Finding Home: The Story Continues
Prayer Flag by Debbie Wohl Isard
It’s the first week in July and last Friday, three friends and two strong teen boys moved my big furniture and the rest of my packed boxes to my dad’s house to store.
But my bed and my desks are still here. And so am I.
Maggie Feldman
After finding and then losing the original “dream house” and then the backup house, I was all set to move at the end of June into the furnished studio by the bay.
Communicating with the landlady was challenging and I had started looking for other options. But I kept coming back to the furnished studio because it seemed so perfect as a transition space.
But when the landlady informed me that she was trying to refinance the house so we’d have a house, I realized it was all much more drama than I needed.
As scared as I was to not take this only known option, I also knew that I had to let go in order to move forward.
It’s like going across the monkey bars. You can swing with one arm for a while, propelling yourself forward, but at some point you have to let go in order to catch the next bar.
So two weeks before I was scheduled to move, I called her and said I was no longer interested.
Karin Rinestone
Friends wrote me wonderful emails and messages, assuring me that the best is waiting for me, in the right time, that I WILL get to the bay, that I WILL find the most perfect home.
But in that moment, I just couldn’t muster their faith or enthusiasm. I was exhausted. And disappointed. And tired. And I was barely breathing. I sat in my favorite chair after a good long bawling and it took a lot of effort to breath past my chest, into my belly.
With each new prospect there had been hope and excitement, seeing how one thing led to another, one idea blossomed into something else. But with this last NO, I felt like I had lost my way.
I had been so focused on the HOW and the WHEN that I had lost sight of my WHY again. Worse, I felt like I had lost my sense of hope and grace.
I cried for several days, completely drained, emotionally, physically, and even spiritually. I ate chocolate fudge ice cream by the quartful and boxes of cookies in a single sitting. I even returned to some old addictive behaviors. And I just allowed myself to indulge, to sink into everything I was feeling.
Cyndi Coon
I decided to take the last week in June off of all things–work, moving plans, everything. I called my current landlord and told her I’d be staying another month.
In that pressure-free space, I started looking again. I thought I’d found a solution with a month to month one bedroom apartment that would get me to the area so that I could actually look at more permanent places when they became available. But the landlord wanted someone to commit longer term.
So now it is July and I am still feeling a bit lost, defeated and hardly optimistic. And the 112 degree days don’t help.
I do know this is only temporary. That this is all part of the ebb and flow of life and moving and the bigger picture.
I also know that it is the generosity and love my friends and family and clients and FaceBook connections that keep me buoyed, even when I feel that there is no movement.
And I know that the only thing I really need to focus on right now is reconnecting with WHY I want to expand my life and HOW do I want to show up and connect bigger so that I can do more of my real work in this world.
Nancy Ayers
So the a/c is cranked up high, the shades are drawn to block out the relentless sun and I have a schedule of work stuff to keep me busy for the next few weeks. And now I have more time to get together with friends, swim with the dogs and maybe even go camping.
But mostly I’m learning to let go of control, to embrace what IS, and to trust that I am on the path, even if it seems like it is leading nowhere.
I’ve been asking friends to keep holding the vision for me, even if I can’t see it for myself right now. This, in itself, is a Very Big Thing for me. Asking for help. Admitting I’m not at my best.
But maybe this unsure, vulnerable space is part of my best, too. It’s certainly an uncomfortable place for me. And isn’t that where our biggest growth happens?
So thanks for all of the support and visioning and cheering me on, and for continuing to believe in this journey with me, even and especially when I have lost my way.
It means everything to me.
Friends have been making me Prayer Flags with wishes for my journey. If you’d like to make one, email me your snail mail address and I’ll send you the fabric. <3
click here to read the next installment of Finding Home.
Sex and Funerals–What’s the Difference?
I wrote this in 2010, shortly after my mom passed away. Today, on the two year anniversary of her death, the message is just as important.
It’s been an emotional couple of weeks since my mom passed on June 27. My family flew to Philadelphia for the funeral and my father asked me to handle all of the arrangements.
While it was a daunting job to make the travel plans, the funeral arrangements and all the other decisions that accompany a death, my mother left me with such specific instructions that it was relatively painless. Which is why I encourage everyone to start talking about wishes and plans while you still can.
We are encouraged to talk about sex with our kids, to educate them, to take the mystery out of it, to prepare them so that when they are faced with a choice, they can make sound and educated decisions.
Years ago it was taboo to talk about sex. But we see how important it is.
So why is talking about death and funerals, which is just as important, still a taboo subject?
Because it’s uncomfortable. Because it makes us face our own mortality. Because talking about death pushes us sharply into those inevitable feelings of loss, heartbreak and despair.
But, we’re going to feel those things anyway, so why not be as prepared as possible.
Imagine yourself standing at the edge of the ocean, the waves are breaking at your toes and the water is cold. Painfully cold. If you charge right into the waves, the cold is going to be so terribly shocking to your system.
But if you slowly move into the water a few steps at a time, you get a little more used to it. First the water is up to your calves, then to your thighs, and you are gently adjusting to the temperature and all of the sensations. When the big wave breaks and splashes your chest, your shoulders, and then takes you under, it’s not quite as shocking as if you had just plunged in.
Talking about death can be like this too.
My mother and I talked many times about her wishes for her funeral. The first time, eight years ago, was very uncomfortable for me and I remember sitting there, just listening and crying. She said she was sorry to make me sad, but she needed to discuss these things. And I knew that, even though it hurt my heart deeply, it was an important thing to talk about.
We returned to the conversation several times in the last few years, clarifying the details, discussing different options, even laughing about what clothes she wanted to be buried in.
The taboo of the subject was gone and, in so many ways, our talks helped prepare me for her death.
And she wrote everything down so that I wouldn’t have to rely on my memory, so that her wishes were clearly stated, just in case anyone wanted to choose something different.
When it came time for me to actually make the calls, make the choices, make the arrangements, I knew which funeral home to call, what kind of casket to pick, who she wanted to officiate at the services. And I loved reading her handwritten instructions, knowing that I was lovingly and dutifully carrying out all of her wishes.
And that gave me so much comfort and strength.
Making the final arrangements for a loved one can be especially painful if, in the midst of our loss, we have to make guesses and emotional choices. Not knowing our loved one’s wishes opens us to opportunities for doubt, regret, even guilt.
But if you start talking about these things NOW while you still can, you are actually giving your loved ones a great gift.
You get to be real and honest. You get to comfort them while you are still here. And you are giving them the gift of knowing that they are doing everything you wanted.
So open up the dialogue. Begin the conversation. Empower your loved ones with what they will need when that time comes.
How Courage Begets Courage
We’re all afraid of something. Ignoring it may work for a little while, but facing it head on is the only way to really conquer the fear.
I have my mother’s body, from the two chins and small hands, to the renaissance curves and pendulous breasts. My belly, round and firm at the same time, a small waist compared to my buttocks that are wide like all the women on her side of the family. I have the same thick thighs and narrow feet, and the pinky toes that curl under the other toes.
My mother chewed antacids as far back as I can remember. I could always find a white box of peppermint CHOOZ gum in her pocketbook, on her headboard, in the glove compartment. For years my mother swallowed her anger, her grief, her feelings of losing control.
I am much better at expressing myself – crying, yelling, feeling my feelings and letting them go. And still, I have the same reflux issues that she did. The ones that eventually turned into esophageal cancer and killed her.
And it scares me to death.
Already I am coughing up gastric juices in the middle of the night if I don’t sleep with the head of my bed propped up on risers. I am taking the same medicine that my mother was on (in smaller doses) and not eating after 6 pm. I try to avoid chocolate and spicy foods and sugar, all triggers for the acid. And still, the reflux wakes me up from a dead sleep.
And each time my food comes back up at me I think of my mother, how she felt full after eating a quarter of bagel, or three little peanut butter crackers. How she tolerated the experimental procedures to blast the cancer with pellets down a tube in her throat when radiation and chemo were no longer an option.
I know that the power of my fearful thoughts can’t be helping the situation. And that stress is a major contributor to reflux. But I have been too afraid to do anything about it.
My friend Liz has a family history of colon cancer and she’s been avoiding a colonoscopy for several years. When we got together a few weeks ago she told me she had finally made an appointment, just to get it done. To know. And the results came back-no cancer. No pre-cancer. No need for another test for five years. She was ecstatic.
I was so inspired by her courage that I finally made an appointment with the gastroenterologist, the man who first discovered my mother’s cancer. I told him I wanted an endoscopy to know what the inside of my body is really doing. I wanted to hear him tell me that I don’t have Barrett’s esophagus, the wearing away of the lining that is a pre-cursor to cancer.
I wanted him to tell me that if I just lose weight, the symptoms will go away and I will live a long and healthy life. I wanted him to reassure me that, in this particular case, I do not have my mother’s body.
He assured me I don’t have any alarm symptoms. That losing weight will, indeed, alleviate the reflux. And, as you read this, I’m having that endoscopy just to be sure. And I’m expecting the same all-clear results that Liz got.
ADDENDUM: All tests were clear! No problems in my esophagus. I am rejoicing on so many levels.
My Mother’s Things
With less than 30 days till Moving Day, I have started to pack and sort through my stuff. I have boxes filled with what to keep, what to give away. I recently went through some of my mother’s things, asking the same questions.
There is a lot of energy in things. Taking time to sort through them can bring us clarity, space and memories, of course.
There was no urgency. My father wasn’t moving out of the house. And he has his own closet so it wasn’t even a matter of needing the space. Still, I knew we needed to remove my mother’s clothes from the closet, empty her dresser drawers, clear out everything that was hers that wasn’t hers anymore.
I had put it off for so long that, almost two years after she had died, my father finally did it without me. He quick-folded everything into four large black trash bags and brought them over to my house one afternoon before we went out for burgers. He wanted me to go through the bags before donating them to Goodwill. I live in a very small house so there was no place to stash the bags and avoid the task any longer.
That evening I untwisted the bag tie on the biggest bag. The top item was my mother’s velour bathrobe, magenta with embroidered pink flowers, that zipped from her neck to her calves. She wore it all of the time around the house over a turtleneck and nightgown because the house was always too cold for her.
Tears rushed, no surprise, but it was too much for that moment. I wasn’t ready. I folded it back into the bag and took Laddy for a dog walk.
When I got back I tried again, this time with the intention of just seeing what there was, what might be donate-able, what might fit me or a friend. And I started with a different bag.
It was easier to sort through her pants and skirts. Somehow they were just things that she had mail-ordered and there was less emotion attached to them.
The bag of her tops was a little harder since I had picked many of them out for her on our various shopping trips. The pink with green floral scoop neck from Macy’s that lit up her face, the denim, short-sleeved checkered button up, the light blue cotton long sleeved shirt with the snaps down the front for easy chemo access.
I put the snap shirt in the save-for-me pile next to a long sleeved brown LL Bean t-shirt and a black mock turtleneck, smiling that my mom was providing me with warm clothes for my pending beach life.
I put the six pairs of her brand new, not yet worn white briefs in the donation pile along with the powder blue knee-highs from the hospital with the rubber-like traction lines on the bottom and several pairs of beige nylon peds, the only socks my mother ever wore.
I paused at the two matching brown corduroy jackets. When we bought them, I wore the 16 and she wore the 18. A year later both of our weights had changed and we had swapped sizes. Now neither one fit me. I checked the pockets, then put both of them in the pile for my friend to try on.
I didn’t linger on the three pairs of Andrew Green slippers marked with the indentations of my mother’s slender toes. I didn’t stop to reminisce about the yellow t-shirt with the birdhouse on it that she bought because it reminded her of Marika’s love for birds. I didn’t even pause to hug the softness of her nightgowns to my face. I worked fast, detached, focused on the task.
I had sorted through my mother’s clothes with her several months before she passed. She’d sat on her bed in her magenta robe as I pulled her largest sized clothing from the closet. They were from eight years ago, fifty pounds ago, before she was originally diagnosed.
Together, we pared down her wardrobe to the few things that really fit so that she could buy new clothes. It was always a fun outing for us, even though neither one of us enjoyed shopping.
I’d push her wheelchair through the narrow aisles of the Macy’s Women’s department, the racks of sleeves sometimes brushing her arms as we passed. Some days we found nothing. Other times she’d end up with a stack of possibilities on her lap and then I’d wheel her into the handicapped dressing room to begin the fashion show. Sometimes I’d find something too and try it on and she’d happily add it to her purchases.
And always, after shopping, we’d go out for lunch. We’d sit across from each other in a booth so she could prop her back against the softness of the cushions and her traveling pillow. She’d tell me about her recent get together with a friend or what she wrote about in her class at the senior center. I’d tell her about our last camping trip, or the next creativity class I was leading or ask for her input on a particular situation.
She was happy to offer a suggestion, a solution to the problem. But she phrased it as a possibility, as something I might want to consider, not with the words “you should” or, “what you need to do.”
She said she learned that from me, from our many conversations when she vented about my father. Instead of telling her what to do, I’d sit back and listen, asking her what she needed from me, from my dad, from the situation. Often, it was enough that she could just talk about it and be heard.
Some days we’d have those same conversations at the kitchen table when my father was out food shopping or watching the Leher News Hour in the family room. She’d be wearing her magenta robe if she was cold, or a turtleneck with no bra, whichever was more comfortable.
Remembering this, I reopened the bag with her robe in it, and it was easier somehow, to move it to the donation pile. I sorted through the rest and, as I folded the last turtleneck into the pile for my friend, I was delighted with the size of the stacks of things I had saved for her and me.
A few days later, after I had delivered the bags to Goodwill, I found a single beige nylon peds sock on my living room floor. It was camouflaged on the earth toned carpet and I almost didn’t see it.
I remembered when my mother went through her first round of chemo and was too weak to put on her own socks and shoes. She had sat propped against three pillows in her bed, her robe tucked around her while I slid the socks over her feet and toes.
I have no use for a single beige ped sock. I certainly don’t need a canoe shaped piece of nylon to remember my mother. But I had already dropped off the donation bags and I just couldn’t throw it away. So I kept it. At least until I have another bag of donations to fill.
Finding Home, Part 2
“When you set out on the path, the path begins to materialize, but not before.”
– Susan Piver
Any adventure is a path. It meanders, it gets bumpy. It might even dead end. But if you keep moving forward, one step at a time, it will lead you where you need to go.
If you’ve been following my moving adventures to live on the Central Coast of California, the last you heard, I didn’t get my “dream house” and I was waiting to hear about the back up man’s house. (If you missed Part 1 you can click to read it here.)
Still, I had my going away gathering as planned and it was so lovely to have my friends and family all together, talking, eating, creating prayer flags for me to hang in my new home. There were no tears or sad goodbyes since I still didn’t have a place or a moving date.
An hour before the party I saw a listing on Craig’s list-not for a house like the “dream house” but for a furnished studio on the ground floor of a solar home a block from the bay.
It was not at all what I had been looking for.
But the idea of living in a small, temporary space that was furnished and in the prime-est of prime locations intrigued me. It could be a transition space, and I would just take the bare essentials for living and running my businesses.
I wouldn’t have the pressure of paying a huge rent, I wouldn’t have to hire a moving company to bring all of my belongings. I wouldn’t even have to rush to connect with new clients.
I would use the space and time and my savings to ease into my new surroundings and explore how and what I want to create in my new world.
I shared the photos at the party and everyone was excited about this new option. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t a full kitchen since I rarely cook.
The space was big enough, full of light and the best part was how close it is to so many dog-friendly trails along the bay.
I replied to the ad with several questions and got a brief but incomplete answer. The next day the listing was gone.
Was this just another stone along the path, just to get me to consider this new option of a transition space?
I checked the listings for other studios and one bedrooms but found nothing as big or as close to the water as the no-longer-listed solar studio.
And then, finally, Mr. Back-Up House Man called to say no, he wasn’t interested in renting his house right now.
BAM! It was official. I had no plan and no place to live. After three weeks of being comfortable with the not knowing, suddenly I was stressing and wondering if I was ever going to move.
I kept reminding myself that yes, I am meant to live there, that everything would unfold as it needed to and that I just needed to stay clear and focused on my WHY.
I envisioned how I would spend my days if I lived this simple life. I calculated how much I’d need to work and what kind of work I wanted to do in the first three months. I imagined walking with Laddy along the bay trails, breathing deeply and easily, the clean bay air healing my lungs and opening my heart.
Out of nowhere, I got an email from a realtor in San Luis Obispo, a colleague of a client’s daughter, who wanted to connect even though she didn’t do property management anymore. It was a wonderful reminder that things were working on my behalf, even without my knowledge.
And the next day I got an email from the furnished solar studio woman with updated information and a reposting of her ad. Seems she is in the middle of some big project and medical issues and can’t deal with the rental until mid June, but, if I was “very very serious” I could call her.
Could I commit without seeing the space? Was I really ready to let go of all of my “stuff” and begin my new life small and simple and in a studio apartment?
I made lists of what I would need to bring: clothing, technology, inflatable bed, a few office supplies, linens, dog food, service for four. I imagined the fun of thrift-storing and yard sale-ing for the rest as needed.
I made more lists of what I could donate and what things I would box up and store at my dad’s house.
I even pieced together the floorplan of the studio using the different pictures to figure out how the room was really laid out.
I called the woman the following morning. She lives in the upstairs part of the house with her Bichon Frise and calico cat. She is dealing with some health issues so the studio is not yet ready to see. But after her June 12 project, she’ll hire some people to clear out everything that’s currently being stored in the space and I’ll move in on July 1st. Sight unseen, trusting that it will be clean and bright and furnished somewhat like the online photos indicate. I sent a small deposit with a note attached, outlining those expectations exactly.
It’s a leap, for sure.
But it’s grounded in a lot of faith and love. I know this is where I am meant to be. I feel so supported by my friends and family and clients. There is caution. And common sense. And getting everything in writing. But there is no fear. Really. Just a whole lot of open-hearted possibility.
click here to continue reading the story.
“This unique home is located on the central coast of California–one of the last unspoiled areas in the state. It is a beautiful one-of-a-kind elegant home–professionally remodeled, in a great location, quiet area one half block to Morro Bay–off the Pacific. The Efficiency/”Studio” covers most of the downstairs, with windows on three sides and will be for rent in late June. I am a retired, and disabled professional who lives upstairs and is very quiet. A sweet little Bichon Frise dog and beautiful small calico join the family and are not a bother.
If not familiar with the area, a stunning “little” Big Sur is only a 7 mile drive with many, many trails. The home area is perfect for wildlifers, walkers, bikers and canoe/kayakers, (park boats permanently along the shoreline). There are actually three completely separate nature areas around; one is 1/2 block to the Bay and the blackberry patch, another is a block and 1/2 to Sweet Springs Preserve, a tranquil bird estuary, wooden bridges and benches, huge trees, and walking trials alongside the Bay. The third area one block away is 180 degree many acred walking and sand inlet for kayak/boat mooring and playing with your dog!
One must see inside the very large Studio to truly appreciate it. The Efficiency is a segmented room that has a small kitchen. Access to laundry provided. This architecturally special home (it’s triangular!) has a 2.7 K full solar system on the roof, which supplies much of the electricity needs! Floors are bamboo, or fabulous cork that makes it one of the “greenest houses” in Los Osos. The Studio has high end Berber carpet and bamboo flooring in the full bath and two (one walk in) closets. It can be totally furnished and you may make choices in some cases, includes computer table, etc. The kitchen is easily partitioned off if desired. Refrigerator is 3/4. Lots of space and storage.
Available end of June, with minimum six to twelve month lease, renewable for responsible non-smoking, quiet person. References, pay for credit check to stay. $795/mo rent includes most utilities and furnishings (not necessarily what you see in photos). Two months deposit. Please make arrangements to see after June 15 and occupy shortly thereafter! Owner is occupied until that time and illness dictates not being disturbed until after June 15. Please e-mail after that time if interested.
Don’t Call It Dancing
One of my favorite tools I use with coaching clients is re-framing. I ask them to consider a thought, idea, problem, word, from a different perspective.
When we get locked into a single way of looking at something, we aren’t open to what else it might be.
I’ve been practicing this a lot lately, as my moving plans keep changing and shifting. The day after I sent in my deposit for my “dream house,” I found out the current tenants had decided not to move. After my initial disappointment, I accepted that it just wasn’t meant to be.
I called the man with the the backup house but he hasn’t returned my calls. So I’m taking that as a no. Last weekend I saw a furnished studio listed on Craig’s List. It was completely not what I was originally looking for, but I realized that it would give me the time and space and flexibility to more easily make the transition from here to there. I contacted them but they didn’t respond to my emails and then the listing was gone.
So I still don’t have a concrete where or when. But all of this has opened me up to new ways of contemplating exactly what I need right now: more of a transition house to ease into creating my new life.
I’m sure the universe is working very hard on my behalf to bring me exactly what I need. And I am breathing, allowing, and finding some fun in how it is all unfolding.
You can apply this re-framing to everything. Including dancing.
But don’t call it dancing. Because that will immediately make you self-conscious, like you have to know the steps, and look good, and be graceful.
Call it moving your body to music, instead.
And get yourself some tulle. You know, that fine, netted material that ballerinas wear as a tutu. It’s light, it’s pretty and it’s unpredictable.
It’s how I learned to move in my own body.
A friend had long ago given me a book called Juggling for Dummies. It came with three small pieces of white tulle, each about six inches long. The book instructed me to toss them up and catch them. Unlike plastic balls or bowling pins, the tulle was light and I could toss them high into the air, like scarves, and have plenty of time to position my hands and body to catch them before they hit the floor.
When I added music, my whole world changed. I wasn’t dancing, I was moving my body with the music. I’d toss a scarf high above me, extending my arms out through my fingertips to catch it. There was a lightness, a silliness in the movements that took away all self-consciousness.
I added my torso and legs into each stretch, reaching with my whole body. If I missed the scarf, I’d follow it toward the floor, bending and tucking, graceful as the scarves themselves floating in the air.
Always, I was following the scarf, not leading with my body.
Different music inspired different movements. I moved with classical and jazz and african drumming. I especially loved the slower music because it made me more aware of every turn and stretch of my arms and legs and torso. I played with stop motion, pausing with one foot up in the air, like I was in mid-step. Without even trying, I was building strength in my legs and improving my balance.
I added a second scarf, tossing them independently, moving my body left, then right to catch them both before they hit the floor. Sometimes I tossed them up together, rushing to catch both. Sometimes I let them intentionally float to the floor where I met them, my body curled like a ball, waiting.
I discovered that moving to a particular sad piece of music helped me grieve a recent breakup. My body could feel the sadness and the pain and the loss and release it without getting caught up in the story of it all.
Moving to music became a daily ritual, an afternoon act of creative expression. It was a wonderful interlude between my work day and my personal life.
These days, I move in the morning, after the dog walking and before I sit down to write. It gets me out of my head and reconnects me with my breath, my body and my heart.
I recently shared this movement practice at the Living Room Ladies Weekend Retreat. It was magical, watching them play with their scarves, moving freely and expansively in their bodies. They were smiling, laughing, completely present with each toss of the tulle.
And they have continued the practice at home, experimenting with different kinds of music and movements.
I invite you to get yourself some tulle, put on some music and move your body, following the scarves. (If you live in the Phoenix area, SAS Fabrics sells all colors of tulle, even with glitter, for less than $2.99/yd.)
Making Your Wishes Known
On my birthday back in March, I was thrilled to start my day with my Rhythm of Being movement classmates. Before class, I stood in the doorway of another classroom, listening to the senior men of the Phoenix Men’s Choir rehearsing.
I so wanted to ask them to sing Happy Birthday to me. But they were deep in the practicing of E flats and A’s, and I didn’t want to interrupt.
I told my own teacher my wish and the next thing I knew, our class was walking down to the music room and yes, those fifteen men sang to me.
I stood in front of them, beaming, my eyes tearing, feeling so joyous as their strong song, their three part harmonies, their booming voices filled the room, filled my heart.
I was so glad that I hadn’t keep my wish to myself. That someone else was able to make it happen for me. It was one of the best happy birthday songs I’ve ever experienced.
So often we think we have to do everything for ourselves.
We don’t even think to ask someone else to help us make something happen. And yet, sometimes, we need the assistance of others to accomplish what we really want.
How can you ask for help to bring your deepest wishes and dreams to reality?
I’d love to hear your responses!
Within a Quarter Mile
I’m participating in Patti Digh’s online writing class, VERBTRIBE:MASTER CLASS. Since February 1 when the first class began, I’ve been writing every day. Not a novel or short stories. Just writing. Every day.
Patti gives us prompts, and then more prompts that take us deeper. We only have two days to write and polish and post a piece. This has been the best part for me: writing and letting go of the need to edit it to perfection. Just posting it as it is in that finished moment.
Lately we’ve been focusing our attention and our writing on the world within a quarter mile of where we live. As I am packing and finalizing my moving to California plans, the writing has been an opportunity for me to honor and reflect on my time here in this house.
Here’s one of the pieces I wrote:
Like African Daises
I’ve walked this sidewalk every day for three and a half years.
Not counting
days off when I didn’t have the dogs.
Or I put my back out.
Or it was too hot.
Or I just didn’t feel like it.
I know the pine trees and the creosote and where
to stand to see the best angle of Squaw Peak.
I know which Jews are going to Young Israel across the street and
which ones are going to the Russian synagogue around the corner.
I know when the white winged doves will return for the summer.
I can tell you stories about how the Chihuahuas on the corner
held up traffic one morning.
And how the wild peach faced lovebirds stand their ground against the pigeons at my feeder.
I know the rhythm of the cars on Maryland Ave
and the daisies
that look like weeds at first
but wait a bit then
look closer and
you start to see the stems
unfold orange and yellow
and purple, if you’re lucky.
And one day
without expectation, the whole of the sidewalk
is lined with colors
full open to the sun
And every day I pass
I too, feel vivid and alive.
I have gotten used to this place –
the smells, the neighbors, the variety of birds
and how the light moves across the stretch of grass
in front of my writing table window.
The daisies are beginning to curl
into themselves
shriveling and drying
into bare round seed balls with paper thin sacks of seeds that drop
at the slightest touch of a hand or breeze
until only a dried, beige starburst remains,
proof that there ever was a flower.
Remember the Magic Eight Ball?
One of my favorite toys as a kid was the Magic Eight Ball. It was a black plastic ball that looked like an eight ball pool cue. You asked it a YES or NO question, gave it a good shake while you concentrated on the question and magically, an answer appeared in the glass window on the bottom.
Sometimes the answer was Yes, Definitely. Sometimes it said My Sources Say No. Sometimes it answered Ask Again Later.
Of course, I always re-asked and re-shook the ball until I got the answer I wanted.
We use many kinds of oracle-like tools for guidance. We throw the I-Ching coins, pick Runes, read Tarot cards. We are looking for answers, confirmation, proof that we are on the right path. And yet, often when we get an answer, we keep asking again, just to be sure.
In a recent coaching group, we were using Deborah Koff-Chapin’s Soul Cards to tap into our subconscious insights. One woman chose a card and laughed out loud. “This is just so perfect,” she said. It was an image of a spirit woman looking over a human woman. “This is exactly what I’ve been saying–I need to trust the higher wisdom that is in me.”
And then she asked if she could pick another card.
This time I laughed.
I suggested that, no matter how many cards she picked, the same message would appear. Because that’s the answer she is needing to hear right now. Then I asked her if she still wanted to pick another card.
She did. And it was, of course, a very similar image.
Another woman in the group also completely connected with the image on her first card. She too, drew a second card and the image and the message were almost identical to her first card.
So what question are you asking, over and over, because you want a different answer?
What if you accepted the answer you keep getting?
Try it with the online Magic Eight Ball.
Ask a Yes/No question. Concentrate on the question and “shake” the ball.
Are you willing to accept the first answer it gives you?
How to Shine Your Light
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we’re powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you NOT to be?
Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
~Marianne Williamson
Spring is a time of birth and renewal. Things that were dormant all winter are budding and blooming and, with each day, there is more light. On the surface, this means longer, brighter days. Deeper, it can be an opportunity for our own selves to shine brighter.
Does that idea scare you?
Does the thought of standing in the light push you further into your own shadows?
As children we may or may not have been encouraged to shine. And so as adults, we may have to learn some new behaviors–to brag a little, to declare our talents, to claim our own light and then shine it into the world.
So, how do you begin to even see your own light?
Everyone has a unique set of talents and interests. We all have capabilities that we are passionate about and that can be used to create value in the world.
Many of us have been taught not to brag about what we’re good at, or what we love.
So here’s a chance to try it.
Take out a blank piece of paper, take a deep breathe and answer these questions about yourself.
Then be brave and ask your friends for their input, too. Getting another person’s perspective is so helpful to get a clearer picture of who you really are and how others see you shine.
What are your talents and abilities? What are you good at?
This could be playing with your kids, adding numbers in your head, cooking delicious meals, pitching a tent, diffusing a tense situation. List EVERYTHING that comes to mind, even the little things.
What words describe you?
Are you funny, honest, compassionate, patient, smart, intuitive, feisty, creative, determined, reliable, helpful? List EVERYTHING you can think of.
What do people count on you for?
Companionship, nurturing, support, honesty, a good laugh? List EVERYTHING you can come up with.
What other distinguishing features do you see about who you are?
Are you organized, a collector, inventive, good with older people, a leader, a planner, spontaneous, an adventurer?
Now read through your answers. Add more things as you think of them.
Now imagine yourself, standing in the light of your talents and abilities.
How does it feel? Do you feel the slightest bit proud and in awe of yourself?
How can you be more of this amazing person?
How can you share your unique gifts with others to spread the light?
How might it feel if you dared to shine?
