uneasy comfort

This is where I long to be ... this is where I all journeys begin and end ... this is where my deepest work lies ... this is what I strangely resist ...

home

As much as I give it lip-service, it is hard for me to wind down. I hop from space to space, task to task. Without limitations or real time constraints  (other than the obligations of Cowgirl & Moose Dog) I seek something solid to lean into. Usually that means tossing myself into a commitment which then provides me a direction and focus.  Like George Costanza, I recognize I need to do the exact opposite of what compels me ... not overriding intuition, but bypassing reflexive habit to allow myself time to perceive the quiet guidance.

Staying open ... waiting for the miracle to arrive ...  this is challenging when everything in me screams to get up, get a plan together, and get going. This seems to be the online fortune du jour "don't leave before the miracle happens" and my unofficial research (thank you, Google Now) tells me this saying comes from AA. Which seems right as chronic busyness is  certainly a modern addiction and one I am susceptible to caving into. 

So home is where I meet myself. Home is where I can be myself and it is where I face my greatest discomforts with self. When I've peeled away all the distracting babbles, the pressures to live up to some new cultural ideal - the attentive mother, empowered wild woman, transforming light-bearer, inspired & uplifting entrepreneur - I behold what I truly want to be.

Home-maker.  In the fullest sense of the word.  Home as described here. Home as a center of balance within, approached through quiet, solitude, inner conversations, deep listening. I am inspired by this home-lover.  I am preparing to tackle worn-out beliefs about who it is I want and believe myself to be ... revising my story if you will.  Sitting back and digesting this juicy bone:

What would happen if the stories we have been telling only exist because we tell them? (Nissa of Soul Craft, The Stories of Now starts February 1)

I'm beginning by the way I respond to the question: Employer?  I take a breath, make sure I am sitting up straight, gaze directly at the person asking and respond "I work on home; I'm self employed."  Every night, when the Husband comes home and inquires What did you do today? I am going to notice my desire to squirm, to snap, to launch into how many loads of his laundry I did for him (housework is a favor ... one granted out of love ... but a still a favor and not a de facto responsibility) and  instead I will truthfully answer him "I was busy loving life."  It's not a job, but it is a responsibility, a privilege. 

There is so much beauty, there is so much to cherish and enjoy.  Making things difficult, choosing the hard path, that's another threadbare story I'm ready to pitch out. Struggle does not automatically make me more worthy, the prize more valuable.  It's like wearing comfortable shoes:  You cover the same distance but in ease and enjoyment of the total experience and not dwelling on each painful step. 

There's a story that goes like this: An old woman was out on a street searching for a lost needle.  People passing by stopped and offered to help her look for it.  As they joined in on the search, they quickly realized the road was very wide and a needle very small and difficult to find.  Hoping to narrow down the search they asked the old woman "Grandmother, where did you lose it?"  She replied "Inside my house." The people were perplexed. "Why are you looking out here?" She explained to them that there was more light outside to see by. That inside is dark.  She smiled at their confusion. "Don't you do the same?  Why are you searching for bliss in the outside world? Have you lost it there?" 

What I seek is within me.  It's not about answers to questions, it's not about defining my purpose, it's about coming home. Being home. It's about greeting each day as another opportunity to deepen my connection to the love affair that is life ... my life, as it is.  My new mantra it seems is one word: This.

This day ... this meal ... this conversation ... this moment ... this wound ... this healing ... this incredible gift of loving and being loved.

I know, it sounds lovely ... it sounds effortless.  But ... but what? Sitting in the discomfort of being comfortable, contented, happy with the simple things. It's a new character trait I'm trying on. Growing into. It will take time.  Well, that's about all I've got: time and opportunity to keep practicing.

my quiet space

Yesterday, this is how my day began:

A sudden blur of movement across my patio alerted me to his presence. This is the first summer we've hung a hummingbird feeder up.  I had never thought of hummingbirds and Nebraska ... it seems too extreme, too hot, humid, windy, too corn-filled for such seemingly delicate beings.  Of course, the hummingbird is actually a very hardy thing and this ruby-throated fellow will make a 500 mile flight across the Gulf of Mexico to return to his breeding grounds.  My backyard feeder is a fueling up station - an all-you-can-eat nectar buffet bar -  for the hummingbird couple that kept me company throughout the day.

That was yesterday.  Today is a new day.  A very different day.  

A clap of thunder woke the entire family up.  Just as Cowgirl was ready for school, the skies split open with heavy, plopping, splattering rain drops.  It's been raining all morning now.

I am inside with the lights on. Their yellow glow combined with the cannon-blasts of thunder and percussion of falling rain have me in a strange mood.  The house is empty and my day ahead uncertain.  Oh, there are things to do and things I want to do but here I sit at odds with myself.

I feel like I am playing hooky.  While others are at their work, I am busy with ... what?  

At recent potluck held by the Husband's colleagues I was asked "Now that you've retired, does that mean you are lady of leisure?" I'm not sure quitting my University staff job is the same thing as retiring ... I suppose the mug I was given (yes, indeed ... 12 years of service and I got a mug) and the going away luncheon (left-overs from a previous gathering ... style points for sure!) suggested a moving on which is how I myself viewed that career decision.  I don't help my cause by keeping silent, but I was unprepared for this assessment of my situation.

Lady of leisure?  Retiree?

Here is the dilemma: I work harder now than I ever did as someone's employee.  I work harder and reap more satisfaction and fulfillment from my efforts; I feel more engaged, more vital, and connected to what matters to me.  That others don't see or immediately grasp this is ultimately inconsequential but frustrating none-the-less. 

Every day, I feel like I am reinventing myself.  Or rather, reinventing what work looks like and means in my life.  No one else can rubber-stamp my efforts and I alone set the terms and evaluate the outcome.  It is both thrilling and incredibly lonely.

I have to guard my time, watch out for my inner saboteur who dangles distractions and negative self talk in front of me, scaring me temporarily off my path.  Ultimately, my irritation over being pigeonholed as either retiree or worker bee has more to do with my own confusion. The internal chatter tells me I'm either productively engaged or loafing.  I have to return to the reason why I opted to set off on this unmarked trail; to remember I believe the fullness of my life is to be found in this space. Home. Family. Personal work. Creative Expression. Spiritual practice.  Less hustle and more presence. Surrender. Trust. Curiosity. Faith.

I'm into my second cup of coffee ... it's going to be that kind of a day. I am alone because the one I need to converse with, to really get to know, understand and accept is ... yes, myself.

But I do seek out lights of support and encouragement.  Friendly voices like this one and clear-eyed voices sharing deep truths and simple (yet powerful) advice.

You have to take a step. You are not going to mentally or emotionally move toward something until you’ve literally moved. (Karen Maezen Miller)

The rain softened for awhile.  Now it is a steady soaking. It is early afternoon and the dog hasn't been out once.  That would bother me, but it doesn't seem to rattle him.
 

The dark skies have settled into a uniform pale gray.  Even on this gloomy day, the hummingbird returns.  There is nectar waiting after all ... 

I am not alone. I am never alone.  The world waits for me to join in ... Life is arms always open to receive me.  I just have to move into them.

And today ... and elephant wants carving.  Music awaits my ear.  A sleeping dog rests at the edges of my attention, but always by my feet. 

updating my bucket list

It's not so much a bucket list as it is my list of "things I want to squeeze hard while I can" list. (The squeezing bit à la John O'Donohue, as in "giving life a good squeeze" which really captures the essence of fearless living/joy warriorship, don't you think?)

It not so much about accomplishments, although yes, I am proud of those:  traveling abroad to study; passing the nightmarish German translation test for graduate school; completing my master's degree (a feat of hoop jumping more than anything); wrangling the paperwork of two countries to adopt my girl (massive hoop jumping and other leaps of faith);  yoga teacher training (mind and body bending) to name a few.

There are the adventures - the wild leaps of daring and trust - that I am glad I followed even when everything in me screamed what are you thinking?!: river rafting with a healthy fear of falling overboard (a week in the wilderness, the husband oaring his own boat, our ten year anniversary trip - a bonding or breaking experience); Outward Bound in Joshua Tree National Park (no tents, sleeping outdoors with freezing temperatures, rock climbing and rappelling for the first time and only 2 pairs of undies for 1 sweaty/dirty week); 

 

from the vault: circa 1996 - look at that pack!

traveling to the other side of the world to meet visit someone I'd only known online (New Zealand certainly being a bucket list destination and a dream come true); quitting my job with no real back up plan (having experienced life plotted, planned and executed I knew from experience that doesn't always work out); and the list goes on.

What I am reviewing is my list of 100 things I want to do this year.  Do you make such lists?  If you haven't you really should.  The first 20 or so items are usually the epic ones like visit New Zealand or Create an Online Course but filling in spots 21 through 100 forces you to dig deep.  Digging deep is when you are more likely to hit gold.  

Skinny Dipping was on my list a few years ago.  My Squam sisters can verify the accomplishment of this feat (and it is a night I can vividly recall and rejoice in.)  Wearing more skirts has brought about subtle changes I haven't begun to plumb, but I know the costume has eased me into integrating my feminine self more fully. Sewing an Apron - well, I've made three!  Snow sledding has opened up a side of mothering my girl is happy I've embraced.

This past weekend marked another feat of daring and adventure embraced and survived.  Indeed, it involve much squeezing and singing along with slicing, rolling, and dreaming.  

Inspired by Donkey Dream: A Love Story of Pie and Farm and compelled by our mutual passion for pie, Cowgirl and I baked our first fully homemade pie.  Not just any pie, but Apple Pie for Dreamers (recipe by Katherine Dunn from Donkey Dream)

But before slicing the apples, hum or sing to them. It doesn't matter what song you choose. The slices will appreciate this kind gesture and it will lull them into a long sleep.

- Katherine Dunn, excerpt from Donkey Dream: A Love Story of Pie & Farm

It was one amazing pie.  

It lasted only two meals (half a pie per three people with allowance for small slivers of pie for breakfast) but the memories will linger long after we licked the sweet cinnamon goodness from our fingers.

These are the moments I want to gather ... editing my bucket list to allow for more such activities, ones that are more than just photo-worthy, but filled with memories rich and nourishing ... 

memories of singing to apples, fingers dusted with flour leaving their mark upon counter top, pie crust, a loved-ones cheek ... of tasting sweetness and knowing her hands helped ushering that goodness into our world and onto our plates; of long, lazy days spent laughing, creating, dancing, being.

Life sweet and savored ... every bite, every bit.

What might you add to your list?

we're thinking peach pie is next ...

how do you feather your nest?

Home has been on my mind these past few weeks.  Not all that surprising given my new elevator rap (you know, your 1 minute introduction spiel) is "I work out of my home ."  Work IN the home, well ... that is another matter.

Through conversation with my women's circle, I discovered many of us use the laundry as a means of jump starting our day.  Being the master of my own time clock, it is challenging to make that shift from bathrobe, slippers, cup of coffee and the morning paper into some form of productivity.  I admit the structure of a job forced me to prioritize my time and not having that container has left me a bit too free-form.

Without realizing it, I've lapsed into a pattern.  Not unlike my dog (who has been very vexed by the changes in HIS schedule; predawn walks a thing of the past and daily schedule anything but regular or predictable) I do crave some routine.  It steadies me, gives me comfort and ease.  Within structure I can let down my hair and go wild! How do I start this frenzied dance of my day?  With a pile of dirty laundry.

I believe this habit started last summer when I was using my drying rack outside (freedom from the tyranny of the dryer and its bell!) and wanted to make use of all the available sunshine.  The pattern is: rinse the coffee cup, open all the window blinds (my main floor has 16 windows!), shuffle upstairs and grab one of three baskets brimming with laundry.  Once a load is in, I can tend to cleaning up myself.  The hum of the washer seems to set the mood for some intense creative thinking, working, doing.

the coffee table is currently serving duty as book-airing out central!  The lidded pan is filled with clay cat litter and a musty book.

I've also been looking around my home and noticing the ways it expresses - or counters - the atmosphere I wish to offer myself, my family and guests.  Standing at my front door, the first thing I noticed was the dying house plant, the blank space upon the living room windows and the lack of color.  My credo is: curiosity, connection and celebration.  Does my living space express those ideals?

I now understand my home to be - like me - a work in progress.  Never to be completed because we - my family - will never cease to be growing, changing, learning or developing.  So how can my home be an extension of that process?

Being the first space we enter when returning home, and the last place we pass through on our way out, the mudroom off of the garage has become a kind of mini-art gallery. Cowgirl & I created a new dreamcatcher to insure what only our good dreams enter the house.  (We have also have a  spirit catcher and a house gnome ... all bases are covered!)

A quick fix was a Spring prayer flag ... I can foresee seasonal additions and having Cowgirl's participation in future installments. 

And more plants! My science-minded husband cannot argue with a NASA-sponsored study on the best plants to improve indoor air quality.  Armed with this list, I am excite to visit the plant nursery this weekend.  A bit of needed greenery will balance out  my wood heavy home! (And while I'm at it, I will get some seed packets and get busy on my herb garden.)

As I move through my day, I periodically pause to see what is in my environment? What is offering me inspiration?  What is reminding me of my intentions, dreams, or aspirations?  I am appreciating how powerful simple gestures can be ... a vase of fresh flowers, a photograph, a painting made by loving hands help keep me tethered and on course.

If you want more inspiration or would love to participate in this conversation, here is a great place to start.

Happy nest fluffing!  It IS almost Spring and the birds and rabbits are getting busy and so should we!