the price of belonging ...

To belong ... or forge one's own way? That IS the question, isn't it?

As I watch my girl navigate the choppy waters of fourth grade social cliques, I realize I haven't progressed much myself in terms of understanding when the desire to belong may come at too high a price. Always lurking underneath my surface is a fear of losing my self in the gambit to be a part of something larger than my tribe of one. 

So too for my dragon girl, the desire to be a part of a group often clashes with a strongly developed sense of who she is and what she believes in.  We are moving carefully through the minefield of what to share and what to keep to ourselves.  I am trying to teach her that people have to earn the right to be trusted with her innermost truths. Her relationship with dragons (and fairies and gnomes) is one such tender area deserving of special privilege.

For me the slippery slope in belonging is too easily I lose sight of my direction and I begin to navigate by a set of values that are not my own. Or like my experience singing in a choir, surrounded by other voices I lose my voice and fall into tune with whoever sings the strongest.

Perhaps belonging isn't really the issue?  Perhaps what challenges me (and my independent girl) is the act of holding firm (and confident) to the differences that make us unique while seeking common ground with others? Not to downplay the pressure to conform which is at the heart of my girl's struggles, but in my case no one is pushing me to abandon my path for theirs.  Rather, I too easily fall into doubting myself. It may be a matter of believing another's way would be easier, mapped out and certain whereas I am totally on my own over here in the dark unknown. 

This has been quite an a-ha for me.  It's also dawning on me that perhaps the bulk of rigid constraints I find myself thrashing against are, more often than not, self inflicted and maintained. 

Yeah.  Wow. Just beginning to glimpse the full expanse of those two perspectives and the freedom they reveal.

Meanwhile, I admit feeling woefully inadequate to translate any of this into something useful for a  fourth grader.  The best I can hope to do is to help my girl strengthen her relationship with spirit and source which - like her - is still developing, still forming.  To nurture the core of who she is, modeling a reverence and valuing of her uniqueness while also emphasizing being a part of some larger group does not require her to abandon her way of moving through life. As I write this, I realize I am still speaking to myself here.

So, maybe I should take a page from Cowgirl's playbook and plug in my iPod and sing at the top of my lungs (flat and off key of course!) because it releases what pounds at the boundaries of my heart.  Walking side by side with my girl, singing our own songs, together but true to the call of our wild, dragon selves. Let that be my practice.

Perhaps my biggest a-ha is to acknowledge I don't need to have all the answers (for her or for myself)  but that staying true to oneself is to allow oneself to discover her own way ... and to get lost once in awhile because then we discover we have the ability to make our way back again. and again. 

buoyant ...

I am such a creature of habit.  The thing is, I easily settle into routines and structures but quickly find myself squirming against the confines of self-imposed schedules.  Craving spontaneity and freedom, I bust free.  The wheel turns and I find myself longing for something to lean up against, some form of constancy and regularity.

In Ayurvedic terms, my Vata (wind element) and Pitta (fire element) are constantly in battle and adjusting, rearranging, and resetting.

This week I threw a monkey wrench into my system of daily writing, painting, and home-oriented tasks.  On Wednesday I spent the day (the.entire.day) at Cowgirl's school assisting in the preschool classroom as a teacher's aide.  In a fit of "I need more options" to generate income flow, I applied as a teacher's aide in my public school system and have presented myself as a substitute.  I've been dodging calls but finally was able to accept one assignment.

I actually enjoyed having the break to my routine.  The entire day was spent being focusing and present for the kids, but not in a stressful way.  In a "I can drop everything else and just do this" kind of way that felt like a good balance to all the time I've spent in my head.  

I just played (we went on a car trip to McDonalds - that is real imaginary play for me; I introduced them to soda - here it is known as pop - they thought me hilarious and odd), read stories, pushed kids on swings and attempted to decipher the language of 3 and 4 year old little people. The kids were very sweet.  We had a praying mantis hanging out on the window screen all morning and when it was time for recess I told them "Let's see if we can walk down the hall like a praying mantis."  They did the very best slow motion walking meditation possible for creatures designed with only off and high switches. 

I left feeling good, sorry that I didn't have another gig scheduled.  Once home, I hit a wall.  I was utterly, completely, fully exhausted.  I mean, draped-over-the-couch exhausted.  My brain incapable of doing anything but hard-wired action: cook dinner (if tossing frozen fries in the oven and a bag of green beans in the microwave constitutes cooking), walk the dog, brush teeth, read to Cowgirl and veg out with some Netflix.

Where am I going with this?  Well, I had hoped to slip back into some form of my previous routine today but ... I am on a 24-hour clear liquids only fast for a medical test and I feel like not only has the stuffing been taken out of me, but I am ready to devour it!  (Okay, so now you understand the genesis of this ramble ... my brain turning in upon itself out of lack of fuel ... I know, I am such a wimp!)

I've been pacing ... living from 8 ounce glass of clear beverage to bowl of broth to bathroom (and the fun hasn't even begun!) and feeling - gasp! - so sorry for myself.  Life feels overwhelming and unmanageable with a full bladder.  Unable to concentrate, questioning myself and probable-futility of my efforts.  I would cry but doing so would result in an accident.

Fear not my friends! In the middle of all this fruitless teeth gnashing (how many times have I almost and inadvertently stuffed something in my gob?) bubbles of wonder, sun beams of hope showered down upon me.  If you've ever doubted the value of your words, your attentions I am here to tell you: YOU MATTER.  Each gesture of kindness, of love and acknowledge matters.  Hugely.  A short email from a friend saying she was excited to be joining in on my mandala play offering was the life-saver tossed out to me and now my head is above water.  I am floating ... in many ways ... and trusting I am moving towards shore. 
 
As I explained to another of my regular life-savers, at times it can feel like I am preparing an elaborate meal: I am filling each dish with love and care, preparing my home to be welcoming and restful, an oasis from overwhelm and overdoing.  The fear - always that gremlin of fear! - is that no one will show up.  There is huge vulnerability in holding out my hands and saying "here, I made this ...this is my heart ... what I love ... I hope it will feed you well."  There is vulnerability and uncertainty as I shift from defining myself as a contribution in the form of a monthly direct deposit (not that I could ever really explain what my salaried job was) to something more intangible: a welcoming space, a source of permission and possibility, a keeper of the small moments that weave together into a life celebrated rather than survived.  

Each of us matters.  No act is too small.  Take this moment to turn to the person next to you and tell them why they matter to you.  Tell them what you love about them - what you admire, how they inspire you.  And be prepared to receive from them similar sentiments.  You.matter.  We all matter. This moment matters.

belonging ...

Just as I predicted, I set down my thoughts on tribe only to glimpse a more profound expression of what it means to belong.

 

I believe it was The Man (Mr. O'Donohue) who points out that belonging can be broken down into be longing ... 

Distance awakens longing; closeness is belonging. Yet they are always in dynamic interflow with each other. When we fix or locate them definitively, we injure our growth. (Eternal Echoes:Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong)

 

This past weekend, Cowgirl and I were at Chinese Heritage camp.  It is specifically for children adopted from China (there are other camps for different heritages such as Korean or Latin American) and their families to come together to celebrate and share what it means to be a family blending two cultures, two racial identities. Camp is a place where we discuss how we navigate the turbulent waters of belonging that our children face and which our families strive to fashion and understand. The children learn about their Chinese heritage and they have sessions where they share and examine their experiences and feelings about being adopted and their Chinese American identity.

A place where I belong ... Family was the slogan on this year's camp t-shirts. This was our fourth year attending camp; we have attended with friends we have known since China and our adoption trip.  This year we were joined by two other families from our adoption travel group and whom we haven't seen in seven years, since that initial trip. 

I have always thought of Cowgirl as fairly outgoing, friendly, and talkative.  I watched her this year fall into her daisy group with ease.  Of course, the routine was familiar to her and she was with her good friend (we make a point of our two families visiting at least once a year beside meeting up at camp) and the group of four girls banded together in after camp play at the motel swimming pool.  I forwarded pictures onto the Husband who is away for the month for a work project.  I got to spend time with the mommies and catch up on our girls' experiences, stories and growth, sharing insights and latching on to tools and tips for parenting the strange creature that is a pre-preteen. 

Upon our return, I am aware of how deeply I miss and long for the environment of camp.  I miss my mommy posse and the conversations where I don't have to explain the deeper layer of anxieties, the questions and concerns that we all struggle to integrate into our parenting toolbox. At camp, I am free of the assumptions and misperceptions faced in my everyday world.  No, I am not her Grandmother.  No, we chose adoption and it was our first choice, not a second option.  No, we are the lucky ones.  How much did your biological child cost you?

But that all pales in comparison to the well-meaning but intrusive questions and comments my girl receives on a regular basis. Aware of my deep longing for the community of adoptive families experienced at camp, I realized the obvious joy and ease Cowgirl expressed throughout the weekend was in no small part due to her being in an environment where the other campers and counselors look like her and where all the families resemble her family.  

The Husband commented "In every photo, her smile steals the show."  Her smile.  I look at the pictures and I recognize a buoyancy and brightness in her smile, in her movement and being,  that goes beyond her normal outgoing nature.  What I see is a girl completely at ease in herself and at ease in her world.  I doubt she is even aware of it, but I can see how she is able to let down her guard and just be in a way that she does not enjoy in the predominantly white community where we live. While we try to bridge the gap, there will always be a gap.  

 

Mind the gap - that is what the recorded announcements say in the London subway stations.  The danger being one of getting a foot caught in the gap, tripping or falling.  I'm not sure how we will mind the gap.  Perhaps the bridge over that gap is the family -  and the tribe - we find and create for ourselves and our child through communities.  Camp, martial arts, other families and groups where we feel seen and loved and safe enough to be our unique selves. There is also the invaluable gift of role models  - the generous, loving, attentive counselors - who provide my child clear image of who she can become. One child at camp told her mother "I can tell there are people here who really care about me." It is in that care that we take shelter and then grow.

The arduous task of being human is to balance longing and belonging so that they work with and against each other to ensure that all the potential gifts that sleep in the clay of the heart may be awakened and realized in this one life. (Eternal Echoes)

Family and friends who see us for who we are and love the crazy, fragile, magnificent and wild beings that we embody ...

Such a gift I never want to take for granted. I am grateful ... and yet I hunger for more ...

what matters (and what distracts ...)

This is a post I've resisted for some time ... partly because I know words set down have the ability to shift understanding and then I feel the need to rewrite, clarify, adjust and yes, defend my perspective (which is rests on shifting sands of awareness, so not an easy thing to do!)  But it is a gray morning, I slept in and am moving slowly and certainly I am procrastinating on other projects.  But there is this pebble in my internal/emotional shoe that has irked me for far too long and I feel it is time to shake it out.  I can't seem to move forward unless I do so.

My confession: I am weary of the talk around finding one's tribe.  Okay, back-pedaling already ... it is not the experience or act of discovering others who share in, support and understand my values, interests, and ideas around purpose and meaning that fatigues me ... it is all the fanfare and smudge wand waving, look-at-our crazy quilted wild selves in  Photoshopped  dreamscaped images strewn everywhere as confirmation of belonging.  As confirmation of being vital and plugged into something essential.

I'm all for feeling a part of something larger.  I understand feeling of being outside and wanting in so very, very badly.  But what I am seeing in this celebration of tribe is a new group or layer to the experience of feeling excluded and overlooked.  My sense is that the more I go outside of myself -  for confirmation of my worth, the value of my voice, the validity of my experience - the less secure I will be in myself and my path.  

After all the dancing is over and the bonfires have turned to ash, I am still walking my path alone and on my own.  I can share parts of the journey - through wildflower fields, sandy beaches and mountain meadows  -  but in the end I am the one who chooses to continue on over slippery and rocky mountain paths, through the desert, through the mud pits and into dark forests with nothing but the next step visible before me.  

What matters then is who I trust and believe in: myself connected to a higher purpose.  All the work I do to heal myself is not so I may fit in; I work to heal myself so I may have access to my full range of gifts and potential which I then can offer in service to support the vital work of healing in our world.  

What matters at the end of the day is who I am with myself and my family; how well I love and forgive, myself first and foremost.  If I can not be in right relationship with my own self, how can I give freely, honestly, lovingly and compassionately to others?  What matters is not how my life appears on screen, in Facebook, in glossy magazines but how my life feels to me and those whose lives intersect with mine.  It is nice to have validation, but approval is not my goal.  My tribe - yes, I do believe I have a core group that understands, accepts and more importantly, challenges me to be the best expression of myself - is a space I rest in while gathering inner resources, but it is also the place where I set off from.  Finding one's tribe is an important and affirming stage, but it is not the end point.  It can be an platform for diving into the deep work, the hard, challenging, heart-rending work of attending to our planet, to our lives and to lasting change, healing and care. It can also become a trap or a distraction from what really matters: self acceptance, individual empowerment and expression.  

 These are my thoughts today.  There is a discussion buried amid these thoughts that begs to take place.  Forgiveness, understanding, belonging, purpose, inclusion, and responsibility are some of the themes.  I would love to dialogue in that space Rumi speaks of Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing ... I want to own my role in contributing to another's pain of disconnection but I also own my responsibility to tend to and heal my own woundedness.  No tribe can do that for me. The deeper work is mine alone and it is time to shake off the distractions and get on with the task.  

gratitude and goats

I've never been able to keep a gratitude journal, not that I don't love the concept of one. I'd like to believe years of attempting mindfulness have made me sensitive to recognizing those moments when my attitude should be deep appreciation and thanks.

The Thanksgiving holiday naturally brought about a questioning: What gifts have I overlooked? For what - or whom - am I overdue in giving thanks to for impacting my life in a positive way?

A little over two and a half years ago, I created this image for Susannah Conway's Unravelling: Ways of Seeing Myself:






At the time I had just ventured back into this dream world of creative exploration and expression and I felt very alone in my immediate community. I feel very tender towards that me of not-so-long-ago. I wanted a friend to join me in my escapades, to share my dreams and fears, leaps of daring, skinned knees and bruised ego. I didn't know how I would ever find anyone who would really get me.

I sit here and pinch myself for this Lucy hasn't just found an Ethel - I have a whole tribe of Ethels! And if you are reading this, then you are in that tribe.

I once read that what we all crave is to be loved and to feel understood. If we are loved but not understood, then we doubt that love. If I am grateful for anything in my life, it is the fact that I am so deeply seen and understood by this community of creatives I am fortunate to know in the flesh and here, "in the matrix."






I am grateful for all of you who fearlessly share the experience of your life in written and visual forms for it inspires me to pick up my brush, pen or camera and capture my world.

I was talking with one of you about this Brave New World of creating for personal fulfillment and how it is so hard for people to wrap their minds around this concept of creating just to create. In our consumer driven world, it is consider just plain odd not to be actively engaged in trying to sell something. But what I think is even more threatening is the notion of putting oneself first; daring to say "my needs and happiness matter" when the work ethic we've been taught to embrace is do do do and one day you will be rewarded for your efforts.

I ask: who is going to reward me if not myself? Not that I am advocating blatant disregard for the care of others and the responsibility to give of ourselves for the betterment of our community, our world. But how often do we deny ourselves the small gift of time and attention to cultivate our dreams? How often do we put off to tomorrow doing what our hearts yearn for today?

And now I've wandered down an unexpected alley when my intention was simple to say thank you. Thank you moon, thank you stars, thank you geese on Thanksgiving day,








thank you poppies,









thank you Tooth Fairy,








thank you goats,









thank you Cowgirl,








thank you kitten (whom we can't take home but oh-how-we-wanted-to),










thank you to my family who embrace Cowgirl with all their love,








thank you Moose dog,








Thank you everyone and everything that brightens this world. A humble but heartfelt thank you.


And a special thank you to The Husband who watches me paint goat after goat and never question "why?" (He too knows and loves me.)













I am also grateful for the opportunity to share my "out there" thoughts over on the blog of the always inspiring Jen Lee. She is birthing some amazing projects which have supported me in believing there is a place for my perspective, my voice in this world. Goats and all.

transformed

I am back from what I hope will be a yearly pilgrimage to Sedona and Connie Hozvicka's retreat Total Alignment. I went thinking it would be a tune-up for my creative spirit, but what I received was a total overhaul of my soul.

I went knowing I would be surrounded by some amazing spirits, but what I discovered was a tribe of women audaciously giving what my favorite Irish mystic would say a "mighty squeeze" to life.







I may have been in the desert, but I journeyed into the Emerald City and discovered I can no longer reside in a black and white world.








My intention was to shed some layers of self that I had long outgrown. In doing so space was created for a new way of being in this world - open, receptive, trusting and yes, in alignment with what I believe with all my heart: that life is the experience of love unfolding and that we are love creatively forming, spreading, and dissolving into and out of this crazy and miraculous Universe.

I am struggling with words because this experience goes beyond the verbal, rational, linear mind. It is of the heart and so beyond language or description. It must be felt to be understood.

So here is my feeble attempt to capture magic.

This is what happened to me: I went to the desert to paint. I traveled in a pack of juicy art mamas and we soaked up the energy of this sacred land. We opened ourselves to the place and we allowed it to work it's magic upon us.

I am actually holding onto the ground;
photo by Christine Graziano Miner

We ate food lovingly prepared for us and under a vast Sedona sky; we shared the contents of our hearts; we welcomed the rain with a tribal dance; and we painted.

dancing to the Black Eyed Peas in the rain;
photo by Tracie Hanson

We were given a stern but loving talk by our Fearless leader. The time was over for playing it safe, for painting pretty but empty paintings. It was time to dig in, get messy and dance with the demons. Get it all out and onto the paper. Liberate what we had kept caged or hidden or protected.







I had been painting on an easel, close by the group. Fire was there, but I was leaping over it, afraid I might get burned and unaware of the wings that could have carried me back out.








There was a passage, but it was blocked. Rock solid and seemingly impenetrable.








I have been struggling within the iconic roles of Mother and Daughter. My sense of myself was static and frozen, but another possibility was yearning to emerge. The path to that third possibility was through emotions, through fluidity, through movement and creativity.

On the last day - my last chance - I moved off of the easel and onto the ground. I taped two pieces of paper together and retreated to a distant parking lot to paint. I splashed and spun and poured paint onto the paper. I circled around the paper in a kind of maniac tango. The painting and I wound our way further and further out into the parking lot. The experience was like a desert storm: active, frenzied, pure energy and release. I found myself panting and pausing to catch my breath and then leaping back in for more.

Then the dance slowed down, the rain abated. Just a steady, calm trickle of action. And then the spacious calm afterwards. My inner landscape was washed clean and fresh. The painting ready to reveal itself; my senses and my awareness open to receiving its gifts.

I stood in the gap of waiting and did just that: wait. Previously my way would be to force, grasp, reach for and make something appear. But this day I was patient. This day I knew I would receive if I would simply trust.








I waited at the forest's edge and slowly the animals began to appear. First a bird, always a sign that I am in the right place, that I am home. Then the large female figure tumbled out of her cave, out of the fire of creation; myself being birthed into this new world, this new way of being.







Fox quickly followed - reminding me of what is most valuable only occurs when we are willing to take chances, expose ourselves to risks.











Horse leaped out - the girl I once was who believed that one day she would be free to live her dreams.








Blue Coyote crawling over the mountains reminding me that my journey may be to take the most arduous route but that is my process and to no longer doubt or deride it.









Rat was a surprise. But now I remember in the Chinese cycle of years Rat signifies new beginnings.








Otter - my favorite - slipped in; feminine, playful, moving with the flow of things - all qualities I wish to claim as my own.







Then people appeared: the praying woman,








the mermaid (living in 2 realms, not having to choose one over the other) and finally the 3 magi attending this miraculous birth.









There so much more but this is what I know right now: I visited the Emerald City and the wizard gave me my gift: myself fresh and new and ripe with possibilities. Ready to step fully into my life.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and
death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
(- T.S. Eliot Journey of the Magi)