the God box (a suggestion from Anne Lamott)

First, if you dare, read this:  http://www.salon.com/2012/12/12/i_am_cuckoo_but_hope_is_coming/

I was searching to see if Anne had her own blog this morning and found her again on Salon.com.  My goodness.  This made me cry and it's not even noon.

(I was looking for beautiful images of holiday lights, etc. and this is the first one that I found - I'm pretty sure it's Lago d'Orta, Italy, where I've been.  Wow.)

Right before Christmas, as I was trying to create one Hallmark/Walton's moment after another for myself and the children and Dad, (and anyone else who might have wandered in from the edges of my life during the holidays, she says breathlessly, fearfully and at the same time hopefully), I found myself with the prospect of a lonely evening ahead on one of the Eve's eves (which I love, love).  I was peering a little bit into a dark well, and thought about going home to eat all the Christmas cookies, or clean out everything I own, do more laundry, or watch another holiday chick flick, when I had a flicker of sanity that none of those options might be a good idea.  So, I decided to take myself out on a date.  This was a big shift -- one of those change directions moments that sounds tiny but it wasn't.  Let's do something holiday-ish, I said, so Me and Myself started out walking around some shops in the new glitzy Friendly Shopping Center (a place I swore I'd never patronize after they tore down the Burlington Industries building and used up all the grass...which was AFTER they built the Burlington building on the beautiful little piece of farmland-in-the-city back when I was a kid - but I'm not bitter).  As I remembered my vow about not going to those dumb stores, I hightailed Me and Myself over to the old Friendly Shopping Center (not sure why that's any better), specifically to Barnes and Noble (which is right on the place where Scott Seed Store and the Winn-Dixie used to be - I should boycott that too I guess).  Anyway, I was getting happier the minute as I walked into all the hustle and bustle because not only was I going on a date with Myself, but I had decided to buy Myself a present!  I had decided to buy Anne Lamott's new book Help Thanks Wow.  I have loved Anne Lamott since I read Operating Instructions when I was pregnant with Julia, which I'm pretty sure gave me the courage to be a mother (along with my friend Elaine) (if you haven't read it - it is amazing).  Anne's writing makes me feel as if we are having a conversation.  I also tend to try to mimic that style, especially after I've been reading her, which I bet is officially annoying as hell to anyone who is reading this.  

Anyway, I got one of the last 3 copies in the store and had a nice little chat with the lady at the help desk about it, and Anne.  We bonded over Anne's irreverent spirituality.  Then, I made my way to the Starbucks area, and decided to really go all out and be flashy with my bad self and get a salted caramel hot chocolate.  Unbelievably Christmas-y.  Myself was happy and was liking this date, even though still fighting the "I'm alone thing."  I found a good seat, and commenced sipping and reading my new book.  

The real feeling better started happening almost immediately after beginning this book.  The first section is "Help" where Anne talks a lot about letting go.  I realized that I was in the actual process of letting go right then and there.  I started breathing differently; I started to relax.  I thought about how much it helped to "be" where I was and stop struggling with my concocted version of how now ought to look or what the future holds, or how I wish I could change the past and other people.  (From Anne:  "A sober friend from Texas once said that the three things I can't change are the past, the truth, and you.  I hate this insight so much.")

Lamott talks about her "God box" in this book.   It is a place she physically puts notes with the name of a person or situation with which she is "crazily, toxic-ally obsessed."  She "gives it to God" and then agrees to keep her "sticky mitts" off of it until she hears back.  From Anne:  "We learn through pain that some of the things we thought were castles turn out to be prisons, and we desperately want out, but even though we built them, we can't find the door.  Yet maybe if you ask God for help in knowing which direction to face you'll have a moment of intuition.  Maybe you'll see at least one next right step you can take."  

"When we think we can do it all ourselves - fix, buy, or date a nice solution - it's hopeless...We're going to get our tentacles wrapped around things and squirt our squiddy ink all over, so there is even less visibility, and then we're going to squeeze the very life out of everything...Or, we can summon a child's faith and put a note with a few words into a small box in the hope that we can get our sucking squid tentacles off things...You can go from monkey island, with endless chatter, umbrage, and poop throwing, to what is happening right in front of me...God, what a concept..we can release ourselves from the absolute craziness of trying to be our own - or other's - higher powers...we can be freed from a damaging insistence on forward thrust...we stop the toxic peering and instead turn our eyes to something else:  to our feet on the sidewalk, to the middle distance, to the hills whence our help comes - someplace else, anything else.  Maybe this is a shift of only eight degrees, but it can be a miracle...It may be one of those miracles where your heart sinks because you think it means you have lost.  But in surrender you have won."  Eight degrees of shift, turns out, can be a big deal-like taking yourself on a date.  I have a lot of squiddy, jet black ink.  It's all over when the monkey chatter and poop throwin' starts.  

Another funny thing happened on my date.  I have this whacky way of saddling up to people who seem to need a receptive, encompassing listener.  I didn't think about it too much, but I chose my seat at the Starbucks area near two older men.  They looked cozy in their easy chairs (which I wanted but made do with a table).  I was really delving into Anne's book and that hot chocolate, when one of the gentlemen lowered his paper and asked "what are you reading?"  Sigh.  I'm nice you see, some even say sweet, which makes me furious.  And my dear Aunt Mabel belief is always in here thinking everyone is WONDERFUL AND PRECIOUS.  So, of course, I started describing the book and Anne.  Forty-five minutes later, and after realizing that this stranger and I used to live a few neighborhoods apart in PA, I knew that  I wasn't going to read anymore Anne in the bookstore that evening - that moment had passed.  But it made me laugh a little to "watch" this interaction which is so typical, and to try to make sense of what it means about me and my intention and belief system.  It also made me grateful I suppose.  Although slightly annoying in the know-it-all way, he was kind of interesting.  And talking to a stranger like that made me remember how much I crave community and the familiarity of small townishness (the kind that Garrison Keillor brings each week).  I figured out more.  Sometimes in my feebleness I get the slightest insight that it is a really gigantic thing to realize that everyday, and maybe even every moment, is "the perfect teacher" (to quote Pema Chodren).  Each day actually comes with it's own syllabus, readings, lecturers and experiential learning opportunities.  I like this. A lot.  I wish I'd sign up for it more often.

So, today I'm thinking about a few things.  How to simultaneously let go and be prepared in my life.  Part of this break for me has been bringing all kinds of things out into the light of day, and getting prepared for the things that always happen like taxes, and check ups, and vet visits, and holidays.  I looked back over the year's calendar to see what the patterns are starting to look like.  I kept a good calendar this year - writing down little things about what was happening each day and month.  I got this from my Dad who can tell me what happened on any date from years past, because he writes it all down.  It gives good perspective.  I'm just deciding to emulate this at age 53.  I am a late bloomer.  Maybe if I do this even a little, I can sign up for each day in a really awake and open way.  Help.

I'm going to be thinking a lot about what to put in the God box.  I tend to get very philosophical about these things, but I'm going to make it as simple as I can.  I am going to consider what I'm gripping and clenching and holding on to.  I'm also going to consider my intentions.  I am going to consider what I want.  I am going to send myself little reminders on my Google calendar.  I wish I could schedule emails to myself over the year. (I bet someone knows how to do that.)

I am not my, nor anyone else's,  higher power it turns out.  I am going to try to remember that.  I am going to ask for "HELP."  I'm AMAZINGLY getting to start the year off with 3 really strong women friends on New Year's Eve. They are brilliant and hilarious and humble and strong.  To that I can say with Anne..."THANKS.  WOW."  

Question 1: Body/The Week of Inward Looking

Where have I learned and lived in 2012? In my head, in my body, or both? What would living more fully in my body in 2013 bring to me? How can I embody life and learning as I move through this liminal space between now and next? How can I more fully learn from the neck down in 2013?

In our hyper-intellectualized disembodied world, we sometimes allow technology to take the place of our bodies, don’t we? We sit, with only our arms moving as we type. We’ve even begun to distrust what our bodies say to us. Instead, we learn from the neck up, when learning from the neck down and fully embodying life will provide us with such greater riches. What do you allow yourself to really feel in your body, without the need to clarify, intellectualize, provide proof, capture with data, or block? What can you allow yourself to really feel in your body in 2013?

This first prompt from the ever faithfully encouraging and challenging Patti Digh is part of "The Week of Inward Looking" in which she has invited friends to participate.  It is encouraging, I suppose, to know that so many (the privileged and blessed and lucky) of us are pondering these types of queries at this time of year.  I just reread blog posts here and on another more private blog dating back to 2007.  I do a lot of writing this time of year; a lot of reviewing and assessing and lots of hopeful planning.  Unfortunately, I do it all with a certain amount of dread, wondering when the momentum will give way and be overtaken by the busy-ness, worry and fretting about it all. I can only hope that it is the journey on the spiral staircase, and than it gets better with time.  That with each turn and step of the stairs, I learn a little more.  I think aging helps with this.  What I would give to have some of my current insights in my 30's.  (How I wish I could give them to my children.)  I have had so many moments this past month especially when I realize I am older - I am truly middle aged.  Actually, 53 is "old' to the 20-something- so I'm squeaking by with the middle aged title!  My older self is the one shaking her head at things like the sign that read "Starbucks:  Open on Christmas Day;"  the one who wonders where all the "real" Christmas cards are...why back in my day people just sent beautiful cards and a simple greeting, not a recap of the year (which I did as well);  the junk and the plastic that people rush to buy...I kept having fantasies of holing up in a cabin with a tree, some books, green food and lots of wood for the fireplace (I would invite everyone over of course); I was outraged when I, in a fit of nostalgia, visited the church of my youth on Dec. 23 to find that they use a ...projector...to throw the scripture lines up on the wall of that beautiful, old, church (along with images of Joseph and Mary that looked like they had been going to the nearby gym and beauty salon).  It made me laugh at myself as I grumbled like Norman in "On Golden Pond."  I think it's funny that I'm now a crabbier older person - maybe just discriminating, really.

So as far exercise and moving in space and time, out of the chairs that suck my (much larger) rear end into their deadly clutches each day...I admit it:  I struggle with wanting to get back to a version of me that I discovered at 40.  I wrestle with an all or nothing attitude about my fitness plan...but...not as much as I used to (says older me).  I know that anything, any getting out in the air, anytime I wander into the gym or a yoga class or take a walk with the dogs, or ride my bike...gives me an entirely new perspective on everything.  Entirely! It's a miracle. We were meant to move and work and breathe the OUTSIDE air.  

I have decided to be selfish this year.  I thought this was a new revelation and plan until...lol...I read my old blog posts last night.  Turns out 2012, 11, 10 ...were supposed to be the years of Karrie care.  Selfishness I say...and say it with abandon.  No longer will I see that as negative - I must pay attention to Karrie, care for her, listen, take her places, let her do what she likes to do.  Then and only then, can she possibly have a chance at figuring out how to give what she's got to give.  Moving and paying attention to this self - the whole enchilada bodymindspirit - is the (and has been part of the) plan now.

So, I have been thinking a whole lot about bendiness - my body and how I could nurture it and it could fuel my heart and mind - fuel it by moving it, airing it out, sweating it, feeding it really well, hydrating it, moisturizing it, soothing it, resting it, celebrating it.  So don't laugh, but I've signed up for yoga online, the DailyBurn online, and I'm back to Weight Watchers.  The goal before the new year starts is to map out a plan on how to create the space for this self care - how to let go of my fretting, racing, fear of getting behind - KNOWING that if I tend to Karrie, she will show up at the right moments in the right ways, with something to give.

a quote from Martha Graham, choreographer:

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening
That is translated through you into action,
And because there is only one of you in all of time
This expression is unique.
And if you block it,
It will never exist through any other medium,
And be lost.
The world will not have it.
It is not your business to determine how good it is,
Nor how valuable, or how it compares with other expressions.
It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly,
to stay open and aware to the urges that motivate you.

A late post from a beach weekend....fall 2012

Time...there's not enough...it moves so quickly...it's a funny thing.  How many times have I said "it seems like yesterday" when at the same time it seems like an eternity.  How many times do I think about how fast time has gone, and how little of it may be left, leaving me not holding precious the one certain thing..this very moment.  Klondike is 8.  I can't stand to even say it.  Hard for me to put it in writing.  People say "oh, he's an old guy" yet, we just rescued each other a moment ago.  He needing me, and I so profoundly needing him.  There was no doubt.  It was as if I conjured him, and he was perfect.  Dad is 83.  I hate to put that in writing, although 83 doesn't seem or sound so "old" to me.  It seems a solid age.  Easy for me to say.  He calls for dinner, Captain Bill's or maybe Mythos Greek, and I do put on the brakes of my frittering and fretting and to do lists and wonder how many times will we have the opportunity to share a meal together?  It is a finite number.  They are all finite.  Say yes, say yes, say yes.   Joseph is 15 (I just wrote 13 first by mistake).  His shoulders are broadening, his waist and hips are straight as an arrow.  His legs are long and heavy laden with strands of adolescent muscle, soon to be man muscle.  As I walked on the beach tonight with Joseph I was distracted by the middle aged, pudgy, scantily clad couple standing together, embracing in the surf, bathed in the magnificent pink orange of today's sunset and holding hands as they headed back towards the shore. I was surely longing for a hand to hold of my own, wondering if there will ever be one and what it must feel like to have a kind of solid love, grown up, captivating love.  Meanwhile, Joseph was surely distracted by a longing for his future, his freedom, and the ability to set forth on his life, fueled by beautiful, unbridled enthusiasm and desire.  Running, doing handstands, headstands, writing S.O.S. with a stick in the sand, as if to say "life, come and get me!"  I am so glad he's feeling ready, and alive, and excited, with a belief that he has endless opportunity.  This is the point, yes?  Get them ready to fly.  Love them to the point that they believe they can launch.   Julia is 18.  I actually have no difficulty understanding that this is the number of years my oldest child has been alive.  Yes, I remember the glider rocker and the revelry of nursing and cooing and talking that we had the luxury of indulging in for so many hours together.  In some ways our conversations seem only slightly different now.  The gist is the same:  how much we love each other, respect each other, know that our lives our intertwined even mysteriously into our future together.  That is why I struggle as the sun sets today with her current object of desire, the new boyfriend.  Just for today, the day I have invested in both emotionally and financially, the day that I looked forward to being a rare gem of celebration with only me and my children, he is right here in the middle of.  A know it all young man who's busy overcompensating for the fact that he knows (as every suitor of my spectacular daughter must surely know), he is not worthy of this rare beauty!  It is only a matter of time I tell you that she will realize that you too, you new boyfriend, are only a step in the ladder of this girl finding more of her true self.  She does not need you.  And you, Mr. Not-So-Hot manners, better get ready lest you take an excruciating fall.  OK, OK, this is of course the ramblings of the biased, love-blinded mother.  She leaves for Italy in 3 months.  Time.  She is ready to launch.  She is ready for her own countries.  I can see us, all three, standing on the edge of the Blue Ridge Parkway.  The place where Joseph exclaimed as a very young boy, "it's the ocean!"  It is time stretching ahead.  My two beauties are envisioning possibility.  The world is enormous and they want to know more.  I believe they have the confidence they need, the moral compass that they must have, to seek their heart's desires.

There are so many things to write about today:  my dream about being Garrison Keillor's good friend, and his encouragement for me to write A LOT  using my over the top enthusiasm in my writing to share my unique perspective; my day with Dad at the farmer's market; my time with Dad in general;  my friend Patti's commencement speech at Guilford; my new male friendship and how much it means to me; my friend Elaine's call to me on Mother's Day weekend; my love for piddling around my house; planting my garden and finding turtle eggs; my daughter's tough decisions about a relationship and not being able to keep her from having a broken heart;  and, being Julia and Joseph's mother.

Today, it seems like a good idea to think about being a Mom.  I could write about my Mom.  I had a Mom, and yes, I miss her today.  I think of her more than I would've imagined.  I hear her in my own laugh, and some silly little things I say.  My voice pitch is her voice pitch.  I can feel me being like her when I'm out to dinner or lunch with my Dad.  I wonder if he feels it too.  I have never asked him if I remind him of Mom.  I'm not sure I want to know.  Sometimes when my girlish enthusiasm comes out, I feel like her, and I can imagine her clearly. People say the bad times will fade away, but I still remember her lying in that bed at Friends' Homes in her last week.  I remember the day we took her there and it still fills me with anxiety and grief.  She and I had hard times.  I needed things from her that she could not give me, and she needed things for herself that I could not provide.  I have not forgotten, and I still have to wrestle with the not receiving of those things.  But I can also see her beautiful smile and her laughter over being completely delighted by beautiful and simple things like flowers, the cat, my children, Dad, something delicious to eat like strawberries, picking violets, Dionne Warwick or the the Pops on PBS.  Mom found happiness in her everyday surroundings, which is sort of it's own little miracle.

I am a Mom.  I am the Mother of two people.  One of them just wrote the most beautiful message to me on Facebook -- so beautiful that I think my life could be complete right at this moment.  I had so much fear about being a Mother.  I analyzed it and did column comparisons about the pros and cons.  I thought about all the ways that I wasn't mothered.  I wondered if people really did have those movie magic relationships with their "best friend" moms.  Did people really go their mothers for advice?  Were there really mentor-like moms?  I tell this a lot, but when I was reading a Barbara Kingsolver book once, the main character talked incessantly about her mother who was sort of "over the top" in awe of her.  Anything she did her mother experienced it like she had won the Nobel prize or something.  It made me cry.   Now it makes me cry for another reason.  I get it.  I'm that Mom.  And the best part is, my kids think I'm that Mom too.  I mean, you should see me watching Julia wait tables at Pizza Hut - yeah, her first crappy job!  I couldn't be more proud if she were performing brain surgery.  It just fills me up to see these two remarkable kids of mine out in the world, doing, well, anything.  People say "oh you are a good Mom."  Well thank you but there's a secret here:  they came this way.  I got these two people sent to me who are, frankly, over the top in the fantastic human being way.  I knew it on arrival.  I could tell.  The universe knew how scared I was - scared of my own inabilities, scared I would not know what to do or how to do it - mothering.  But who got sent to me were these insanely intuitive, loving, sensible, brilliant, funny, interesting, delightful, beautiful people.  My children.  Being their Mother is the best thing about my life.  They are the people I would choose to be with. Oh, I realize that my hang out time with them is dramatically changing all the time now.  Julia is 18 for god's sake, she doesn't even need me to sign forms for her anymore.  REGROUP!  I have to be invited in, find my way, be careful not to stalk them!

Mother's Day - fraught with all kinds of issues for so many people:  loss, difficult relationships, transitions, delight, gratitude, fear, sadness, pride, joy.  To say I count myself blessed is a ridiculous understatement.  I am thankful everyday for these two children; for being given the opportunity to navigate motherhood with them; for the love they give me.

I hope all the mothers who I admire and have learned from, all the surrogate moms, and mentor moms, know how much I appreciate them for the support and love they've given me and my children for the last 18 years.  And somehow, I hope my Mom, my Aunt Mabel and most especially my "Naneen"  know that they are my mothers all the time.

Taking off the cloak, or, Desperately Seeking Karrie

Harry Potter has nothing on me.  I have an invisibility cloak that rivals his.  Mine kicks in automatically.  It is with me all the time.  I don't have to worry about it getting lost, and I usually don't have to worry about someone yanking it off (although, it is pretty cool when that happens).  But, this weird thing is happening.  I might be outgrowing my cloak a little.

Being invisible has its perks.  If you aren't there, people can't have any real expectations of you.  No one feels any pressure from you, because, they can't really see you.  No one makes demands, and no one feels uncomfortable because of you.  It works out.  You move through life without too many bumps and bruises, navigating around the difficult moments and quietly exiting the room.  Folks may have a sense that you were there, but they forget it, shaking their heads thinking they might've seen something, but then quickly dismissing the thought.

I have spent years fretting about this being invisible.  I have tried to have it both ways - hiding under my cloak and then nailing people (in my mind) for not seeing me.  Nice.  I considered it a huge leap forward when I claimed my cloak, instead of continuing to be ticked off that people couldn't see me.  For years I was angry that people "wouldn't" see me - blaming them while reaping the perceived benefits.  Then, I began to see how that I had control of the cloak device.  I began to see it as a useful tool that I could use under the right circumstances.    I've said it before, I am blessed with a gene pool of longevity because of how long it takes me to learn anything.  As a truly middle aged woman, I am finally starting to get it.  It is my choice to stay invisible and it is a cop out.  Now don't get me wrong, I've been experimenting with this "nakedness" over the last few years, popping out from under the cloak..."surprise!"  For those used to the mere shadow of Karrie, it is quite shocking!  "On my god, she has arms and legs and, gasp, a voice."  Now what?!

Grow up girl, I say.  Claim all that's under the cloak.  Be woman enough to bring yourself out into the light of day.  Yes, it will mean that you will take up actual space in a room.  Your presence will have an impact.   Sometimes it will result in others being uncomfortable, maybe even A N G R Y.  Or maybe, you can make a difference that matters.  Or maybe,(this is a long shot), it will result in L O V E.

For today, this might be as much time out from under that I can take!  Seriously though, it is time for me to take responsibility for my own cloak wearing.  My over exercised attributes of empathy and unconditional positive regard need to be welded to my staking the claim of being a visible person:  arms, legs, voice, hands, heart, intellect, needs, expectations, hopes, dreams, humor, perspective, intuition, experiences....and the willingness to accept the consequences of taking up my bodily space in the universe.

Easter morning

What is begging to be written today?  There are many story lines right now.  But certainly, there is just one, actual story line.  One, actual theme.  The one that is about taking hold of my life, finally.  Or, is it about letting go, finally.  It is a strange time in my life in some ways,   a time of great change:  a daughter is who about to finish her public education, and start college in the fall (and not just any college);   a son who is searching for what he needs to grow up and make sense out of our past so that he can see who he really is - as an individual;  a job which has felt tumultuous this last month with big heaving swells of issues, emotions and challenges;  my father;  issues from the previous marriage;  grieving a lost love.  To look at this as written words makes it all seem bigger in some ways - significant.

I talk often about how slow and challenged I am.  But, my incredible friend Lowell reminded me yesterday that I ought to put an end to that mantra.  There is a different truth.  Perhaps I am challenged and slow, but that is just the being human part of my journey.  There are additional truths for me.  What are they?

Sand, seashells and dander

I'm on the road again, this time in Florida.  In some ways, it feels like I've been gone for a long time.  I think that is because I have a weird relationship with travel.  For some reason, I always find it so disarming to be plucked off my spot of the universe by a jet airplane and dropped down on another one.  And, though Florida isn't SO  far away from my particular spot, it is incredibly different.  Packing was a challenge.  I found it difficult to think about what to take, and not just because of the temperature difference.  Moving from scarves and boots to flip flops seems drastic, and, I didn't have immediate access to my summer gear, and, I'm in winter mode so not that excited about revealing my pale, winterized flesh.  Also, because my life has become more farm-like - I don't know another way to describe it.  Florida is clean lines, sea shells, white carpets, shades of light blue.  My life is wood piles and bark debris by my fireplace, dog fur, hay remnants, muddy boots, and grounds from the occasional hippie coffee shop.  No, I'm not actually living on a farm, but some days it feels as if I'm preparing to do so.  I had scary thoughts of entering my Florida friends' lives looking like "Pig-Pen" from Peanuts with my little cloud of dander!  Ok, that is an exaggeration.  I clean up pretty well I think.  I know I can count on my flexibility and ability to adapt to a variety of situations and being able to  meet whoever I'm with right where they are - right where they live.  But in my mind, my cloud stays with me! Come to think of it, I love my cloud.  It is a combination of the beautiful dander of my children, my animals, my friends, my house, my yard, a farm, a campus, darkrooms, lecture halls, alumni homes, coffee shops of every port, student and alumni campsites, lovely dinner meetings, an old alumni house, classrooms and my rolling Prius home.  It is real and rooted.

There were two really important posts/blog messages I read this week from women I love and depend upon for insight (both Guilfordians!).  One was about community.   The other, about authenticity.  Both seem pertinent to the meaning of why my "job" has relevance -- why I travel to meet Guilfordians "where they live,"  why Guilford College's survival is of importance, and why keeping Guilfordians' Quaker liberal arts education alive and fresh makes a difference in one's daily existence.  My dear friend put (another) this important message on her facebook page this week (thank you Cyndi!):

Don’t change yourself
just to fit in
with a place
or a person.

You risk
becoming an exile
to the luminous plans
that first brought you here.

- Frank Owen, Medicine

Then, there was this excerpt from Patti Digh's blog about community, which really speaks to that place where you find your "tribe" -- where you can honestly and with support explore, and find creativity and innovation for what might become:  

“Community is not a talent show in which we dazzle the world with our combined gifts.
Community is the place where our poverty is acknowledged and accepted,
not as something we have to learn to cope with as best as we can
but as a true source of new life.” -Henri Nouwen

True community is not clever. It does not necessarily speak in Twitter-worthy quips. It is not dazzling or quick or sarcastic or cute. It is not a place to impress people, but a place to be vulnerable about our shared poverty--our human-ness and our frailities and the promises we make to ourselves and often break. It is a place to see that shadow self not as something to be overcome or "fixed" but as the very thing from which new life springs.

I hope you have such a tribe. You will know it when you find it, a place where admitting is met with recognition, not an urge to "fix." Where sorrow is allowed, not swept up in our collective urge toward tidiness. Where showing off has no place. Where your shadows are your gift.

Finding your tribe may make all the difference for you, as it has for me. In a fluid, hyperconnected world of dazzling surfaces and promises, look beneath.


As I'm on the road in the name of Guilford College, I know I am seeking the ties that bind we Guilfordians as a tribe.  I look for what has remained with us, and what continues to influence  we Quaker liberal arts graduates from that time on campus when we too were "vulnerable about our shared poverty--our human-ness and our frailities..."  The place where, hopefully, we all experienced moments where "..sorrow  is (was) allowed, not swept up in our collective urge toward tidiness.  Where showing off has (had) no place.  Where your shadows are (were) your gift."    I have heard from many of us who lived for a time on those 380 acres, at the head of the Cape Fear Water Basin, in the Piedmont, on the edge of those historical woods, that Guilford was a place true to Henri Nouwen's quote above.  A place where "poverty,"  our "poverties, " became a "source of new life."  


How will I continue to bring my own "dander' to the place where I meet another person in a respectful and authentic way?  How will I keep fresh the time when I was in that Guilford campus "tribe" of learners and explorers?  How will I support members of this tribe to keep the tribe alive?  How might I assist in making connections between we tribe members?  I'll have to keep traveling and keep meeting,  even if it means packing flip flops in February.  

What if I'm wrong

This morning and the last few days are filled with confusion and self doubt.  The doubt crescendo ed the other night like a big wave, yet I must say there is a back drop of hope to it.  It's like I must ask these questions but I daresay I think I'm on the right track.  (Wow, that was bold.) But, what if I'm wrong?  What if, after five years on my own, the dust has finally settled and I've taken a long road to nowhere? What if my hunches and instincts, the things that seem to be my biggest asset (because there aren't any others?) were just the scared me running away from adult challenges and responsibilities?  Just me running to a fantasy land.  A land where I could feel safe, make my own decisions and deal with my own consequences. This hope did come out of my childhood.  It was more about protection;  more about avoiding pain than pursuing love.  Susan Richards writes this after talking about her mother's death:  "So I had yearned for the day I would belong only to myself, free from anyone who could make me feel like a burden, who could leave me or die, as if that was possible."  But I think my hopes become healthier over the years.  They included fantasies of  my own space, my own dog, where friends could feel welcomed.  The fantasy future time when I would know that I was loved unconditionally;  that I would feel chosen and supported, and maybe even celebrated.  Where I was interesting enough to induce another's curiosity.   Where I would be encouraged to listen to my insides and pursue leadings even though there weren't any sure bets on where they would take me.  Where I would push through challenges and get better at things, and would be helped with those challenges even if it just meant having a cheerleader nearby.  (Wait, isn't that where I am now in some ways? And, doesn't that sound like a great job description for a mother?)

But the last few weeks have left me discombobulated.  I feel like I'm in the spin cycle of a dryer - I don't know which way is up.  I don't know how I am supposed to know if I'm on the right track or the totally wrong track.  What if I'm wrong and all the things I listed above are not of any lasting value?  What if the things I wanted (and have gotten?) are a weird detour or worse, a dead end and I have no where to go from here?  What if I did take a long road to nowhere, or worse, I took a loop road and I'm right back to where I started?

Two interesting story lines have developed recently.  Story line number 1 has caused these old fears and doubts to rise up causing me to face my big issues, my lessons to learn, again in big ways these last few weeks. It has turned the spotlights on my pathological optimism - which might be ok when it's mixed with practicality and self-care.  That damn spiral staircase.   Yes, I've moved up the stairs, I have a wider view.  Yet, as I circle around to make new upwards headway, BAM there I am again, greeted by the same, exact issues as before.  Hey, if you won't stop meeting me like this at every turn of the stairway, (I say to my "issues"), am I going to have to make peace with you?  Why can't you just magically disappear?  Why can't I be fast enough to dodge you?

If I am going to have this companion-- my very own, special issues-- perhaps I should get to know them better.  Poor issues, I've just been trying to beat the ever living crap out of them with my big angst stick.  Or, sometimes I put on the darkest pair of shades I can find so I just bloody won't see them.  It doesn't matter, I can fight all I want to.  I can be that horse who is so fearful that I will try anything to get away - FLEE!  I can buck and kick.  Or,I can shut down and hide.  It doesn't matter - these are my issues and they are not going anywhere until I call on the other parts of myself to make peace with them.  I need to name them and then greet them and then mess around with them.  Even if I'm terrified.

That is where story line number 2 comes in.  Some forces have conspired to to get me within range of some horses and their people.  I can choose to see this as random coincidence.  But the knowing place inside understands this differently.  That place knows that as I am ready, new opportunities to learn come forward.New teachers present themselves.  For me, I think I've been getting ready for learning that gets me out of my cerebral hiding place, and into relationships that extend far beyond words and theories.  Horses don't analyze their issues to death.  They have issues for different reasons.  It seems to me to be about nature and nurture.  They are born into their animal culture and are prey animals in the kingdom. Just like all of us, we are born into a system  Some of it is the environment they got born into.  Just like all of us, they were nurtured, or not.    They hang on to their fears as long as they have to.  But miraculously, even with the fear of being prey, they will endure those fears and risk moving into a relationship when safety and respect is offered.  It is trans-formative!  It is truly miraculous when you think about it.  In this relationship, person and beast, we have the opportunity to embrace our own fears, and simultaneously call upon our own strengths and gifts to give. We get to make peace and be companions with our own issues, and those of another.

Bounty day, January 7, 2012

Follow, follow, follow your heart, like a bloodhound on the scent.  I mostly don't ever know where the smells will take me.  Although, that might just be untrue.  I might completely KNOW but dwell within the unknowing.  I sometimes feel trapped within the unknowing that all the pieces and parts and people in my life have given me to construct;  trapped within my own prison walls but with tiny windows, so all hope is not lost.  If I can be looking out when the next clue comes by, I can sometimes catch it.  I mostly feel focused on the walls instead of the windows.  But today felt more like the opposite.  It felt like I was sticking my head out the window this morning at the horse farm.  I didn't feel trapped.  I felt some freedom, some wiggle room, as if perhaps prison walls can be torn down, and there can be some new ways of being in your own world.

It's always beginning...

I was lying in bed last night feeling let down, or at least, anticipating feeling that way.  Wow, I thought.  Through all of these holidays, facing potentially sad-making scenarios like my son being away on Christmas day and some others, I haven't felt that Christmas melancholy this year.  But last night, I wondered if in the next few days and weeks, it would set in.  Maybe it was the thought of going back to the routine of school and work.  But no, I've been "working" all along, and have gotten myself convinced that every day is just that....a day.  Every day is the first day because every day is its own.  No, it was more a little sadness creeping in about the loss of a collective, communal experience for which the holidays allow.  Whether it's time off from a job or school, or the collective notion that it is a season of giving and reaching out, it is something that we are in together.  Blame hallmark or retail, but for all in their "winter" the days do get shorter and the darkness increases.  And being the hopeful mammals that we are, and having promises made to us one way or another that we believe, we celebrate together the coming of the Light.  All I could imagine last night as I lay in my anticipatory sadness, was a flash mob scene.  Did you see the one from the Carlson School of Management:  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uH8FvERQHtM

There we "all" are!  Being "corny" and dropping our bags to either join in or watch.  We let ourselves dive into all of it -  the fun, the relief, the connections.  For a moment, we forget the bills (just for a moment), the pressure, the fears, the aging process, the college loans, the exams, the performance reviews.  But what got me in my mind's eye last night, was what happens after the glorious flash mob completes its offering:  "we" pick up our bags, put on our game faces, and keep walking along our often well-worn paths.  Oh, that is my fear.  That I will be one to pick up my bag, and get back into a rut.  That even for all the fantastic purging that went on in my home (and baby, it did!), the organization, the letting go of that cursed reactivity reflex to emails, phone calls, and even anticipated demands, I will pick up the same old bag.  Even more, I fear and feel sad, that we will all disperse.  That we came together sharing the hopefulness of Light, celebrating our commonalities, and now we will leave each other to our ruts.  We will all walk away from our flash mob.

So the obvious question is how do we keep our flash mob alive!?  How DO they plan those things anyway? It would be worth looking into eh?  Do those flash mobbers have to plan and connect with each other for the coming together and harmonizing?  Do they thus "plan" for spontaneity?  I want to stay open to looking for flash mobs and I also want to be a part of some flash mob mentality this year.  Now I for one, shy away from the resolution making i.e., crazy making process.  Why would I want to set myself up that way!?  What I am doing, in my unplanned but planned, blood-hound-esque sniffing way, is to clear my plate.  I think that is why I cleaned out closets, drawers, and folders;  got rid of clothes and the 5 vases that I never used.  I want to be prepared for spontaneity.  I don't want to be weighted down by "stuff" whether it be external or internal.  If I have too much stuff in my "bag" I'll never make it to the flash mob anyway!  I want to see flash mob potential in every story that I am privy to hear this year, and every connection that I can be part of between child to teacher, alumni and alumni, student to student, student to alumni, dog or horse to human.   

Maybe my sadness is a testimony to the importance and poignancy of the holidays, the solstice time.  Maybe grieving for it says that we indeed did experience a coming together and a letting go.  Hope says it will come again, and maybe if we pay attention, it will be some part of everyday too.