Silence - where are you?
Solitude - why do you hide from me?
Where is that long moment of internal peace, the pause between the breath and the thought where I can simply feel?
Do I want to feel what moves underneath the currents or am I content right now to skim the surface.
Isn't it silly that I think I have a choice?

Anchoring

We left Anacortes on Sunday morning and spent the day traveling on the water, looking for a spot to 'drop the hook'. Finding that spot didn't occur until mid afternoon due to a couple hours spent seeking decent anchorage in Friday Harbor. (We ended up over near Roche Harbor in Westcott Bay). Our second day out was met with rain and easily filled with all those small chores that I put off doing when the sun is shining and I can revel in the warmth of breezy blue skies and the water that surrounds me. I kept myself busy all day. It was yesterday, three days into our trip that proved to be the most difficult. There were no more projects that called out to be completed. My book, although fascinating, was no longer pulling me in. The idea of sitting still and just reading made my skin crawl. I found myself yearning for people and activity. I wanted my husband to make the crossing from Reid Harbor to Roche Harbor just to go get some cereal for the morning (An invitation he gently refused before diving back into his own book "Cereal? Just Cereal? Uh no").

I was literally drumming my fingers on the table, restless and tense. I wanted to move, I wanted to 'do' and I didn't want to do it alone. The only option that seemed available to me was kayaking. Alone. The idea of doing one of my favorite activities by myself was so uncomfortable. And, thankfully, that feeling was enough to jog me out of the restlessness. I asked myself the simple question: since when didn't I want to be alone with myself? Since when did the silence frighten me?

I kayaked. Slowly and with appreciation for all that I was seeing. It felt forced at first – funny, but it wasn't until I took a deep breath that I realized that I had been hyperventilating. It wasn't until I couldn't unwind that I realized how tightly wound I was.

I drifted around Reid Harbor and let the tension drain away. My life on the mainland faded into the background, muted and benign. This is the shift that happens when I am out on the water although it usually doesn't take three days to get there. For me, that fact is simply another symptom of what has been a larger issue alive in my world. I'm not sure what I gain with that awareness except, perhaps, the distance to see more clearly. Stepping out of my reactive, distraction ridden, caretaking world is like putting down an anchor and feeling that moment when it catches against the current. There is an instance of strain, the line goes tight and the boat strains against the sudden call for it to stop. Afterwards, there is a sigh in the forces governing the boat – the anchor chain settles and the boat rides forward gently to drift on the line that now holds it firm.

I have been out on Jessara now for four days and finally the relaxation begins to unfold. It is just the two of us – and our dog – spending a week out on the waters of the San Juan Islands. I am sitting in the pilothouse facing due north in Blind Bay – the perfect location to watch the ferries run back and forth from Orcas to Shaw Island. I can hear them coming, the low hum of their engines announcing the green and white, triple or double decked flat bottom boats as they make their way through the islands. The bay has a scattering of a dozen sailboats and a few power boaters anchored throughout. There is a small island in front of the bay that has a large group of kayakers camping and the soft scent of a wood smoke drifts through the open hatch. Above the hills of Orcas the sky is darkening with night even though to the west the clouds break revealing the lavender sky that only hours ago was vivid blue.

Anchoring is tricky and I wonder how long it can hold. At least through the weekend until I get home. Perhaps I'll gain a few days on the other side of this vacation. Mainly I just want to remember what this feels like. To be quiet in my body and mind. To allow the moments to unfold. To be.

Tentative Steps towards Myself

The gift of not being able to sleep is found if you can sit in the silence of your home and ask yourself what is going on that has left you wide awake at two am.
Leave the computer and TV off - and pull out a journal. Allow that anxious voice to speak. Ask what it means to not be able to let go/release/surrender. What is the fear? What is the story? Where did the ability to self soothe go?
I've written quite a bit over the last few weeks, digging and scraping away at what has been hidden by the busyness of life. I am sleeping now with the help of some supplemental hormones - and some clarity around what has been happening within my life. Perimenopause is like shedding an old skin. Old ways of being are no longer valid. Unhealthy patterns are no longer abstract ideas - they hurt and keep me awake all night. My body, mind and spirit seem to be speaking in harmony and as a very loud chorus they tell me firmly that certain behaviors are no longer possible.
I am on shaky ground, like a babe taking those tentative first steps on untried legs. My balance is no longer something maintained through sheer will - it is found in my ability to care for my body and spirit. It is not just my physical diet but that with which I nourish my soul. It is found in what I say 'no' to; it is present in the moment that I spread my hands and say 'this is all that I am and I can do no more.' Or: 'this is all that I am and I am amazing.'
I have spent the last few weeks feeling bewildered and hijacked. And yet, the truth is that I am my own kidnapper. The keys are in my own hands.

Wanted: Strength and Courage to Stay Engaged

Details: Looking for the ability to self soothe and monitor personal needs & wants while engaged in this complex dance step we call living and loving others. Must have compassion and be able to accept grace while mucking through this one, precious lifetime. Experience with discerning what is someone else's work and that of the self is helpful. Skills should include the ability to say no; the ability to make mistakes, stumble and fall on face; and sometimes disappoint others.

Applications should be meditated on and spoken as a mantra for at least five minutes at time. It goes something like this: Please, spirit, help me find the strength and courage to stay engaged with those that I love even as I seek to address my own needs and what I want in order to live my life to the fullest expression of my soul.

There is no time limit on this request.

One Foot in Front of the Other

The weekend seemed to have a theme that spread outwards and over all who I came in contact with. "What comes next?" And how do we sit long enough in the silence of our souls to appreciate what is happening in order to even see the next step. What is the gift in the moment of experience that settles into my being? I am given the opportunity to let go of what I think is the right path/direction/ decision and simply process the learning that is mine to have today.

Learning: I don't have to know what the map looks like – all I have to do is appreciate the moment and decide how I want to put one metaphoric foot in front of the other. It's HOW I step forward – not where – for then there is no wrong way to take that next step.

A Moment in the Wind

I took my husband for a walk through the yard at twilight. The heat of the day had subsided to a soft 68 degrees and the clouds were touched with pink highlights by the sun that had disappeared beyond the horizon about a half hour earlier. Nine o'clock and it was still light enough to meander through the garden and show him the five foot delphinium stocks beginning to blossom and the abundance of cherries ripening on the trees. The evening was still, heading towards sleep with only the lone Swainson's thrush's call left to echo through the trees. We stepped around to the front of the house, holding hands and talking softly about the coming weekend. As we stood there in the deepening night, a new sound entered our awareness. It was loud enough to make us pause and turn west towards the street that leads to our house. At first I thought it might be a car or truck coming down the road. The alder trees have grown so thick that we can't see along the small road that leads to our house anymore. We waited for a moment but there were no telltale lights or sounds of shifting gears. This was a sound that was steady and growing. Standing there in the stillness it took us a long moment to realize that what we were hearing was actually a sound of nature. Across the field from our house the trees began to bend and sway in a wind that had yet to touch us. The sound was reminiscent of cascading water, a constant roar that we were watching and yet not feeling.

There was such a sense of awe and surprise as we waited for the wind to reach out to us. It was a moment out of time – a pause of delightful expectation. We laughed with appreciation and held each other close.

What might have been forever and was probably less than a minute passed and I felt the first breath of wind against my face. Within seconds we were surrounded by sound and movement, squinting against the dust and debris that swirled around us. The wind came up fast and fierce; it seemed to come from every direction. We savored the warmth of its touch for only a few moments before turning back to the house. I checked my weather station and saw that the winds were gusting around fifteen mph. I can still hear the wind moving through the trees – the wind chimes clanking wildly along the back porch. However, what I am holding on to is that moment of shared wonder that I had with my husband. I will remember that for a long time.

P.S – If you have not heard the Swainson's thrushes call in the still of the evening – then you have missed out on one of nature's most perfect moments.

Time Flies

Have you seen that commercial where the little girl comes in and asks her dad if she can borrow the car? She's going to the movies with friends and dad throws her the keys. The sweet little five year old morphs into a teenager and heads out for the night. I had that experience this morning chatting with my son about college graduation. We were talking about regalia and gowns and the graduation ceremony. He was sprawled across the chair in my office in a teenage mutant ninja turtle t-shirt and jeans. The flash of his younger self was there in that cocky grin and I realized that yet another four years had flown by.

I don't feel sad but I do feel the pinch of time passing. I am so glad, however, that I have such clear recollections of my son at all stages of his life – that I've been able to see him as he has morphed from child to teen to young man.

Deep Loyalty

I picked up one of my favorite books – Soulcraft: Crossing into the Mysteries of Nature and Psyche by Bill Plotkin and it opened to the following passage:

(Yes, the passage is long –stay with me…)

"Distinguishing authenticity from deception – at any stage of life – requires the ability to access and understand your emotions, desires, and values. But the more advanced practice of choosing authenticity over social acceptance requires something more: you must tell yourself and your intimate others the truth, all of it, as deep as you can, especially when it's difficult. What you express is from the heart and intended to serve both yourself and others. You must adopt the practice of making all of your actions align with what you know to be emotionally and spiritually true.

A key authentic practice is to stop pleasing others at the expense of your own integrity. If the important others in your life – at home, at work, at play, in spiritual community – need you to be someone you are not (e.g., a carefree confidant, a charmer, a rescuer, a victim, a hero, a loser, a mother, a pleaser), you will have to surrender your impulse to keep living your life for them. You will have to relinquish your willingness to make major life decisions just to take care of them emotionally or to win their approval.

You will, in essence, have to learn the difference between shallow and deep loyalty – doing what another wants or asks versus doing what your heart tells you is best for all concerned, yourself and others…" (page 102)

Deep loyalty to myself and to those that I love. This has been on my mind lately in regards to some relationships in my life. I am faced with the question of how to re-engage from this place of authenticity. It amazes me how the deepest patterns emerge for me to see – roles being played out – that required me to step back and reassess: Is that true? How do I know that is true?

My first impulse is to break off, disengage, fall back and cut off. Within my family, strong boundaries have always been necessary to stand on my own two feet. What I don't want to do is suddenly take a diffused boundary and make it rigid. No, I want to stay engaged. I want this relationship in my life. This person matters to me. I want to change an ongoing pattern – a role that I play out time and time again – I want to give that back.

Maybe this realization leads to a difficult conversation with a loved one. Maybe I am asking myself to be the change that I want to see. I'm not exactly sure how to proceed but the one thing that I do know: Having the awareness of this issue in my life is the first step. Deep loyalty begins with the self.

Going back to School

I had the opportunity to return to my graduate school program this past weekend as a volunteer observer for a piece of curriculum that is called Marketplace. It was a last minute offering for another set of eyes and I have to say that I didn't exactly jump at the invitation. Last minute was two days before and the time requirement was six hours on Friday and seven hours on Saturday. There was certainly some juggling to be done with schedules and other events but these were only mere excuses as to what was really making me hesitate.

Was I really up for the job?

There are some friends of mine that are rolling their eyes right now. Could I really be running that old story again? Am I enough? Do I have something to contribute? And yes, I saw the story playing out in the background of my reasons why I couldn't go and I quietly shut the door on it. I graciously accepted the invitation and made the arrangements that needed to be done so I could go.

What strikes me as I write this is the systemic thinking that not only I was going to Marketplace to watch out for – but also what I was bringing with me. How can I not apply the same lens to my own participation that I was there to observe? I was moving into a system as a particular type of group member and interacting with a group of people that I know nothing about. What was I bringing to the table? What was I going to notice through the filters of my own experience? Of course my own behavioral patterns were going to be triggered. Issues of belonging, personal authority, joining – god, the list goes on and on. All of that first year curriculum playing out not only in front of me to be assessed but also in my own experience. How oddly crazymaking.

In the end, I'm glad I went. I learned that my systemic eye is still operating well. I learned that I could stand back and observe with compassion and a critical eye. I reined in my caretaker (most of the time) and simply witnessed. It was hard at times not to step into the active system and offer some support – to stay in the observer mode without participating. I know what triggered what responses I did have – seeing someone feeling deep shame/beating themselves up – I'm going to tend to offer an acknowledgement that they are worthy of care. Maybe next time I'll be able to hold that more mindfully in the moment and see how that person manages through that moment alone. Maybe.

Accepting myself for my edges and strengths – I got to live that in grad school and continue to see it as a balancing act that constantly ebbs and flows in my life. I show up as I show up. I get to assess my participation and learn from it – maybe even try something different. I get to keep moving on instead of having certain moments in time define who I am. How hard it is to stay that fluid. How hard it is to accept that kind of grace. But in the end, it is the difference between stagnating in a place of discomfort or thriving in a world that still has so much to teach me.

Beginner's Mind 101. Here we go again.

Being Real

I was at a party last weekend for a woman that I hope to get to know better. We've been inviting each other into the beginning of a friendship and even though I knew that A. and I would not know very many people at her party – we went. I didn't know what to expect and that was okay because I trusted in my initial impression of this gal that her fun loving spirit would probably attract similar people to her orbit. Still, it was a party at a swank address and if there is one thing I hate doing is socializing with a group of people that I have no connection with. Or, maybe what's worse is socializing with a group of people that I may discover that I want to have connections with.

I've said it before and I'll say it again – I am an introvert. Just a fact of life, neither a badge nor a label but how I tend to interact with others and the world at large. Large social gatherings drain me. I don't really like small talk – I like learning about people. I tend to get curious and ask questions but suddenly the noise level in the room escalates and I can't hear. Or someone starts talking and doesn't stop and I find myself half listening with more interest to the conversation that is going on next to me. I've been cornered at parties and have, on occasion, found myself on the receiving end of that loss of interest. It is the nature of the event. Keep it light, surface, short sentences and polite. Ugh.

And then I come home, tired but having had a good time, and my mind starts playing back conversations that were awkward – or at least played back as awkward. It's like a video camera has come on in my head and heightened all the contrast of the picture. Moments jump out and I cringe – how could I have said that? What kind of impression did that make? I didn't mean to not use a coaster and I was just curious if it really was her thirty fifth birthday.

Actually I didn't ask about the birthday – even I recognized the danger in that. It's possible she really is thirty five.

As I sat in bed later that night, I found myself once again confronted with the image that I present to the world. The good news is that I really wasn't concerned about that image going to the party or at the party. I went to spend time with a delightful woman and get to know her husband and visit with a few others that I'm looking forward to developing better friendships with. The other good news was that as I felt that old tape running – those old insecurities rising up and poking at me from the playground of my youth (will she like me? Am I enough?) – I felt the comfort of having spent the time in that fire of self assessment (thank-you, grad school) to have a fairly good idea of how I impact others. Okay, I also asked A. for some feedback – but that was a step in silencing those old tapes as well.

I've changed over the past few years and I like who I am. I like being more curious about others than sharing my life story within the first few moments of a conversation. I like it that I have dear friends who meet the need in me to be known so that I can go to a party full of strangers and enjoy learning about others. I like it that I am patient in these early stages of getting to know potential new friends – and that I am aware that they get to make their own choices in who they want to deepen relationships with. I get to choose and so do they. If I'm not their cup of tea – I'd rather know based on them seeing the real me than some sort of construct that I've put up to be liked.

In the end, I enjoyed the people that I talked with, learned new things about some very interesting people, laughed and shared and left with a smile on my face. New friendships need tending and that's what I did by accepting her invitation. Yes, is what I said – you are worth my time. Just as I was worth inviting.

Why the Silence

What is there to say?

The art of unmasking is a challenge for a writer. How hard it is to strip away the layers that create the artifice of my daily life. Even trying to "be real" or "authentic" takes on the veneer of a mask.

I love writing. I love exploring my world through the written word. And yet, blogging is like standing in a crowded park and talking to myself. Writing is the yearning to be known. But what sense am I to make of the fact that while I have given my blog address out to many friends and family – that only a couple still check in on occasion? My own mother who used to read this regularly forgot that I was even doing it. She simply drifted away because what was being said here did not hold her interest. That is my assessment, at any rate. I don't necessarily draw the conclusion that it is my lack of being interesting that has caused that to happen. It doesn't matter how busy the people around me are – living their own complicated lives – what I simply understand is that my yearning to be known; the desire to bring my perspective into the written word so that I can be seen is a futile effort.

Who cares? Beyond me, that is. And why does it matter? Does it matter?

Sometimes it matters. Not a great deal of the time – but there are moments when I move into that needy place of seeking validation outside of myself. There are moments when I want to be sought out – when I want to know that my voice is not only heard but enjoyed. And how strange it is, in those same moments, when it does happen, when I am seen – that I shy away from that focus. I deflect that attention and breathe a sigh of relief when the focus moves away from me. I want and I do not want. What I crave I also fear.

And so I end up in this place of homeostasis. Pulled by needs, stymied by fears – ah life. Is it really different for anyone?

Then what do I do? I end up writing about it. Turns out I had something to say after all.

A New Year

The kids have gone back to school and university; the snow is slowly melting and I'm working diligently to clean up the house after three weeks of having five bodies to feed and care for instead of the usual three. Not that they are all not capable of self care – but boy, they leave messes everywhere. So the whirlwind slowly calms and I finally find myself looking forward into this new year of 2009.

A friend came by yesterday for coffee and asked the usual questions: resolutions? Goals? I didn't have an answer – or at least any sudden sense of resolve that THIS year was going to be the year of ____ (fill in the blank). The last three weeks have been about exactly what I want in my life – being in the moment, spending time doing with those that I love and care about. Having space to listen. Being given the chance to express what I have needed to express. Breathing deep into my belly and sensing the grounding of the moment without worrying about what tomorrow is bringing.

Goals are important. I usually love having goals. However, what I have been aware of these past few months is that I am really good at giving myself "should" goals. I "should" want this or that. I "should" be doing this thing or the other. I "should" want to get in shape and lose weight. I "should" want a full time practice. The list goes on from the small sundry items of day to day living to the grandiose goals of making my mark on the world. And something is missing from these goals that has been hard to understand – or see. What is mine and what is the sense of expectation that I put upon myself. If I was going to have a goal this year – it would be something to do with listening and awareness of self.

I don't have any problem stripping back down to bare wood and rediscovering what draws me, what inspires me and what I want in the moment. There are certain responsibilities that have to continue and that's fine. That's life as it should be. I wouldn't give up those parts of my life for anything. And I want to maintain this sense of calm knowing. That it is okay for me to be tired today. That I don't have to have answers for questions that need to be answered tomorrow – or next week. That ability to let go and release my life into the future of its own creation – now that's a goal I can live with today.

Inertia or What I Really Know is True

Welcome to December: Winter is coming – the season of introspection

If my life is a sailboat coasting over the waves, I have a sense of some thing that keeps wanting to drag me to a stop. It's like a current that I am going against while desperately trying to blow wind into my sails. If I stop generating the breeze – will the sails fall still? If I stop trying so hard and the boat drifts to a stop – what will I hear? Will I notice a breeze from another direction? Will I contemplate the strength of the current that I am trying to run against? Will I realize that if I switch directions and reset the sails – that I will fly across the water with a big grin on my face?

The problem with trying to make anything work – is that if it feels draining chances are it isn't going to be what works best for me. I keep thinking that it is me who is somehow faulty – my energy levels, my motivation, my abilities that are not enough to make my current career choice work. I make it about the boat – not what I am trying to do with the boat.

What a revelation.

What I know is true in this moment is – I will enjoy walking with my father this afternoon. I will enjoy making turkey orzo soup with the rest of my thanksgiving leftovers. I will play Christmas carols and start figuring out how much homemade jam I need to make for gifts.

And I will let the sails luff.

Such Vivid Colors

I forced myself outside this afternoon for a walk. It was in the latest Oprah Magazine that I read that one of the best ways to combat fatigue is to get up, walk or exercise for twenty minutes at least three times a week. I know this and I've been ignoring my body because I've felt so tired. Insight is one thing - getting out and doing it is another.

But I did. Got Sam, the leash and my walking shoes and took off into the beautiful fall day. The breeze felt balmy as it scattered huge yellow maple leaves along the road. The sky was perfectly clear and blue. I could smell the cedars and grass. And yet, the most amazing sight of all was the host of vibrant fall leaves still filling the various trees along my street. Such vivid hues of red and orange and yellow. Leaves spinning and floating down to blanket the ground with faded glory.

I feel quiet - a sense of inner peace that grounds me in the moment. I can look at the mountains and feel the sun on my face, letting the moment be complete without any other thought or action.

Hold Me Tight

Dr. Sue Johnson, founder of Emotionally Focused Therapy, has written a book for couples based on her work with adult attachment theory. Hold Me Tight: Seven Conversations for a Lifetime of Love. It's fascinating! I loved reading her stuff during grad school – but this is a more relational book that I can read for myself without thinking about theory. I've known for a long time that the most important relationship in my life – my marriage to Andy – is also the field upon which all my insecurities and adaptive patterns play. I believe this is true for both of us. What I am sitting here thinking about is something that Johnson presents as the culture we live in: We spend so much time learning that as adults we should control our emotions. Healthy adults are self-sufficient.

"Only dysfunctional people need or depend on others. We have names for these people: enmeshed, codependent, merged, fused. In other words they were messed up. Therapists encourage people to stand on their own two feet. This is just what Dr. Spock advised parents – picking up a crying child is the way to create a weakling. Trouble is, Dr. Spock was dead wrong when it came to kids."

She goes on to say:
"Recognize and admit that you are emotionally attached to and dependent on your partner in much the same way that a child is on a parent for nurturing, soothing, and protection. Adult attachments may be more reciprocal and less centered on physical contact, but the nature of the emotional bond is the same."
She wants to foster adult loving relationships that are open, attuned and responsive to the needs of each other. The 'child-parent' thing threw me for a moment because I was thinking of those as roles than can be played out in an adult relationship. But that isn't what Johnson is talking about – she's talking about attunement and emotional needs in relationship to the other. We've got to remember that the definition of differentiation is one plus one equals three. Each of us are separate individuals in relationship with the other. Because we do yearn for other arms to hold us tight. We are relational beings because we are emotional beings. Love lowers blood pressure, helps us manage stress and anxiety. And more. The studies they are doing are amazing.
And of course she dovetails attachment theory into the very heart of this intense emotional drive to depend on and be cared for by another. And that, of course, brings up a host of other interesting thoughts – about myself, about Andy and the dance that we do in relationship with each other. Twenty two years of dancing, I might add – as of tomorrow. But that is food for thought another day. Here's a great series of thought provoking questions from the book:

Exploring Your Emotional Connections:
(From Hold Me Tight by Dr. Sue Johnson)
"Reflect on the questions below or write your answers down in a journal as to deepen your exploration of them. You might also want to share and discuss your responses with your partner at some point"

• What messages about love/marriage did you get from your parents? Your community? Was being able to reach for and trust others seen as a strength and a resource?
  
• Before your present relationship, did you experience a safe, loving relationship with someone you trusted, felt close to, and could turn to if needed? Do you have an image of what this looks like in your head, a model that can help you as you create your present relationship? Think of one good time or typical moment that captures this relationship and share it with your partner.
  
• Did your past relationships teach you that loved ones were unreliable and that you had to be vigilant and fight to be seen and responded to? Or did you learn that depending on others is dangerous and it is best to distance yourself, to not need others and avoid closeness? These basic strategies often switch on when we feel that our lover is distant or disconnected. Which strategy did you use in past relationships, say, with your parents, when things started to go wrong?
  
• Can you remember a time when you really needed to know a loved one was with you? If he or she was not, what was that like for you and what did you learn from it? How did you cope? Does this have an impact on your relationship now?
  
• If it is hard for you to turn to and trust others, to let them close when you really need them, what do you do when life gets too big to handle or when you feel alone?
  
• Name two very concrete and specific thins that a safe, accessible, responsive and engaged lover in relationship with you would do on a typical day and how those things would make you feel at the moment.
  
• In your present relationship, can you ask your partner, let him or her see, when you need closeness and comfort? Is this easy for you or difficult to do? Perhaps you wonder if this is a sign of weakness or maybe it seems too risky for you. Rater your difficulty in doing this on a scale from 1 to 10. A high score means this is very difficult for you to do. Share this with your partner.
  
• When you feel disconnected or alone in your present relationship, are you likely to get very emotional or even anxious and push your partner to respond? Or are you more likely to shut down and try not to feel your need to connect? Can you think of a time when this happened?
  
• Think of a time in your relationship when questions like "are you there for me?" were hanging in the air unanswered and you wound up getting into a fight about mundane problems. Share this with your partner.
  
• Can you think of bonding moments in your relationship when one of you reaches out and the other responds in a way that makes you both feel emotionally connected and secure with each other? Share this with your partner.

Feel the Rain on Your Skin

The lyrics go –

'Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten'

• Natasha Bedingfield – Unwritten
  

I've had trouble with words lately. Language has tangled on my tongue.

And as I struggle with the long pauses in my own ability to converse, as I sit wide eyed and lost with this strange sensation, I – feel. Feelings sift through my awareness. Tangled up in the needs of my soul, the dreams of my heart. Language fails me. How do I describe what I am just beginning to touch the edges of?

I can't. I struggle to even want to bring voice to what is moving through me. Whatever I am feeling – it isn't ready to be verbalized and contained by a vocabulary that defines and acts as a cage to the work of spirit. These are words that allow me to withdraw into clinical observation. As an example: 'Adaptive behaviors derived from past experiences within the family of origin.' That is truly an umbrella statement that keeps the feelings safe and untouched. It keeps the rain from hitting my skin. I need to feel the rain, I want to feel it for myself.

Sometimes words are simply too static for feelings that flow in the deep currents of life. Perhaps I'll be able to look back and make meaning out of this experience. Perhaps I will keep following the feelings and allow the words to remain unspoken. And somehow – and perhaps this is the strangest thing of all – the moment feels fresh and alive as little else has.

Returning Home

We've spent a long week up in Desolation Sound – which is hardly as isolated as it sounds. I'll post some pictures as soon as I can upload them.

I've been somewhat ambivalent about what I am coming home to. I keep thinking about my practice – this small, slowly blossoming career that I have stepped into – and I find myself wondering if the current way it is manifesting – is what I really want. So I ask myself – what would I like? What is it about the current status quo that doesn't excite me? What is IT that is leaving me feeling ambivalent?

The beauty of those questions is that I don't know. I don't know yet. In this present moment, I understand that there is something that I need to shift or tweak or release in order to clarify the choices before me. I do not need to know what it will look like – I simply need to be present in body, spirit and mind in order to listen as I continue to explore and expand my awareness. That is all I can do. And it's not easy. I do struggle against the unknown mystery – the ever revealing truth that is mine alone.

I picked up a book about two years ago and I'm just now getting around to reading it with the excuse that it will help me with a client. The author is Dr. James Hollis and the book is 'Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life'. There are some nuggets in this book – wisdom put into words that is meaningful to me as much as helpful to anyone else. One of the things he talks about is the difference between anxiety and depression as we age. He asserts that depression often comes at mid life because we have become mired in the masks and distractions; the pseudo identities that we have taken on in order to work through those wounds from our childhood (or the way we made meaning of the experiences we had – the narrative mythology that we have written for ourselves). Depression is the messenger that the ego needs to be overthrown by the Self in order to rediscover what we really want. Anxiety comes when we begin to step into that expanded awareness. He talks about anxiety as being the ticket to a life lived well.

I like how he utilizes depression and anxiety as messengers and not the end run of our experience. I tend to think of these emotional states in the same way. And yet – and here's the kicker – I'm tired of being anxious. I'm tired of the edge, the learning curve, the new landscape to explore. That's been the story of my life for the last ten years – especially the last two in grad school. There is a place within me that feels like I've been running a marathon and it's time to stop in order to catch my breath. I wonder at my ability to continually sustain this new learning mode. And that is where, I fear, my ambivalence dwells – in that place that really desires to resheath my nerve endings. Even as I write that the fear comes – what would that mean? Would I backslide? Would I forget or lose somesort of edge that I imagine is so important to my work and life?

Another thing Hollis says is quite interesting. He talks about how important it is to honor the inner child and the struggles/wounds that that child had to contend with AND it is just important not to let that child govern your choices as an adult. I think what he means is that as a child my options and tools were so limited that my responses to the situations that I had difficulty with are fraught with levels of confusion and strain that is not pertinent to my adult self who has so many other options and tools are her disposal. As I deal with the unknown future choices, I can soothe the inner child who is fretting in a much smaller world than I live in. I don't know where I am heading in my personal growth or my vocation. And my adult self can sit with that, smile and say – okay. Now go out and enjoy the day that is in front of you.

Difficult Conversations

I gave a small training workshop yesterday for the small doctor's office I was writing about. The training itself went really well – very helpful and professional, I was told. My stage fright of the night before dissolved as I started to talk. Mainly, I think, because I love talking about this kind of stuff. 'Difficult Conversations' is actually a communication model and book that we studied in grad school. So bringing it forward to a whole new group of people was fun. Yeah, it was actually fun! We talked and people asked questions and brought up situations that we used to identify different components of the model with.

There were some important learnings for me while doing this – things I need to do upfront with the client about (she who sponsored me into the system) to get really clear on the parameters of my work and in what shape that will take. Good stuff that I could only get through the experience of doing. It was like learning a whole new vocabulary for that corner of thoughts in my head. Hmmm – that might not make a lot of sense, but I know that I often have to experience something in order to understand how to do it. And there was new wisdom gained as well as the validation that I did a great job. J Plus it didn't hurt to stand up there and talk about something that excites me – and bill them for two full hour at my full rate.

The irony of course is that I had to reframe a difficult conversation with the client in order to take in that learning. I felt the pull of having certain feedback define the whole experience – which was a pitfall that I had just been talking about. I had to pull out all the skills with her – mainly because she had just had some stunning personal news and those emotions were leaking into our conversation about what she did and didn't want me to do. It felt like the universe's way of saying – okay, you just taught this – now, can you do it? Can you have a learning conversation, recognize your contribution, untangle intention and impact, acknowledge the other and collaborate to find a solution? Why yes, you can. Good job. Now go have a glass of wine.

Yeah, there is still a little part of me that hates showing up as a novice in anyway. Damn it. I feel that shadow of embarrassment. And what is lovely for me right now is that I can acknowledge where that reaction arises from and hold onto the joy of having done something new. I am holding to being an open learner and allowing that humble imperfection and curiosity to be welcome. How different that is. I am continually amazed at how much has changed over the past few years.

Coasting to a Stop

I have the distinct self impression of having coasted to a stop.

It has been a gentle motion that culminated about a week and a half ago in a physical and emotional awareness of my loss of momentum. My body has needed sleep and exercise and lots of vegetables high in iron. On the emotional front, I have begun to release this almost hyper awareness of my own process – something that has been at the forefront of my thinking for the last two and a half years. It has dawned on me that my graduate school experience was extremely intense: intra-psychically and interpersonally. No, really, I knew at the time that this was a program that was turning me inside out – but the intensity of experience, the way of being within that context was something that I have begun to see for what it was: time out of time. It was almost like a drug that keyed up my brain, made me walk differently in all my relationships. There was a vigilance to my thinking that took every conversation into the context of that world.

I graduated six months ago and I have spent four of these past months still caught in that web of energy and process. I have delved into new learning and research with a gusto that I can't even begin to touch at the moment. I dove into building a practice that at the moment is also just coasting along. I have been processing and processing my internal stories and ego, grinding it all into a fine dust through which I can sift at a whim's notice. And all of this has slowly unwound without collapse until I find myself just sitting here and blinking out at the world.

Like the caffeine has finally worn off.

What I know right now is that I want to weed the south garden bed. I want to watch my peas vine up the sticks that I have given them to climb; I want to see the petunias I planted burst into color. I want to be in my kayak and feast my eyes on the shorelines of the islands. I want to roast marshmallows and enjoy late summer nights. I want to laugh with friends and watch movies with my daughter. I want to hold my husband's hand as we walk in the evening. I want to cook and wander the farmer's markets. This is my vision right now. It isn't about marketing or networking or even building a practice. It isn't about new research or plotting out workshops. Nothing about that is feeding my heart at the moment. What I am interested in is whether it will come back to feed me. I am allowing for the possibility that it won't. Take the 'shoulds' away and I am feeling open to allowing the clarity of this moment to bring me to the clarity of the next. It will either be there – or it won't. I'm not going to force it.

I am going to allow my heart to lead right now – to contract and expand as it will.

Fierce Embrace

Self Portrait

It doesn't interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned,
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes,
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know
how to melt Into that fierce heat of living,
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
To live, day by day, with the consequence of love
And the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.

-David Whyte, Fire in the Earth