Little Buddha Moment

“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.” 

I had finally arrived at decision time about my car, Blue.  It had broken down, repair was costly, and I had already purchased a used car for transportation.  Blue was housed at my mechanic's shop, awaiting my final decision.  I was offered $300 for it.  A friend's husband (one of my many borrowed husbands) urged me to try to sell her for more, so I put an ad on Craigslist one Saturday, in between my morning and noon dog sitting visits.  With picture posted, and full description of a car that did not run, I pressed 'post' and went to walk dogs.  

When I returned home and checked my email, there were over twelve responses; people who wanted to know more information, some who just wanted the car sight unseen.  I called one respondent, and because he sounded normal enough to meet that afternoon, I made the drive to Blue to meet my first customer.

I was not in my right mind as I mentally prepared for this look-see meeting.  As I drove the 10 miles to Blue, I felt unresolved (AGAIN!) about this thing that I was about to do.   I felt like a child who needed to ask his parent for advice, for support.  I was acting like an adult on the outside, driving a car I financed through my bank, going to meet a grown man with money to sell a car I had title on.  All grown up stuff.  But I was out of sorts, on autopilot, nervous inside and felt like I masqueraded as a grown up.  And then, I rounded the corner, stopped at the last stop sign before the turn, and saw Blue in the my mechanic's driveway.  My heart sunk.  I doubted my decision to sell.  I wanted her back.  I hated the great deal of a car I was driving at that moment; leather interior, sun roof and all.  

My 'customer' was due in 15 minutes.  I began to clean out belongings left in Blue, shoving them, throwing them, in the car I had begun to hate.  Damn stupid sedan!  Everything I pulled out of Blue reminded me of times with her -- the bumper stickers from the Outer Banks, from Ocracoke.  My peace symbol.  The cloth box of essentials -- a frisbee for the dog, sunscreen, car cleaner, my baseball glove, a yoga mat, blankets and small pillows for sleeping boys.  It was too much to bear, and I broke down, sobbing.  I felt like selling her was the same as ridding myself of all those memories, all of those wonderful trips, the seven years of times in that car.  How could I say goodbye to the conversations with my children, my first car of independence after my marriage had broken, the car my youngest, then around 7, helped me purchase because it was he who said, "Get the blue one, mommy."   I am not ashamed to say that I was fully and completely broken, stuck in trying so hard to hold on to the past, and in doing so, hoped it would bring back all those good times, like a rain of joy.  

I called a good friend and I sobbed to her about it all, and was grateful that she understood. While the talk helped me pull myself together for the meeting, I still was stinging when my potential buyer arrived.  He inspected what he saw as a hunk of metal while trying to calculate how much it would cost him to repair.  "I will give you $500 for it," he said, and I quickly turned him down.

As he drove away, I felt saved.  I felt like I could make another decision about Blue.  Even as the Craigslist email responses poured in and totalled eighteen, I could decide not to sell and save my memories.

It is then that I came to the clearing of the clouds.  Sitting in the sedan, looking at Blue, reading email responses on my Droid, I knew that not selling would not be the answer to keeping memories.  What had passed, had passed.  What was to be, is not yet here.  Who was to know if I could or would have wonderful times in the leather interior sunroof piece of metal of a yet-to-be-named car?  This realization changed me, moved me, although incrementally, from past focus, to future and present focus.

I drove that sedan home that sunny Sunday, and the following day, with back to back appointments to see Blue, sold her for my asking price to the first fellow who saw her.  He said he planned to fix Blue and his wife and his four young children would be using it.  

I hope they have wonderful memories. 

2012 -- How are we doing so far?

Almost a month has past since I made my New Years initiatives, so time for a review and chart progress.  I think this is called "accountability".   Even though I am being accountable only to myself, even my right-brain self knows there is no point in trying new ways to be if there is no attempt at workin' the way to get there.  Am I on track for change, or just wishing?  Wishing is free from the work of doing and doesn't require anything but dreaming as I drive to work every day!!

In my good-enough day job, I have a boss who loves and uses spread sheets and quarterly reviews of projects, complete with more spread sheets.  I secretly mocked this for awhile, then curiosity got the best of me -- can I modify this spread-sheet-review-everything thought process for my personal life attempts (can't really call them goals now) and can my right-brain handle this?

So, one month into the new year, what have I accomplished so far in my 5 areas of focus?

Declutter  -- I continue trashing junk mail and recycling newspapers I did not read. I have gone to Goodwill with clothes I won't or don't wear.  I got my 16 year old to throw out or recycle to Goodwill the items in his room; a major accomplishment.  Meanwhile, my dining room-breakfast nook is still filled with papers and yard sale items I did not sell. Grade for this goal - C

Create every day -- Dining room clutter has made it hard to get my sewing machine out, although I did do some sewing for myself and a friend.  I also have been thinking about creating sewing projects, but the clutter makes it hard to get that fully started.   I haven't written much of anything.  I did go to an art exhibit of Rembrandt's paintings, which counts toward being around art -- or am I now trying to justify? Grade for this goal - C

Control access to my time and energy -- I have made strides at this one, and have gone to meet friends instead of attending only to my children's wishes.  I have refused allowance to my son and stuck with my stated rule of work for allowance since allowance is my money and money is my energy.  I have chosen 'me' over others many times, and feel I have done a fair job at this, although haphazard, so grade earned is B

Positive habit building -- This goal was nebulous on purpose, and so I have found it difficult to chart.  In retrospect it may be important to identify the categories of what this would look like so I can chart it.  On the surface, the goal seemed easy, but I now see that without some structure, it cannot be measured.  For exercise, I have gone to the gym 4 times, and have walked my dog, so that is a start on positive habit building of health.  With food, I have not been watchful enough and it is clear that I need to watch portions of healthy food, not just eat as much of it as I can.  Sleep -- I need to break my habit of falling asleep on the couch at night and dragging myself to bed at 1 am, and money -- I am charting how much I spend on items I want to trend, like groceries and gas and am monitoring expenses.  Grade on this -- C +

Attend to the needs of Present Cate and Future Cate -- Again, this goal is not well defined, and I always meant it to contain financial and big ticket items like, where will I live, should I sell my home and rent for awhile to get out of debt, what type of ways can I save or make money, and can I travel somewhere this year without going into debt?  I think I have done an average job of this, and when I struggle with a decision, I just keep thinking if the one I am about to make enhances my financial situation right now;  if the answer is yes, it does RIGHT NOW, then that is what I (try to) go for and ignore that other part of me that wants to think and dream of different options.  Since I have spent more time actually doing this one, I will grade myself a B

Looks like my efforts are exceedingly average, so how wonderful!  I am sure to make strides toward a better year and build a better life if I continue at this pace!  (Blatant sarcasm should be evident).  And, it looks like to be accountable, I will have to write down steps toward those goals even if it isn't on a spread sheet

Oprah likes to ask her guests, "What do you know for sure?"  What I know for sure, is that I am on the road to more of the same, and I need to step up my game!

So long, 2011!!

I am glad to see this year close out, and to have the promise of a better year in 2012.  I shouldn't blame 2011; its not it's fault, but it was the company it kept that makes me say 'good riddence'.  Many good things happened in 2011, but for the most part, it was a year of struggle, and for a short time, one calamity after another.  Calamity Cate.

Looking forward to a new year is exciting.  It is universally accepted to make resolutions, start fresh, and although I really don't like following the crowd, this is one tradition I fully embrace and in which I like to participate.  Before I say 'hello' to 2012, and farewell to 2011, I want to remember -- and be grateful for the things that went right, and the people who helped make my life wonderful.  

I love watching the Oscars or any award ceremony on television.  The people who are nominated, dressed to the nines, clapping for themselves and for their competition as the nominees names are read.  Then the moment when the winner is announced, and the surprised look (or sometimes the arrogant look, like 'yeah, I knew it would be me') is so amusing.  Cut to the winner at the mic, where he thanks everyone for this moment.  I am a believer, but it annoys me to hear, 'first, I want to thank God..."  like God chose them for this award.  After that is done, the winner reads the names of people who helped them get to this point, with this award, at this moment -- that is a very telling time.  Later, we read in a gossip page somewhere that the recipient forgot to mention his or her mother, or wife, or husband, or publicist.  This is the problem with publicly thanking, publicly expressing gratitude to others.  

Although I am not on the spot, in an uncomfortable dress with my breasts falling out, and shoes I can barely walk in, I still feel the pressure to properly thank and remember everyone and everything that made me feel glad to belong to the human race.  I don't wait to individually thank my friends in a New Year's eve blog; they have been told how much I appreciate them and why.  My friends are my soul, my anchor, and I love them very, very much.  If I wrote all that I was thankful for from them, I would surely miss something or someone, so I will lessen my stress and leave that for private time.

There were surprising 2011 situations that were meaningful, and made huge impressions on me.  My doctor, actually a nurse practitioner, took time to talk to me about my social stress after I thought I was having a heart attack.  "Your heart is fine", she said.  "Let's talk about what is going on with you."  Our talk in that room, with me fully dressed and sitting on an exam table covered with protective paper was worth more than a year in a therapists office.  Husbands of friends made meaningful contributions; one insisting that I be lent a car when mine broke, another helped me in the car search and made it easy for me to make my own decision.  One gave me parenting advice concerning my difficult teen, and even though his wife, my dear friend, and other dear friends told me the same thing, I heard the advice differently.  I grew as a person in my dealing with certain people at work, even though the situation caused me much anxiety at the time, I came out of it understanding myself, and realizing they have no power over me.  I paid off a few bills, was treated to trips and lunches and dinners.  I was able to attend 2 musical plays for free, and my father-in-law kindly helped me late this year, helping me avoid certain financial devastation.

The bad of 2011 doesn't need to be remembered or enumerated except to hold as a reminder of what I no longer want.   I made it through, and the sting of those situations linger, and I am glad they do.

This list is sort of a New Year's resolution for 2012:

• Clear my space by de-cluttering, tossing or giving away as much as I can.  Long ago, I paid Geralin Thomas, before she became famous by appearing in the show "Hoarders", to help me get organized.  She looked at a stack of newspapers and magazines and said, "What's going on here?"  "I am going to read those", I said.  "No you are not.  I promise you you are not going to read them.  Put them in recycling."  Although difficult, I put that huge stack in the recycling bin, and after the truck took them away, I never thought of those magazines again.  Sure, some things thrown away could have come in handy, but it was worth the uh-oh to toss what I may have needed for the 90% of the time when I just did not need those things.  Same thing with the broken lamp I am 'going' to fix, or having a pantry, refrigerator or clothes closet filled with items that are bad, out of date, or not used.  Better to look at a half-full space of useful items than space jammed full of dead or unused anything.  And giving away, throwing away makes my life more real because that stack or pile that I tell myself I must keep because I will be getting to it is a lie.
• Make a commitment to creating something every day.   I would like to do more writing.  I usually write in my head, and man, those articles or story lines are fiiiiiine!  But a writer writes, and a thinker thinks, and I want to perfect my writing not perfect my thinking.  I feel better about my life and life itself when I am creating anything, like an blog post or an article, or sewing something, or experimenting with a new recipe.  I believe that making time and dedicating space to creating should be seriously undertaken,  and not just, for instance,  write when I feel like it, but make dedicated time and a commitment of discipline to writing, sewing, or creating in some way.  This also means enjoying what others create, too, since there is synergy in reading, seeing, and experiencing what others create, and it is a beautiful thing.
• Control access to my time, and my energy.  Long ago, I read an article by John Rosemond, a parenting expert, who advised parents, especially single mothers to not allow children to have 24/7 access to you.  Being the master of my time, and deciding what I do and with whom means I am in control of me, the only person over which I have control anyway.  I always admired people who made decisions for themselves, regardless of what others thought or wished.  With children, especially naturally 'all about me' teens, this has been especially important.  So, no, I cannot take you to North Raleigh, Mr. Man, to see your girlfriend because I am having drinks with friends and that doesn't work for me.  This concept is so incredibly easy, I am surprised I never embraced it before now.  I also will not feel like doing this is somehow selfish or disregards others.  
• Make and chose positive habits, not make tasks for myself.  I always say I will eat more healthy, or exercise more, but I never did fully keep those resolutions.  By saying that I will chose positive habits, I am saying that I am creating a habit, and over time, the habit will be incorporated into my lifestyle.  Of course, repetition is important to creating a habit, so eating vegetables one day a week really does not a habit make.  This requires keeping the habit in mind, not some nebulous chore like "walk 30 minutes a day", which I am sure to fail at.  If my habit is to be more physically fit, I will choose walking more, or choose my meals more carefully, and as I choose my time and activities, I incorporate my habit and not check off some list.
• Attend to what is good for both present and future me.  A recent TED TV video by Daniel Goldstein addressed the battle between present self and future self, and it awakened a different type of thinking on how to plan for my future.  If Future Cate is going to retire in 10 years, what is Current Cate doing for that?  It makes a difference to look at this type of future planning instead of worrying, after reading a Wall Street Journal article, that I need half a million in an IRA or savings or whatever to retire.  How am I going to do that???  If I balance what Future Cate needs by noticing and controlling habits or activities of Current Cate, I may be able to satisfy both.  I know I want to get out of debt, but if I cut everything and live a difficult life for 2 years to do that, Current Cate will be so unhappy, and will resent Future Cate.  There has to be planning, but also temperance.  And, it is all about choices and full awareness; another great thing.

Well, that is it!  My non-goals for 2012.  I hope all of you find a renewal in the new year and make choices that allow you to live and love your life, free of past encumbrances.  Happiest of New Years to all of you!

Lessons and Decisions

At the end of October, the stars aligned to teach me a lesson.  I don't mean that in a bad way, at least not NOW, but at the time, I wondered why calamities fell all at once, and it did feel very, very bad.

I always thought that dying would be easier than watching someone die.  If fully engaged when something happens to you, you don't have time to do anything but experience it.  Watching tragedy is much more difficult -- there is a propensity to project feelings on the person experiencing 'the thing'.   Case in point -- several years ago, talking to other stay-at-home moms at a park, one asked me about my husband.  When I told her we were divorced/separated/whatever we were at the time, her head cocked to the side, face mildly screwed, brow furrowed, and then the sound -- "awwww..."  Like, "Poor you; how awful; wow, how do you do that."  Something took over me, and out of my mouth came, "Hey, it isn't that bad, and I know that hearing this makes you think how difficult and sad it would be if that happened to you."  The sarcastic, in-your-face me said -- yeah, score!  Nailed it!  Of course, the look on her face changed from pity to fear, and I guess the conversation was pretty much over.  Way to make friends, Cate.

Back to the late October lesson, or as I have come to know it as the "correction". Money issues, job pressures, teenager drama, and me on stress overload and running, running, running to catch up, keep up, weighed on me.  Driving back from my usual morning kid drop off in Raleigh, the car made a soft bump sound, and I lost power completely.  Dead.  No power.  With no time to think of how on earth I could afford repair, I slipped into problem-solving mode.  I called my usual mechanic and I learned he would be out for 2 weeks on a cruise.  The downtown mechanic I used in the past didn't answer the phone, but I towed the car to his shop anyway, only to see a note on the door that they would be closed on this lovely Friday and would be back Monday.  I left the car and the troubles in Raleigh for the weekend.
Eventually, the weekend turned to the week of an unfixable car, and a decision to be made.

I happened to be reading a blog about this time, written about this timely topic.   In this blog post, Eric at Wisdom Heart explores the 'good why and the bad why' -- introduced me to asking, instead of why did this happen to me, to asking why this happened for me.

http://www.wisdomheart.org/2011/the-good-why-the-bad-why/

I know the seduction of being a victim -- the sympathy, the soft looks, the offers to help, to be available at all hours to talk.  The trouble with 'victim' is that most people have a shelf life on dealing with those who have troubles.  Some don't give you three seconds before they are over it, and others continue to feel badly for you and offer support in what ever way they can.  The victim stance is worse for the victim, because it can have a life of its own.  Things in motion have a tendency to stay in motion -- until the timing belt breaks and it is all over, ma'am.

From the car break down to now, I have experienced pity (from others and myself), decisions (what to do about getting another means of transportation), judgement and evaluation (I was lucky to have a bus a six minute walk from my home that took me to work in 10 minutes, yet some people could not believe I was taking the bus, as if it was, I dunno, beneath them to consider).  I was frozen in moving past being bus girl to being having a car girl.  Enter my very good friends, who offered rides to grocery stores, assistance in looking at new and used cars, and even the use of a spare car, along with much emotional support.  Still, my inability to pull the trigger and move myself past being under or on top of the wing of friends to taking responsibility for getting back on my feet was a mystery to even me.

There are two basic ways that motivate: pain or pleasure.  I have always been more likely to be externally motivated by pleasure, encouragement and assistance, yet to be fully truthful, the style I use on myself is about 30% pleasure and 70% pain, focusing on fear and avoiding instead of making decisions, moving forward.  If moving forward is taking responsibility and anti-victim, avoiding pain focuses on what I can lose, and being afraid of loss.  Even if the end is good, the means of fear of loss is so very bad for you.  So, friends are supportive and softly remind me of consequences, and inside, all I focus on is con-se-quence and fear of loss.  If I can look at life as a series of branches, not a line to follow, I can make a decision, the best one at the time, and if it turns out to be not optimal, I could make another decision.  What a concept!

I finally decided--chose--to make forward motion, not to further wear thin on my dear friends.  I bought a used car, within my budget, and will soon return the car my most generous friends loaned me.  This weekend marks the end of a month of trials, and learning new ways to move forward, and to see calamities as growth they can offer me.

Reframing Failure

One of Barbara Sher's (barbarasher.com) exercises is designed to discover buried passion, starting in childhood, long before the sound of life's present-day march became louder than the sound of childhood laughter.   With this exercise I hoped to find my joy in its simplest form -- what I always enjoyed, what I was compelled to do, or needed to do, and in uncovering that, use it for present and future action.   I was curious to see if those joy seeds were just dormant, or brutally killed or consciously abandoned as not useful.  Like the person who revisits a childhood home to renew happy (or not so happy) times, I wanted to look, and really see, and allow that which I saw to sit down with me, speak to me.

Barbara promised that with this exercise, I would get back to myself, the essence of me and what drove me, and with that, discover what will sustain me in the hours when the "it" is not fun anymore.

Okay, a sidebar -- Although I love these sorts of self discovery writing exercises, two well worn blocks come up every time I undertake them.  The first is the firmly rooted belief that these will work for everyone else but me, and the second is that once I know, will I act?  On the second, I don't know why I sometimes see and don't act.  I would like to become proficient in acting after discovery, and treat Mr-Don't-Do-It as I would a solicitor -- recognize this unwanted visitor as trying to sell me something I don't want and politely thank him and shut the door in his face.


Barbara's instructions included the suggestion of calling a parent, a trusted friend or family for clues long forgotten. My memory of childhood is spotty and the only living person with that clue is my mother.  So, one Sunday, I sat at my kitchen table, pen in hand, and called mom to get her perspective on what I enjoyed as a child.

"You used to write a lot," she began, which make me smile as I was not aware of that.  Our talk took twists and turns, and soon, she came upon the often repeated story of how she and dad tried to encourage me to participate in class, and about my lack of unbridled participation.  I bristled.  Her analysis of why always was answered as insecurity and fear of not being liked.  Here we go again -- Cathy (as I was called for the first 30 years of my life) won't participate, have fun!   I was a social failure, locked into non-action.  Then as if by magic, my friend "shame" entered the room to sit down with me.  It made me mad and sad at the same time.  From my perspective, I remember minimally participating, but I did like watching others, and drawing conclusions or commenting in my head about what I observed. Did the conclusion that everyone agreed upon stick - that I was insecure, shy, worried about being liked - was that true, or if it was, was that even the point?  Shame was sitting next to me, so I had no immediate answer.

Now if you have ever been in a moving vehicle, having fun, windows open with a  breeze flowing in your locks and face, your favorite music on, your arm out the window, sun in your face only to have the breaks suddenly and quickly applied, then THAT was the moment as I talked with my mom.

I did as instructed and wrote down what mom said.  Later, with emotional distance, I  read what I wrote, and something or someone whispered a very important sentence: What kind of person observes but does not participate?

A critic, a judge, a researcher, a therapist, a social scientist, a writer, a teacher?

Did this fit?  Could this be that my parent's perception was simply their conclusion, and nothing more, and that it was me to be an observer?  Is this why, as teen who did not know how to swim, I was able to pool-side "teach" swimming to my younger sisters using what I observed to instruct them?  They did learn to swim that summer in that hotel pool, at the very least, due to my feedback and encouragement.

I stepped back, re-framed an old block and discovered that I am a thinker, researcher, observer and commenter at heart, and it is what I enjoy.  I also take note that enjoying something is not the same as doing what you enjoy.  During a recent conversation with a friend about the creative process, I revealed that I 'write' such great things in my head.  But a writer writes; that is the product, that is the action.  It took me years to begin this blog, which is an action for that which I love.    I am learning to re-frame blocks that keep me from action, and if shame and his friend Mr-Don't-Do-It" will leave me alone, I may have the room to act and create more.

On Moving Forward, When Life Happens

This weekend's plan was to take positive movement toward my floundering goal of taking my writing more seriously.  Months ago, I decided to attend a writing workshop, held in Boston.

Two days before I was to leave, I got sick with mini flu symptoms and then a fever.  Less than one day before  my intended departure, and after much heart and head wrangling about WHAT TO DO, I threw in the towel.

There is an annoying thing about me and decisions.  I admire people who make decisions and never look back.  Drop the past and move on.  I count it as a weakness to be so frail in that area.  So my decision not to go to Boston felt right for a moment or two, and then doubts crept in.  My modus operandi is like this: make decisions, slam that decision like a small index card on the table, and walk away.  Then, like a good sitcom, the camera stays in the room, showing me, walking out the door, resolved,  paper solidly resting on that decision table.  I return a moment later, a look of confusion and slight panic on my face, and pick up the paper to review the decision again.  Cue the laugh track.  Rinse and repeat.

After cancelling everything -- plane ticket (free with points from my debit card), hotel (cancelled in time to get a full refund), workshop (losing $50), I was not much in the hole financially for the decision.  My dear friend in Boston who I would be spending post-workshop time with had to be told that I was not coming, an emotional hit.  The disappointment I felt after receiving support from my friends to go was a hit to me as well.  I wanted everyone to agree, to understand my new circumstance; 'you made the RIGHT decision; we all get that'.  My need to please and have support for my decisions is another annoying thing about me.

I did not get to go to the Boston workshop.  I did not get to sit in a room of writers and wannabe writers and be inspired by the likes of Jennifer Louden, Patti Digh, and Susan Piver.  I did not get to remember what it is like to be 'single' (meaning without children) traveling alone, doing something just for me, exploring, learning, letting my whims take the day and do and be who I wanted.

I did get to sulk, to feel defeated, to stay in my very messy bedroom and ruminate over how life sucks.  Instead of preparing for my flight, I was in bed.  The wasband brought my eldest to the house to get clothes for the weekend and I had to say out loud, to their surprised faces,  "I am sick; I am not going to Boston."  I retreated to my messy bed, waited for them to leave, and cried.  I tried to think, to set this right in my mind, but all I could do was judge myself and think I should have gone anyway and toughed it out.  I took a few calls from friends and received support for not going -- 'but you are sick' and 'there will be other workshops'.

Sidebar -- I find life lessons from various sources.  I can find a lesson in a TV show or movie, reading a wedding announcement, overhearing a conversation, reading a book that is not inspirational, listening to a ridiculous story then hashing it out with a friend.  Since you now know two things that annoy me about me, I will say that seeing inspiration and stories in everyday things is one thing about me I love, and it is the reason I want to write.  Life lessons reveal, and I suddenly have 'written' an an article in my head, in full, clear as day. And it is good.

I love to see how OP (Other People) handle struggles similar to mine, and I read blogs, books, and articles from successful writers to first, confirm that they, too experience similar struggles, and second to learn how their brain works and what skills and life lessons they can impart.  Barbara Sher (Barbarasher.com), a master at showing others what they really want with their life, once wrote that even if you follow your dream, once arrived, you just may look around and discover it wasn't that after all, AND this counts not as a mistake, but an opportunity to now move toward the real dream.  Meaning, if I follow my dream to move to France, and discover while sitting in my Parisian apartment, that I am not really supposed to be doing this, that it will be a good thing.   We will see.

These types of life lesson gems are collected from my writer friends, who I have never met, my Internet blog friends, most of whom I have not yet met, and from my flesh and blood friends, a small tribe who are indispensable to me.   I swirl them around in a (make believe) beautiful velvet bag, and pull one out.  This process, this moment of hand-in-velvet-bag, is equivalent to the time when the tornado has just passed and all is quiet.

Reach in.  Feel around.  Close eyes.  Choose.  What does it say?

This time, Chris Guillebeau (Chrisguillebeau.com) saying when facing a decision, choose forward movement.  Okay, I will move forward.

Pity party over, I had to decide what 'moving forward' looked like.  I was starting to feel physically (and emotionally) better.  My bathroom and bedroom were straightened and cleaned.  The ensuing order soothed me, but I did not just miss a writing opportunity to stay home and clean.  My next move forward would be to create a mini-writing workshop in my germ laden home.  I noodled around on the Internet for inspiration, reading blog posts from people I follow, which led me to a  blog recommended, then another blog, and I was off on a rabbit chase, clicking on blog after blog.  Some had videos posted on Vimeo, affording me another layer of interaction with that blogger, watching her interview, or talk.

Who I discovered and who became my newest best Internet friends:

• Bindu Wiles (Binduwiles.com) who I recognized immediately as gay, with her hair piled on top,  punk style, kind of shaved on the side, wearing a man's tie.  I did not expect, as the video rolled, to come to know her as a gentle, strong, and soft soul who follows Buddhism, who took the name Bindu for its meaning, and that despite years of struggle and hardship, is a remarkably grounded and centered person.  During the interview I watched, she pressed the need to be open, read good books, and gather so when the time is right, you will have all you need to get there.  I loved her calm nature.  I wanted to cash in the cancelled plane ticket to Boston for one to NYC to show up at her Brooklyn home, knock on her door and say 'c'mon, and bring your dog.  I want to share a bagel and coffee with you."
• Dyana Valentine (Dyanavalentine.com) who had videos posted so I could see her in the flesh, and was awed by her open presence.  She is beautiful and mesmerizing to watch with all that curly hair, speaking right to me, or better, interviewing people and actually letting the interview be about them and not her, which ironically says so much about her.  One question she asks to all she interviews is, 'what are you really, really, good at', and although in my somewhat downward spiral, I could not answer that about myself at the time, I loved hearing person after person answer about themselves, authentically, without bragging.  If I were a director, I would cast Dyana in my movie because I love the way she looks at the camera, her fearlessness in appearing before us in her bathrobe at 4:44 in the morning without any makeup, just because she had to tell us (me) that you (I) will get through this.  More crying, but this time, of relief.  Love you, Dyana.
• Danielle LaPorte (Whitehottruth.com) whose blog, called White Hot Truth, has a tag line "because self realization rocks".  Amen.  She uses words like 'epic' and 'prezzie' for present (which I got by subscribing to her blog). She writes so dream-like, and I was captured by her word choices. Reading her blog is like having a very satisfying meal.   She, too, is strikingly beautiful.  I then stumbled on a video she posted and watching it made my jaw drop, eyes widen.  She is an Amazon, not because her body as big, but her spirit and her presence is so, so big and powerfully strong.   I believe everything she says and everything everyone else says about her and know her as the real thing.

I did not get to go to Boston.  I did get to learn and retreat in my small home in North Carolina.  I did get to commune with inspiring people, even if it was virtual.  I did get to create an inviting place to recuperate by moving forward to gain order in the room that is mine alone, and ignore the piles of yard sale item boxes in the living room, gathered for a sale previously cancelled due to rain.  Let them stay.  I can move forward with those obstacles around my home.  I have moved forward in my internal struggle and discovery and my writing.

To be (totally honest) or not to be...

A few months ago, sitting in my hair stylist's chair, I revealed to her that I started writing a blog.  From the mirror, I saw her face drop a bit, her hands momentarily ceased cutting, and as she looked right at me, she said in a low, concerned voice, "ohhhh....."  Then came the questions -- what do I write about, how much do I reveal, and so on. Her worries opened up old and fresh worries of my own.

Prior to starting my blog, thoughts of how much to reveal about myself and about my life consumed me, stifling the art I was making in my head.  The rumination caused a delay in publishing my first post, and once I did,  I struggled with each subsequent post on how to be real and authentic, and how much to reveal.  Deep in my heart I was certain the true me would come through even if I tried to be evasive, so was trying to be be almost-but-not-quite-transparent not only crazy but so not the point of writing?   Born with an over active sense of responsibility, I worried if a writer has free reign to write anything about anything and anyone?  Do friends and family have the right to privacy or do I request release forms from anyone who comes in contact with me and wear that t-shirt that reads, "warning -- I am a writer.  Friend me at your own risk."

One day my ex husband asked me not to talk to others about what happened to end our relationship, citing privacy.  I bought that for awhile, and kept privacy, but then it occurred to me that the story was my story as well, and I can damn well tell it.

It is interesting, and humbling, to discover a gap at what I choose to reveal on purpose and what is revealed despite trying not to.  During a lunch time conversation with co-workers I commented that I was not that picky about food.  Conversation momentarily stopped, and as I looked up from my sandwich at the 3 or 4 assembled at the table, eyes fixed on me, silence in the air, someone had the bravery to say, 'Yes, you are."  Faced with a truth others saw and I did not, I was handed a chink in the armor of the public 'who I am'.

The art of being authentic, of speaking the truth, has always fascinated me.  When others see someone dressed or behaving atypical and may mock, I think that person is brave.  Yet, allowing myself to be who I am, and to be honest with myself about who I am, both thrills and scares me.  Writing from the head bores me -- Isn't writing supposed to be a bold move, and is it not time for me to finally be bold and not participate in yet one more exercise in playing safe, staying under the radar, and defending (even clinging to) the chains of trying to please others?

Taking a step to write my truth, and let that truth be who I am is going to be an interesting experiment, and one that will no doubt leave me uncomfortable at times.  But that is what has brought me to write, anyway; to leave behind the boring comfort of everyday existence and see if it is true that I owe allegiance to myself and  to who I really am.