tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31901472047545716022024-03-05T17:24:17.827-05:00Roots & Wingslife is one big learning experience - take what you canRachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.comBlogger175125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-56398861599263266612014-03-30T11:56:00.000-04:002014-03-30T11:56:06.220-04:00The Here, Up There, and Everywhere<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqCnP2Clxa8dQGsabQWVwy3S1gCGYbox5Y9CLw8l43kF6-4fuiHfZD00yTK6t5orB99xSypxRlZTIDQfXX2CgTKJoDy4LFeZMYZMs5lCQMSGR70SaUV9FMWLQZB6MOODo3bzPiE52ECU/s1600/be+open.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqCnP2Clxa8dQGsabQWVwy3S1gCGYbox5Y9CLw8l43kF6-4fuiHfZD00yTK6t5orB99xSypxRlZTIDQfXX2CgTKJoDy4LFeZMYZMs5lCQMSGR70SaUV9FMWLQZB6MOODo3bzPiE52ECU/s1600/be+open.jpg" height="320" width="310" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>How did I get here?</i>, I asked myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was standing outside, dressed in jeans and a down jacket- appropriate enough for the weather- yet wrapped from head-to-toe in a wool <a href="https://www.pendleton-usa.com/" target="_blank">Pendleton</a> blanket. I was smoking a cigarette and staring alternately at my cocktail on the deck post and the falling snow. My only light came from the streetlight half a block away, and the end of my cigarette.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i> </i>I don't smoke, mind you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I didn't mean "here," as in a physical place; I meant Here, this place in my life where I feel like some change is about to take place, but I can't put my finger on it. And where I'm fed up with the waiting, where I'd like to catch a break for once, but where I'm scared to force anything. <i>That</i> Here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since my <a href="http://fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2013/11/being-thankful.html" target="_blank">last post </a> where I told an entirely true story and called everyone on Facebook assholes (Which, at the time, I said I didn't mean it, that people were assholes. That was a lie- I totally meant it.), I've had time to stop and try to identify what has brought me Here. I look back for clues and see these vignettes:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am multitasking: laundry, dishes, making soup and the bed. I pull a stray hair caught in the pillow case, and let it fall to the floor. <i>The vacuum will meet it later</i>, I think, noting where the line of jet black has rested near my feet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">II.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Question posted via Facebook: Remember your first day of something you now love? What was it like? Answer: It was literally a summer evening, and it seemed like the sun would stay up forever, and then an instant later I was under a blanket of sparkling stars. Questioner's response: Poetic...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">III.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am looking out at the horizon, the Great Lake freezing over a bit more every minute. <i>I can't even begin to comprehend the vastness of this</i>, I think. I turn around and raise my arms up, celebrating the awesomeness all around; a photo gets snapped. I glance back at the lake for just a moment before I hear splashing behind me, to the side of me. Suddenly I am flat on my belly right there on the ice, reaching for the puppy's harness and baby-talking words of encouragement to him that intellectually I know he doesn't understand. Once safe on shore, he shakes the cold cold water from his coat and carries on as if it were a summer day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">IV.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am laying in my bed, staring out the window; I had forgotten to close the blinds last night. The window faces due west, and I'm trying to discern if the sunrise that's about to happen (it is 7:18 now, and the sunrise is scheduled-<i>scheduled!</i>-to happen at 7:43) is going to be spectacular or cloud-covered and sunless. The blankets are pulled up around me; I'm in the same position I was when I last looked at the clock, when I blew out the candle on my bedside table, when I last glanced at my phone. Trying to figure out if getting out of bed is worthwhile is arduous. The bed says, <i>Your pillow is still waiting for you to come and rest your head. Let me take care of You.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">V.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am sitting on the stool pulled up to my makeshift kitchen bar. I am curled up on the couch, fading in and out of sleep to the conversational tones coming from the television. I am walking through the woods in snow that is still hip-high in places, listening for the light jingling of the bell newly attached to the puppy's collar. I am laying on my back, covered with too many layers and bargaining with whomever for sleep. I am tapping out syllables on my pillow for another haiku, the words I can only say in my head (not ever out loud), or only put in print on social media at two-thirty or three-thirty or even four a.m.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">VI.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am in the car, the radio is off, and the heat is on high. I've a chill that won't leave. The hum of the gears and tires on the road hypnotize me, and as I put the car in park in front of my work building, I have no recollection of what's transpired over the last 21 minutes/miles. <i>Some days are like that</i>, a small voice in my head says.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">VII.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am walking in the street, the sidewalks still covered with the snow and ice from a different day, and the puppy is on his leash. I keep looking up at the sky, more stars punctuating that plane with each glance. I try to make out constellations without slipping on black ice. <i>Stargazing is better when you're not alone</i>, I think. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And now, I wonder how I got to this space in time, sitting here in a sunbeam that's streaming through my bedroom window, and me on the floor, back against the bed. <i>Those things are all in the past</i>, I tell myself, <i>learn something from them and move on.</i> <i>Memories are the architecture of our identity, as the saying goes. What are you going to do next?</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What does the next chapter in this story look like? What words will come out of my pen? Which characters will have a reoccurring role, and which will fade like those sunset colors I love so? And I guess that's the thing that keeps us going day after day, isn't it? The curiosity fueled by our innate human need for love and companionship, for mattering to someone, for validation that we are significant somehow. We look back on moments or memories for indicators, for the last piece of the puzzle, for a glimpse of our legacy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I tell myself, <i>You can't create your life story by living in the past. Focus on now. Focus on up there, on the road ahead. Your story will write itself if you'd just throw back the covers and let it breathe.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And with those words, I'm off to write the next chapter, one adventure at a time. Live your story, friends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-12216070773532365702013-11-17T13:51:00.002-05:002013-11-17T13:51:49.024-05:00Being Thankful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJyW11w9N3I-w-xria3ON1j2-QTXGNqB5OUbIhkeLcjlc9gj6OdBSU7Z-_c3clUjIL0ya24PMk3QBH9qH4N3eIX06v0cgGdsOC0hB4D4gUdj-V8zTcqtCbRueEpNedqKDc_df_WL9fRHY/s1600/I43+north.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJyW11w9N3I-w-xria3ON1j2-QTXGNqB5OUbIhkeLcjlc9gj6OdBSU7Z-_c3clUjIL0ya24PMk3QBH9qH4N3eIX06v0cgGdsOC0hB4D4gUdj-V8zTcqtCbRueEpNedqKDc_df_WL9fRHY/s320/I43+north.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>Photo by the author taken November 3, 2013: I-43 North, somewhere in Wisconsin, and I'm</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>thankful for the road that goes through the storm clouds and leads me back home.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First, <i>hello</i>. And also, <i>don't look at me like that; I know I've been slackin'.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Second, it's November, and as the title of this post suggests, it's time to share what we're thankful for. <i>*groooaaannnnn* I KNOOOOWWW!!!!</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This November, my friends played a game on Facebook wherein they posted a random number of facts about themselves; if you "liked" the status, they would in turn give YOU a number, and you would then post that many random facts about yourself. Get it? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Okay, so: I played along and posted my ten facts (thanks, Theo). Done. And then I "liked" someone else's list. And this is what happened:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Mrs. Hansen:</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know you've already been given a number. Instead of sharing more secrets, post your favorite memory of a time in November.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><b>Me:</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">ANY November? I mean, this November (so far) and last November have been crappy. And the memories I do have of Novembers past are not "favorites," I mean it's just me anticipating the end of the year. Every. Day. Lemme think on that...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><b>Mrs. Hansen:</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Any November.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'll work on this. It is brewing right now as a blog post.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I'm going to tell you a story about Being Thankful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was mid-November, some 15 years ago. I was married, I was living here in the U.P., and I was commuting weekly to Chicago for <a href="http://www.saic.edu/" target="_blank">school</a>. (<i>Side note: I know a 300 mile one-way commute is extreme; however, I am a stubborn, stubborn woman and would not have had things any other way.)</i> This was before cell phones were appendages, and so communication with my family in Michigan relied on land lines. At this point in the semester, they knew my schedule, knew when to expect check-in phone calls, knew when to expect me home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was the week of Thanksgiving, and my last class ended at noon on Wednesday. I drove home, walked in the back door of the house, and no one was there. There was a note: <i>At my parents' house.</i> I dropped my bags and drove the 1/2 mile to my in-laws' home. Everyone was there, save for my father-in-law, who was out at hunting camp. As I walked into the great room off the kitchen, my Wasband turned around from facing the fireplace and looked at me with a sheepish smile. My jaw dropped.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He had 1) cut his hair so close with the clippers that his head looked shaved; 2) his face was so swollen he could not wear his glasses; 3) his right eye was a gorgeous melange </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">of blues and purples and blacks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What the fuck happened? <i>Well, I rode your bike to Gussie's last night to get a beer.</i> Aaaannndd...? <i>Well, you know how there are those cables tethered to the ground? And they're attached to the power poles? </i>Yes... <i>Well, I was biking home and was carrying my stuff in one arm, and was trying to balance things so I wouldn't drop anything...</i>Aaaannndd...? <i>Well, I kinda fumbled the bag and looked down and the front tire of the bike hit the tether in the ground. </i>(Anticipatory silence.) <i>And I flipped over the handlebars and landed with my eye on the end of the handle. </i>(Stunned silence.) <i>The bike is banged up some, like the front wheel rim is bent a little, but I didn't break anything. The ER doctor thought I might have fractured my eye socket, but the x-ray didn't show anything, so. And none of the beer bottles broke, either.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My children at this point in time were not-yet 7 and 3 years old. They were left home alone while their father- already drunk- rode a bicycle two-and-a-half blocks to the neighborhood store to get more beer. And a pint of whiskey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can't make this shit up, people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How thankful was I to have in-laws so close to help with ER transport, childcare, and knowing glances? <i>Very thankful.</i> I cannot imagine what was going through my daughters' heads when they saw their father, stumbling drunk and disoriented and battered and bruised and pushing a bicycle towards the house. How thankful am I to have this experience under my belt, to have survived that relationship and learned from it? <i>Very, very thankful. </i>Is this something that I've felt compelled to share before today? No. That lifetime, thankfully, is over. I send up thanks <i>every single day</i> that my life is what it is now instead of what it used to be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So right now, this 2013 edition of November? When my Facebook feed is littered with people posting daily "thankful" posts? Where they're rattling off thanks for things they have literally taken for granted the rest of the year (or perhaps only been lax in publicly acknowledging the rest of the year)? Those of you being effusive about your spouses, partners, children, parents, mentors, friends? Your good jobs, health insurance, warm homes, reliable cars? Your faith?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You're assholes. You make me angry for only now making public and highlighting those feelings that should <i>always</i> be acknowledged, no matter the month, no matter the other circumstances of your life, no matter what social media prompts you to do, no matter what your actions are the other eleven months of the year. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>(Side note: I don't really think you're assholes. Not all of you, anyway.)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I get it, really. I know that you need to make yourself feel better, that you need to start somewhere, and maybe more importantly, you need to receive validation for your efforts. You shouldn't have to participate in those games if you're living your life with gratitude; calling attention to yourself this way just highlights your weakness as a human- be thankful for that instead, for the recognition that you are a work in progress. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Be thankful for the strength to carry on when you realize it's going to be a long time before things are okay. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">November, then, should be a month-long wake up call for your life. You hear that ringing sound? <i>It's for you.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until next time, friends.</span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-52766340281869348022013-06-13T08:22:00.000-04:002013-06-13T08:22:15.644-04:00Another Mini Post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSaj_2hYJrWQD1QU2uIgoRXGu0gfrjLqCdS8IkMoLaE0zETD3TGuZ5sEp_NYggx1pMjvaZXqnrO-Fmj_H8Iq1EDKOGTxSMPkRRnY-XX7OuQALBfkLgnrCe6NpeFw-HsEsJXwZU9DPoVS8/s1600/startegery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" cya="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSaj_2hYJrWQD1QU2uIgoRXGu0gfrjLqCdS8IkMoLaE0zETD3TGuZ5sEp_NYggx1pMjvaZXqnrO-Fmj_H8Iq1EDKOGTxSMPkRRnY-XX7OuQALBfkLgnrCe6NpeFw-HsEsJXwZU9DPoVS8/s320/startegery.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I KNOOOOOOWWWWWW!</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You don't need to tell me that I'm slackin', here. I can feel your disapointed stares and hear the <em>tsktsktsk</em> under your breath. But like that picture says: I have a strategic plan. Haha!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The thing is...I am in a funk. Or, I <em>was</em>. Well no, maybe I'm still there a little bit, but I'm making my way out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Yes, that last one: I'm making my way out.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have so many excuses at the ready, but no one wants to hear those, so I'll just say that the past few months have been REE-DICK-YOU-LUSSSSS-LEE hard on me; I also have been hard on myself in all the wrong ways. My lack of discipline in every aspect of my life has taken a toll.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Mostly, I blame the weather.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Anyhoo, now that the weather around these parts has finally turned to more sunshine than grey-cloud days, I can feel a bit of a lightening to my surroundings; I can focus on colors and early summer sounds, I can eat my dinner and ice cream outside, I can take my new puppy for long walks after 10 pm, I can sleep with the windows open all night. All Good Things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have even started a new, longer post that I'll be sharing soon. Mostly because I think it's about time I got back to this blog on the regular, but also because I kinda told someone I'd post twice per month. And if I failed to do so? I'd have to do something that scared me, that was the agreement. Strategic Plan, right? Let's get to the Doing Things part. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Until next time, friends.</span><br />
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-62909924434696661712013-05-11T09:03:00.002-04:002013-05-11T09:03:58.883-04:00Stay Soft<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-VTnbxbBDECbeAGU8Tw9RJm-0slghJLEjhngfjx9lf-me_U7AdUiHLrTgdHvM31SkUGNw-sr6o7WkcUCCvHfMagBe2bQqAN-JGMNSoNZBHdPi7VYF7TndGJ5ad7w9yLCexeyWoYqiEI/s1600/feather+sandbar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" mwa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-VTnbxbBDECbeAGU8Tw9RJm-0slghJLEjhngfjx9lf-me_U7AdUiHLrTgdHvM31SkUGNw-sr6o7WkcUCCvHfMagBe2bQqAN-JGMNSoNZBHdPi7VYF7TndGJ5ad7w9yLCexeyWoYqiEI/s320/feather+sandbar.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You know, I haven't been updating this blog as often as I had hoped in 2013, but I've struggled this past fall and winter with a variety of things that have made being creative and positive and (hopefully) helpful kinda difficult: the past showing up uninvited, the present weighing me down like too many layers, the immediate future hiding, not even a square on the calendar yet. So much unsettled and up in the air can bring a girl down, and the stress of these types of everyday moments has caused me to batten down the hatches, as it were.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My primary struggle has always been to be open; my life has always been focused on simple survival, the barest of exchanges employed to move forward from point A to B. I am blessed to have cultivated a support system that allows me a great deal of latitude, that understands and recognizes my need to pull away and refocus from time to time. My secondary struggle is with patience. I have it in spades, my Co-dependent Brethren, except for when I <em>finally</em> figure out what I want, and then whatever <em>that</em> is becomes my singular cause, my whole life. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And <strike>sometimes</strike> I build really tall walls to keep out interlopers, no matter how well intentioned they may be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">In short, I allow myself to be hardened. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">It is not intentional, really, I just don't actively try to stop it from happening. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Every morning after I drop Blonde Daughter off at school, I drive to the lake with a big cup of coffee and I walk out on the sandbars (although these past few weeks, it's been more of a wade than a walk). I love taking note of the minutiae of changes along my path, snapping photos with my iPhone, sharing them on Instagram or Facebook. Or not. It is a routine that helps keep me centered. Every day, however, on my way back to the FJ, I recite a mantra. Sometimes out loud for the birds and clouds to hear, sometimes just to myself. And I send out intentions to the Universe- requests, I guess, or prayers. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">What I say to the Universe out there on the sandbars, in the middle of the lake each morning? What I ask for, hope for, what I must believe will be granted me? What propels me forward despite the overwhelming sense some days that staying put would be so much easier?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Those words are none of your fucking business.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Anyway, <strike>sometimes</strike> I'll get back to my Dollhouse and waste time on Pinterest, creating my Fantasy Life through design and fashion and food inspiration, pinning quotes that make me think or laugh or cry. A few weeks ago, I came across this quote:</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Be soft. </span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Do not let the world make you hard.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Do not let the pain make you hate.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">you still believe it to be a beautiful place.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">- Kurt Vonnegut</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I'm a big believer in Fate, in things coming to us exactly when we need them to. I was in a bit of a funk, and so I sat with this quote for a few days after I found it. It made me pause and recognize that my walls were being built up again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And <strike>sometimes</strike> when I need to clear my head and just not think so much, I go shopping. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">TOTAL GIRL COPING MECHANISM. Ha!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">So, I'm at the grocery store (honestly, you don't think this single parent has disposable income, do you?), walking around kinda dazed and lost, and as I moved from produce to meat departments, I saw a man standing in front of the meat cooler, studying the different cuts of pork. From the back- all long legs, bad posture, stocking cap, bad shoes, rough hands- I thought it was my Wasband. <em>I didn't want to deal with him right there in the grocery store. Or at all, frankly. </em>It wasn't him, despite the fact that this man had on the same windbreaker I had bought years ago. It wasn't him; as I moved over towards the poultry and then beef, he moved toward the lunchmeat and pickles. I moved to the eggs, he to the sliced cheese.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">It wasn't him, and yet it was him, the future him. This man's face was etched with the weather of hundreds of days working outside. His beard was scraggly and only there because he didn't have any razors to make it go away. His eyes were blue. His eyes were defeated and half-closed. His eyes looked right at me, then past me, not hesitating to move on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We played hide-and-seek among the aisles. Toilet paper, frozen berries, bread. I stopped to check my phone, and have lost him, I think. Iced tea, trail mix. Gone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I got home and it was dark. I was in my own world, still a bit disturbed by this blast from the past/glimpse of the future. There was so much brought up in my mind when I thought the Grocery Store Guy was my Wasband; all of the issues and emotions (and the confusion that comes with them) made me a bit numb. And then I got sad. And angry. And onward through the stages, wall getting higher bit by bit, until I heard a voice in my head say: "<em>Stay Soft." </em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I listened again: S<em>tay. Soft</em>. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><em>Stay soft. Some things cannot be undone. Some emotions will keep at you until you acknowledge them fully. Stay soft. Instead of looking at your Life So Far and shaking your head, wondering why you put up with what you did or how you managed to make it to this day, be thankful for that life and the lessons you've lived through and for the ability to apply those lessons in a way that will help you become who you've always meant to be, who you've been destined to be. Sit with that.</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I felt incredibly calmed then, there on my couch in the lamplight glow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Seeing the past and the future at the same time, presently, is most surreal. And the emotions that can bubble up can't be ignored. Those walls you've built up? Your suppressed emotions are going to overflow them, and then you'll have to mop that shit up. <em>Ain't nobody got time for that. </em>But-</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But if you stay soft, if you recognize a bit sooner what you're doing to yourself? That emotional overflow can be soaked up, and like a sponge, you can choose to hold on to only what's necessary. It doesn't matter what triggers this emotionality- what's important is the validation and release of those feelings. At least, that's what I took from the quote and that voice in my head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The next day, I went for my morning sandbar walk like always. But on my way back to the FJ, I stopped myself from reciting my usual mantra, and instead repeated to myself with every footfall: Stay, soft. Right, left. Splash, splash. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Since then, I've gone back and forth between this mantra and the other, always on the way back to the truck, always using the words to signal to the Universe that I'm ready to start the day, that I'm ready to leave my intentions out there for Fate to find and answer. Or not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Either way, I've taken this discovery to heart. I'm more prone to think about a situation or person or possibility through a different field of vision, one blurred around the edges, only the most important things in focus. I'm getting more comfortable with being open, with being okay with embellishing the path from point A to B, with living a bit more and not just surviving. I'm not saying its easy, or that I don't still catch myself building walls; I'm saying that I'm not allowing the hardening to be complete every time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Until next time, friends.</span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-25853705180402207772013-04-22T17:57:00.000-04:002013-04-22T17:57:09.073-04:00Mini Post<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZoMyi_rjg8hqYsJzp7zKe85xyF1ZwUGiNh23HGEjjASzqZ-AWqcPwhWNHncw4vbmiAPIcJTl5spx_YDSy0Vn_gaNK3N4bkjOnuXSt2Um-sjc4DiitWHXxj3fm6TVIa4Ip-rcREfjdn6w/s1600/sunrise+april.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZoMyi_rjg8hqYsJzp7zKe85xyF1ZwUGiNh23HGEjjASzqZ-AWqcPwhWNHncw4vbmiAPIcJTl5spx_YDSy0Vn_gaNK3N4bkjOnuXSt2Um-sjc4DiitWHXxj3fm6TVIa4Ip-rcREfjdn6w/s320/sunrise+april.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>Sunrise over Lake Michigan, April 2013.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Poetry month continues, and I wanted to share this beauty before I post my regular post. Enjoy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I Think Over Again My Small Adventures</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I think over again my small adventures,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My fears,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Those small ones that seemed so big,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For all the vital things</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had to get and reach;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And yet there is only one great thing,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The only thing,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To live to see the great day that dawns</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And the light that fills the world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">- <i>Anonymous (19th Century)</i></span><br />
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-12347194364725838712013-04-06T18:11:00.002-04:002013-04-06T18:12:25.233-04:00April's Showers Are Just Poems<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOAq8kNkLZDvkzSSGScrU3WEzeNvou02Zg5DYGc23GWkZUDBEQTp_Ta5nq2SVMObMOvozTQpRiFk_OET6MiyR9zGTbm-7hAiVHje4PsUgGFsmYLGWgBB21kY3h5Mf4zVAvrzK2sawdKY/s1600/man+and+dog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" mta="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOAq8kNkLZDvkzSSGScrU3WEzeNvou02Zg5DYGc23GWkZUDBEQTp_Ta5nq2SVMObMOvozTQpRiFk_OET6MiyR9zGTbm-7hAiVHje4PsUgGFsmYLGWgBB21kY3h5Mf4zVAvrzK2sawdKY/s320/man+and+dog.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The snow showers that April has gifted to this part of the country are a certain kind of poem, I think: each flake unique, each one an intention brought forth from the clouds, each weather advisory maybe a calling for continued introspection before the celebration of True Spring.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It's true: April is <a href="http://www.poets.org/index.php" target="_blank">National Poetry Month</a> (and look <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/" target="_blank">here</a>, too), and there is a poet in each of us. </span></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Teen angst love ramblings, unintentional poetry from words spoken by children, commentary from so-called "professional" writers- just about anything can be called a poem. Although sometimes I think that all it really takes is the skillful use of a thesaurus and some clever spacing in Microsoft Word, </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I'm prone to insomnia-fueled haikus, posted as staus updates on Facebook myself, so I should probably refrain from being overly critical. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Often poems are the only way certain things can ever be communicated; to use the words of a poem in actual conversation would seem, maybe to today's overly-saturated social media & technology-driven masses, too quaint. But then again, if the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hipster_(contemporary_subculture)" target="_blank">Hipsters</a> have gotten a hold of it...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">...and with that side swipe and an unapologetic smirk, I digress.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Back to poetry. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My regular writing has been feeling like more of a burden than an outlet lately, but I swear I'm working on a new post that is more in the vein of what I normally do. Upcoming topic?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Softness. <em>Reader widens eyes, nods head to the side, thinks (maybe) aloud "Hmm. Softness. Interesting."</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">While taking breaks from that post topic, I've been painting. And knitting. And sulking. And writing poems (those last two go hand-in-hand, don't they?). I tend to be a storyteller when I write, so just allow me this one indulgence, okay? </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Like I said, I'm always good for a haiku (that form is the best-creating within structure-see what I did here?); but today I will give you this non-haiku, written recently, and only after many revisions do I feel comfortable posting it here (which is to say, I'm not comfortabe at all posting it anywhere at all).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><strong>Elegy, In Anticipation</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I think about you some days,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">and how heavy it felt to be near you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">with you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">even on days with good news,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">even sitting in the light of a sunbeam.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The photographs of your childhood show sunshine,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">but your face</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">is never really smiling, only</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">squinting from the glare,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">or red from frustration,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">or swollen-eyed from not getting your way;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the farm garden lush</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the pine trees go deep</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the pigs and cows and rooster</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the front steps and the three-legged dog-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Sunshine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I think about your best artwork</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">pieces created years apart-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">accidentally, reluctantly-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">a study in contrasts, and</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">bright spots on your timeline, no doubt;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">and you let them go</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">and you let me go,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">animals in our own rights.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Those dreams of you driving?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Sweaty-handed and jittery at the wheel?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I know there is no sun, but</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">here comes the curve, and with it</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the headlights catch you off guard</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">every time,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">their brightness too much for you to bear</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">and you throw your hands up</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">and you let go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And when you finally combust</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">by either your own doing or not,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">or from the realization of all the brightness</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">you could have kept but wasted-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">or maybe just couldn't bear to hold onto?-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">and when those billion tiny particles move around the air</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">like dust sparkling in a sunbeam,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I will think of you as the cloud that makes them disappear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I will leave you with this, a poem from a favorite author:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><strong>North</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The rising sun not beet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">or blood,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">but sea-rose red.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I amplified my heartbeat</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">one thousand times,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the animals at first confused</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">then decided I was another</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">thunder being.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">While talking directly to god</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">my attention waxed and waned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have a lot on my mind.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I worked out</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">to make myself as strong</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">as water.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">After all these years</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">of holding the world together</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I let it roll down the hill</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">into the river.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">One tree leads </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">to another,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">walking on</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">this undescribed earth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have dreamed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">myself back</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">to where</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I already am.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">On a cold day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">bear, coyote, cranes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">On a rainy night</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">a wolf with yellow eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">On a windy day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">eleven kestrels looking</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">down at me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">On a hot afternoon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the ravens floated over</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">where I sunk</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">myself in the river.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Way out there</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">in unknown country</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I walked at night</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">to scare myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Who is this other,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the secret sharer,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">who directs the hand</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">that twists the heart,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the voice calling out ot me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">between feather and stone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the hour before dawn?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Somehow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have turned into</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">an old brown man</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">in a green coat.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Having fulfilled</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">my obligations</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">my heart moves lightly</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">to this downward dance.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><em>- Jim Harrison</em></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And now it's <em>your</em> turn. Write a poem. Read a poem. Go listen to someone else read a poem out loud. Memorize a favorite verse, or explicate a piece that really makes you think. And then write a poem about <em>that</em> poem. </span>Until next time, friends.</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-89574895632850779362013-03-18T14:57:00.000-04:002013-03-18T14:57:00.732-04:00I'm still here, honest.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="http://img1.etsystatic.com/011/0/5635097/il_fullxfull.408827141_e1uz.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="232" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Original image can be found <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/101291287/print-growing-fields-imaginary" target="_blank">here.</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I KNOW.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>I KNOW.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Really, I do.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I haven't posted a darn thing since just before I left on my vacation- <i>which was aw</i>e<i>some</i>- and I can't even tell you why, except to say that maybe I left a big chunk of my mojo back in Puerto Rico, or that the mojo I tried to find or recapture in Puerto Rico was out of my reach. I guess I lost my map.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Regardless, I've had a less-than-stellar Winter, and have some thoughts that have permeated my brain, made me re-evaluate things, made me remember that ultimately, I am just a passenger on this Universal Life Ride, despite my co-dependent control issues. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'll share soon, promise. Until then, I'll keep looking for my map. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Keep giving, friends.</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-42248509030785210862013-01-30T03:41:00.000-05:002013-01-30T03:41:40.148-05:00Pack and Go<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllVJ_yEO9nsTN_cyfqLEpM9s58NnVU3yAfRWqMa8CZW-rWH3eqkcbw7vjCEreF84J8C6QTKpyu7ch2xOM3NMZK6IBRqL4ul-YSLwmHAQfIv_KEt-TSwVCXoogNkZZEHxid61vFBY8PVg/s1600/out+with+2012.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllVJ_yEO9nsTN_cyfqLEpM9s58NnVU3yAfRWqMa8CZW-rWH3eqkcbw7vjCEreF84J8C6QTKpyu7ch2xOM3NMZK6IBRqL4ul-YSLwmHAQfIv_KEt-TSwVCXoogNkZZEHxid61vFBY8PVg/s1600/out+with+2012.JPG" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Right now, as I type this out, I am supposed to be excitedly zipping up my suitcase. I'm leaving my little rental dollhouse in a few hours for a vacation. To a tropical island location with beachside cabana. Alone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Aaaaaaaand I can't focus.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This has been my life the past ten months or so; my inability to focus and the ensuing feelings of unsettledness and dissatisfaction with <i>everything</i> have rendered me a wreck. I can't make sense of anything, I have no Clarity. And this Winter, especially, I've been dealing with that stale feeling that comes with too many snowcloud-covered days, the days that tarnish the shiny bits that normally give glint when the Winter sun decides to come out. What's a girl to do? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Go on another retreat? YES. In the Winter of Her Discontent? YES. Someplace warm, with myriad distractions, but also with myriad stretches of sand and sea for solitude and serenity? YES. Mission: Tropical Retreat? YES.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So it was back in the late Fall when I started planning. This retreat, though, required a bit more planning than a <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-secrets-we-keep.html" target="_blank">summer camping retreat</a>: there were airlines and car rentals and accommodations to figure out. And it cost more than a tank of gas, campsite fees, and a cooler full of food. Way more. Like, more than I probably should have spent. <i>But hey, there are worse things that could happen besides the cable getting shut off while I'm gone, right?</i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These past few weeks have been spent avoiding responsibilities in favor of coming to terms with leaving everyone and everything I know to go away. Far, far away. Alone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yes, Alone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Necessarily so.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Every time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As my departure date has approached, I've had to think about what I'd actually be doing during this sojourn: What would I need? What would I pack? How much could I fit in that small carry on suitcase? Well for starters, I'd need some distractions for the travelling portions, so books (special thanks to Magheen for a particularly poignant selection) were packed and music was downloaded to the ol' iPhone. I knew I'd be spending some time reflecting and writing, so I packed a journal (a beautiful one from my friend, Winga). I'd also be spending ample time on the beach, and in went not one, not two, but <i>five</i> bikinis. (Yes, bikinis. Yes, I'm *<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">gulp</span></i>* over 40. I'm not that awful to look at, I don't think.) And then some warm weather clothes were rolled up and smooshed in. Flip flops. The <span style="font-size: xx-small;">smallest</span> bottle of sunscreen. A fleece top to soothe my sure-to-be-sunburned shoulders during the evening hours. Jewelry (girls <i>love</i> jewelry, right?) consisted of some important things: a collection of bracelets- of freshwater pearls, of garnet beads, of prayer beads ("they're the color of your eyes," a friend told me); and of favorite necklaces, reminders of love in silver pendant form. And then the business of everyday life went in, all the soaps and potions that keep me feeling ready for the daily grind, let me feel pretty, sometimes, even. <i>So much stuff for one person!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I stopped packing to switch the laundry around, </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">and during this pause, I consulted my checklist, answered a few text messages, scanned Facebook, and then realized I haven't eaten anything today except trail mix, had nothing to drink except coffee. I'm leaving in only 6 hours now, and it is finally hitting me that I'm embarking on my first real vacation in over 18 years. Eight. Teen. Years. And I can't move from my spot on the couch, can't finish folding the laundry, can't stop <i>whatever the fuck that feeling is</i> that gets caught in my throat and produces tears. Eyes closed, eighteen years of another lifetime gets compressed and moved along behind my eyelids, complete with PowerPoint slide transitions and sloppily edited soundtrack. <i>And again, s</i></span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">o much stuff for one person!</i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Deep breath in, exhale. Hands cover eyes and wipe cheeks dry. Hands push me up off the couch, feet move me towards the kitchen. Coffee maker is set, another handful of trail mix, a gulp of water. Back to the task at hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As I finished packing all of my things, I thought about how this layering of tangible daily assets into a bag is directly mirrored with our internal assets:</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> the layers we put on our bodies- clothing, jewelry, perfumes? These are the visible marks of O</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">ur Memories, the way they are interconnected and layered upon each other; they are O</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">ur People, the layers of connections they represent, from t</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">he food we've eaten together, the music we've listened to together, the books we've read and discussed- all of it. What is here now and what we've collected on our journeys, what we've kept up in front of our minds for a short while, and what we've branded on our hearts...t</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">he symbolism of all of these layers? These things get packed up and get to come along on our adventures whether we like it or not, and so we are really never alone. And my suitcase is filled, and my alarm clock is set for 2:30 am, and I am ready to go on an adventure Alone, but not.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Not Alone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Not this time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Not next time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Not ever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There is a smile on my face as I cover up with down comforter and quilt, and for the knowledge that all the Loves of My Life are just as excited and anxious as I am for morning to get here. They're packed and ready to go. They've got the big bottle of sunscreen, they've got the FJ fueled up and ready to go. They are wringing their hands. They are reflecting and putting pen to page, they are waiting for me at my cabana, lounging in the hammock, waiting for their turn to use the outdoor shower after sand and surf get all up in their business. They are collecting my mail, eating the perishable food left in the fridge, keeping the sidewalk clear of snowcloud tears. <i>Too much stuff for only one person- thank goodness there are so many of them to help!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mission: Tropical Retreat is nearing Go Time. The Clarity I've been looking for is maybe the acceptance of Right Now; of going Alone, but Not; of figuring out that I get to choose which memories only stay for a little while as opposed to getting branded on my heart; of falling through the ice and only getting bruised and chilled; of being grateful for so much stuff for only one person; of all the Loves of My Life, no matter if they believe me when or how I say I love them; and of allowing myself to Give Love without promise of anything in return. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That's my theory, anyway. I'm going to pack and go- I'll let you know what I find. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until next time, friends.</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-33819109439733056532013-01-04T12:08:00.000-05:002013-01-04T12:08:26.750-05:00Re-View and Reflect<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1JBmVF6SVcB8LAGaUXsIiIXp94vBOn08btjNBRtKi-_TB5J2SdsGv7W9IsDwKf17WHp5_r9_jyIDfEn9SuHVRTcMyNoI3Eh2tOUtq6Q_HLMPleDzbO1Vyprae3g6KsMNTxuGhqpQ2Kg/s1600/IMG_0982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1JBmVF6SVcB8LAGaUXsIiIXp94vBOn08btjNBRtKi-_TB5J2SdsGv7W9IsDwKf17WHp5_r9_jyIDfEn9SuHVRTcMyNoI3Eh2tOUtq6Q_HLMPleDzbO1Vyprae3g6KsMNTxuGhqpQ2Kg/s320/IMG_0982.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was browsing through some of my favorite sites the other day, blogs and informational sites and the like, and one of the women I follow published her top three favorite posts from 2012. I liked this idea immediately; however, 2012 was not a banner year for me, and I was kinda glad to see it go.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I commented on her post that I was going to steal the idea for my own blog. And I am going to link to my favorite three posts, but they will be from ALLLLLLLL of my posts, ever. Five years' worth. Go big or go away, right?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm working on a new post, too, so don't think of this as a shirking of my regular musings; rather, think of it as being introduced to a side of me you might not know about, or maybe forgot about, or maybe you will see and you will fall in love with me all over again. A celebration of sorts. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>*fingers crossed*</i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In no particular order, for your re-viewing (<i>oh, and Happy New Year</i>):</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2009/11/learning-curve.html" target="_blank">This one.</a></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2011/12/balance.html" target="_blank">This one.</a></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/05/permanence.html" target="_blank">this one.</a></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until next time, friends.</span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-67853934834927808032012-12-12T09:47:00.001-05:002012-12-12T09:55:35.093-05:00 A Scavenger's Plateau<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gLx1BQnQrFgk27Ekfz-kS7lpgfM3lJkCRO3xzso2NNhTUaNoLEbciASHutKePYLa6n2my712D0c6SzFh0fDWoNsVgA11ofDfgptqSXstvRXjTY2f7_8xJqH3H8fJY23s3BZKSeESMVI/s1600/photo+(96).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gLx1BQnQrFgk27Ekfz-kS7lpgfM3lJkCRO3xzso2NNhTUaNoLEbciASHutKePYLa6n2my712D0c6SzFh0fDWoNsVgA11ofDfgptqSXstvRXjTY2f7_8xJqH3H8fJY23s3BZKSeESMVI/s1600/photo+(96).JPG" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>Little Bay de Noc, Lake Michigan</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i> 8:14 am, December 6, 2012: sunless sunrise</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>I wrote the start of this post on my birthday, down at the lakefront where I go every weekday to walk and meditate, however I could not bring myself to get out of the car. It was raining, and the wind was blowing blowing blowing; the car was rocking from some of the gusts. The fact that it was my birthday didn't bother me so much in that I don't think too much about getting older; it was just another day to find the Good, to count my blessings despite all I was feeling, to keep up the daily routine I'd created for myself.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the twelve months since my last birthday, I have gained more than another tally mark on the wall. The bits and pieces of my experiences this year have come to rest right in the front of my brain where I can cull from them lessons on life and on living. I take them on my morning meditation walks, on my solo camping trips, when shopping for steel-cut oats and toilet paper. I even take them with me for odd errands, like when I had to go to the laundromat to wash my bed's comforter and the quilt I had just taken camping. (Side note: the laundromat is a very lonely place to be, especially when one is laundering things that should be shared.) I took those lessons with me down to the beach after spending $4.75 in quarters and watched a wind surfer move through the water, at times becoming airborne. It was mesmerizing and unsettling at once, mostly due to the lack of rhythm: there are times when he would get stuck in one spot, unable to turn or glide away, and then another burst of air would lift him up off the surface of the lake.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Isn't that how life is? How birthdays are? Such a confluence of emotions? So grateful for so much, yet a heavy, desolate sadness for what's gone or lacking? I wish sometimes that the Universe would hand me my lessons in school primer form, composition book along side: <i>Read the following passage. What did you learn? Explain.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I feel like I'm on a plateau. It sounds so much more gentle than being "stalled" or "stunted," and life in the past year has found me heavily relying on my network of friends to sustain my ego, to help allay my general funk. I wanted sunshine and clear skies on my birthday, yet I can't deny the beauty in the overcast-ness of the morning here by the lake: the greys and blues of the water and sky, the sand and marsh grass browns, the regularity of the waves, spots of white on the water's surface, Nature reminding me I'm not in charge. This soothes me, in a way: I am tired of being in charge.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And this brings me to the idea of self-care. I had someone tell me recently that I did a good job of taking care of myself, that even though I'm a single/un-partnered parent, it looked like I was still balanced, that my life was busy and full and complete. I'm not sure if this was a compliment or not. While I've always maintained an independent life, doing what I want to do pretty much when I want to do it, I don't ever feel like I'm taking care of my self purposefully; I'm busy tending to others, trying to keep them happy and healthy, distracted, comfortable. <b>My talent lies in scrounging what's left from the care of others and making it fit into the care of myself, in making it seem like whatever was left over was exactly what I've wanted and needed all along: Scavenger. Giver. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I would very much like to be taken care of, if only to have the experience and see if I like it. I think I could learn to like it, I don't know. I know the importance of being true to yourself and what makes you, but doesn't everyone need a respite from that? At least now and again, anyway. A permanent check-out isn't what I'm advocating- that's the dangerous part of our relationships and commitments, isn't it? That we unmindfully relinquish "Self" in favor of "We," the collective?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've written about <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/11/crybaby.html" target="_blank">my propensity for crying</a>, and how it seems to be useful. It is cathartic, yes, but the problem for me is that this catharsis never seems complete. It seems like, rather, the cycle of my emotions and issues doesn't get moved aside with the tears, there is no <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/denouement" target="_blank">denouement</a>, it just gets moved back to the bottom of the hill. <i>Sisyphus ain't got nothin' on me. </i></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Your facade is built thusly: the scraps from the lives of others are swept up and mixed with an epoxy, pressed together and pressurized to resemble something like Real Happiness. And you continue to hope that one day soon you will be able to move in from the periphery of your own life, towards the center where you can be fully appreciative for Self. And you cling to this belief, this idea of Happiness in the collective sense and its ability to keep you. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And so that's where this Scavenging comes in: What is left when the initial stark rawness of your independence subsides? What is left when everyone else's needs are met, Giver? Who is there to attend to your needs? What are those lessons stuck in your frontal lobe trying to teach you?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I feel like a fool, often, for believing that <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2011/12/balance.html" target="_blank">hoping for happiness</a> is enough, that I'll be able to sustain _________. I struggle very much with the feeling that the joke is always going to be on me; that I shouldn't allow myself to relax and be cared for because I should be prepared for the worst- or at least the opposite of what I'd like- to come my way (history has taught me as much); that I shouldn't be focused on my wants and needs because those will take care of themselves. Eventually. After the others. When I finish the task at hand. When there is a pause, when the brain is resting, perhaps. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This brings me to the title of this post, to the very particular sadness that comes with recognizing your constant hope for personal happiness has yet to be fulfilled. The plateau you're stuck on is the acceptance of not being where you'd like to be, despite your work on Self, despite that new awareness, despite the quality or quantity of the scraps you Scavenge. On your birthday, even. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i>I needed to physically have my feet touch the ground, to allow myself the gift of my visceral energy connecting to my limbs, to experience the calm that comes from hearing the water and feeling the wind on my cheeks, eyelashes and -lids fluttering with the gusts. And yet the wind was howling outside my door, and it is still constantly in my thoughts no matter where I go or what I do; I could not get out of the car, I was too tired and chilled to even attempt it. My routine was broken.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And yet I feel obligated to find One Good Thing about this place, about this broken routine, about this expanse. What have I learned? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">At least there's no regression. Until next time, friends.</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-566789242891080612012-11-15T11:47:00.000-05:002012-11-15T12:38:48.411-05:00Crybaby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0X8sK4dtX8d5u0xNcJwuZC0rcNTcbWHBO08PzqJcndErmoAWohcPoP02bCxGOPc7BUVQmDXdBA68p7J_Nt8hEWJBMNrXbrMZIVO7mh2TA9cwGJvPl3f7FT-rVzZknrTh9892HCEuV6o0/s1600/crybaby+bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0X8sK4dtX8d5u0xNcJwuZC0rcNTcbWHBO08PzqJcndErmoAWohcPoP02bCxGOPc7BUVQmDXdBA68p7J_Nt8hEWJBMNrXbrMZIVO7mh2TA9cwGJvPl3f7FT-rVzZknrTh9892HCEuV6o0/s320/crybaby+bear.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As I was driving home from work the other night and reflecting on the events of the day, I did two things I don't normally do: I smiled, and then I cried. Usually I just sigh heavily, and more than once. But that day? That day made me think about the movie <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armageddon_(1998_film)" target="_blank">"Armageddon."</a> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yep. The one with Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck. Where the guys all sing <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3JWFklREK8" target="_blank">"Leaving on a Jet Plane"</a> before they go up into space to save the Earth? That movie marks the point in my life when I started to go soft. I didn't know it at that time, of course, but a change was underway. Up until I saw that movie (reluctantly, I might add), I was probably best describes as...a hard ass. Pure sarcasm. Bitchy. Cold. Detached. Indifferent. Unemotional.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am not any of those things. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm not saying I didn't <i>behave</i> that way for a good chunk of my (adult, married) life, I'm saying that I wasn't being authentic. Big difference.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Anyhoo, I had noticed that more than a few of my Facebook friends were posting daily "I'm grateful/thankful for..." statements in anticipation of Thanksgiving, and I was thinking about what I was grateful for, what I should give thanks for. As I thought about the myriad people and events in my life I was thankful for, my mind wandered to how lives are seen by others- in books, movies- which led me to the aforementioned movie. <i>I know, my focus needs work some days. </i>And that I'm thankful for becoming a Crybaby.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That movie was the impetus for me earning my Crybaby Badge. And like I said, I didn't know it at the time (we never know the importance of events as they are happening, do we? That's why reflection is so important. Again, I digress...), but there was a shift which led me to who I am today: I cry at everything.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Really. And not because I'm sad. Not all the time anyway. Although I am struggling with how much I'm struggling with a few things (<i>Um, Yogi Berra much?</i>), its more related to the thankfulness for second chances, for renewal. And so I cry.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I cry when I'm hit with the smell of dish soap and garlic and whiskey and cigarettes and a wood fire. I cry at the unique papery musty smell of a deck of cards used over and again. I cry when I see the brightness and feel the warmth of the sunshine on a sliver of my bare skin during these Autumn days. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sometimes the crying is triggered by a word or phrase, or the memory of the word or phrase being spoken: <i>Where you going, Jim? He reminds her of her father. Did he make it? You abandoned us. You're so self righteous. For always and all ways. Anytime. This is true. Are you sure?</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sometimes it's a song or a scene from a movie- or even a television commercial!- that sets me off, something in the deep recesses of my psyche is given a little nudge (or a big ol' <i>push</i>). Sometimes it'll be when I'm reading to the kids at school that I turn into a giant mush ball (see: <i>Where The Red Fern Grows</i> and <i>Charlotte's Web</i> and <i>James and the Giant Peach</i>).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Most of the time (and especially in my Old Life) I respond to emotions like these by suppressing them. My <i>modus operandi</i> for dealing with emotions or with hearing something uncomfortable/not what I <i>want</i> to hear is to immediately get busy stopping it from being fully realized: one hand gets busy building a wall to protect myself from further exposure to those feelings, and the other hand gets busy filling sand bags to keep those emotions under water. Reactionary rather than rational. Of course, it's a direct response to other people's problems: codependency behaviors die hard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Fucking other people.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I realized that I had recently employed that behavior, and now having given myself the space to reflect on the situation and my response to it, I feel sadness that I allowed myself to revert, at how I might have made the other person feel. No one deserves to be ignored, especially not those we love. It's not fair for them to be adversely affected because of our vulnerabilities. <i>*sigh*</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And so first I cry. A lot. My next step after behaving badly is to move everything- the emotions, the situation that precipitated them, the people hurt by my actions, the aftermath- to the periphery. <i>Avoidance!</i> At some point, though, we need to deal with those emotions- those <i>bastards!</i>- otherwise we lose sleep, we are irritable, we are listless, we walk around in a fog and are unable to explain our way out of it. Still crying, too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What next? Actually dealing with our <i>stuff</i> is often uncomfortable or even more painful. This (I think) can be due to our innate Fear of the Unknown. What will those apologies sound like? How will those we've hurt respond to those words? How will we respond their reactions? How can we aptly express gratitude for ____? We don't know what we don't know (<i>Yogi Berra dies hard, too.)</i>. Of course we want to believe everything will be okay (and it will be, eventually): <b>believing takes practice. </b>Give thanks for the opportunity to try again. And cry s'more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And so we come back to my Crybaby status and those Facebook posts. All of these things I've mentioned- the books, words, songs, movies, memories- those human experiences in another format, those everyday moments and all of our actions that make up our biographies, we can see them there on the pages, hear and read the pain, confusion, sadness, joy, contentment- all of it. It is there in our voices and in our every action as we tell the story of Self. Status Update <i>What's on your mind? </i></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am grateful for tears of pain, confusion, sadness, joy, contentment; for memories, for potential, for dreams. Tears of thanks. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Cry, baby.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Until next time, friends.</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-20850085664242774992012-10-23T23:14:00.001-04:002012-10-23T23:14:09.934-04:00Early Fall Travail<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What is that feeling called in your gut? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The one you can't get rid of, that makes you okay with eating nothing but trail mix and drinking too much coffee, or with fitful nights not sleeping and being unable to clear your head space? The one that you spend hours trying to figure out what's caused it? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The one that has you simultaneously loathing going in to work (because you'd rather remain pantsless and drink the aforementioned coffee all day), and then loathing to leave work (because you'd just go home to yourself and that feeling in your gut)? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The one that has you going to WalMart for small items you may or may not need- like a new toothbrush or some shampoo- and you hope for a self-esteem boost from looking at the indolent troglodytes and twenty-something meth addicts that seem to breed there among the $3 t-shirts and smiley faces signs, but you end up exacerbating that feeling in your gut as you walk around and notice in every aisle that those very people have each other to smile at, and all you have is a new toothbrush?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The one that has you finding reasons to drive, or to just sit in the car in the driveway of your little rental dollhouse, engine not turned on, and you sit there and breathe deeply the solitude the space offers, trying to exhale away the feeling in your gut?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The one that has your iTunes "shuffle songs" setting finding only the most melancholy songs, because it seems they were written to accompany that feeling in your gut?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The one that has you wishing you were stupid and maybe not so introspective? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The one that has you wishing your memory wasn't so photogenically inclined, that the imagery from any day past would maybe go away for awhile, or at least fade and take that feeling in your gut with it?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The one that has you unconsciously driving to the lake instead of home each morning after you take your child to school so you can watch the sun rise as you walk along the shore and out onto the sand bars? The one that has you praying for one of the blessings of the New Day to be that the feeling in your gut is less of a distraction today?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you know what this feeling is called, please- <i>please tell me its name- </i>so I can ask it to do one of two things: 1) transform into something less confusing, or 2) fuck off and leave, already.</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-89220038040654055842012-10-15T05:30:00.000-04:002012-10-15T07:16:01.707-04:00It Ain't Easy Bein' Green<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>"...a mass of tiny green things that looked like little stones or crystals, </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>each one about the size of a grain of rice.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>They were extraordinarily beautiful, and there was a strange brightness about them, </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>a sort of luminous </i></span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">quality that made them </i></div>
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<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">glow and sparkle in a most wonderful way."</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>-Roald Dahl,<u> James and the Giant Peach</u></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Do you know this quote? This part of the story? It is one of my favorite parts of the book, when things are just about to start happening to James. The green creature seeds- so pretty, so fascinating- just looking at them offers the promise of having what your heart desires most. The caveat? The magic is worked on whatever or whomever they first meet. Poor James. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And even us, when we see things like this, reflections of our desires, we can't help but be myopic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My life is full of friends. They are all glow and sparkle. I use them to fill my days with joy, I use them as sounding boards, I use them as a repository of giving- of my knowledge or time or listening ears and heart and mind. I think they use me for the same things. Also, I'm a pretty decent cook. So, having these people around me, not judging me, keeping me safe, has been deeply humbling. How do you sufficiently thank the people who sustain you? <i>One day at a time.</i> And yet-</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I had an experience recently that involved an impromptu counseling session, a massage, and a renewed focus on meditation. Last month I was feeling run down and totally out of sorts. My mind was still adjusting to my new knowledge (or re-discovery) of Self from my <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-secrets-we-keep.html" target="_blank">retreat</a>, and my body was beginning to show signs of the stress manifesting in my life. What stress, exactly? I mean, I had just come off a three-week hiatus, no? Yes, and I still had too much going on in my head. What to do? Arrange for a massage with my favorite Buddhist Hippie Sage? YES. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It was a Sunday morning, early, and I met him at his work space. It was one of the last best days of summer, and so I was already feeling wistful (<i>Summer! Do! Not! Go!)</i>, but the sun was still warm, and I could wear a skirt and flip flops and thought I'd go to the beach after my session. Little did I know where the day would take me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Me and the BHS started talking, me relaxing a bit from the long drive, both of us feeling each other out, trying to gauge mindset, making small talk in between these silent assessments. The BHS sat in the corner, cross legged in a recliner; I sat cross legged on top of the massage table. Both of us had our hands rested on our knees. I must have looked a state. The BHS says to me as our conversation moves from one topic to the next, "Honey, do you have any love in your life?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Now, my <i>modus operandi</i> is to analyze and be intellectual rather than emotional. <i>Oh, the walls we build in the name of Avoidance!</i> My hands instinctively went up to cover my face and catch tears. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i>Yes. No. I don't understand.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We talked about my life and the people I held on to and marveled at- those people who are my tiny green crystals, all luminous and willing to share their magic with me. Three hours spent talking (okay, me crying and listening, really) followed by a massage passed. Deep questions, strong hands. Catharsis. My body needed this. My mind was only partially ready, but I felt calmed if not spent. I went home that night with a quiet determination to pay attention to my Core Friends, my Luminous Seeds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i>" 'Something is about to happen,' he told himself. 'Something peculiar is about to happen at any moment.' He hadn't the faintest idea what it might be, but he could feel it in his bones that something was going to happen soon. He could feel it in the air around him...in the sudden stillness that had fallen upon the garden."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My daily life outwardly returned to routine, to work and single parenting, to physical body care, to establishing a regular meditation practice and creativity practice, to time spent with my surrogate families. But I wasn't settled. I was still feeling peculiar, like James. Like I told one friend, "There is a disturbance in the Force." I was only half-joking. It got so bad one day at work, the overwhelming sense of discomfort, that I literally pitched a fit, collapsing onto the floor of my office, half laughing, half crying about how I didn't want to be there. And all my co-worker could do was stand there and say "Oh, please get up." We laughed, but I was being totally truthful, and he knew this, he sensed it. I wasn't alone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I had to do something. I started taking walks at night to the lake shore. I'll sit and stare at the water or the sky, breathe the coming of Winter in the Autumn Damp. Recently, I decided to try a walking meditation on the stars; the swarms and night-star-clouds have helped clear my head, if only for an hour or so. My daily meditations since meeting with the BHS started out as being focused on thankfulness and gratitude for the love in my life, especially centered on my Core Friends, the women I use in one way or another- and their partners! Those men I know and use as supplements! After several sessions, though, I couldn't understand why I was still in a funk. Busy hands, wonderful friends, gratitude for all they bring to my life...<i>why no movement? Why no progression from this spot on the road? What had I not yet learned?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And then it struck me one morning while I was starting my day: I picked up a pillow from my bed, the one that lays vertical next to me, the one on the side of the bed I do not sleep on. I grabbed it and tried to set it on the floor so I could adjust the sheets and comforter, and I couldn't let it go. I was overcome with such sadness over the fact that my bed- bought brand new after my divorce- was only mine. I am the only one to have slept there, to stay there. Loneliness, jealousy. One masks the other. I had been, under the guise of gratitude, coveting the lives of the very people I was thankful for. Talk about misdirected! I had allowed my emotions to creep into my thoughts and influence me in an unhealthy way. I had to sit with that, with the realization that I was incredibly jealous of what I saw around me, of the different kinds of joy others had and that I didn't at this point of my journey. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I went back to my conversation with the</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> BHS:</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> <i>did I have love in my life?</i> Of course I did. Of course I do. But-</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Friends traveling here and there and to the other side of the globe. Friends arranging date nights to reconnect. Friends making detailed shopping lists, complete with notations regarding coupons. Friends texting please pick up the Sunday paper. Friends taking dancing lessons. Borrowing houses. Borrowing pets. Borrowing partners. Borrowing from others' lives the bits I don't have, piecing them together, drinking the third cup of tea set out on the tray.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I look at these people and am happy for them, really. The joy they have is what I thought I had for such a long time, and is what I yearn for now in earnest. If I figured out one thing about myself in my work on identity, it is that I am a Giver. I thrive when I have the opportunity to share and give of myself. I am happier. I am more balanced. I am calm yet energetic. I function best when I have not just all of these friends and the resources they offer to me (and I, them), but when I have a Touchstone. The pull of the comfort of that kind of intimacy- the intellectual, emotional, and physical- is not only something I crave out of jealousy, but out of necessity. Personal Truth, right? I'm a Giver. I know the importance of taking time for myself (<i>I need to do this more often, I know</i>), but I also recognize and accept that part of my Core Self is to Give, to make life easier for those I love. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And so what's making this section of my Life Path so rocky, what is partly responsible for the unsettled-ness, the restlessness, the disturbance in the Force, the peculiar feeling, is not what I have, but rather what I'm lacking: there is no Touchstone. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">That is difficult to admit, and it is difficult to know this and still be committed to finding the Good in my days, to be outwardly grateful and gracious, to still Give. I think back to the conversation with the BHS that day and how he knew- <i>he knew</i>- so much.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i>" 'My dear...' the Old-Green Grasshopper said gently, 'there are a whole lot of things in this world of ours you haven't started wondering about yet.' "</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Where does this leave me? It leaves me to tell myself: stop over-thinking. Look at the Good. The glowing green seeds will work their strange brightness and magic. The wonderment will sustain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until next time, friends.</span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-85168404900368864062012-10-12T09:54:00.002-04:002012-10-14T22:08:33.254-04:0030 Days, Days Nine Through Sixteen<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So it is now almost the third week of October, and I'm still at it for the <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/09/30-days.html" target="_blank">Creativity Challenge.</a> I did take a break and let the cohorts catch up (read: I got a bit lazy), but as of this writing, I'm really unsure who is still playing along. No matter. If even one person made one thing that sparked their brain into action, that's enough for me; and as the creative process is endlessly fascinating to me, I can't wait to gather some of those people together and share what we did, even if what we did was only one thing we're willing to share. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And so, here are a few more entries for you to peruse. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Monday, September 17, 2012- Day #9= Cityscape.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_pJJUv6ExFPBxASlLhXMdgordqfNO4jEsUWL33OAI8gDrgOyqTbO4JVBadvrUBrwuYMFhG-MQfeKovoyR2VJAtxEWJ3lQFyOkGR0QLdKDk9R-Q4mgS9NXDKMh1HBGq88bI7vMwAR5Efc/s1600/Chicago+from+I55+South.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_pJJUv6ExFPBxASlLhXMdgordqfNO4jEsUWL33OAI8gDrgOyqTbO4JVBadvrUBrwuYMFhG-MQfeKovoyR2VJAtxEWJ3lQFyOkGR0QLdKDk9R-Q4mgS9NXDKMh1HBGq88bI7vMwAR5Efc/s320/Chicago+from+I55+South.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I took this photo of the Chicago skyline while driving (<i>I know, right?! </i>SO <i>naughty!</i>). The approach is from I-55 and from the south. It is my all-time favorite view. Sure, you can get a nice panoramic view from the Sears Tower (I'll never be able to call it the Willis Tower. That just sounds so...WRONG, and also reminds me of<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diff'rent_Strokes" target="_blank"> "Diff'rent Strokes."</a>) or the Hancock Building or even an airplane, but this reminds me of driving back to the city after visiting my parents. There was always a real sense of anticipation and/or anxiety for me, always wanting so badly to get away from where I was from, always wanting to get to where I thought I needed to be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tuesday, September 18, 2012- Day #10= Abstract.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDarWpAHGjKZxS7xPQwoePaOb6zDIoxEg1OFZVgn76tbjuwY2CymBCmVARSt5n8rzgw-YgpVnM2T8__mFmC0FeXYYPIWu-3vNSnZLIZsI7AOfhMusz0zUTrCKRMnUVra2TD4G2MOsDSk/s1600/photo+(61).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDarWpAHGjKZxS7xPQwoePaOb6zDIoxEg1OFZVgn76tbjuwY2CymBCmVARSt5n8rzgw-YgpVnM2T8__mFmC0FeXYYPIWu-3vNSnZLIZsI7AOfhMusz0zUTrCKRMnUVra2TD4G2MOsDSk/s1600/photo+(61).JPG" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is not a medium I'm adept at using- gouache. It is also not a genre I feel comfortable with, speaking from a creation stand point; my usual subject matter falls toward people and landscapes (<i>oh, the predisposition of the Midwestern artist!</i>). This was so much fun, however, that I modified this and led a similar project with the kids at work, where I quickly learned about the power of childhood creativity- so primal! Check it:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>Abstract watercolor paintings using a masking technique from Paige W., Larrissa T., and Trevor W.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgkhg6daVpd2xqGvB4WlHfUMYu5tenU46WIC3CNgmbrHwPvm0WhT0COb-UHKOLbv9FVTTa5bW-3-8lQMWUdPXtAuaFfQZoaC55bVxSWFqjpFZFgAxbHEdjIJyArkSEErvjm9j446X9BDE/s1600/photo+(64).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgkhg6daVpd2xqGvB4WlHfUMYu5tenU46WIC3CNgmbrHwPvm0WhT0COb-UHKOLbv9FVTTa5bW-3-8lQMWUdPXtAuaFfQZoaC55bVxSWFqjpFZFgAxbHEdjIJyArkSEErvjm9j446X9BDE/s1600/photo+(64).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgkhg6daVpd2xqGvB4WlHfUMYu5tenU46WIC3CNgmbrHwPvm0WhT0COb-UHKOLbv9FVTTa5bW-3-8lQMWUdPXtAuaFfQZoaC55bVxSWFqjpFZFgAxbHEdjIJyArkSEErvjm9j446X9BDE/s200/photo+(64).JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJU_h3ygGGIjb016PbMWPQ02FzwHsT-KQkTFl__ht41CaJkeoxUJjhdql831xijJvcrIaz9hCsPWaXJ3Z0Vs8XiEl0cKP9hwpmTmJWKHxtR3SxkV-D0QCbyQFn7Ew6iCM0fprGKNShxck/s1600/photo+(63).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJU_h3ygGGIjb016PbMWPQ02FzwHsT-KQkTFl__ht41CaJkeoxUJjhdql831xijJvcrIaz9hCsPWaXJ3Z0Vs8XiEl0cKP9hwpmTmJWKHxtR3SxkV-D0QCbyQFn7Ew6iCM0fprGKNShxck/s200/photo+(63).JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJwMdOMoguYJDnjZk0ZcF2CmiePO2bIzW8_iP2hxncyOo2Tk2Q5eb9PHcDDzPSUq-bKZljEU-J64oZ60tVcjwvyeiff06IWfHkfoZaYm2HFbN5GD9EelTL1ljoRav_FpGUrnt5qansI1I/s1600/photo+(62).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJwMdOMoguYJDnjZk0ZcF2CmiePO2bIzW8_iP2hxncyOo2Tk2Q5eb9PHcDDzPSUq-bKZljEU-J64oZ60tVcjwvyeiff06IWfHkfoZaYm2HFbN5GD9EelTL1ljoRav_FpGUrnt5qansI1I/s200/photo+(62).JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Wednesday, September 19, 2012- Day #11= A Turning Point.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A true story is the subject of this writing piece. I want to work on it more, refine it a bit, but for now, I'm satisfied with getting it out, you know?</span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">A Turning Point<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">It was January, and the
prettiness of the city in winter had changed from Holiday Pretty to Dirty
Pretty: it was still snow covered and
the cold made the streetlights and traffic signals and neon store signs still
glow softly, intensely, but a salty gray pall splattered everything. So pretty,
in a way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">We sat on the #81 Lawrence bus,
out on the west end, just coming from the latest meeting with the agency we
were working with, which was somewhere near where Lincoln and Western merge,
that intersection just north of Montrose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">You were quiet, I was quiet. We
never said much to each other after these meetings. We sat next to each other
towards the back of the bus, me always by the window so I could stare out and
think. I would think about what had just transpired and then what <i>next</i> was going to look like, and how or
if you’d be a part of my every day. I think now that I knew then we’d be
probably always be connected and in touch. Even then I knew you were an
obligation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">The
bus was overly warm. I pressed my head against the cold window and breathed
with my mouth open, blurring the view, then wiping the condensation away with
my cheap glove, then breathing again, wiping again.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">CTA buses in the winter are
always a gamble. Those giant polluting engines are too big to stay cozy while
idling, and so the fact that the light had turned green, red again, and now
green again while we sat at the corner didn’t seem unusual. We had nowhere to be.
Some passengers grumbled about sitting for so long, though, and that’s when we
noticed the crowd outside changing: businessmen and –women filtering into the
crowd with the mothers and children. Toddlers walking at an angle, arm
stretched up to a hand, snow boots barely touching the pavements. You asked if
I was going to my apartment or yours, and if I wanted to stay. I shrugged, my
eyes wide, I didn’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">The driver started to say
something over the bus’ PA system, but it was garbled and mumbly. The drone of
the engine mixed with the horns and car tires outside. Traffic noise, more cars
and people making their way around the bus, moving on with the day. This was
before cell phones and before I wore a watch, so we had no idea how much time
had passed before the driver finally switched on the emergency lights and had
us all exit the bus, paper transfers in hand. They don’t use paper transfers
anymore. Or tokens, either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">I was very cold, and I was
tired. I just wanted to go to bed, to curl up in a ball like a baby and sleep.
When I think about how you were back then (and not just on that one day), it is
clear that you were removed and not really all that interested in going back to
the agency again. You were clear, in the only way you knew how to be, that you
wanted me to make a goddamned decision, already. You were fine with not being
in charge, or with not having your opinion matter. And all I wanted right then
besides a bed was for you to be in charge, and to make your opinion known.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">As we exited the broken
down bus and climbed aboard the replacement bus, you asked me again what I
wanted to do. I’ll go with you, I said, but I don’t think I’ll stay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thursday, September 20, 2012- Day #12= A (Recent) Best Moment/Memory.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Another writing piece that I really, really like and want to develop more, play with the POV.</i> <i>(You don't get to read this one.)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Friday, September 21, 2012- Day #13= Comic/Animation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>A drawing, quickly done. Maybe I'll post later? Nah.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Saturday, September 22, 2012- Day #14= Words/Quote Integrated Into Image.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>I pulled a quote from a Raymond Carver story, "Intimacy." It's not a sex story- it is a testament to the complexities of relationships. Raymond Carver is a master. Read his work and weep at how you'll never be that good.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sunday, September 23, 2012- Day #15= Group Picture.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This one I'm kinda excited about. It's really just a simple drawing I'm translating into thread, but to people who don't know any better, it could seem complex (hence, the <i>sharing</i> and <i>talking about</i> the process, see?). I'll have a pic once I'm a bit further on the piece and can break away from working on it. The image and the moment it captures also got me into some deep thinking about my wants and needs and (of course) circled back to identity and the things people expect from you, from the you they know. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Monday, September 24, 2012- Day #16= A Source of Irritation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Lately, this is EVERYTHING. Just fucking look around. HA!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One thing I'm really appreciating about this challenge is that I'm really <i>thinking</i> about things during the creating portion, I'm forced to find a new way to see things in order to meet the challenge of the day- OH, FUCK! IF THAT ISN'T <i><u>LIFE</u></i> EVERYDAY!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>(That was an Oprah "light bulb" moment, right there.)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>(Also, I've fallen off the wagon on my "I'm going to try and curb my sailor mouth" thing. Me and swearing: "I wish I knew how to quit you!")</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until next time, friends.</span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-52335203982780842752012-09-27T05:30:00.000-04:002012-09-27T08:13:24.114-04:0030 Days, Days Three Through Eight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTjGu0cRWZFI8MmQfBpupS-tFkt8l7giajLKOz2oSxfZwzroDHOJlSD7FL-jst8V5TnU_iiH90uZ3XIZ5N6UznfpfS7IHNs6zW29YozzLW1b59932hRAjAZKVvGHwkOwP9Q76ACLbWPk/s1600/princess+pony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTjGu0cRWZFI8MmQfBpupS-tFkt8l7giajLKOz2oSxfZwzroDHOJlSD7FL-jst8V5TnU_iiH90uZ3XIZ5N6UznfpfS7IHNs6zW29YozzLW1b59932hRAjAZKVvGHwkOwP9Q76ACLbWPk/s320/princess+pony.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>That's right: My Little Pony Princess Celestia. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now that I've posted the <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/09/a-recipe-for-reconstruction.html" target="_blank">third of three parts</a> about my retreat, as promised here's an update to my 30 Day Creativity Challenge project. I'm not sharing everything I've done (but have listed the dates/day number/topic), especially the bits I've written; some things I think I'll only share with my cohorts of this challenge, and other bits I might not share at all. I welcome your comments, always. Enjoy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tuesday, September 11, 2012- Day #3= Tablescape.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had a bit of trouble with this one as I kept thinking about food, which led to me remember that I don't really have a table at which to eat; I mostly sit at my DIY counter top bar, and weather permitting I sit outside on my tiny dollhouse deck in my red plastic Adirondack chairs, or I'll often just stand at the pink Formica counter top. So I walked around my tiny dollhouse, looking for a place to stage my food for the day (um...trail mix, coffee. That's it.), when I spied my journal on the bedside <i>tabletop. </i>See what I did there? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Probably more important to me than food right now, my nightly bedside journaling has proven to be an immense and comforting outlet for me. So it seems only fitting that my books and journals be my image for this day's challenge.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0MIaAB6sOHrsf0WPyYDY4ohZkvNnE1H8Jb-C2JVth4OsVBy5FySTj8B4OAPyQCsf3QkMagI5A4myDtS_bl3VSoSlkBZ_fv2gG7kTjwU0sdaHPnTY7cAuJZQbw-1SUkrpOBIe8KE_2DMg/s1600/photo+(42).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0MIaAB6sOHrsf0WPyYDY4ohZkvNnE1H8Jb-C2JVth4OsVBy5FySTj8B4OAPyQCsf3QkMagI5A4myDtS_bl3VSoSlkBZ_fv2gG7kTjwU0sdaHPnTY7cAuJZQbw-1SUkrpOBIe8KE_2DMg/s320/photo+(42).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is what I see every night before I try to sleep- that beat up table, that stack of books, that lampglow, that plainly dressed bed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Wednesday, September 12, 2012- Day #4= Best Friend(s).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is where I wish I had curated the list of challenges a bit more harshly. "Best Friend?" What am I, twelve? Ugh. I was feeling incredibly low and frustrated that day, and while I had friends to use as sounding boards, I couldn't pick just one to call "best." I also didn't have the words to explain any of those people without sounding like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-DIETlxquzY" target="_blank">Stuart Smalley</a>. So I went for a run to try and get some headspace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I ran through the park, along the shore of Lake Michigan, legs pumping faster than they needed to be, music helping set the tone of my thoughts and the pace of those legs. Sitting outside after my run, I was drinking coffee from a treasured mug from a "best," and it dawned on me that my Best Friends that day were all right there: music, running (with my favorite threadbare socks, even), and strong, hot coffee with cream. Those are the items I needed that morning, those are the items that helped me get dressed and go to work, those are the items that gave me a bit of strength. If that doesn't describe a Best Friend(s), I don't know what does.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKbXgyC5B1hsXzuTMMooEfoFq-Gkgmz0to4Xw6Yt299Ln1p-RXm2mTGsJRaVjkR08pJoxXVrpRj2ejQdfbnbkFmMzeOGw8pefXbcabOeeT8OSDPlXkX3hWVz75nw9ioXL1F2gdrokCYU/s1600/photo+(41).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKbXgyC5B1hsXzuTMMooEfoFq-Gkgmz0to4Xw6Yt299Ln1p-RXm2mTGsJRaVjkR08pJoxXVrpRj2ejQdfbnbkFmMzeOGw8pefXbcabOeeT8OSDPlXkX3hWVz75nw9ioXL1F2gdrokCYU/s320/photo+(41).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thursday, September 13, 2012- Day #5= A Favorite Place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Another hard one! Challenge, indeed. I though about my favorite places- my little rental dollhouse, my parents' house, the beach-any beach, anywhere with my friends and laughter, or anywhere that made me warm all over and brought me joy. <b>As I added more and more places to my list of favorites, I quickly came to the conclusion that my <i>favorite</i> Favorite Place was a <i>feeling</i> of joy and contentment rather than an actual, physical place on a map.</b> And so I decided to describe some moments or scenes that, when I have them in my present thoughts as either memory or fantasy, I am transported. But the picture I'm posting here to go with these words is someplace I recently fell in love with, despite it literally being my back yard for the past 16 years.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFJqks0Gw-V4IgGY3LEcBXdDJ3XhCrH6Mn5yEzRZKo6555E6ai_DAbhIX2VEvCSsZ-09hHhEcLw8_qQuUjprIEmVdrOe75-Oy_rkd4pL9B3FOO4SozuVWTCITxwMPmI7OrkReoVF5Q58/s1600/photo+(43).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFJqks0Gw-V4IgGY3LEcBXdDJ3XhCrH6Mn5yEzRZKo6555E6ai_DAbhIX2VEvCSsZ-09hHhEcLw8_qQuUjprIEmVdrOe75-Oy_rkd4pL9B3FOO4SozuVWTCITxwMPmI7OrkReoVF5Q58/s320/photo+(43).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A
Favorite Place<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The warmth of the sun on my bare skin, the
sound of the water breaking on the shore, the stillness of the air.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The smell you catch in the grocery store
that has you looking around for your grandmother, or mother. It is a certain perfume, or a mixture of garlic and coffee and dish soap from the kitchen, or (I don't know what other words to use).<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The darkness of a navy-black sky, with
swarms of stars punctuated by the brightest, closest constellations.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The sound of a laugh or a cough or the
baritone of a voice you swear is your father’s, but it cannot possibly be,
because he is five hundred miles away, asleep in his recliner or out fishing the <a href="http://dnr.state.il.us/lands/landmgt/parks/r1/hennpin.htm" target="_blank">Hennepin Canal</a> for blue gill and crappie and bass and solitude.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The happy, floating, invincible feeling
between a first and fourth vodka gimlet.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A lover’s arm across your body, or the
linger of a kiss from their mouth in the crook where your shoulder and neck
meet.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The smiles captured in a photograph when
your children were smaller, happier, and unconcerned.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Three weeks ago, your Life swirling around, when you had no reason to be anything other than unconcerned.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A song that links to a memory of a place and
time and another life and a person you used to be and whom you are grateful to
have grown from because it means you have become who you are right now.</span><o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Friday, September 14, 2012- Day #6= Favorite scene from a book.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Saturday, September 15, 2012- Day #7= Favorite scene from a movie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sunday, September 16, 2012- Day #8= Self Portrait (#2 of 3).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ370npQB5C62PCnBuSGv3csxZcogk9Gv5p5JRR5iYTu3mwIMYy-UClF0dyb783NjUA9ji3DDyEjv1VRtyy7gKRcbE_bF1g8IOlxyGG1SMcBpYoN1PKbeldo-RL3ucdtLJB7hkNh34au8/s1600/photo+(44).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ370npQB5C62PCnBuSGv3csxZcogk9Gv5p5JRR5iYTu3mwIMYy-UClF0dyb783NjUA9ji3DDyEjv1VRtyy7gKRcbE_bF1g8IOlxyGG1SMcBpYoN1PKbeldo-RL3ucdtLJB7hkNh34au8/s320/photo+(44).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I love this photo for a number of reasons: 1) It is my favorite part of my body, my neck/collar bones, shoulders, decollete; 2) I had just had a day so profoundly <i>needed</i> that I didn't want it to end, and so I love that this is a memento of that day; 3) I love the coloring of this shot, the way the flash of the camera illuminated my body and the room and caught all the right angles to highlight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I gotta tell ya: even though I intended to use this challenge as a fire starter for my visual imagery/art, my writing has been front and center in my head, making my hands ache from wanting to scratch out the words on legal pad yellow paper before transforming them to computer bits. I've dug out books from my library that I haven't touched in years because of this challenge, and they have helped me focus and write and re-write; reading good writing helps you become a better writer, I'm convinced. The margins of my pages are just as filled as the spaces between the blue lines. For reference, some of those books are : <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Natural-History-Senses-Diane-Ackerman/dp/0679735666" target="_blank"><i>A Natural History of the Senses</i> by Diane Ackerman</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Where-Im-Calling-From-Selected/dp/B002A77RAC/ref=pd_sim_sbs_b_3" target="_blank"><i>Where I'm Calling From</i> by Raymond Carver</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Woman-Lit-Fireflies-Jim-Harrison/dp/080214375X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1348626424&sr=1-1&keywords=the+woman+lit+by+fireflies" target="_blank"><i>The Woman Lit by Fireflies</i> by Jim Harrison</a>, and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hateship-Friendship-Courtship-Loveship-Marriage/dp/0375727434/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1348626523&sr=1-5&keywords=alice+munro" target="_blank"><i>Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage</i> by Alice Munro</a>. Although I've always loved a well-crafted novel, short stories are my favorite things to read. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I'll post again soon regarding this challenge, something I've written, and/or maybe even something I've drawn. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Until next time, friends: read, draw, doodle, write, daydream, DO.</span></div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-19028022311483596162012-09-24T16:42:00.001-04:002012-09-26T08:08:22.392-04:00A Recipe For Reconstruction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq57PX441R3hGmNV1sROchoAQ7-Wf_gcEjqL4h5gki8wXEB6LR_BVXNVHVu_AoFcozPsppDvf3C3Cnfyeg51IXuvJHzk8J3u9QTDPHRceKWwvxaWUKmJah9zKAi-_49R8GLLrkQ8gSfK4/s1600/photo+(14).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq57PX441R3hGmNV1sROchoAQ7-Wf_gcEjqL4h5gki8wXEB6LR_BVXNVHVu_AoFcozPsppDvf3C3Cnfyeg51IXuvJHzk8J3u9QTDPHRceKWwvxaWUKmJah9zKAi-_49R8GLLrkQ8gSfK4/s320/photo+(14).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>"None of us knows what might happen even the next minute, yet we still go forward. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>Because we Trust. Because we have Faith."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>-Paulo Coelho, "Brida"</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Part III of III</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the time since my retreat last month, I've struggled to get back into the swing of things. I've felt unsettled, out of sorts, frustrated, impatient...honestly, what did I expect? Instant enlightenment and an easy transformation/reintegration? Impossible. One thing I turn to when I'm feeling this way is the practice of <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/09/30-days.html" target="_blank">structured creativity</a>; another thing is to take care of others. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>I know, right?!</i> <b>So strong is the lure of the comfort of old habits! </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've tried <i>reallyreallyreally</i> hard to break that habit (the care of others) and take care of my Self. I've used up all of my vacation time at work as of this writing (never fear- a new bank of time starts October 1st), and have enjoyed it so much. What's surprised me is that I've had to continue working on identifying my wants and needs more than I expected. I mean, I get that it's a <i>process</i>, this work on Identity, but let me tell you: there is so much more I want to do now, and I'm finally- FINALLY- grasping the full importance of Self first. Yes, I've always subscribed to taking care of yourself first in order to help others (by being an example or through hands-on actions). But post-retreat? I'm able to delve into the <i>why</i> of it being important to <i>me</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Gather some food and some basic supplies- a place to sleep, something to write on, something to write with, something to move you. Take as much time as is available to you and add Introspection liberally.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Part of knowing who you are is knowing how you'll react to certain road blocks or life situations. I know, for instance, that I need to have some sort of schedule to my day in order for me to play. Yep. It helps me to know that I need to get <i>ABC</i> done before I can indulge in <i>LMNO</i>. And one thing I've really been lamenting is my job and how the current lack of structure is paralyzing me and my thought process. <i>I know, right?!</i> You would think that no parameters would make it so easy to be creative; alas, it is a big road block. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Next, take the Blank Page as the Opportunity to truly present your wants and needs; be sure to check these often, as time may alter their shape. Review, reflect, and edit with prudence.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And the rest of my life? Well, there have been some challenges with Blonde Daughter this year, and those have had me questioning my abilities and intuition when it comes to parenting. Single parenting is never anything I would recommend, especially if you've had a partner at one point to help you and now don't. Not having that confidant to discuss matters of child-rearing with is frustratingly sad, especially when your child is dealing with her own internal battles. Knowing yourself first helps ease this pain, gives you material to tell stories that, whether asked for or not, can help your child come to an understanding about their challenges, can maybe guide them to a place they always thought wasn't really meant for them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>After a time, share what you have created with those around you, friends and not-yet-friends alike. Learn to trust others, even if it leaves you feeling uncomfortable and unguarded and small and broken. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My friends have, of course, been supportive and wonderful and encouraging throughout this process. Do they get it, do they understand the importance of this work for me? For what it means to how I'll live out my days? Maybe some of them do, I don't know. I know that I've been able to re-connect with friends on a level that is deeper and more genuine, and that the girl I used to be is lurking around, ready to make a move on those last pieces of the social construct that has been in my mirror for the past 20 years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Look around your feet for the sturdy bits, for the supporting bits, for the structural bits, for the shiny bits. Use these to build up not walls, but ladders, maybe, for others to climb onto. Be a Giver of _______. Anything, everything, yourself.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In short, what have I learned from my retreat? <i>More than I could ever put into words</i>, is what I think most days. And then other days I'll draw a picture or write a short story or take a photograph and think, <i>This is what I have in my head when I think about _______ from my retreat. I need to share this before I explode with excitement over this discovery, this tangible and tiny flake.</i> And then other days I'll think I've got it down, and during a three-hour conversation with a Buddhist Hippie Sage discover that, no, I have more work to do, that my pain runs deep and the wisdom at my core is just dying to get out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And that, friends, can only mean that the old saying must be true: the Journey is the Destination. And I'm so glad you're all here. </span></div>
Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-3550879329563975302012-09-10T22:00:00.000-04:002012-09-10T22:13:35.916-04:0030 Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I'm taking a bit of a break from posting about my retreat (<a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-secrets-we-keep.html" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/08/part-i-addendum.html" target="_blank">here</a>, and <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/09/it-takes-village-and-list.html" target="_blank">here</a>) to share one of the projects to come out of the retreat: the 30 Day Creativity Challenge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Have you heard of this? There's lots of versions floating around, lots of lists of what to do, what to create. One of the goals of my retreat was to tap back into my creative Self; I did, after all, graduate from <a href="http://www.saic.edu/" target="_blank">art school</a>. But saying you're going to be creative while you're still high on the bliss of a successful retreat and putting that bliss into action are two very different things. So like any good person, I Googled "creativity challenge."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The list I've come up with is a re-working of several different lists culled from several different sites. The only rule is that you use the item on the list to create <i>something</i>. For me, I'm focusing on imagery- drawing, painting, and <i>thankyouJesusforInstagram</i>- as well as writing; you could easily incorporate music or singing/songwriting, too, or even cooking or clothing choices. The main goal is to get you to think outside of your normal-ness. I'll try to post once weekly during the challenge to share what I've been up to, but no promises. My next post will be part three of my retreat posts. And so-</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Sunday, September 9, 2012- </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Day #1= Self portrait.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKncNxB9tErnpR24_R9HPlAVmPd7DnZr_Q5B8rRX23oN222FZcmYzpVX8-RgBITOXRS1pvucmdSrVOCAsn5axwUPiZOFBqSlhC4QaK_d8nIkPG_8ZTm1I6zCZVLHJKRbxqik7g6hNjj3A/s1600/photo+(8).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKncNxB9tErnpR24_R9HPlAVmPd7DnZr_Q5B8rRX23oN222FZcmYzpVX8-RgBITOXRS1pvucmdSrVOCAsn5axwUPiZOFBqSlhC4QaK_d8nIkPG_8ZTm1I6zCZVLHJKRbxqik7g6hNjj3A/s320/photo+(8).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What I like about this photo is how green my eyes look against that top. And that it doesn't look like I need Botox or Juvederm yet. And that I don't have bags under my eyes, and that they're not puffy, and that I look kinda okay with my face bare naked like that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Monday, September 10, 2012- Day #2= Animal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For this challenge, I had to think a bit. I love birds, but didn't really want to draw a bird. So I thought about other animals, and naturally thought about people's pets. My friend Tha Doctah has cats. Hmmm. NO. I know several people with dogs, but...these pursuits were taking place in the evening hours, in my basement. What to do? A photograph of a pet? YES. Instagram to the rescue? YES.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I found a photograph I liked and rendered a simple drawing in pencil. But as I was studying the photo and the drawing, I thought of a story to tell. So I did both. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>An Evening in August</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>She sat on the steps of the deck, looking out over the back yard and the items there: lawn chairs, a swing set, a rake, a garden hose, dog toys. And the dog. She was an old dog, maybe 8 or 10 years old, and her hips bothered her, you could tell. Some kind of shepherd mix, black, mostly, but with white on her muzzle and some on her chest.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>"She can be a bit skittish with new people," he had said. But she had dealt with dogs like that before. Wasn't S____'s dog that way? All bark at first, and then quickly a mutual respect was established? That dog, Rezzy, was also a shepherd mix, but smaller, shorter, like a corgi or something.This dog was tall with matted fur that came off in clumps every time she petted it.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>She picked up one of the dog toys and threw it out towards the fence; the dog retrieved it and brought it to her, tail wagging, excited barks. She did this- played with the dog- for a good 30 minutes or more. The dog tired and lay by her feet, which she tucked under the dog's belly, feeling the warmth and weight of this animal, feeling content.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>What was it about a skittish dog? They were often her favorite ones. The docile and dumb labs or retrievers just lacked substance for her, even though they looked nice. She absently ran her hand over the dog's back, scratched its ears, massaged its neck. She grabbed the dog's face with both hands, rubbing under its chin, touching noses and telling it through a half-closed mouth, "You're a good girl. Such a good. Girl."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>The patio door opened and the dog's attention shifted from the feel-good-ness of her hands to the figure in the doorway. The dog got up slowly and climbed the three stairs and walked into the house. She followed, sliding the screen door shut behind them both.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Get creative, friends. If anything, it can serve as a pleasant diversion from life for awhile.</span></div>
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Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-42579041091323901602012-09-07T07:35:00.000-04:002012-09-07T08:26:42.043-04:00It Takes A Village (and a List)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>Take what you find and create something meaningful, write a message on the sandy shore,</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Part II of III</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am a list maker. I love making a To Do list, or a Top 10 list, or a goals list. I love the orderly way the items sit there on the page, each one waiting patiently to be completed and crossed off or read aloud and contemplated in conversation. I love the way that the single items merge to create one new, singular item. As the Queen of Procrastination Nation, it is indeed an achievement when I am finished with a list.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So as I was getting ready for my retreat (go <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-secrets-we-keep.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/08/part-i-addendum.html" target="_blank">here</a>), of course I made a list. Actually, I made <i>four</i> lists: vacation plans, campgrounds, camping supplies, and people. Solo camping trip, though, right? The names on that last list were for meditations and prayers: twelve names, including my own. And so-</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once I got to the campsite, I really tried to let go of my regular routines. After all, that's partly what this retreat was about, wasn't it? Letting go of long-held habits and beliefs and identities? YES. I soon found out that my proclivity for list making was something I would not be able to abandon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I made mental lists of where things should go (<i>the tent there, the firewood there, kayak there, backpack there). </i>I made lists of all the ways I wanted to enjoy nature (<i>kayak daily, swim, run Bruno's Run trail, explore the far shore of the lake</i>). I made lists of what I wanted to accomplish creatively (<i>read one book, meditate daily, complete at least three drawings, free write in my journal</i>). I made lists of what to eat and drink (<i>oatmeal and coffee for breakfast, eggs for lunch, trail mix whenever, potatoes and beer for dinner</i>). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then, like all best-laid plans, my lists got pushed aside by the internal work I ended up doing, the challenging of myself to tear down my Self to the bare studs and get rid of the Secrets that were weakening my foundation. Damn. Damndamndamndamndamn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All of a sudden, nothing was going as planned. It was the first full day and I was deeper into my demolition much sooner than I expected. The early morning rain dampened me, figuratively and literally. By late morning, though, the rain had stopped, but my center was lost. A run on the trail helped clear my mind some. A paddle around the lake helped me focus a bit more. Food. A fire. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then the stars came out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>It was one of those nights where you first look up in the sky and see only a few stars, only the major constellations, perhaps: Ursa Major and Minor, Sagittarius. And then you stoke the fire and look up again, and there are more stars than before. Take a drink of your beer, and there are </i>more<i> stars. Each time you look, the spaces between stars are filled in with more stars, and the sky is filled with bright star clouds. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>And then you see a shooting star. And then another. And another. You will see five in all, and after each one you'll say out loud: "Oh! Did you see that?!" or "Oh God, _______. I hope you saw that one." And you'll catch yourself smiling and crying at the same time.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once I was certain the shooting stars were done with their show and the fire was only embers, I made my way to my tent for the night. And then the rains came again. And I quickly made another list of what was still outside and where: my beach towel, my life jacket, my coffee cup, my kayak and paddle. And then I held up the lantern inside my tent and inventoried more: my quilt made from race t-shirts, my Escanaba Eskymos sweatshirt, my Starbucks Via coffee packets for the morning, my bird wing necklace. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then I stopped. And I thought: these things, they are what helps define me, they forge my Core Identity, not the socially constructed one. The individual elements of what I brought with me are tangible symbols of my journey, of my Life So Far. They've helped shape me and helped define who I am and what I need and what I can offer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The tent and its somber colors, used once previously on an ill-fated camping trip with the wasband. The coffee cup, a gift from one of the girls I mentored. The coffee packets, a last-minute add-in from my training partner. The towel, bought on an excursion with a trusted confidant. The life jacket, borrowed from another lifetime. The sweatshirt, an advertisement for my newly embraced home. My necklace, a gift- an urging, really- from a friend wanting me to fly. My quilt, stitched from race t-shirts, all journeys taken before now, all a search for a challenge, all a reminder of my daily struggles on that date. The campsite itself, even. The place, the trail, the solitude, gifted to me by Fate in more ways than one.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">What to call these things? What is the heading on this list? Mementos? Touchstones? Souvenirs? Talismans? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>totem (<i>noun</i>)- an object or representation of such an object serving as a distinctive mark or symbol.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These items made up my totem, representative of the people and related experiences that helped me define Self, helped sharpen the focus on my True Identity- not the socially constructed one that up until this point, I'd simultaneously fed into and fended off. These items were a Visual List.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was content with this revelation, laying in the tent, listening to the rain hush through the trees. My mind began to wander again and I began to dream in images of these items, stacked one on top of the other, bringing a message to the viewer. Did they serve as a warning or a welcome? Which did I <i>want</i> it to be? What was the approach?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That demolition, that nakedness, that discovery could only lead me to a place where I could rebuild. My foundation was stronger now, and my next list would consist of what I had left, what I was willing to pick up and embrace, and what I wanted to incorporate. What kind of story did I want to tell?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I fell asleep with my thoughts wandering further, asking what our stories reveal about Self. I had already learned about telling stories to myself, betraying my own confidences. Was it keeping secrets, or omitting the truth? How much do semantics matter? What is the lesson? We listen to reason and don't repeat mistakes and sometimes </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">still</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> fail to grow. It comes back to Balance and figuring out what works best for all of the Loves of Your Life, Self first. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Until next time, friends.</span></div>
<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-69886808761528183062012-08-26T15:07:00.000-04:002012-08-26T15:07:18.239-04:00Part I, Addendum<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>A shared secret: the Beauty of a hidden spot of nature: the lushness of the greens, the clarity of the blues, the simultaneous warmth and dampness of the browns, the austerity of the grays.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">all grayed out beauty:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">arching, reaching, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">calling to us </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">with their chimes </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">like a murmur</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">moving through a crowd.</span></div>
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<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-52437079484812746882012-08-22T14:30:00.001-04:002012-08-22T14:36:02.902-04:00The Secrets We Keep<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>I love how that one curved branch is gathering the others in- a protective gesture of sorts.</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Part I of III </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are times throughout a person's life where everything gets to be too much; the confluence of work, family, partners, friends, and the Rest of Our Lives all seem to vie for the bulk of our attention, and we scramble to keep up and maintain. I'm sure that we've all experienced this in some form at least once, no?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, what happens to me when these stresses hammer down is that I take what's bothering me, what's going wrong, the words spoken and then winced at later, and hide them. And maybe these Secrets stay hidden forever, or maybe they get purged, but often they are just <i>there</i> and start to act like crabs in a bucket: crawling up on each other's backs to escape, but then pulling each other right back in at the last second: <i>Oh, no. If I'M not getting out, neither are YOU. You stay right here and help make her miserable.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This summer has been less than stellar for me in terms of emptying my bucket. I've felt a constant low-level stress for quite some time, even having a <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/07/faith-and-flow.html" target="_blank">mini breakdown</a> not too long ago. That episode really made me step back and ask some hard questions of myself: <i>What is true about you, Self? What makes you whole? What makes you happy? What do you need to Be Rachel everyday?</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Heavy stuff. What's a girl to do?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Get away from it all? YES. A retreat of sorts? YES. A re-connection to the creative Self I once loved and nurtured? YES. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And so I planned a solo camping trip for three days and nights. Me, a tent, a kayak, some art supplies, some running gear, a journal. My destination was Pete's Lake, a campground along Federal Forest Highway 13 in the Hiawatha National Forest; a favorite local trail- Bruno's Run- is adjacent, and there are lovely walk-in sites that are secluded enough to feel like you're really nowhere near anyone else. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Secret #1: I didn't really tell anyone about this plan. Most people were...stunned to hear I was going camping. Alone. In a tent. And not the <a href="http://www.publichotels.com/chicago/home/" target="_blank">Public Chicago</a> kind of tent, either. Ain't no Barney's or Nordstrom's where I was heading. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Secret #2: I love the outdoors much more than I've ever let on. In my former life, the types of outdoor activities I enjoyed were not enjoyed by my wasband, and so my pursuits were few and far between.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Part of what I wanted to explore over those days was the things that made me feel complete, the things I enjoy. Many of these things I resisted for sooooo long, mostly because the identity prescribed to me was based on how I had been introduced to people for the past 15, 20, 40 years: Ed & Susan's daughter, Eric & Lisa's sister, Doug & Ann's daughter-in-law, D's wife, Emily & Sadie's mom. Never only "Rachel." That socially constructed identity was one that I clung to as a defense mechanism, it was a wall I had built up as a silent protest in reaction to my own unhappiness. But what made me happy? What made me <i>ME</i>?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And that's another Secret, isn't it? There's a good chance the person you present might not be who you really are. Those people you socialize with, those activities you participate in, those topics of conversation are really only niceties; you are being Polite. The juxtaposition and/or dichotomy of those things with your Self make day-to-day so much more difficult than need be. If only we could listen to Self without the static! If only the static could turn into our own voice of clarity, if it could turn into the broadcast of our Core! </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My retreat was my attempt to tune in, to return to Self, whatever- or </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">whomever</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">- that was. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I did so much thinking. I thought a lot about secrets and how some things you </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">want</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> to remain secret: good news you're not ready to share, bad news you'd rather forget, sad news you don't want to revisit. No matter how happy or angry or sad you are, and no matter how much your friends promise to keep their mouths shut, some things are better kept to yourself. And sometimes you'll be questioned. And sometimes you'll cave. And other times- too many times, in my case- you'll be the </span><a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2011/09/truth-4.html" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;" target="_blank">Bigger Person</a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">, recognizing the subtle differences between privacy and deception when it comes to secrets.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I thought about how we link secrets to memory. Things like the smell of a lover on your skin, not washed off so you can continue to smile; the sadness of witnessing the life leave someone's body, the helplessness of seeing their vibrancy extinguished like <i>that</i>; the anguish of your own heart breaking for what you thought you had, or hoped could become with enough effort and time; and of course, the secret lives led by people you think you know- bruised egos and hurt feelings and "Well, I never thought"-s over and over again, surprising you even after so many years. All of these secrets we have and hold and use to create an identity for ourselves and others. And the shared secrets others use to create an identity for us! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And so I had to examine my own Secrets and decide which would get dumped out and exposed, and which would be burned in the camp fire. The little wavelets while kayaking rocked a few out of me. My drawings were inspired as much by the natural surroundings as by the frustration and resistance in letting some go. The pine needles underfoot on Bruno's Run cushioned the honest blows to my ego. The camp fire did, indeed, burn a fair share. The rain and my shaken tears washed away many more. And yet some remain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And so my retreat was underway, my reaffirmation or Return to Self was in motion. Step One was the honest evaluation of what I was holding on to, what secrets were keeping me stuck in limbo despite my best attempts at living in happiness. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Do I feel better, closer to knowing and acknowledging my Self, my Core on a daily basis? YES. Do I defer to the need for the walls I've built up to come down? To the truth that keeping certain Secrets will hinder my ability to create intimacy with those I love? YES. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">What was next? Well friends, if Step One was surveying, then Step Two can best be described as demolition. Until that story is ready to share, I'll leave you with this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I left a bit of my heart on the shores of Pete's Lake, that's no secret. </span><br />
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<i><br /></i>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-33816170576919083692012-07-15T00:40:00.000-04:002012-07-15T00:40:03.729-04:00Faith and Flow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In my last few posts, I've written about some happy things- <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1710324368">my life now</a></span><a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012/05/permanence.html" target="_blank"></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">, <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2012_06_01_archive.html" target="_blank">my decision not to flirt with regret</a>- </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and mostly, my life is Good. I have the love of my family and friends, I have a job I love, I have my health. What I also have is a propensity to behave in one of two ways: 1) as a locked vault, or 2) as an open book.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">When my life is going well, when I have <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2011/12/balance.html" target="_blank">Balance</a>, I'm apt to be the book, to have faith that what I'm doing and how I'm behaving and all that is happening around me is all part of a bigger plan. Put another way: I have <em>flow</em>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><strong>flow (<em>noun</em>): the action or fact of moving along in a steady, continuous stream.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">More than that definition though, I have <em>flow</em> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flow_(psychology)" target="_blank">as defined by Mihaly Csikszentmihaly</a>, <em>flow</em> when you get so involved in something that you forget time, you forget how you feel, where your awareness of your actions fades into action alone. It is an amazing experience.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My day-to-day flow, the one I've been working so diligently on mastering, recently swelled and surged and hit the wall. Slammed right into that fucker, pounding pounding pounding, and me, holding holding holding. And then a break like I haven't experienced in some time. I should have been prepared for this, but I was not. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I was removed from my day-to-day due to work obligations and then the July 4th holiday. I should have seen it coming. Work was stressful enough without having to manage things from across the country. And the holiday? Well, seeing all of the happy families and reunions and couples and young people all around me- oblivious to anything other than their own joy- just crushed me. And then the wasband went further and stomped more, twisting and grinding me down further. The somber rain clouds and quick but violent storm on July 4th was not lost on me, oh! pathetic fallacy!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Look at that photo above. That one rock? Its me, its you. We are solid and stable and <em>here</em> and we exist in this place with all the chaos, with the Holy Mess that is our Life. You are the rock in the river, and every so often, you work yourself loose. You get jostled and pushed and pounded along the river, tumbling, moving to the surface with the current or getting pushed down further to the silty bottom. Eventually you bump into a few things- a fallen tree branch, another rock, a dead animal- and experience some pain before you nestle into a new spot where you once again get used to all that surrounds you, the routine of family, friends, lovers, work, Life. This takes time, of course: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">"Experience has taught me how important it is to keep going...Eventually [pain] passes and the flow returns." - Frank Shorter</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I took a few days and sat at the beach, meditating on that quote, thought about how it applied to me, and to my life, my current crisis of faith, and how contemplation could repair my flow; I was looking for proof. To maintain flow, it is said that one must seek out increasingly greater challenges; attempting these new challenges stretches our skills, forces us to seek feedback. Lack of feedback blocks flow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I was in the Holy Mess stage. I wasn't looking for a place to nestle into- I was too deep in with anger and frustration and jealousy and fear. I was blind to the faith meant to guide me, I had no one person to guide me out of the dark water, back to the lightness at the surface. (That, dear friends- "Be the place I nestle into. Always."- can be added to that list for <a href="http://www.fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2011/10/rules.html" target="_blank">My Best New Boyfriend</a>.) I was low. I faked being happy wherever I went those few days. Three people could see through my act, and their guidance helped me more than words can express. Feedback, right?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And then I refocused. I went back to work, I got back into a routine. I did my laundry and washed the dishes, I went to the gym. I ignored calls from my wasband. I hugged children and I laughed. I am still wobbly, but I have recommitted to waking up every day to find joy and express gratitude for this, my Holy Mess of a Life. Proof be damned.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">"Faith is not belief without proof, but trust without reservations."- Elton Trueblood</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My flow has not resumed it's full momentum, but I trust that I'm moving in the right direction. Go with the flow, friends.</span></div>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-409616629739795242012-06-24T06:26:00.000-04:002012-06-24T06:26:36.610-04:00Now or Never<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">For most people, the winter holidays are a time for introspection, memory, and nostalgia; for me, this congregation meets in the summertime. Summer's endless days- and the laziness with which the nights come- are prime breeding ground for me and my thoughts, my memories, my hopes and wishes. Sometimes a memory will come back at me like a blast of hot air from the oven; sometimes it just tickles my neck like a lover's breath.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Warm weather and it's winsome ways always have me thinking back in time; my fondest memories always feature the sun shining brightly, warming my skin, reflecting off my wide smile. July 4th has always been my favorite holiday (<em>Hello? Sunshine and fireworks? No brainer.</em>). I have Utopian childhood memories of endless days and still-light nights spent playing Ghost in the Graveyard or Kick the Can; running around the shores of Rawson's Lake and hearing Uncle Len sing and play the ukulele while everyone else fished and drank beer; picking raspberries and blackberries behind the school across from my grandparents' house.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">When I moved to Michigan, I realized that summer started around July 1st and ended somewhere in the week immediately post-U.P. State Fair. New memories included running the Firecracker 5 Mile in Gladstone, followed by a marathon day of swimming, sunning, kayaking, eating, bonfires, fireworks and more. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Summer was also the start of fall marathon training runs with Doug. For many many years, we would take off from his house and run south on M-35, past Breezy Point Bar, past the Ford River bridge, a brief stop at Satch's house for pre-stashed Gatorade and snacks, then maybe a few more miles down the road before turning around and retracing our steps. Satch's house was 13 miles, Mayville Road about 16, No See-Um Creek was 21. Grandpa Herb was always waiting with coffee cake- lots of frosting, per my request- upon our return.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But I digress...it is during these times when my mind wanders from the present-day sun-dappled sidewalk either backwards or forwards in time, the direction dictated by the momentum of the "<em>What if...?</em>" at the front of my brain.</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">What if...I never moved to Chicago?...I didn't have babies when I did?...I never moved to Michigan?...I never started running?...I wasn't right there when Doug collapsed?...I never had my mental toughness and emotional strength tested like that?...I stayed in my poor excuse of a marriage?...Where would I be now?</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We all have moments, memories that we say we "regret," our voices' tones quietly serious and rueful. Regret happens, but is it useful? Hmm...I don't think so. I've always been one to preach that you cannot change the past, you need to learn something from it and move on: evolve. To regret would be to negate the lessons learned- If: Then: - and who would you be then? Not the same person you are now, feeling sorry for yourself, feeling a loss for something that will never happen because the circumstance can't be recreated to make it so: you cannot make regrets materialize and transform into new memories to replace the old ones. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">It can't happen. Stop wasting your time on this. Think about it this way: Why waste your time wishing your memories were something else when you could be busy creating new ones?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And so that's what I've willed myself to do: move on, evolve. And now the "<em>What ifs</em>" at the front of my brain are of this variety:</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">What if...I train for a triathlon?...I get my Master's degree?...I choose to be happy? Every day?...I tell my friends I love them before its too late?...I stop chasing and grasping and flailing and just BE?...I find New Mr. Rachel? How will that new adventure play out?</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And I'm busy making new memories, every day. I tell people I love them more freely, and without reservations. I try new things with only minor trepidation. I'm okay with not getting it right the first time around. I'm planning vacations- currently in the hope/wish stage, but- and exploring options. I'm still a resident of <a href="http://fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2011/09/truth-5.html" target="_blank">Hopeful, Unincorporated</a> when it comes to New Mr. Rachel. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I'm thankful for all of my <em>What ifs;</em> I've just learned to not let the ones tinged with regret take control.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Lastly, do me a favor: 1) Listen to this song. I will preface it by saying that it is the most beautiful, yet saddest, and yet strangely uplifting song I've ever heard. 2) Think about the <em>What ifs</em> in your own life, both kinds. 3) Make changes so that the potential outcomes match your hopes and wishes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">F</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">ill your days with love and joy, not regret. Don't miss out on <em>right now</em>.</span><br />
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<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-15129900177926407072012-05-24T20:16:00.001-04:002012-05-24T20:17:59.329-04:00Permanence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">permanence <em>(noun)</em>: the state or quality of lasting or remaining unchanged indefinitely.</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">After 15 years of living in the Upper Peninsula, I've decided its time to embrace this place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My new found enthusiasm for this place- the 906, the Yoop, God's Country- is, I think, indicative of the fact that I'm back to who I used to be. Explanation...???</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I've never really been able to feel completely welcome here in the U.P.; there's something about being a transplant that, no matter who you know, or how hard you try to assimilate, or how much you try to learn about your adopted place, you will always be the Other.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Other. Its a role I know well, and it has (of course) spilled from general life to my personal life. It can't be avoided. Being the Other is something that people in transition become: new town, new neighborhood, new job, new relationships. When we move ourselves to a place where change is inevitable, we also need to recognize that so is our role of becoming Other. Anyone who has been in a difficult relationship or been through a divorce can relate to this role. Friends quickly learn that although two are invited, only one will ever RSVP; you, Other, will always be along for the ride as the third- or fifth- or even seventh wheel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And mostly, you will be grateful for such kind friends who refuse to mention the absence of your partner. Every. Time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But I digress. This post is not about transitions, really. It is about the <em>permanence that results from change. </em>Yet it is also about Returning to Self.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">You see, the past two years have been a serious Return to Self for me, a transition come full circle, if you will. People who have known me for longer than 15 years surely know what I'm talking about. The people who have only known me since then may have caught glimpses of that girl from time to time, but are really only now beginning to experience her most of the time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My time here in the U.P. has afforded me the blessing of creating a surrogate family for myself, friends culled from awful jobs or through mutual friends, through shared interests or family. And those people whom I am so lucky to include among the branches of my family tree have accepted me as Other without blinking an eye. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I figure then, that as a re-commitment or Return to Self, I can in turn accept this place I have called home for 15 years with open arms and a smile rather than deep sighs and eye rolls. There is so much I want to do now...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I want to spend time with that floating feeling near Lake of the Clouds. I want to get lost running the trails near Copper Harbor. I want to plunge into Lake Superior from the Black Rocks with Jeff while Kristina takes our picture. I want to go swimming in Christmas with Bridgette and her dogs. I want to have ice cream with Joanna and her babies at the Dairy Flo in Rapid River while we hatch grand business plans. I want to run the Kipling loop with Jessica- even the North Bluff hill part- in preparation for another last-minute, cheap & easy race vacation. I want to read books in the sand at the far end of Aronson Island on a summer day. I want to have too many late night cocktails with Kris and Steph while their baby and dogs sleep down the hall. I want to drive around drinking coffee and running errands with Pat. I want to eat copious amounts of guacamole and laugh, open mouthed and without sound, with Maggie (beergaritas implied). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I want to do all of these things as a testament to the power of transition, to the power of the permanence these family members have used to burn a place on my heart.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I'm just now, 15 years on, becoming comfortable with my role as Other; even though it was made mine as a result of transition, it is a role I'm comfortable making permanent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Welcome home.</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-81987368970325287772012-05-14T22:26:00.002-04:002012-05-14T22:26:16.267-04:00Just Give Me a Minute<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A while back, I wrote a post about <a href="http://fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2011_12_01_archive.html" target="_blank">balance</a> and how I wanted it, and how I needed to work at finding it in my life. Well, in the five months since that post, not much has changed. I still have a frenetic work pace, am still making it through what seem to be never-ending training cycles, and there's still a sometimes-surly teenager doing her best to test my patience and drain my pocketbook.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Lest you think I'm turning into a bitter shrew of a divorcee, I'll point you to <a href="http://fixfamilyonline.blogspot.com/2011/03/i-feel-whole-lot-better.html" target="_blank">this post</a> about what's great about my life these days. Although that post was written over a year ago, I'm standing by that list- it's all good. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But my personal evolution is not all sunshine and rainbows; I have my moments where dark, nasty, charcoal-colored clouds invade my space and linger beyond what's comfortable or productive. It's at times like that when I come up with items on the following list. Indulge, if you will, my momentary Pity Party:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Things I Miss About My Old Life (Even If I Only Tried to Wish Some of Them Into Existence, or If They <em>Were</em> There They Were Only Mostly <em>Meh</em>)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">1. My turntable and veranda. And someone to playfully complain about my music selections, and the cackles of laughter carrying across the neighborhood. I miss summer nights watching people walk by and catching snippets of their conversations while I sat silently on the veranda, pretending to read or sleep.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">2. The weight of another person- the weight of their presence, even- next to my body. I miss the physicality of someone else while leaning into each other, or standing at the coffee counter, or while reading the jacket of a book, or paging through a Crate & Barrel catalog- those small gestures that say "I like you near me."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">3. Someone to argue and make up with; a good conversationalist, even if the conversation is full of total bullshit, makes life that much better.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">4. A shoulder or a lap to fall asleep on while watching television, plus couch cuddle time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">5. My good dishes and cookware from Williams-Sonoma.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">6. And while we're at it, I miss the kitchen I helped design; from the stainless steel appliances, to the concrete counter tops, to the reclaimed wood floors, to the lighting fixtures from Pottery Barn, to the crocks holding utensils, to the sunny spot where I'd drink my coffee each morning.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">7. And furthermore...I miss someone else making the coffee each morning.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">8. Hearing someone say "I'm happy you're here with me." (That one falls into the "wishful thinking" category.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">9. Someone to dress up and show off. Listen, as a former art student/current fashion slave, I absolutely <em>lovelovelove</em> using humans as my very own dolls. Just trust me, I know what you should be wearing and why.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">10. S. E. X. (<em>You didn't think that was going to be omitted from the list just because my mother reads my blog, did you?!)</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I've always been pretty positive (okay, but with a sarcastic side, too), and have used other's words to help me remain focused on the Good in Life. Just like that picture up top tells me, things will just keep getting better as long as I don't get bitter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Pass the sugar :)</span><br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3190147204754571602.post-12189813557839988802012-05-09T20:15:00.002-04:002013-01-02T22:53:59.531-05:00Risk vs. Reward<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Its been just over a month since I posted anything here, and only a few months since I've taken an active role in looking for a guy to date, going so far as to sign up for an online dating service. I've even sent a few "winks" and emails to guys on the dating site, but let's cut to the chase, here: I finally went on a blind date. What hit me after I finally clicked "send" on that email agreeing to a bike ride and a beer was the idea of <em>risk</em> in life, especially when it comes to relationships.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">I guess taking risks should be par for the course after a breakup or divorce; the guy I was meeting was nothing like I ever gave a second glance to in my younger days: short, bald, glasses. <em>But he's witty</em>, I told myself as I read his email, <em>and he likes being active</em>. Secretly, I hoped he'd be like <a href="http://images.wikia.com/sexandthecity/images/9/9b/Harry.jpg" target="_blank">Harry Goldblatt</a>, Charlotte's husband from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sex_and_the_City" target="_blank">Sex in the City</a>. Regardless, I was breaking from my usual definition of "date-able."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">The plan was to meet this guy- let's call him "Not Harry"- in Marquette (about an hour's drive for me) and go for a bike ride, chat, have a beer, maybe two. I take my bike out of the basement, pump up the tires, and go for a short spin. <em>So easy! Of course I can do this. Its only a bike ride and maybe a beer. </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">I make the drive feeling fine, no nerves or butterflies or anything, and when I pull up to our meeting place, I spot him immediately: he is just as he described himself, and I know that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_Connection" target="_blank">Chuck Woolery</a> was nowhere close, what with his witty and flirty questions, winks, and smiles. We have a brief, sanitary hug hello, and we're off. The day was brisk but sunny, and the conversation was...kind of a chore. Not Harry had a bit of a frat boy way about him, trying in that nonchalant way to name-drop and impress. Also, he was an interrupter when it was my turn to talk. <em>Sigh</em>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">We park our bikes and take his car to go grab that beer and a snack. Driving down a main road, he points out a new <a href="http://www.blackrocksbrewery.com/" target="_blank">local microbrewery & pub</a> that's pretty popular...and drives right on by, instead taking me to a nice but generic place further down the road. We chat more, drink our beer, then head back to our bikes where Not Harry and I say our thank yous and goodbyes, and with another sanitary hug, my first post-divorce blind date is over. Risk: going on a date with someone whom you've only had a handful of email correspondences. Reward: knowing that your instincts regarding the opposite sex are still intact after being dormant for so many years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">I immediately drive back to that new microbrewery, try a few samples, and pick up a growler of beer to take home. Before I start the drive back home, I stop at another new business in Marquette that I've been meaning to visit- <a href="http://everydaywinesmqt.com/evd/home.html" target="_blank">Everyday Wines</a>- and begin thinking again about <em>risk</em>. Two new businesses, successful even though the economy is less than ideal. <em>What would those people be doing now if they hadn't taken such a risk?,</em> I thought as I wandered around the shop, listening to the saleswoman give her friend a coffee order. She chatted me up a bit, found out about my reason for being in Marquette that day, and helped me out with some great wine selections.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">And then something else happened.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">As I'm paying for my wines, signing the credit slip, the sales woman's friend returned with her coffee and she said to him: "I'm going to introduce her to Also Not Harry," pointing to me. Her friend looks at me and says, "Oh, yeah. Good idea."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Not only do I not know either of these people, but I obviously don't know Also Not Harry. As I look up and say "Um, <em>what?</em>" (clearly my conversational skills need practice), she is already texting Also Not Harry. Just when I thought my risk-taking was finished for the day, this woman throws another at me, telling me I need to befriend Also Not Harry. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">What's a girl to do? Well, *this girl* has learned to embrace risk these past few years, and whereas I probably would have smiled and shouted "<em>Hook a girl UP, yo!"</em> in my younger, bolder, pre-married days, that day I just smiled, shrugged with that <em>"Why not</em>?" look, and said "Uh...okay." (Again with the words!) Everybody needs new friends. I have yet to meet Also Not Harry, and should say that making new friends doesn't necessarily mean more dates, even if that's how my day started. Risk: letting fate and a stranger in a wine shop take control of the day. Reward: new friends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Taking a risk can be as big as opening a new business or as small as going for a bike ride. Risk nothing, and you're settling for Good Enough; the low level risks associated with Good Enough can certainly be an enjoyable way to pass the time, but deep down, you know you'll always mentally compare Good Enough to What If, even if the latter is only in your head.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">Its fitting then, that you never know how you'll truly respond to risk, even if you're aware of what <em>could</em> happen, what the possible outcomes <em>could</em> be. Your business could fail, or you could fall off that bike and skin your knee something awful. Or you could make new friends thanks to strangers in a wine shop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">You'll never know until you pump up those tires and push off.</span><br />
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<br />Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502456156633120696noreply@blogger.com0