Home Again, Home
I am back at the beach, slowly re-connecting with the rhythm of the tides and the change in the climate.
The transition between being in AZ and being here takes a while, letting go of what was, allowing my tender heart to ache, and, at the same time, embracing that I am in this place that makes my body feel so damn good. Already I am walking more than I have in the last three months and breathing in so deeply that my exhales are audible.
The air is damp and a little salty-sticky, cool but not cold. I am wearing cotton capris, a three-quarter-sleeved knit shirt with a camisole underneath for warmth and my body rejoices in this perfect temperature.
I pulled in on Sunday around noon, exhausted after the two easy driving days and the emotions that go with them. I was grateful for the welcoming fog, the piercing call of the killdeer and the roll of the waves.
But my RV had a dead battery when I tried to start it. I had imagined I’d need to deal with some things when I got back since the RV had been parked, unattended for 8 months, but a dead battery wasn’t one of them.
I was able to get the engine to turn over using what little juice was in the coach batteries and I pulled into my spot. But I forgot to keep it running while I checked for being level, and then I couldn’t start it again. But I had electricity and water and propane so I tried to calm down.
I found a few mouse turds in the bathroom cabinet and there were ants in one of the food boxes. I love ants when they’re out in their own world doing ant things. But I HATE them in my living space. I squirted them with my bleach cleaner and asked them to please move out. There are still a few rogue ants who clearly didn’t get the message, but I think I’m winning the battle.
I don’t know how people deal with this kind of stress every day. I cried, I called Marika, and then I called AAA to set up an appointment for the following day. I could have jumped the battery myself and driven over to Auto Zone for a new one, but I just didn’t want to.
Instead, I unpacked some things from the car, ate the rest of the brisket that Marika had packed for me and then finally, I walked down the hill to the beach and breathed it all in.
I was here. Again. The sun was just beginning to set, but the sky was still all fog so there was nothing to see except the beautiful dimming of the light. I walked under the pier, stopping to look at the crane and the new wooden planks and the restoration progress. I watched a dog rush into the waves to retrieve his frisbee. I watched a father play one-on-one soccer in the sand with his barefoot daughter.
Then I took myself to Duckie’s for dinner, a Caesar salad with broiled red snapper on top, and watched the day visitors come in and order one last bowl of chowder before heading home.
On my walk back up the hill, over the creek bridge, I recognized the man sitting on the bus stop bench. He was the 87 year old artist who lives on the street just above Paradise Park. I had visited him in his studio before I left last March and he had shown me his paintings and scrapbooks with all of the graphic work he did for Corvette.
So much of me did not want engage but I pushed myself to do it differently. I said hello and re-introduced myself. He said had found an old bottle of vodka at his house and had walked to the liquor store to get something to go with it. Tonic water? I asked? No, vermouth. He said he was going to make a martini. But he didn’t get any olives.
He said he still hadn’t painted anything. “But hey, maybe this will inspire me,” he said, holding up the brown paper bag with the bottle in it. I told him I’d check back with him in a couple of days to see how things were going.
I watched some Hulu when I got home and went to bed early, my body still adjusting to the earlier hour here.
I slept on and off that first night, dreaming of ants and car batteries. AAA came on Monday morning and put in a new battery, I drove the RV down the street to the local garage and got air in all of the tires, went to the carwash to remove the first layer of storage dirt and finally pulled back into my space. Now I’m level and situated in spot 60 with a fabulous view of town, Morro Rock and a peek of ocean.
I’ve been welcomed back by my neighbors with lovely, full on body hugs, and greeted on the beach by people who recognize me from being here before.
And this afternoon I have a board meeting for the Winter Bird Festival.
Each time I return to the beach, I am different, circumstances are different and my intentions for being here are different. When I first came in 2012, I walked the beach asking how I can do more of my best heart work. And now, two years later, I am a published author, and my book is reaching readers all over the world!
I am basking in this dream come true, trying not to rush to the next thing of growing it even bigger. But instead, appreciating all that is, right here right now.
With Wings I Fly
I have a picture of me standing in the late afternoon sun in Marika’s backyard. The light is perfect on my face, illuminating me like a spotlight and I am smiling from the inside.
I remember that day. That moment. Feeling so content and joyous and happy for everything in my life. It was in May of 2006, almost two years after I had moved out of Marika’s house.
Earlier in the morning she and I had gone to Goodwill. We were trying to work through the anger and do more fun things together instead of just sitting across from each other in a restaurant, sharing a meal, hardly talking.
We still liked to go yard sale-ing and thrifting for odd trinkets, bird feeders, potential art supplies. That day at Goodwill I found a pair of wings. They were pink and lacy, with a two-foot wingspan, obviously intended for a child. But they had adjustable straps.
Instead of making fun of them, Marika helped me loosen the straps, slip my arms through the loops, and adjust the wings onto my shoulders. And they fit. There was even a motor with a switch to make the wings flap.
A five year old girl watched us with fascination as I stood there, all smiling, my wings slowly raising, and lowering. And then they stopped on their way back to the up position.
“It probably just needs new batteries,” Marika said. “Flapping or not,” I said, “they fit and I had to have them.” And they were only $2.00.
That afternoon I came back to Marika’s so she could take my picture. I was all dressed up, literally, for a dear friend’s surprise party. I was wearing a dress. And earrings, and even a little Bare Essentials makeup. And my wings.
I didn’t wear the wings to the party. In fact, I don’t think I ever wore them outside of the house. But I did put them on sometimes when I danced around my studio. Most of the time the wings were displayed on the shoulders of my headless, black art deco mannequin, Odetta, who stood near the front door, welcoming guests.
Those wings. My smile. The light in my face. I see the energy of my whole being in that photograph. And when I remember how full and alive and complete I felt in that moment, I realize I can feel it again.
And just thinking about it, I actually DO begin to feel lighter.
Someone once told me that the Universe understands images more than language. That you should cut out pictures of what you want or that exude how you want to feel, because it can help manifest it.
This picture of me is all of that. And more. And so I have taped copies of that photograph where I can see it everyday: on my bathroom mirror, on my vision board, it’s even my current profile picture on Facebook.
Because the me in this picture is heart-wide open to the future. And that’s how I want to feel again.
Do you have a photograph of you that captures the essence of you?
Find it.
Put it where you can see it, to remind you that it is still you and you can feel that way again.
Edit, Save, Repeat
sample cover
This is so exciting! My first book. A dream is actually happening. Right now!
I am getting ready to not just write, but publish my first book!
This means final content edits, choosing artwork, checking page breaks, figuring out how the new version of Word deals with page numbering for even and odd pages, and always, envisioning the finished product in the hands of my readers.
I have my graphic designer on standby, so, as soon as I have the copy for the back of the book, and the official ISBN number, we’ll be ready to roll.
Yes this is pretty darn exciting!
I’m reading Guy Kawasaki’s book, APE: Author, Publisher, Entrepreneur and I’m still hovering between Author and Publisher, working my way through Amazon’s self-publishing website, createspace.com. Several friends have used the service and all give it high marks for ease of use and good results.
I did consider submitting a book proposal to publishers, but right now, I like having all of the control. And in my vision for this book, I sell so many copies that a fabulous publisher seeks me out for the second edition.
The book will be available as an e-book through Amazon’s Kindle store as well as a real, live, hold in your hand, turn the pages book.
Stay tuned for details, including how to pre-order your own autographed copy!
If you’d like to host a Heart Sparks Party, let me know!
I’m also booking places where I can speak and share and lead Heart Sparks workshops, so if you have a group that would enjoy some heart-sparking inspiration, let me know!
Back On My Mat
After four months away, I returned to my gentle yoga class last week. I knew it was time to get on my mat, to reconnect with my body, to stretch to my soft edges. But equally important, I was longing to reconnect with my community, to practice with my teacher and my regular classmates, and to be received with so many hugs and welcome backs.
But my teacher was on vacation so the substitute didn’t know I had been absent for so long. And it was a smaller than usual class and I only knew four people. After some lovely hugging hellos, I found a spot at the back of the room. I unrolled my mat, arranged my gray and red striped blanket on top, positioned my bolster near one end and set my blocks and a belt on the floor. And I stepped onto my mat.
I breathed in, slowly raising my arms over my head, open to the sky, I exhaled, lowering my arms, bringing my palms together at my heart. And I cried.
Just to be back, to recommit to my practice, to show up as a beginner who can no longer touch her toes.
I laid on my mat with the bolster under my knees and settled in. I watched the fan turning above me. I listened to the Sanskrit words begin sung on a CD. I slowly moved my knees and hips side to side, easing into my body, welcoming myself to my practice.
The teacher began class with a poem about letting go. We breathed and stretched into our arms and legs, and with each exhale came the invitation to let go.
At first I was disappointed, I had expectations for the class, for the experience. Knowing how my usual teacher leads the class, I had already figured out where I would ease up, what I would do and what I would stay in child’s pose for.
But then I let go of that too.
We opened our practice in a sitting position and I was surprised how comfortable it was to sit, cross legged on my bolster. Before my whole back journey, my right hip was too tight to sit comfortably for very long.
We began with three group Oms, but my voice quivered and everything got stuck in my throat. On the third Om I was able to get some sound out and join in.
We laid on our backs and raised our legs, straight up. A shot of sciatica pain surprised me and I may have said ouch out loud. And then I eased up, stretched less, and kept breathing. Just keep letting go, the teacher said.
We did some gentle hip openers, rotated our feet and moved into happy baby pose, where you lie on your back and grab the soles of your feet, ankles directly over your knees, and you rock, gently, like a happy baby. I had never been able to comfortably grab my right foot and hold it in the proper alignment, but now I could.
I couldn’t hold the pose as long as everyone else, and that was OK for me. I laid back on my mat and rested. And cried. Not for any reason. Not because I hurt. I was simply letting go.
I spent most of the class crying, tears running down my face, snot pooling in my nose, breathing in and letting go. I had no Kleenex, so I just wiped my face on my t-shirt, as if it were sweat.
When we paired up for a partner stretch, my friend asked, “allergies?” and I said, “no, crying…just letting go.” And she smiled, “yeah, I know that one.” And we held onto each other’s forearms and leaned back for a deep and sweet full back stretch.
One of our last poses was Tree, a balancing pose where you shift all of your weight to one leg, ground yourself, then place your other foot either against the calf or inner thigh (never over the knee). Your arms are raised up over your head, palms touching, in prayer position.
I used to be able to hold the pose and enjoy my breath moving through me as I stood, strong, tall, balanced. Today, I knew I would need the wall. I chose the easiest version of the pose, with my foot just turned so that the heal rested against my supporting leg, so that I could focus on how it felt to shift my weight with intention and trust the support of my hips and legs again. I wasn’t ready to add balancing to the pose.
And then, finally, we moved into Shavasana, corpse pose, a position of rest and yes, letting go. A few more tears dripped down the side of my eyes, onto my blanket. And I could feel more space inside of me, more calm, more ease.
After class, I chatted with a friend and then approached a woman who I’ve been practicing with for years but we’re always on opposite sides of the room. Today she was next to me.
How are you, I asked her. Her eyes were watery, her body seemed heavy, even though she is a size 2 with no body fat. Didn’t your husband recently die? She looked me in the eyes and said yes, it will be a year on Friday. About this time last year, he was starting to fade.
How are you, I asked again.
He wasn’t in any pain. So that was good. And we all knew it was coming. I thought I was prepared.
Yeh, I said, there’s some things you can’t prepare for.
But there’s a lot of joy in my life right now. I’m going to have another granddaughter. Next Tuesday. By Caesarian.
Congratulations.
So there is joy. she said.
And grief, I said.
Yes. Again she looked at me and I reached in to give her a hug but I felt like I would crush her if I gave her a full on body wrapping hug, and so we did more of a nice to see you embrace and it was exactly what we both needed.
The following week my regular teacher returned, the room was filled with familiar faces and full on hugs. And even though I was careful, and came out of most poses before everyone else, I did too much. That afternoon I wrenched my lower back and have been pretty tender since.
I realize I need to move much slower than even my gentle class. And so yes, I am back on my mat, finding my own pace, my own soft edges, all over again.
Stepping to the Edge
The Wonder, Women & Waves retreat is in November and early bird pricing ends September 30.
Are you ready to step to your edge?
Break and Grow by Ruth Davis
“Broken hearted often leads to broken open. And broken open is the perfect environment for finding out who you are and why you’re here. Break and grow.”
– Michele Woodward
On September 16, 2007, emergency open heart surgery saved my life.
I didn’t have clogged arteries or heart disease. I had a myxoma, a very rare benign tumor that was almost completely blocking the blood flow through the left atrium of my heart.
They discovered it after I had an episode of sharp ice pick stabbing pain in my back and chest and the inability to breathe. And yes, jaw pain and arm pain too.
It started right after dinner out with friends, so I thought it was indigestion. I made a cup of tea and smoked some pot to calm down. And then I just laid in my bed and tried to find a position of least resistance so I could just focus on breathing.
I didn’t call 911. I knew that if I went to the ER, that crazy, noisy chaos would kill me. I knew that I just needed to be still and quiet and just breathe through it.
I did call Marika, my ex-partner who is a nurse and was still my best friend, but she was out with a friend and not answering her phone. By the time she called me back two hours later, all of the symptoms had subsided.
I felt fine in the morning, but Marika took me to Urgent Care anyway. That’s where they saw an abnormality in my blood work indicative of a clot. They sent me to the closest ER, the Heart Hospital, for further tests.
They took x-rays. I did a stress test. I could hardly breathe after walking on the treadmill for just a few minutes. We waited for the echo-cardiogram technician to come in and he’s the one who found the tumor, nearly encapsulating the left atrium in my heart.
And he told me he was surprised I was still alive.
He said that most people with a myxoma die before it’s detected. That it’s like a head of broccoli – you can brush your hand across it and small pieces will break off. With the myxoma, small pieces usually break off and cause a blockage some place else in the body and you die of a massive stroke.
I thought about how, just two weeks before, Marika and I were on vacation in Michigan with her mom, and I was climbing to the tops of lighthouses, coughing all the way up and back down. I’d been coughing for years, and assumed it was from so many years of smoking pot. But now I knew that I was coughing because not enough oxygen was circulating in my body. And that I could have died.
Marika and I joked about how tricky it would have been to carry my body down those spiraling lighthouse steps. But we didn’t talk about me actually dying. I didn’t need to. I only wanted to focus on healing.
The idea of having open heart surgery didn’t scare me. I knew I’d be fine. I was young, only 48, and pretty healthy if you didn’t count the extra fifty pounds I was carrying around. All went well, they removed the 5.5 cm tumor from my heart and six days later I went home to recover.
I stayed at Marika’s house for six weeks as I healed. She cleared out a room for me and my landlord/friend brought my bed and favorite chair over in his truck. Friends called and came to visit. Clients sent emails and cards.
My parents brought me whatever I was craving: my mom’s chicken soup, egg rolls from Super Dragon, even corned beef, something I hadn’t eaten in 15 years.
Laddy and Mabel laid in the bed with me while I napped and Nurse Marika took such sweet care of me. I was so utterly aware of the love and support in my life.
I had very little energy those first few weeks. I wasn’t interested in watching TV. I didn’t have the concentration to read or watch a movie. Everything in my world slowed down. I couldn’t do much, so I rejoiced in the simplest of things, like being able to open the refrigerator, walk a full circle around the pool, reach the shower massage so that I could take a shower by myself.
I journaled, but not much. I kept up with my Mac2School monthly tips newsletter. I drew abstract doodlings with the crayons my mother brought over.
But when you are recovering from open heart surgery, you can’t busy yourself with too much doing or distract yourself with a lot of meaningless activities or mindless chatter.
When you are recovering, at first, all you can do is sit. And breathe. And even that is so painful.
Maybe it was the pain that made me so aware of my breathing. And by focusing on my breathing, I was able to stay in the present moment.
I had to let go of what I wished I could be doing and begin focusing on what I could do: breathing, sitting still, saying thank you.
Before the surgery, my life was pretty sweet. I lived in a friend’s guest house across the street from a tree-rimmed grassy park. I had a successful Mac computer training business, I went on great beach vacations, I made mixed media art pieces and sold them in galleries. I belonged to a women’s spirituality group and facilitated creativity workshops.
Marika and I had split up in 2004 after 14 years together, but we were working through the hard stuff, trying to stay connected. And we were sharing the dogs, Laddy and Mabel.
I loved my little guest house. It was a studio apartment with a full kitchen and bath and a large covered patio. And there was a pocket door in the living space that opened into a 20 x 20 converted garage with 4’ x 9’ wide windows and a Saltillo tiled floor.
This was my work space and art making studio. It’s where I grieved the end of the relationship, where I had a summer fling, where I learned to dance with tulle and play the cello. The guest house had been a healing space after the break up and now, it was once again, a place for my heart to heal.
But when I moved back in to return to life as I knew it, nothing was the same. I didn’t want to make art. I didn’t even do much writing. I was still smoking and working, but very little excited me.
I remember just sitting a lot, watching hours of HGTV and the Food network, feeling like I was in a wide open void. While this is typical with recovering heart patients, my biggest fear was that I wasn’t ever going to be creative again.
I knew I had to find new ways to tap into my creative self and discover how I wanted to express myself authentically. But I didn’t even know what I wanted to say.
I wanted to do more of my “real work,” but I had no idea know what that was.
And so I was asking myself lots of questions:
What did I really want to do?
What did I want most in my life?
What was holding me back?
How could I best serve others?
What brings me real joy?
What were my biggest dreams?
I had no answers. Only questions. And, literally, new space in my heart to explore.
I began saying no to invitations that felt more like obligations. I let go of relationships that drained me. And I became acutely aware of the love and support in my life.
I realized that, what I wanted, more than anything, was more connection in my life. But, being stoned all the time, I was usually too spacey to drive or too tired to go out, and too fixated on feeling good to risk any vulnerability.
And then, there was that day, that moment, when I realized I couldn’t have what I truly wanted if I continued to get high. And so I quit. Cold turkey. Just like that.
But I was still so scared to be in my body.
Post surgery, I had seen a cardiologist to follow up, and he said I didn’t need cardiac rehab because I was young and otherwise healthy, that I could resume my regular activities. And that I should come back in a year for an echo-cardiogram, just to make sure the tumor wasn’t growing back.
I joined my local Curves, a women’s workout club, but I was afraid to exert myself physically. I quickly got short of breath, and I thought, oh, no, the tumor is growing back. I went for a check up and all was fine. I wore a halter monitor during a workout and it confirmed that my heart rate was fine for my age and weight.
Marika assured me that it was just a matter of building up my stamina and strength. And my asthma. But I was terrified.
So I quit Curves and just walked the dogs and continued my weekly yoga practice and that was as much physical activity as I engaged in.
Finally, a year later, a friend encouraged me to ask for a referral for cardiac rehab. She explained that it was more than just exercising – that it was to get me back into my body in a safe and comfortable way. That they would monitor my vitals the whole time. And that they understand about the fear.
My friend also put me in touch with a woman who had similar fears after her own heart surgeries. Talking with someone who really understood what I was feeling and fearing calmed me down.
I signed up for rehab and went three times a week for two months, until I finally understood that I had a healthy heart. That everyone gets short of breath after a lot of exercise. That it’s a good thing to sweat, to get my heart rate up, to breathe so deep and hard that I feel my heart beating.
In the four years after they cracked my ribs open, I trained to become a life coach, I worked with a high level business coach to uplevel my Mac business, I moved into a 2 bedroom house with a yard, I facilitated creativity workshops and women’s retreats and created the Living Room Ladies.
And I know that these new things happened, that my life shifted and opened up because I shifted and opened up. Because I got quiet and I learned how to listen.
I learned that living the questions is more important than knowing the answers. And I learned how to trust my heart.
And every time I get lost again and forget all of this, I eventually remember to simply pause, and breathe and start again, at the beginning.
We all have things in our lives – a sudden death, a new baby, chronic pain, a divorce, a new school year, the loss of a job, a near-fatal car accident, even just moving to a new house – things happen that shake us up, knock us for a loop, throw us spinning into confusion, and fear and not knowing what’s next.
Sometimes the thing that shakes us and wakes us is our own boredom. We aren’t challenged at work, we don’t engage in anything exciting in our free time. We live our routine, park ourselves in front of our technology and, even though we don’t love it, we think that life is fine.
But the minute you realize it’s not enough, you can’t go back. You know you have to make a change. But you don’t even know what else you might want.
Our life is constantly calling us to be bigger. To live with more meaning, more intention, more joy.
But it usually takes a big event for us to realize we want to make changes in our lives.
But really, we have this choice every day – not just when our lives are in crisis.
Every day we get to choose to pause, and breathe. To respond instead of react, to approach with kindness and compassion, first ourselves and then others. Every day we get to choose the life we want to be living.
©Ruth R. Davis This is an excerpt from my upcoming book. If you’d like to know when it’s available, please subscribe to Heart Sparks above. Thank you!
How To Choose When the Choices Aren’t Clear
I’ve been struggling these past few weeks, not knowing if I should stay in Arizona longer or head back to the beach. Unlike previous returns to CA, this time I didn’t have a clear reason for going back, besides the fact that it’s the beach and I can walk and breathe and I love the climate.
But I had lots of reasons to stay – to help Marika oversee the big front lawn landscaping project, to enjoy the company of friends, to make art in my studio in the garage and enjoy TV and high speed internet.
And so I was torn.
Because I thought that NOT going back to the beach meant I had failed somehow.
I floundered in those feelings of failure and loss and not knowing until finally, I called my coach. She helped me recognize that I was beating myself up and that whatever I chose would be the right choice.
I spent the next few days after our coaching call editing the Heart Sparks book. Reading my own wisdoms about breathing and letting go, shifting from fear and anxiety to being curious about not knowing, all helped me let go of the struggle.
I changed my question from ‘where do I want to live’ to ‘how I want to feel’ in these next few months. And the first answer was, I want to feel loved.
Sure, I know Marika and my family and friends love me no matter where I am, but to be in their physical presence is different. And working with my clients in person makes me feel loved. And it makes me feel like my work matters, which is also at the top of the list. And this made the decision clear and easy.
So I’m staying in Arizona through October. And then I’m heading back to the beach to welcome the women who have said Yes to the Women, Wonder and Waves Retreat Nov 12-16. (Save $100 when you register before September 30)
I know I’m not the only one roaming in this space of not knowing, struggling with choices that aren’t clear, wishing for something that feels normal and right.
This is when the best next step is to return to the basics, to stop, to breathe and to ask new questions, and then, let go. And trust that, in this unsettled quiet, you will hear the truest answers.
This is what the upcoming retreat is about. Maybe you’d like to join us….
Wherever You Are Is Where You Begin
Wherever you are is where you begin.
Right here. Right now.
Never mind how you’ve tried it before, done it before, been there before.
You are here. Now. Standing in this present moment.
While this may be an easy concept to accept abstractly, it is not as easy to embrace when we are attempting to do something we used to be so good at.
I used to be a cyclist. I took daily rides of 10-15 miles along the canals, to city parks. I easily pedaled 35-50 miles every Saturday, touring the stretches of farmland on the outskirts of Phoenix. I even did a 2-day, 150 mile ride to California as a fundraiser for MS.
When I think of those long rides, I forget that when I first started, it was a huge accomplishment to ride just one mile around my own neighborhood.
I forget that it took months for me to build up my physical and mental strength and endurance to ride long distances.
It’s been more than 20 years since I was that long distance rider. In fact, my bike has been tucked into a corner, gathering cobwebs for the last year. But when I think about riding, I remember how free I can feel pedaling in the breeze, how strong my body can be, balanced and self-propelling me.
And I want to feel that again.
And I know I have to start where I am.
The keys to building strength and endurance with any new activity are consistency, frequency and increasing the level of activity each time.
It’s also important to be patient, gentle and realistic with your progress.
And it helps a lot to hold a vision of yourself already accomplishing what is it that you are just beginning.
I got my bike tuned up and steam cleaned. I bought a bike computer so I can see how many minutes and how many miles I ride each time. I am setting do-able goals, increasing the time and distance of my ride every couple of days.
And I am holding a picture of myself, pedaling strong and easy over new terrain, confident in the saddle, smiling into the breeze.
What do YOU want to get better at?
Exercise? Cooking? Self-Care? The same principles apply, no matter what new activity or mindset you are working with.
You just begin where you are.
Begin with how you are.
You just begin.
Permission to Dream
I had dinner the other night with a friend who, for several years, and many reasons, has stayed in an unfulfilling marriage.
But now, she is taking the steps toward divorce.
While she knows it is the best choice for her, she is freaking out about the future.
How will she support herself?
How is she going to live?
What will her life be like if she is not married?
And when she asks these questions, there is so much panic and anxiety in her voice that she freezes.
I suggested she change the intonation of her questions so that they are more like open-ended wonderings that don’t require immediate answers.
I asked her what her dream life might look like twelve months from now.
Without hesitation, she began to describe a cozy house and she would paint all the walls whatever colors she wanted. Her whole face lit up as she shared her dream of this community house filled with books and space for people to just come and hang out.
And then she stopped. But it’s not practical, she said.
And I asked her, Does it have to be practical right now?
My friend doesn’t anticipate being on her own for another 6-12 months. And so, I suggested, maybe she doesn’t NEED to be practical right now.
I suggested that this time right NOW could be an opportunity to begin to dream, to imagine all kinds of possibilities for herself in this new life. I offered that she could simply entertain her joyful imaginings so that the space opens up for what she might really want to create for herself. And that, eventually, that imaginings would reveal something practical.
You mean, give myself permission to dream? she asked.
And she realized it had been so long since she had.
When was the last time you gave yourself permission to dream?
Is there something that keeps you stuck in practicality?Would you be willing to open up to what might be possible beyond practical?
Do you even have dreams?
Please share by clicking on the Comments below.
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A Weekend in the Pines
Marika, Mabel and I spent last weekend at a friend’s cabin out of the heat of the desert. What a gift to drive two short hours north and be surrounded by tall, sweet pines, where the daytime temperature peaks in the mid-80’s and at night, it’s cool enough, with the windows open, to pull a blanket over my shoulders.
We arrived in the dark on Friday night, unpacked, made the bed and went to sleep soon after. In the morning, Marika took Mabel for a walk along the forest trail while I lounged in bed, happy to see all of the trees through the windows.
After coffee and breakfast on the deck, I took Mabel for a short neighborhood walk but the 6500 feet altitude was hard on this sea-level gal’s lungs and I when we got back I had to take a nap.
But the air was clear and crisp and even a little moist when the afternoon clouds gathered in with a promise of rain. We heard some far off thunder rolls, but the storm missed us.
We spent a lot of time just sitting on the deck, talking, not talking, watching the trees for birds. Nuthatches, chickadees and Stellar Jays flitted from branch to branch. We watched an acorn woodpecker pull insulation from a four inch hole in the side of the neighbor’s house. Ravens grawked overhead and a turkey vulture circled high above the trees.
I didn’t have my laptop with me so I couldn’t do any real work. A first for me. To just sit and enjoy the sounds and smells of where I was.
We did drive into town, population 2100 when everyone is there. There was a gas station, a restaurant, the Motel in the Pines, and a real estate office. Across the highway was a second restaurant and gas station, a small thrift store and the Saturday Farmer’s Market, which was really a craft fair with two food trucks.
Marika waited in the car with Mabel while I looked around. I chatted with two jewelry sellers and bought us a cup of dairy free mango sherbet, but the sun was high and it was warm, even in the shade.
We drove through the sleepy streets to find the small Lake Odell, hoping to see some more birds along the shore, but there were several families fishing and playing at the only parking area, so we kept driving. We took a short leash-free forest walk, but it was getting too warm so we headed back to the cabin.
We spent the afternoon on the deck, me writing and drawing, Mabel curled on the outdoor carpet and Marika scanning the trees for an elusive American goldfinch. She did see a red faced warbler, a first for her. She tried to get it to come back by playing its call on her iBird app.
I took the cushion from the broken chaise lounge and laid down on the deck to do my gentle yoga stretches. A cool, piney breeze blew across us.
We did nothing else. And that was everything. To just sit and be and say thank you.
