completely released from the illness' deathly grips, but I reside in the green grass of impending health, and it is a glorious thing to behold.

It's almost like my body had forgotten what movement without pain felt like or how the brain could think and create or the taste of a good, hot cup of coffee, and then my body and brain and taste buds stepped out from the caverns of darkness and there was the memory of what life had been two weeks prior.

A sigh slipped from my lips and my imagination fired with projects and writing ideas and walks with the dog and playing banjo and yoga.  Oh, at last, the freedom the small voice in my head had persistently whispered when I tried to sleep and couldn't, when the ache of flu seared through my skin and tissue into the core of my bone, when I thought the illness would never let me go.  Freedom's echo still reverberated in my heart's chambers and now I lay hold to the possibilities it bestows with every day forward.

I'm alive.  Phew!

No revision here

What is a day but a day filled with moments, several, hundreds, thousands.  Moments to feel and taste and experience and hide from and fight and revel in.  I wipe my desk with a cloth, a colorful cloth with flowers and circles, and seek my moment, to feel it and wonder if this is the moment where something comes to me to write.  And it does like the rising of the sun in the morning, to bask me in words and feeling and memory and desire of what could possibly be.  I move into it and sit and write to you and no one at the same time.  Because, really, it doesn't matter who I write to just as long as I write.  It doesn't even necessarily matter if I make sense or wrench truth from my soul or anything just as long as I pull and let go and see what needs to be seen. 

And so I write, whether halting or flowing, I write.

A little joy, a little love, and a light heart

Sometimes I wonder what the hell I am doing.  Where am I going?

I'm sure most of us do.  I don't receive an answer, one I can put in my back pocket and take to the bank.  I receive more of a shrug of the shoulders and a mmmmm feeling and then I move on with what's in front of me.  For some reason I'm somewhat satisfied with the shrug and mmmmm feeling, at least for most of my days, and then I have days where my life settles deep and hard down into my bones and it feels like I could suffocate if I breathed too much.  Is this it?  Is this where the train stopped and I got off because I don't remember agreeing to this.  Can I trade my ticket in for another one, maybe one with a bit more financial security and a lot more free time?  Do those type of tickets even exist?

And then without much thought, I shrug and have the mmmmm feeling and move on with what's in front of me, somewhat content, with a little joy and a little love and a light heart. 

The outcomes of my life are not my main focus but the steps in between the outcomes are, where I show up on a daily basis and experience my life.  Regardless of monetary wealth or my ability to give myself all my "wants" I get exactly what I need at any given moment. 

Like last night, there is something sweet about popping popcorn and snuggling up on the couch with my boys and watching a movie, especially after a full day of being productive, taking care of life even though it didn't feel like it was taking care of me in the way I wanted.  My perception of what is can delude me at times into believing there's a conspiracy and it's all about me - I'm going to get the shaft and it will never get different.  I have found my delusions are never accurate. 

My delusions are filled with fear.  This fear manifests into various forms of destructive thought and action.  If I act upon deluded thoughts, I have the profound potential to completely change the overall structure and well-being of my entire existence and usually not for the best.

While doing some reading the other day I came across a quote, "pain is inevitable but suffering is not."  This tells me I will experience difficult and painful things in my life but the suffering because of it is optional.  I can choose how I want to respond to situations and difficulties today.  Difficult and painful situations are facts.  My suffering is an extension of delusion because suffering is not based on fact but a distorted form of it with various embellishments.  Suffering is not just feeling my feelings but a theatrical presentation of my feelings.

Take for example, the uncomfortable financial situation my family and I find ourselves in.  There's a part of me that wants to wallow in this, literally saturate myself with the unfairness of it all. 

Wallowing in my perceived unfairness, as if I'm so unique and better than others I should never experience anything uncomfortable or painful, doesn't get me anywhere.  I compound my difficulty by adding dramatic "woe is me" attitude to it.  By not wallowing in it, accepting it as a fact - yes, I have no money except for bills, food, and gas - I free myself from suffering.  This doesn't mean I won't have feelings - sadness, fear, anger, frustration, etc.  My suffering stems not from the feelings themselves but what I choose to do with the feelings when they come.

I begin by remembering where I'm at, physically in this moment.  I look at my hands before me and see where they lay and then I try to feel what they are feeling.  What are they touching?  What does that feel like against my fingertips, my palms?  Is it hot, cold, warm, smooth, textured?  This helps me to come back to my body.  My body is literally in this moment.  My mind, when emblazoned with fear, is not here.  It is in the future consumed with the fear of what's to come or what's not to come.

When I can feel what my body is doing right now I can bring my mind in alignment with my body.  Once my mind is here, I have to act quick because it wants to jump out ahead of me again and get lost in the future.  I ask myself basic questions.  Do I have shelter today?  Not tomorrow, only today.  Do I have food today?  Do I have gas in my car today?  What do I have in my life today?  Oh, well let's see, I have shelter, food, gas in my car, love in my life, friends and family, my house is warm, my telephone works.  Can I go out and buy new clothes?  No, but do I have clothes to wear?  Why yes, I do.

This helps me to be here in this moment and cultivate gratitude.  Do I want things to be different?  Sure I do.  But it's not different in this moment.  It is what it is and I have my basic needs met.  Are there things I can do to help my situation?  Sure, I have a list of things, and I'm working on them.  But in the meantime, while I work on things to help my situation, I practice staying with my body and having gratitude for this moment, that all my basic needs are met and I have love in my life today.

So I shrug my shoulders and have the mmmmm feeling and move on with what's in front of me, somewhat content, with a little joy and a little love and a light heart.

All with a little courtesy

Frequently, I hear my two small boys tell me all kinds of reasons why they need to punch each other or trip each other or take each others toys.  It's always the other one's fault and there was no discussing it because the other one should have known.  Mind reading is what I assume they are talking about.

I used to think similarly.  It was always your fault and if you loved me enough or liked me enough or even just knew me for more than three seconds you should know what I need, think, and feel.  I never communicated any of this with anyone because, obviously, it wasn't needed because you were a mind reader or at least you should be and if you weren't, there was something lacking in you, not me.

I've learned otherwise, gratefully.

I have found regardless of how much fault is yours, I have my own which is where my responsibility lies, the only thing I can truly change, and you are not a mind reader because neither am I.  If I want you to know my needs, thoughts, and feelings, I have to communicate them to you.  Imagine.

Another thing I've learned, which is extremely beneficial, is it is helpful if I communicate with courtesy.  I have a much easier time of it.

For example, both children come to me with alligator tears and loud explanations on why it's brothers fault.  I listen and then ask simple questions.  They don't like my simple questions because they want to tell me their sad stories with all the right dramatics and convince me of their unfortunate lot in life.  I'm more about getting the facts of the situation and setting the emotions to the side for the moment.  Emotions are important - they need to be felt and known, but they can also be misleading, primarily because they are personal to the person feeling them, they are bias by nature.  Emotions will never give me the full picture.  I need the facts, to be informed, how else can I make an informed decision?

The boys do give me the facts, haltingly of course, because they already know what they've done and know the truth.  They just don't want to see it because they want what they want.  And then we talk about what could have been done differently, mostly communicating with one another with courtesy, of course.  I remind them they are learning and they'll get it, it just takes practice.  I even admit I am still learning, practicing how to "play well with others" because sometimes I don't want to.  Because, sometimes, I just want what I want too.  We smile and laugh about it and move on, practicing our new tools we picked up which we'll set down later to pick up again.

For me to communicate with others, especially with courtesy, I have to set aside what I "want" and be willing to listen, to weigh and consider, to respect the interchange of two people having a discussion.  I have to be honest with myself, which is a whole other topic for another day, and know what I need not just what I want.  I've learned I don't have the right to be mad when someone doesn't accommodate my request, if I've made one.  Their answer is only information after all.  I always have other choices to look at, a plan B to implement.  Where I can get stuck is in not wanting to look at my other choices because the other choices are uncomfortable or scary and it would be easier if the other person would just change or do it differently, so I wouldn't have to.

I figured out several years ago, gratefully with the help of some good friends, I had nothing to lose by trying new communication skills, so I tried them, and low and behold they worked.  I used to try and convince others of my plans for their lives or how they needed to present themselves to me in my life, and I always had a heck of a time with it.  I wanted good relationships with others, to be understood, to be listened to, to be loved by someone I loved, to be honored.  I rarely, if ever, received such blessings.  And why would I?  I wasn't willing to give the same back.  I really didn't want to understand anyone else, but I sure wanted them to understand me.  I really didn't want to listen to someone else or to honor them, but I sure wanted what I obviously couldn't give.

And love?  Did I ever really love anyone?

I did to the extent that I could, but I could never move deeper or stick with it because I was too busy squeezing the life out of it with my death grip because I was certain they would leave me for some reason or another.

My answer was the opposite of what my fear told me.

I needed to give what I so desperately wanted, and I needed to give it without demand.  And the first person I had to begin with was me.  I had to honor myself, to love myself - truly love myself - and then I could give something worth giving.  A paradox of sorts and one where there is a fine line between self-respect and self-indulgence and yet the answer is there if I'm honest.  Honesty is not an easy word or an easy concept to live by, but it's real and it's worth it.

If I create an environment within myself where I can grow and love and be myself, I can take that out into the world and give it to others.  I can communicate with courtesy because I'm not consumed with fear: fear of what you think of me, fear of what might happen, fear of never being loved, fear of being inadequate, fear of being unlovable.  To grow and love and be myself requires me to be honest with myself, to know myself as I am and be accepting of that and be willing to move toward what I could and can always be.

My boys still battle things out sometimes but in the middle I've heard them work it out, communicate with courtesy, mend their own damage, and move on with one another with laughter and joy.  Their ability to communicate with each other began with me communicating with them which began with someone communicating with me, all with a little courtesy.

Early Morning Willingness

Early morning willingness has never been my strong suit, unless of course I was still up from the night before.  Since I don't do a lot of all-nighters anymore, the only other early morning is the one where I wake from a deep sleep and consciously choose to get out of bed.  Sometimes those mornings are challenging.  I want to stay warm.  I want to sleep.  I want it to be sunny out but it's dark instead.  I want... I don't know what I want but it's definitely not getting out of bed before 8 a.m.   

So, what am I doing up at 5 a.m., fully clothed, with the car warming up outside?  The truth is it's yoga.

Yoga?  Give me a break.  Why should I have early morning willingness for that?

Some days I wonder and yet, really if I think hard and am honest with myself, it's because yoga is spiritual breath to me, the movement, the exertion, the surrender, the breath, the release and with it I learn about me, about who and how I want to be in my life.


My instructor the other day mentioned yoga was 110% effort and 110% letting go.  The effort lies in the posture and the letting go lies in the savasana.  The idea of letting go is not new to me and has been a part of my life for a long time but as I was laying in savasana when she mentioned this, I cried and my body released even more.  It was a truth I needed to hear again in a different way.

The same is for my life, the balance between effort and letting go.  I put myself out there.  I show up with my effort and when my effort is no longer needed I let go.  The challenge is knowing when I need to let go.  Now a number of years ago, I never let go.  I kept applying my effort to everything, trying to force solutions and outcomes because I didn't know what to let go of.

Actually, I didn't know I could let go.

There were many days where I would feel confused and baffled at why things weren't working out in my life or wonder why things were so hard.  I wasted a lot of energy and time exerting effort when I needed to let go and rest, let things be, without judgment, to observe.


The time in my past, where I wielded effort like a bulldozer, as if I could bulldoze through my life and get the results I wanted based off the belief that 24/7 effort equaled freedom, peace, and happiness, was a misconception and an unreasonable demand without validity.  By wielding such a destructive machine, I compromised my own value and worth, which resulted in over consumption or complete deprivation, whether it be with food, sex, money, material possessions, social engagements, and so on.  I would have brief moments where I felt like I had arrived that everything would be fine now from this point on and then the consequences of my over consumption or my complete deprivation would kick in and I would slip-slide in my life and wonder why me and why couldn't I just be happy.

I had no conception of balance, the yin and yang of life, that me as I am is a complete package and there is no part of me that deserves or needs to be ignored and if I play the coin of discarding a part of me, I will lose and lose big.  There in lies the letting go part.  I can't exude 110% effort when needed if I never have 110% letting go.

I may be able to fake my way through for a while but eventually the consequences of ignoring the core part of me that needs to let go will surface.  I will begin to lag behind, create physical symptoms, ulcers, gastrointestinal issues, headaches, sleeplessness, weight gain, along with emotional out bursts, grumpiness, increased selfishness, resentment, disinterest, sarcasm, judgment, and let's not forget mental obstacles, forgetting my keys, my purse, what someone said, even really being able to listen to another individual, and spiritually I lose connection with all things, with goodness, with grace, with compassion, with understanding.  My life takes on only a means of getting to an end and never an ease and flexibility of experiencing what is before me and enjoying it.

A simple reality, I will never see or experience this moment again.

Why would I want to spend this moment trying to get to the end of it?  To get my answer, to know I won the game or got the big job or my kids survived their high school years?  That's what happens when I'm stuck in 24/7 effort.  I am not really here.  I'm in outcome overdrive, calculating my next move and what else needs to be done.  Letting go helps me be here, to have patience when I need to wait, to show kindness when the grocery store line is going too slow and I'm running late, to know I will be okay even if things don't  turn out the way I want them to, to love my children even if they don't make the "right" choices, to have compassion instead of judgment and criticism, to have joy even when I don't have the money to buy it.  Letting go helps me see what I'm responsible for and what I'm not responsible for.  Letting go gives me the here and now to see what is before me, to experience it, to honor it, to revel in the absolute miracle of being alive.

My early morning willingness is generated by activities in my life which fulfill me and complete me.  No wonder I'm awake at 5 a.m. and consciously choosing to get out of bed to go to yoga with nay near a complaint.  Yoga fulfills and completes me and gives me an amazing opportunity, time and time again, to practice 110% effort and 110% letting go.  I practice in there and then I come out here and I practice with you and me and my kids, with my life.  I feel better.  I laugh more.  I observe without judgment.  I'm well, healthy, and of sound mind.

I can't say 110% effort and 110% letting go are easy propositions neither is yoga but both are rejuvenating and healing.  The results I get, whether I'm practicing yoga or a balance of effort and letting go in my life, are amazing, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  Why would I not have early morning willingness?




 

A Bird Takes Flight

I had a moment in yoga class today, lying on my mat, sweating profusely after having just done one set of cobra pose and the instructor wanted us to do another, where I felt she was simply asking too much of me.  Deep down bubbled an overwhelming tangle of emotions and with each movement, even my breath, it created an earthquake ready to explode.  I gathered my strength and willingness, cried a little and then surrendered to the pose and to the possibilities it presented to me.  It wasn't the pose or my instructor I was finding difficulty with.  It was my own feelings, my own powerlessness, my own life. 

Each pose I entered into, every inhale, every exhale, I moved through a murky, muddy rumbling of emotion, and I wondered if I should just lay down in savasana and give up, throw the towel in.  It's way too hard my head yelled loudly.  I knew from my own experience there was freedom to be had if I was willing to keep moving forward, not in a state of perfection, but in a state of willingness and open-mindedness.

The last few years, since the recession hit and took names, there have been many a time where the only relief I could find from what was happening was to climb a mountain and literally shove the feelings up and out with every hiking-boot step.  I would bawl and sniffle, bawl and sniffle, and climb higher and then find a place to set my weary bones and relief would spread over me like a bird opening its wings for the first time.

Yoga, this morning, was just that, a means to find freedom from the fettering of my life, of the constraints I place on what could possibly happen and how it's going to happen, when, ultimately, I do not know the happenings of a second from now or more.  At the end of class, I laid in savasana and reveled in the feeling of my body and the emptiness of mind and knew with complete certainty I could venture out into my day, meet with who I needed to meet with, and communicate with them openly and honestly and be at peace with whatever the outcome was. 

Freedom is attainable and refreshing.

This is Serious Business

Seriousness.  I once heard a man suggest our minds tell us our lives are more serious than they really are and the unfortunate thing being, we believe it.  I smiled and nodded my head because I related and understood and even though intellectually I can tell myself this truth and even convince myself it is worthy of my time to be mindful of, I forget and get bogged down in the seriousness of me.

When I am bogged I am consumed and with it the essence of my life fades from this moment because I am no longer here.  How can I be here when I have serious things to think about or do?  How can I feel the sun on my cheek or the touch of my 6 year old's hands holding mine, when I'm seriously contemplating the state of the nation or the unfortunate state of my finances?  How can I have gratitude for what is in my life when I am seriously consumed with what isn't?

My seriousness is a very serious matter.

The serious situation or thought literally sucks my insides inward to a never-ending, spinning black hole.  I'm cranky, grumpy, and short-tempered.  I have little patience for those around me and my tolerance is non-existent.  I usually push through this because I seriously have to get something done or figure something out or fix something.  I become tired and hungry, which fuels my inability to play well with others.

At this point, I'm seriously screwed.  Now I have more serious situations or thoughts to contemplate or figure out because the driver in front of me just flipped me off because I wouldn't stop tailgating them and my children are acting up because I just don't have time to play or read or talk to them and my friend is disgruntled with me because I wouldn't stop talking about that one really serious matter that I just needed to fillet myself with one more time.

I mean, seriously?  You'd think I'd forgotten how to have fun or go with the flow or laugh.

But the truth is I have forgotten.

My seriousness kidnaps me from this moment and places me in my future because my seriousness is all about what's going to happen or the "what if" scenarios my mind creates.  I have forgotten where my hands are and that I need to be with them.  I need stay here in this moment and experience it for what it is and for where it's at and make changes as I move through it not before I get there. 

My seriousness comes from my overwhelming need to secure the outcomes of my life so I can feel safe, so I can feel I have succeeded.  I'm so consumed with securing my future I miss out on securing my present by being in it, by feeling it, by laughing, by going with the flow, by cultivating gratitude for what is here instead of focusing on what isn't.

My solution is a serious one... not to take myself so damn seriously.  Simple, right?  Simplicity doesn't always imply easy execution, though.

I remember I had a dear friend of mine who went for a drive, took a corner a bit too fast, and rolled the car.  She didn't survive.  I arrived at the hospital 5 minutes after she died, devastated I couldn't see her before her last breath.  I held her husband in my arms and we cried.  It hit home to me I only have this moment and nothing else, regardless of what my day planner says.

My mind convinces me I can be so serious in my life I can take it for granted, that I will always have tomorrow to do those things I never get done today.  My mind lies to me.  What I have is this moment.  How am I experiencing it?

A moment in my life consists of witnessing those around me and feeling honored by it, to enjoy where I'm at today even if I can't buy those $100 boots that would look so good with that one skirt I have.  It's about doing what needs to be done but not believing what I do is the entirety of me.  I have feelings to feel and aromas to smell and textures to touch and sounds to hear and things to see and tastes to appreciate.  There are people in my life to love and cherish, to be available to.  There are dreams to spin with action and fears to face with courage.  There is me to take care of, to feed well, to exercise with, to rest adequately.  There are strawberries to eat and mountains to climb and motorcycles to ride and camp fires to build.

To be where ever I'm at and to be conscious of it, to be in the moment moves me from just doing my life to being in my life, which is what I want today.  For me to be, I have to not take myself so seriously, take life as it comes, and enjoy the ride. And believe me, it's been one heck of a ride so far.