life as i know it...

the greatest honor

I've noticed myself growing in various ways over the past few years.  My life has reached a point where a sense of settled-ness has replaced the previous desire for constant change and adventure.  I've stopped running...from stressful situations, from my problems, from those I love the most, and from myself.  I've found myself in a place where my dreams are ever-expanding and the horizon is endless.  A place where priorities have been re-evaluated and life has taken on so much greater meaning than I ever imagined possible.

Part of this growth process has simply occurred naturally, a part of growing into adulthood.  Some of it is due to my own introspection in recent years.  Some is due to circumstance and life experiences that have forced me to stop, take a step back, and really think about how I want to be living my life.

Regardless of the reason, I have definitely grown, and I am continuing to grow.  The woman I am today is not who I imagined I would become from 10 years ago.  The dreams I have today are so much more than I ever would have guessed.  For so long, my life was an illustration of extremes, an endless quest of searching but never finding.  And the irony is that I am not sure what it was that I was even looking to find.

I no longer go out searching for happiness.  I find it now in the simple moments, the moments that remind me that I am living my life as I have chosen.  The moments that clarify for me that I have become the woman I was meant to be rather than the woman I imagined I would become.  While there will always be the days and moments of stress, I no longer turn my back and run the other way.  I face each day as it comes (some more willingly than others) and I try to take what I can from the moments of my life.

I started thinking even more about this whole personal growth process last week.  I was having dinner with one of my dearest friends, a truly remarkable woman who has become family to me.  After lots of random talking, she said she needed to ask me a very serious question.  That question was the most important and meaningful question I have ever been asked...and the thoughtfulness she invested before asking the question was incredibly touching.  What she did not realize then is that, in asking me this question, she gave me a far greater gift than she may ever fully realize.  Her words made me realize the truth of the woman I have become and I felt proud of myself.  Beyond anything else, I felt immensely honored.  Through tears and laughter, she talked and I listened.  I talked and she listened.  And then I agreed to devote considerable thought before giving her an answer to this question.  While my heart automatically knew the answer, my mind knew that the seriousness of the situation required that I come home and think about all aspects of what my answer could one day involve.

I came home that night and I thought.  I thought about so many possibilities.  I thought about sacrifices and if I would be willing to make those.  I thought about my future and my upcoming marriage.  I thought about two little girls with smiles that brighten my days and tears that break my heart.  I thought about the woman I am now and the woman I will continue becoming.  The next day, I thought some more.  I prayed for guidance.  My mind continued thinking far beyond my heart's response.  Two days later, I called this dear friend and I gave her my answer.

Yes.

These two precious baby girls are now officially my goddaughters.  They are also my legal responsibility if, God forbid, anything should happen to their parents.  I cannot tell you what great honor and joy was brought into my life with that one question.  I cannot tell you the certainty I have in my answer or the newly heightened sense of commitment and dedication that has been infused into my life since making this decision.  Most of all, I cannot tell you how deeply I love these girls or how truly blessed I am to have them in my life.  I cannot tell you any of these things because words can do no justice to that which lives within my heart.  What I can tell you is this: I would do anything and everything in the world for these little girls.  I love them with all my heart and I am fully committed to them for the rest of my life.  And that love and committment...that brings me more happiness than words can ever say.

a day of horror...a path of destruction

For nearly 24 hours, tornadoes and severe storms pummelled the South, leaving trails of destruction in their wake.  One after another, the storms hit.  And then they hit again.  And again.  Hail the size of grapefruits fell from the sky, exacerbating the wrath of Mother Nature's powerful and deadly winds.  Hour after hour, millions sat in anxious waiting as the history of the city collapsed before their eyes.  Sirens blared their warnings across the city and suburbs, urging people to seek cover immediately.  Warnings of possibility turned into reports of immence.  Under skies of menacing gray and green, people sought comfort in any way they could find.  In the midst of desperation and terror, a city prayed for safety.

Now, hours after the relentless storms' final departure, the world is quiet once again.  The wind is still powerful, reminding us all that this city has been forever changed.  Patchy clouds still dance a quick staccato across the sky but the ground is dry and Nature appears to be settling back into a state of calm.  While the storms appear to have finally ended, the aftermath of war paints a picture of ruin and devastation for so many affected by the horror of this day.

As I sit here in the darkness and silence of the night, I am reminded of the fragility of this world.  I am reminded how easily and quickly the world that we know can be shattered.  I am reminded of the importance of taking nothing for granted and everything with gratitude.  I am reminded of hope and faith and the untapped resources of strength that inherently lie within each of us.  In the wake of destruction and the quiet of this night, I am reminded that while the world around us may be broken and destroyed, it is the perseverence and solidity of our souls that will carry us into tomorrow.

finding myself in Santa Fe...

"If you've never visited or spent time in Santa Fe, New Mexico, then let me say this: you're a complete idiot. I was myself a complete idiot till about a year ago..... " - Douglas Adams

I received an email today from an old friend.  There was no greeting or "how are you" or sentimental expressions attached...only this quote.  But this quote said it all.  So much more than a lengthy letter, this quote was a reminder of the threads of connection that still bind us across such a vast distance.  Perhaps it would seem strange to tell you that this friend is not currently in Santa Fe.  In fact, we have both only visited Santa Fe once, together, years ago.  But this quote brought back that time...and it brought a smile of remembrance to my face.

Santa Fe, New Mexico.  There was a time when I was so enamored by the beauty and mystery of this place that it became a vital piece of my poetry for months.  There was a time after that when the reminders of our time there were frequent, bringing unfathomable joy to my heart.  And then there came the time when I began to forget, when the memories became fewer and less frequent, the internally imprinted images of those days fading into the background.  Now...I rarely think of Santa Fe.  It is a rare occasion that I allow myself to burrow in that bittersweet nostalgia.  However, tonight is a rare occasion...it seems to be a night for remembering.

The year was 2004.  It was a year of endings and beginnings.  It was the year I first began to know myself and discover the person I truly wanted to be.  It was a time for adventures, journeys into the unknown, pilgrimages across territories foreign to my feet, and to my soul.  It was a path that ultimately brought me home, but one that challenged me in unexpected ways in the process.  Santa Fe was only a brief step of the journey, but it was one that forever changed the woman I was becoming.

There was something magical that lingered in the air in Santa Fe, an ethereal quality that hung like a dreamy mist on the horizon.  Simplistic textures protected the fragility of ancient stories; stories as old as the weathered, aging skin of the Natives.  Senses were heightened to extreme sensitivity, every sight and sound, every smell and taste, tantalizing in its seduction.  Rich vibrancy of colors swirled on canvas, detailed or abstract, beckoning with O'Keefe's own passions.  Native music, tribal beats on hand-made drums and the sound of bare feet dancing upon the sacred earth.  A new perspective, small but no less removed, in the shadow of the cathedral's collosal stature.  We walked over broken cobblestones, the icy wind against our cheeks sharp enough to awaken my broken spirit.  Red peppers hanging from adobe rafters, simple paintings on the traditional Mexican fireplace just beyond a fingertip's reach.  And the food...the savory delicacies tinting the palette with life and fire and beauty.  Wine, thick and dark and heady, creating space within walls of fear, freeing the passions of a slumbering spirit. 

Santa Fe...it was breathless and intense, exhilirating and rejuvenating.  On the streets, in the market, beside the fire...this was the city that brought back my hope and my laughter.  This was the city where life was breathed into me, where sustenance and nourishment filled me.  Santa Fe...this was the city where I first glimpsed the woman I had always, and never, imagined I'd be.

with all good intentions

I started out this new week with the best of intentions.  I decided to try to actively embrace a healthier lifestyle while also vowing to listen to the needs of my body.  After going to watch Muay Thai fights this weekend, I was inspired to find ways of incorporating exercise into my life that felt more fitting for me.  I researched kickboxing and yoga classes, and even psyched myself up to go to the gym earlier this evening.  However, after a long day of classes and meetings, my body felt exhausted.  By 8 p.m., my eyes felt heavy so I listened to my body...instead of going to the gym, I set my alarms for early tomorrow morning and went to sleep.  Amazing...with the time change and the sky just barely darkening, I was deeply asleep before 9 p.m.  For an insomniac, this was an amazing accomplishment.  Unfortunately, it is now 1 a.m. and I am wide awake again.  Apparantly, my body thought I was just taking a long nap.  So now I am left with another decision...to return to bed, lay there tossing and turning for hours...or do something productive, all the while berating my body for not remaining content in the world of slumber.

In honor of my good intentions, I have also decided that I absolutely MUST take time for myself...to enjoy life, embrace the things that make me feel calm or exhilirated...take breaks from the monotony of daily work and stress and worries.  Today, I allowed myself some time to just sit on the bed and knit.  I've been working on a baby blanket for a friend, and the simple act of feeling the yarn thread between and over and under and around my bamboo knitting needles has a calming effect on me.  So this evening, I lovingly held the blanket in my lap, watching the strands create a tapestry of innocent bliss.

Tomorrow will be another busy day, but I have already made the decision to carve out time for things other than the daily stresses.  My sister returns home from China in the morning and I am counting down the hours until her arrival.  After two weeks away, my heart aches with missing her and I am looking forward to take-out dinner and lounging on the couches watching American Idol together tomorrow night.

The rest of the week is full of open possibilities.  While every day is filled with its share of client appointments, classes, assignments, and meetings, I am intent on enjoying my week.  There are a couple of yoga classes later in the week...my goal is to make it to one (and enjoy it).  My Holga camera sits on the floor next to me, waiting to be filled with film and taken out for an exploratory excursion this weekend.  There is a stack of celebrity gossip and bridal magazines to be perused in a leisurely fashion.  And as for the baby blanket, I have almost finished the one for A's baby girl (due in June).  With the wonderful news of two more babies awaiting their arrival into the world, I have a beautiful pile of soft baby yarn in various colors, ready to create their own patterns of nurturance and provide me with even more moments of serenity.

Outside, the air is gradually growing warmer.  The sun seems to be shining just a tiny bit more than in the past several weeks and the dogwoods and cherry blossoms are hesitantly beginning to bloom.  A tinge of Spring is in the air and I can feel the slight shift in the seasons.  I know that before long, I will be able to feel the warmth of the sun's rays casting their glow across my skin.  I will be able to smell the heady scent of gardens beginning their awakening.  I will be able to hear bird songs in the early morning hours and see the world brighten into a collage of vibrancy.  I started out this new week with the best of intentions and I can feel the beauty of the world urging me forward, day by day.

layers of emotions

It is interesting the way emotions manifest themselves.  When stress is high or emotions are heightened, the layers of emotions just seem to unfold, one after another, until all that is left is a raw, aching core.  For me, the emotions usually begin as mild frustration or disappointment.  Anxiety levels rise and tension pulls tight against my head, my stomach, my back, my heart.  At the highest peak comes the anger.  Anger in hot, raging flashes.  Anger exploding in all directions, targeting every tiny particle that steps in its way.  Inevitably, sometime in the midst of the anger come the overwhelming sensations of guilt.  Guilt for the anger.  And the guilt is then followed by the true feelings that lie underneath it all...primarily sadness and hurt. 

At the end of the unraveling of all the layers, I am left exhausted.  Depleted of all energy.  I feel scared and lonely and the guilt continues, an internal war raging against myself.  When all the tears have fallen and the bodily tension finally eases, I am left feeling as if I have just weathered the most vicious hurricane and I am barely clinging to the last stable branch of the only tree left standing.  The temptation to let go of the branch is powerful, the fight to continue holding on requiring more energy than my body can possibly contain.  But in the end, I do hang on.  I cling to that branch for dear life, and the energy required to keep holding on somehow appears.  In the end, I am thankful for that branch, that tree, and the will to not let go.

a world where i belong

After a very long break from my own world of writing and only periodic appearances at other's blog sites, I have recently returned to this magical arena.  As I've started writing more myself, I have also ventured back out into blog world again, exploring some of my favorites from the past several years, catching up on the daily happenings of fellow bloggers and wondering how it came to be that I allowed myself to drift so far away.  In this process, I have been reminded (through so many beautiful words of so many beautiful women) some of the reasons I fell in love with blogging in the first place.  I have also been reminded of all that I have learned, and all the ways in which I have grown, from this experience. 

It was not long after I began blogging on a regular basis that I began to connect with a wonderful, and varied, group of women.  Women all over the United States and Europe and Canada.  Women who spent their days making a living as artists or teachers or mothers.  Young women and older women.  Women of different ethnicities and sexual orientations.  Women that differed in so many obvious ways and yet women that were all connected through one common strand...a passion and deep love for words. 

In the years that have passed since those early days, I have learned so much from these women...from you.  Stories have been shared, bonds have been formed across many miles, and journeys have been traversed together.  I used to write about this wonderful "tribe of women" and somewhere along the way, I began to love these women, to cherish their words, to feel more fully alive from the connections that gradually formed.  While I never expected to experience anything of this sort, the world of blogging brought me such a unique and wonderful communal experience of women coming together to share their lives.  It was one of the first times I ever felt that there was a place in this world where I truly belonged.  A place where I would not be judged, but accepted and supported and encouraged.  A place where it seemed possible that I just might be loved for the simple act of being myself.  And it has been an incredible experience.

Through the various journeys, my eyes have been opened to so many different perspectives.  New obstacles have emerged and through the lives of these women, I have come to understand issues that have never been a part of my own life.  I have come to identify with these women, despite any differences, and my compassion has multiplied in the process.  There have been journeys of grief, losing loved ones...friends, lovers, family, even pieces of ourselves.  There have been journeys of darkness...cancer, depression, miscarriage, disease.  There have also been journeys of wonder and magic...falling in love, marriage, births of children, the beauty of female friendships.  There have been so many journeys and in these past couple of days, I have been reminded of all of these journeys.

I have gained so much from my own journey in this world of blogging.  I have developed friendships that will last a lifetime, spanning miles and years.  I have learned more about the importance of believing in myself and how to do that.  I have been given gifts of hope and light and faith during my own periods of darkness.  More than anything, I have been inspired.  This inspiration continues to seep through the words of so many women and I am reminded that this is indeed a world where I belong.

So thank you.  Thank you for these gifts.  Thank you for allowing me to come to know you and to walk these journeys beside you.  Thank you for sharing your beautiful spirits and being such an amazing source of inspiration.

magic in the South

It’s 3 a.m.  I just ate a piece of chocolate while feeling the cold air bite my skin in the open doorway.  The snow has not arrived yet but it is predicted to begin its graceful fall any moment now.  The absurdity of a March snow in the South bewilders me, but I have no complaints.  This is something new I have learned about myself this year: I absolutely love the snow.  It makes me sing out loud and giggle to myself like a small child.  The pure wonder of it just feels magical to me.  I’ve seen more snow since January than I have seen in the rest of my entire life to this point and I suppose I just never knew what I was missing.  Being Southern born and bred can do that.  The humidity and suffocating heat of the summers is expected.  Bitter cold winds and winter mornings blanketed in white are an anomaly here.  But they are an anomaly I have come to love.

My newfound love of snow makes me think more about the future.  For the past few years, I have looked forward to my internship year.  I have eagerly anticipated moving to a new place, embracing a new atmosphere and the possibilities of a new chapter in my life.  But the past several months, I have come to a place of dread for that time and relocation.  There is still time before I have to begin considering all the options.  But that time is growing shorter.  Come September, the possibilities will become a reality and as the months progress forward from then, those decisions will become more a part of my daily life.  While I never really felt at "home" in the city, the past year of living up in the suburbs, only a short drive from the mountains, have brought me a feeling of belonging at last.  I love our home.  I love that my sister lives only 2 miles away and that our beloved neighbors have become "extended family."  I am comfortable here.  After school and work, I look forward to coming home.  Because this place where I am now...I can truly call it my "home".

Despite the comfort of home, the reality is that we will most likely have to move a little more than a year from now.  That thought, which once invigorated me, now brings a great amount of sadness.  This place where I am now is not a place I want to leave.  It is hard to imagine daily life without the people here now.  It is hard to imagine starting over in a new place.  And while there are no decisions that have to be made now, the snow brings thoughts of other places and other homes and other possibilities for the future.

I have always loved the sun.  Summer has been my yearly solace, the season that warms my heart more than my body.  But the heat is what I have always known.  The Southern heat is familiar and comfortable.  Southern summers feel like "home".  Entertaining the idea of a new home is difficult for me.  While the sadness is profound at times and the fear of uncertainties present, the snow allows me to imagine new places and new possibilities with less sorrow.  This year has made me realize that I could potentially be happy in New England.  Dreams of watching the snow fall beyond a bay window, an old wooden desk and my mother's childhood typewriter, words emerging from an internal hibernation...these dreams inspire me to think of the world of possibilities that exist for the future.  A future where childlike laughter and singing in the snow are not such an anomaly.

For now, the future is simply that...a time for which these decisions do not yet have to be made.  So for the moment, I am looking forward to another snowfall, one more morning of magic in the South.

passions of insomnia

Sometimes I wonder if, somewhere along the way, I chose to be an insomniac.  There is something about the night that I love, something that I crave during daylight hours.  Perhaps it is the simplicity that greets me while the rest of the world sleeps.  Solitude is comforting and the pressures and stresses I carry throughout the day fall away.  For those few hours, the world becomes silent and at last, I am free to embrace the small comforts of my passions.  I can read a book for sheer pleasure, devouring the words of characters I come to know and love.  I can write about the things that are really important to me, my own words flowing freely from a well that lies deep within me, only pumping fresh sustenance in these hours of darkness.  I can hear the sound of my own breath and feel my body relax into a state of just being.  The truth is…during these hours of the night, when all is still and the world is dark, I can just be me again. 

Choosing to embrace the night presents quite the dilemma in reality though.  I need sleep.  My body and mind need the rest.  And yet my heart is caught on the other side of this battle, pulling me to continue the methodical, soothing pattern of knitting one strand after another into a tangible form of comfort.  Even as my eyelids fall heavy and my head begins to pound, my soul begs to continue dancing in the moonlight.  The darkness is my intoxication and when morning comes, I am left with a hangover that screams in the brightness of the daylight. I vow to change my patterns of being in the world, to sleep when others sleep, and walk through the day alert and awake.  But then night falls again, and my spirit reawakens.  Another battle between my body and soul begins.

needed: a no-worry plan

I wrote a blog yesterday that I intended to post but never did.  It was about the strange-ness of the world.  How sometimes the world feels like a strange place, a place so separate from myself and my way of being in it.  How sometimes I just feel strange.  And how it was strange to even write the words.  I forgot to post it and decided I wanted to write something more, something different, today.

I spend a lot of time in my life worrying.  Actually, I am an expert worrier.  I worry about what might happen tomorrow, what did happen yesterday, what is happening right now.  I worry about people I rarely, or never, see.  I worry about people I see every day.  I worry about death.  I worry about life.  I worry about nearly everything.  And I am finally tired.  I am tired of worrying so much.  Worrying takes far more energy than people may realize.  I’m tired of devoting so many precious moment of my life to worthless worrying. 

For the past two months, I have worried even more than usual.  I’ve worried about my work and whether it’s effective.  I’ve worried about whether the path I have chosen for my life is the right one.  I’ve worried about school assignments and classes and grades.  I’ve worried about my comprehensive exams in June and what will happen if I don’t pass them.  I’ve worried about the idea of having to move away somewhere to go on internship in the next couple of years.  I’ve worried about the health of others and my own health.  I’ve worried about not meeting deadlines and my lack of motivation.  I’ve worried about whether or not my anxiety will feel overwhelming on my wedding day and if I’ll be able to walk down the aisle focused on the man I love instead of worrying about having a panic attack.  I’ve worried about the flight to Jamaica and what would happen if I got sick during my wedding or honeymoon.  I’ve worried about worrying so much.

I’ve tried to hope for the best while preparing for the worst in all aspects of my life.  For instance, I’ve felt the need to devise a back-up plan in case I fail my Comps.  I’ve walked down the aisle in my wedding dress a million times in my head and boarded that plane nearly every day in my imagination.  And while my attempts at preparing for the worst may be helpful to some degree, I know it’s not healthy to live with so much worry.  It is exhausting, depleting my physical as well as my emotional energy.  It is time to come up with a no-worry plan.

A plan not to worry sounds absurd, at least to me.  It sounds like it would just have the opposite effect: in trying not to worry, I might just end up worrying even more.  But I have to do something.  The way I’m living these days is no way to live.  Despite the bouts of suffocating anxiety, I have to figure this out.  For myself now, in this moment.  And for my future with my soon-to-be husband.  There is too much life to enjoy to waste away the moments encumbered by worry.  But I am aware that such a habitual way of living is not so easy to change.  So I need a plan.  And I don’t know how to come up with a plan for myself.  So I’m asking you, my dear blogger friends, to please offer any suggestions, advice, possibilities, you may have.  Please impart your wisdom.  Through your words, and through my own, I am determined that my way of worrying must change. 

putting my words in the world

I was reminded last night that my writing can make a difference.  I haven’t thought about writing much lately.  At least not writing for anyone other than myself. 

Despite my long absence with blogging, I’ve been writing in my journal daily.  Perhaps it’s the absence of pressure or expectations I place upon myself that keeps my writing confined to my journal these days.  The pressure is so heavy in so many other aspects of my life right now.  Maybe I need to just feel that release, that free-flowing explosion of words upon the page.  Words that I know will not be read by anyone else.  Words that I do not even read again myself.  They appear on the page, straight from my heart or mind or soul, and then they’re just there.  They’re out of me and I’m able to let go of them. 

Blogging is different.  Just knowing that my words are out there in the world, for someone, anyone, else to read…it makes me hesitate, censor to some degree.   

But last night I was reminded that maybe I need to be putting my words out there in the world.  I was reminded that my passion for writing is meant for me than just a solitary pleasure.  Maybe my words are not meant to be confined.  Maybe someone will find comfort or reassurance or even just their own pleasure in the words I write. 

For so long now, I’ve convinced myself that the only way I can help others is through my therapeutic work.  In large part, that is why I have struggled so much these past couple of months.  I have felt ineffective as a therapist.  Because I rarely see direct results, I have felt that the work I am doing is not really helpful.  And I have fallen into a depression because of that. Cycles of depression perpetuated by feelings that I am failing at the one thing I am meant to do.  Maybe part of the problem is that I got stuck in believing that there is only one thing I am meant to do.

A simple comment about my writing last night reminded me of much more than just the possibilities of my words.  It reminded me of all the possibilities that lie within me.  Of all the purposes I have in living, so far beyond just my work.  I was reminded of the power that exists in simply loving and living.  I was reminded that I can find meaning in my life is so many different ways, in so many different contexts.  I have meaning as more than just a therapist.  I have meaning as a person, as a woman, a fiancé, a daughter, a sister, a friend.  I have meaning in just being me.  That reminder was exactly what I needed right now.

So maybe I’ll start putting my words back out there in the world.  Maybe someone needs them to be there.  Maybe that someone is me.