The smoke lingers

My ambition in life is to someday be the person my dog thinks I am. Emily Maughan

The last few nights have been rough.  Or more correctly, it’s the mornings that stink.  I seem to be harkening back to the early days and my pattern of waking up at 4am to get an early start on worrying.  My mind races with all that has to be done, isn’t being done, should be done.  All the things I keep forgetting.  The clock is ticking on the insurance paperwork and we are barely making any headway.  We do it in fits and starts and between David’s crazy travel schedule, relocating yet again, and general life busyness, it continues to fall to the wayside.  And, we have initiated the exciting (yes) and daunting (certainly) process of rebuilding.   

We need a home.  It is time to turn burgeoning thoughts into reality and break ground.  We need to have a future to live in to.  We have hired an architect and a builder and are beginning to get bids on our plans.  We hope this can be moving forward while we take our break from Colorado for the month of August.  Planning on being vagabonds through July, away for August, counting on cooler living in September and October when we return to Flame.  Then we will pack up again and go who knows where when the snow starts falling for real until our home is complete. 

Having never built a house before, we don’t really know what we are in for.  This reminds me of another faux pas in dealing with us fire people.  Yes, it is an exciting prospect to build a new house, yes we are lucky to get to do so, but don’t point this out to us.  We didn’t choose to do this so it is a mixed bag to say the least.  I harken back to my conversation early on with another fire survivor who declared years after building her “new house” she would still trade it for her old.  And, we are allowing some excitement anyway.  The first major hurdle will be seeing if we can afford our plan which is one of the things that wakes me in the wee hours.  “What if, what then, shit!”.  We are staying small, and relatively simple yet attempting to add features and touches that honor our beloved home.  Lots of tall windows to take in the view, decks across the front, an open vaulted great room, a cozy loft – and possibly an extra bathroom.  Wow.  What would we ever do with two bathrooms?  And, get this, a walk-in closet.  Not that I have clothes to fill it but after years of having to rotate closets as the seasons changed, a decent walk-in sounds lovely. 

Thoughts of this fill my mind.  Will we love it?  Can we afford it?  Will we get too much crap and lose our connection to things as they pile up in corners and in closets gathering dust?  I could argue that once you have more things than you could write down on any piece of paper at any time, you have too much.  I don’t want to accumulate.  I don’t want stacks of dishes, random kitchen implements, drawers full of junk, closets piled with clothes that hardly see the light of day.  I want simple. 

Just what is this new level of darkness that seems to be lying low like the smoke that fills the valley’s below our land?  It feels hard to smile, I am bone tired, and endless worry loops wake me up to tend to them.  Well, let’s see, there is having to move our of our cozy, albeit small, home in Flame; there are wildfires burning all over Colorado and I can’t have any conversation with anyone within 500 miles who isn’t impacted.  It is what is on everyone’s lips and in their minds.  We are no longer talking about “my fire” we are talking about multiple fires.  I can’t politely ask someone to change the subject as the issue has spread like hotcakes.  It's uncomfortable to talk about it and it's weird to not talk about it.  It’s not my issue, it’s the state of Colorado and the West’s issue.  Not that it was really ever just mine, just now it’s everywhere and it's everyones. 

Last night, I did peek at some pictures. I have wanted to stay informed but not overwhelmed so I have steered clear of images that are everywhere I look.  In these images, I glimpsed further into a world I know so well, seeing pained faces, flames coming out of windows, hugs between devastated women, animals fleeing.  I know what’s in the minds of these people.  I remember.  One of my friends exclaimed how awful it must be to discover you are on a list – almost as if I didn’t know.  I know.  I know.  I know.  I f-ing know. 

So yes, I am re-traumatized.  I see that as I type.  I feel the sob that comes up from down deep.  Our fire has faded into the distance as these new fires burn and are splashed all over the news.  But we have not faded.  We are raw and ragged and still here.  I am afraid of the next step. I don’t like being without a home.  I love my dear friends who offer basements but I want my own space.  We chose what seemed good on paper - to put our rental budget into a trailer and reclaim our land but now this seems like an expensive and limiting mistake. 

The couple tears I shed this morning (it was a somewhat stifled sob as I don’t want to startle the lovely 5 year old companion I have at the moment) provided some relief.  I am grieving.  Still.  I keep reminding you of that, but I need to remind myself of that.  That’s what is happening.  It’s grief.

I don’t want to build a new house.  I don’t want to live in a trailer.  I don’t want to live in a basement.  I want my house back. 

And, the truth that coexists is that I want this richer, rawer, edgier part of me that is claiming her place in my soul to live on as well.  And, I can’t have one without the other.  I will take my joys as they come and feel the deep pangs of grief too. As this 5-year-old angel peeks over my hands as I write not comprehending the words I type and god forbid, for a while at least, not comprehending the pain I feel or the darkness that exists in the world.  I will wash my heart for a moment as I listen to her running commentary on all things great and small.  “Did you know dogs can paint…. I met a dog named captain… How old are you…”   She tucks Tigger in a blanket as he lies on my feet and kisses his head exclaiming, “you have the best puppies ever”. 

Then I can say, yes, that is true.  At least, I have the best puppies ever.

Why does the bird sing?

A bird does not sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song. Lou Holtz

I woke up worrying. Or did I start worrying once I woke up. In those early moments before getting out of bed and way before coffee, it’s hard to tell. What I can tell is how my 60 minutes of worrying between eye flutter and first sip of caffeine made me feel. Like poop.

To escape the blistering heat at our lovely trailer, we stayed the last two nights at the Highland Haven in downtown Evergreen. A lovely respite from reality, the Highland Haven is a high-end B&B built around an 1884 homestead. A small river runs along the property, towering spruce provide ample shade, the gardens are tended but not over manicured. Our room is lovely and dark and one might have thought I could have slept in - but oh no, I need to get up early enough to begin my worrying. Well-worn grooves of worry were my focus. Challenging relationships, the heat, fires burning across Colorado our future, where to do the laundry... It wasn’t until I walked back to my room with coffee in hand that it occurred to me that I might choose something else and start the day over. Some of us are slow learners.

Looking deeper, below the worry, I see fatigue. These small retreats keep us going but our souls need a little more time to mend. Two nights at an expensive (albeit lovely) hotel won’t fix me. Darn it! We did have a lovely dinner by the river having picked up take out Thai. And, we had some much needed together time, away from it all. Later today, I check in with my therapist, my first appointment in a couple weeks. I will lie on her couch and tell her my tales. She will remind me that it’s all ok, to be expected, and that I am actually doing quite well.

Writing seems stiff this morning. More proof of what I tell my clients: you can be tucked away in a mountain retreat, by a river, all alone - and still not be inspired to write. There is no perfect time to write. It takes dedication, saying no to some things to say yes to this, willingness to sit through the discomfort, the ability to watch words that bore you show up on the screen and keep typing anyway. Don’t edit as you write is a mantra - yet of course, us perfectionists, can’t stand that! I attempt to follow my advice and type away, knowing I can come back. I could add this to my worry list - maybe I am running out of steam with my writing. Maybe there isn’t anything left to say. But I don’t actually believe that. I think it’s just often the same themes emerge and I get tired of saying it, tired of feeling it - and concerned that you might be tired of reading it. And, I am going to write anyway. Write regardless. Write on. That’s what I tell my clients - and I am telling myself that too. Over and over again.

There are sweet spots in the day where I imagine writing emerging themes and insights and beauty. I want to share all of it with you but then the moment passes and I don’t remember. Last night had quite a few. A conversation with two dear friends as we do a Vision exercise that I give to all my clients. Part of an Abundance circle, we three are creating the next year of our lives. In a flash of inspiration, I sent the assignment with a rallying cry to complete it. I have done Vision exercises over the years, the first time being when I read Jack Canfield’s The Success Principles and let ‘er rip which (unbeknownst to me at the time) began my adventure in book writing. I know magic can come from the willingness to throw our hats over the fence and create dreams so big they scare us. And, I have done these assignments, creating castles in the sky and never quite following through. This time, it’s different. The usual instructions are to “dream big, think big, stretch, allow wild imagination”. Now, at the beginning of so much, I am allowing something (for lack of a better word) smaller. I am tired of pie in the sky lingo, I just want to be willing to dream of something. Like any good resister, I put off the assignment for two weeks and began working on it an hour before our call. Talk about putting rusty fingers to keyboard. The resistance was screaming in my ears. “That’s stupid, that’s a terrible, that’s boring, that’s unrealistic...” And, I kept the fingers moving anyway.

Something started to emerge. I wrote about the house that is taking shape, the lifestyle we are creating, how the fire brought us closer. Each sentence I wrote, I questioned. “Really? Do you want that really?” When the three of us came together, it turned out that we all had variations of the same theme. It is common lingo in the circles we travel to say, “when we declare something, what often shows up is not that.” Meaning, the challenges often rush to the surface to fill the space that is created in declaration.

With my powerful friends, I urged the permission for all of it. The glaring “not that” that has shown up, our mutual pissy-ness, dashed hopes and dreams, financial concerns (real and imagined), relationship challenges, and more. And, without having exact words for it, I urged us to do it differently. All of us have created before. What will make this one different I queried? We are all around the same age, have done a lot and seen a lot. We have transformation up the ying yang, we are self-aware and moderately successful in our fields. What will make it different this time?

I have been in this conversation a lot lately. I was on an inspired fast-track with my business last year, movin’ and groovin’, launching programs and products and astounding myself. And, I ended the year bone tired, realizing that even though I adore my work, I was still trying to prove myself. The old “when I get there, I will be ok” bullshit. Yes, I wrote a whole book about this, and YES I was still doing this to myself.

I want for these women like I want for myself. And, what I really want for all of us is to find peace. Peace within our hearts as a starting place. Then we can choose our dreams from there. So quickly my lofty goals turn to a proving ground for my worth. So quickly my admiration for another turns to what they have that I don’t. So quickly my success turns to not enough. So quickly inspiration turns to driveness.

Yes, we all have this and do this. Now, much of my motivation and push has burned away with the fire along with stacks of books telling me how to be better, stronger, faster; binders full of notes from my Masters degree, massage training, personal development work and all the business training I ever did; CD’s and workbooks of teachers offering their wisdom to entrepreneurs in the form of list building, business management, tele-seminar creation and more - all turned to ash. I implemented much of the training, yet many “to-do’s” continuously sounded their alarm from my shelves. “You are not doing enough” was their call. “You need to, you should, you have to, you must. Hurry up, don’t forget, don’t miss out. Don’t mess it up. You are missing opportunities. Now is the time. Hurry hurry hurry.” I hear their ghosts still singing to me. No, I say. I won’t listen. I won’t buy the garbage. And, I am certainly not saying it’s all garbage. I think you know what I mean.

It’s time to take it down to the bare bones. Just what is really going on here? How can so many of us go through life dissatisfied? We are smart, savvy, educated, talented, beautiful, yet it’s never ever enough. And, it never ever will be.

What I am asking now is:

What do I care about?
What do I really want?
How can I have goals, commit to move towards them yet not become over-identified with the outcome?
Can I let go of needing to prove something?
Can I really, truly be ok with who I am and where I am right now?
What if this is as good as it gets - can I be ok with that?

Do we judge the bird for not having answers? No, we let it sing its song. What does it try to tell us? Maybe nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe there is no message. Maybe it is merely singing.

A Summer solstice - and sojourn

The longest day of the year. I think I have had others that have felt longer. But the sun promises to shine longer today than any other day. Maybe I will rise to the challenge and join it. Maybe not. Two sips of coffee in without enough cream to make it just right, I say, it's too soon to tell. I will certainly enjoy the last few flushes of a modern toilet as I return to Flame whose toilet is, once again, on the fritz. Thank God for Shirley Septic and my now semi-permanent portapotty. I don't mind it so much during the day (when no workmen are milling around) but those middle of the night pee times that have become status quo of my mid 40's, well, that's another story. Pledging to keep the leaking tank empty for our next professional opinion, I will stumble through the dark to my plastic throne - or I may just squat along the way. It's hard to imagine all of that as I sit on my plush hotel bed a mere eight feet from a fabulous flush. And, yes, one more standup shower for this girl before I return to the seated bird bath. How different tomorrow will be from today. Did you just say 'at least you are writing regularly again'? I think I heard you say that...

I watch my roommate pack her bag for her return to England. A wild-child entrepreneur at 25 with a shock of blond hair and a sweet soul, Jo Westwood was the perfect roommate. We met virtually, on the Facebook page for the course and skyped for our first meeting. We have mostly passed in the night but our interactions have been memorable. She is launching into the stratosphere with her social media business and already is working for our fearless leader, Christina Morassi. It's because of my commitment to be Jo's roommate that I came - and it's because of Christina that I even considered it in the first place. The promise to Jo kept me driving east to the airport as I railed and seriously questioned just why I was about to jump from one silver bullet to another and hurtle through the sky before I felt ready. I even wondered if my PTSD might suddenly escalate into a full blow panic attack on the airplane. It didn't, I slept.

I met Christina at a workshop last fall. Impressed immediately by her extreme full self-expression on stage, I said 'yes' to the offer of a laser coaching session. Christina is beautiful, sassy, full on woman, and fricken real as shit. She drops the 'f-bomb' from stage as ravishingly as she wears her full length ball gowns that are her signature style. Sometimes I don't actually listen to her words, I just watch with awe at her full embodiment of all of what it means to be a woman. Also quite brilliant, a former fashion photographer, turned healing professional with shamanism and other energy modalities sprinkled in, she brought an alchemical reaction to her gifts and morphed into a mega success in a short time. She is magnetic - and a true inspiration. At this point in my journey, I would not have flown across half the country for just any old workshop. Early in my adventure, Christina and I had a few sessions. Hers was the first voice that insisted I not 'jump to form too quickly', that I shouldn't hurry my process - I have taken those wise words and run with them. Thank you Christina.

For those first few hours among 'normal folks' in the workshop, I felt like a leper. I didn't belong or fit in among these shiny (and clean) classmates. Yes, I had bathed but the stain of ash still remained on my feet and in my heart. I couldn't not talk about the fire as we shared why we were there and what we wanted to get out of the course - but the words were stuck in my craw. I chose a few steady souls and asked them to go first. Without drama, I then shared my tale. It began to ease. Christina is far from a 'normal' workshop leader so she brought all sorts of expressions to our sharing. We even danced our response to our partner at one point which was one of the most lovely moments of the workshop. I noticed myself to be more free than usual in these things I might normally label as queer. And, I also took breaks. Normally a 'good girl' and a 'good workshop attendee', I don't miss a minute as I don't want to miss THE thing that will make THE difference and alter my life FOREVER. Instead, this time, I let myself be in the room when I wanted and out when I felt the need. Then, yesterday, I stepped way out of the room. A chance opportunity to have lunch with my college roommate who just happened to be in town led to a lovely meal, then a long stroll around most of the cute shopping districts in the area. I wandered all afternoon, asking for a few pointers from shopkeepers to know if I was heading in the right direction. The perfect California weather was my companion with that cool ocean air and a warm sun. I changed clothes as I went, shedding my workshop outfit of my leopard wrap dress (sans tail for your faithful readers) and fortunately low slung heels, morphing into flip flops, burnt orange corduroy cut off shorts, and one of the best bell sleeve hippy shirts I have ever owned.

A few times panic arose as I was playing hooky. I am a bad girl! Then, I would inhale deeply, and choose to be where I was. I needed this break. I needed to be outside wandering in and out of shops. I didn't hurry. I let go of the story that I was missing something. I connected with strangers - and met one of the most fabulous dogs ever. First, I glanced at his rear as he gazed out the window. When I finished my loop around the store, I caught site of his mastiff face curled against his ladies leg and I had to stop. Turns out, she found him at a shelter. At 2-ish, he had spent most of his life on the street. Yet this was one of the biggest babies I have ever seen - and he adored her. Rolling around her feet like a cat, belly in the air, then raising his massive head for a lick on her cheek, he stole my heart. How lucky they found each other. She lost a love of her life dog shortly before finding him. With the LA lifestyle, this big baby gets to go to work with her daily and has no desire to run for the open shop door. If I could have gotten away with stealing him, and if David wouldn't divorce me for bringing home a third dog, that honey would be in my hotel bed with me right now.

Today is the last day of the workshop. I will be amongst my entrepreneurially minded peers as we soak up the last day of Christina's wisdom and love on each other. Then, I will board another silver bullet that hopefully will stay in the air for as long as we need it to then return to my very own silver bullet on my charred land.

Early on, after catching my tears and holding my pain, Christina asked me to stay in a place of wonder. Just for today, on the solstice, I can commit to that. And, because sometimes things metaphorically tie themselves up into neat little packages for a moment before they are blown apart by our next human reaction, I quote myself in the last line of my book:

 And I am restored to wonder...

Calling all Grapplers!

Ahhhh.  That first cup of coffee.  There is nothing like it.  Actually, the perfection is in the first sip of the first cup.  Yum.  I could not, would not, live life without coffee.  Today we head south – to southern Colorado, that is.  We pack up Flame for her maiden voyage with us – she was born in 1967 so has been on many trips with many people over the years.  We only know some about the trips with her previous owners.  They shared photos of Flame in front of mesas and great vistas around the desert.  Their love apparent through the multitude of shots. I would love to know of all her jaunts around the country.  What sights has she seen?  Who have been her passengers?  What were they like?  What were their hopes and dreams as they took to the open road? 

Yet instead of packing up, I am sitting here.  David knows that I need to write before anything, so he will begin packing and I will join him after.  After how long, I don’t usually know.  Typically, I sit for about an hour.  Settling back in bed, hair in a pony tail, pillows propped up behind me, coffee cup to my side, I position my laptop opening the lid with anticipation of what’s to come, never quite knowing what I will say or who I will be.  I have tales to tell and they seem to keep coming.  I am going with it. 

Writing is my practice and my therapy.  I won’t skip more than a day in a row and don’t skip many days at all.  It’s my quiet time.  For so many of the early days, being quiet was a bad thing.  Being alone with my brain was not something I wanted to do.  Yet, by beginning to write about it, I had an outlet.  I could write the confusion, the darkness and the angst and not feel alone while doing it.  I was speaking to you, you were listening.  I am still speaking to you – and you tell me you are, in fact, still listening.  This means the world to me.  It is what matters most in my life – writing this journey and writing about ALL of it. 

This has been the place where I formulate who and how I am being about all of these changes.  I can vent the yuck here, share the moments of beauty, cry and rail, laugh and write my truth.  This process has cemented something that has cried for formulation for many years.

Another well-meaning friend offered wisdom as I walked through the doors of Fox news to be on live TV – in the studio, next to the anchors, watching the teleprompter – all of that.  I have been on TV a few times during this adventure but it has been taped interviews that are later picked over for the nuggets and my lengthy narrative has been reduced to short moments that illustrate a story.  This was different.  And, they had read my blog and knew about my book, so I was going to be able to speak about that.  My friend said, “you can share how you are dealing with this so differently after writing your book about not waiting”.  I felt myself brace, “No. That’s not true.  I want to share how it’s messy and not linear and unpredictable and doesn’t have to be anything other than it is, and yet, still, there are moments of beauty.”  I think I went on a short rant about expectations of how we should be, our cultures discomfort with grief, how we celebrate the empowered, etc. 

I am about the messy these days – and may be forever.  I bare my soul, share my ugly and angst as well as telling you I can see a flash of green on my tree, or a hawk flying low, or when I pat the velvet forehead of my dog my heart breaks with love.  It is ALL of that.  The concept of a straight line where you neatly move through stages and emerge victorious – is bull hockey.  The idea that you create an empowering context and always, unwaveringly live from that.  Gag me.  I am not going to say that, no how, not ever ever. 

And by now you know, I am not purporting that people stay in the muck forever either.  If you know what I am talking about, you know what I am talking about, capiche?  Let’s just embrace messy, write it raw – disrupt the ordinary in that way.  I am committed to not knowing, to letting myself not figure anything out, to be where I am and not come to “the other side” a moment too soon.  I will not emerge from the cocoon before I am ready.  The permission I have given myself is freeing.  On some deep level of my psyche a small, quiet voice whispers, “finally”.  It’s a full deep breath and a level of acceptance I craved before but never quite knew.  And, when I am completely in an obsessive loop of negativity, it’s strangulating.  But if you dance in your darkness, you know what I mean.  You know the paradox – the relief I of letting yourself be in it yet not always of it.  And, you know equally that “this” state is not a fixed state.  It changes too – with the wind, with the bumping up against another angsty human or even with a bad case of gas.

Some might label this as a lack of choice.  Not at all, I say.  I am choosing to be here.  I am choosing to ride the wave as it carries me to a soft sandy beach to be bathed by the sun. Or as it tosses me against a jagged rock jetty and I am bled dry.  I will see where this ride will take me.  This ride where if I truly let go, and can stay in this place, and not try control the outcome – where might I end up?  I’m not even describing curiosity; it’s more like plain vanilla willingness.  Nothing fancy, just wanting to see. 

Did I communicate any of that live on air on Fox news?  I hope so.  I spoke what was there to speak.  I spoke from my heart to the hearts of those who are beginning to ride the ride in the High Park fire.  Now, I speak it to you, perhaps a little more lucidly since cameras are not rolling and I can go back and edit a bit for more clarity.  Yet, as I re-read my words, I am not sure I am communicating what I want to say.  I think if you know, you will know.  Otherwise, it might not make sense.  Part of being willing to be in the unknown is the challenge of recounting it.  And, I can’t be separate from it right now, so I am describing the experience from down in the trenches.  I am telling you about the blood and the guts and the mud and the bullets whizzing overhead with glimpses of the blue sky.  I am not telling you about the battle that was fought 20 years ago and the wisdom I gleaned and now want to pass on from a place on high…  No.  I am not doing that.    

What I want to provide is peace of mind and heart for those who grapple with life.  I want ease for those who struggle.  Not to get to “the other side” but to embrace being in the midst.  Then we can meet each other there with knowing looks and a warm embrace.  We will see the flotsam and jetsam of darkness and recognize a fellow traveller.  We won’t brush things over but we will know what deserves our grapple and what doesn’t. 

Are you a grappler?  Well, then I write for you.  Do you thrive when you see the rich fabric of the world?  Then, I call to you.  Do you scream to know you are not alone in your angst?  Then, I scream back.

Let’s grapple together – grapplers unite!

As another wildfire rages out of control - WE reach out to YOU

As another wildfire rages out of control near Fort Collins, my heart breaks for those who lost homes and particularly those who lost loved ones.  At 36,930 acres and zero percent containment, this fire is a nasty one.  An ‘act of God’ sparked this blaze in the form of a random lightning bolt.  Extreme dryness coupled with high winds is the perfect breeding ground for fire.  I didn’t sleep well, thoughts of these poor folks filling my mind, knowing some of what they are experiencing, only imagining more.  Tossing and turning throughout the night, I thought of what I want to say to them and those who love them.  I wish I could shield them from the inevitable roller coaster ride that results from life chewing us up and spitting us out.   Here is what I want to say:

To those affected by the High Park Fire – those who have lost loved ones, animals and homes, or still wonder what you lost as you attempt to gather the fragments of information that are beginning to surface – our thoughts are with you. 

There are no words that are adequate.  I am sorry.  It sucks.  It’s horrific.  It’s all of that and more.  You are in the midst of it – with this fire still raging out of control and no end in site.  Many of you don’t know the status of your homes, property or animals you either couldn’t return for or were forced to leave behind.  We feel your pain.  We know the anguish. We wince as we read the news, see the pictures and smell the smoke that drifts even as far south as we are.  We understand.  We were there – and now we are further down this life-altering path.  We aren’t far enough along to have forgotten anything – and truthfully – none of us will ever forget.  We will remember that day forever.  We will remember the sounds, smells and how it felt.  The moments of evacuation – or of being unable to return to collect any belongings – will be etched in our minds forever.  The terror, the bewilderment, the not knowing, then the knowing, we remember it all.  We wish you didn’t have to go through any of this. 

You have joined a club that you never wanted to join.  Your roller coaster ride has just begun – and won’t be over for a while.  We are still on ours.  After the smoke clears and the dust settles a bit, you will still be riding the ride.  You will be dealing with your insurance companies and learning details you never ever wanted to know.  You will be asked to walk from room to room in your mind to make lists of everything you ever owned.  You will be tired – and you will get more tired.  You will wonder if you can continue on.  You will question everything.  You will wonder why, is there a God, what did you do wrong, how could this happen?  You will not want to believe it.  You will begin the mourning process.  Hopefully, you will rally together as neighbors to support each other and realize you aren’t alone.  You will understand each other, as no one else really will.  You will embrace those who were strangers previously and they will become something deeper than friends.  You will be grateful to be alive but pissed beyond belief. 

I hope you can let yourself have all of it, be all of it, and experience all of it.  There is no “right” way to walk through this.  Some of you will pop up more quickly, returning to life and moving on in ways – yet never forgetting.  Others will take longer.  Some will choose to close a chapter of your life, move to the city, or somewhere else.  Others will have no idea what direction to go.  I hope you can let yourself have whatever reactions you have and feel whatever emotions you experience.  You may be terrified, angry, depressed, devastated, detached, or dejected.  You may be all of those things in a 15-minute period.  Some days you will see the light at the end of the tunnel, and others it will be black as night.  Let it be.  Let yourself be. 

The land will take a while to heal – can you let yourself take as long?

I speak to those whose hearts take longer to heal.  Let it take what it takes.  Don’t try to rush through it.  Don’t compare yourself to how someone else is doing.  Don’t judge or make yourself wrong for anything.  Surround yourself with people who will let you be however and whoever you need to be.  Don’t waste your time with those who don’t get it.  Life is too short for that. 

Some more suggestions:

1.     Don’t make any rash decisions – you will be raw for a while.  Save the major decisions for a little further down the path.  Give yourself a little time to breathe.

2.     Get support – both professional and personal.  Allow your community to support you.  Take advantage of resources that are offered.  Seek counseling.  There is nothing wrong with needing help.

3.     Make lists of everything.  Carry a notebook everywhere you go.  Write down thoughts you have, things to-do, anything that comes to mind.  Write down all the people who offer to assist.  Many people will offer many things in the beginning and you will NOT remember who said what.  You will continue to need things, support, time and maybe even money later on.  You probably won’t want a lot right away.  Don’t turn people away – write it down so you can revisit later.  Tell them you will get back to them at some point.  And then do that. 

4.     Pace yourself.  You will be quite tired in a way you have never experienced before.  There is nothing wrong with you – your system is in overload.  This is normal. 

5.     Try to sleep.  This is a tough one – but rest when you can. 

6.     Attempt to settle as soon as possible in a place where you can unwind.  If you are truly comfortable in a friend’s spare bedroom, this is fine but often no matter how lovely our friends are, eventually you will need your own space. 

7.     Find an outlet – whether it is exercise, going to movies, reading – or like for me – writing.  I started writing 6 days after our fire and haven’t stopped since.  Sixty-thousand words later, I still have more to say.  If this is your thing, let yourself do it.  Get the thoughts out there.  Share your pain.  I promise, it helps.

8.     Expect that people in their well-meaning ways will say a lot of tings that don’t seem so supportive.  Give this list to your friends if it helps.  Bring humor (when you are ready) to deal with the silly things that come out of people’s mouths.  Some of those will be:

a.     “Well at least you _______ (fill in the blank).”  At least you got out alive, at least you got your dogs, at least you have your health….  Just breathe when someone begins a sentence this way and move on.  You will hear it a lot.  It is annoying – and it will keep happening.   (I have blogged extensively on this one in particular so you can read more about that at www.walkingthroughfire.com Look at June 11th’s entry.

b.     “Well you had insurance, didn’t you?”  This question can leave you feeling that the asker has no concept of the magnanimity of what you are now dealing with.  And they don’t.  They can’t.  Unless someone has gone though this, they have no idea.  It’s not like a fender bender where you can put your house in the shop and come back to find it good as new. 

c.      “It must be so freeing to not have any stuff.” Or some variation of this…  I was told I would hear this – and I have, multiple times.  Often, it comes in the form of musings that seem to occur in front of you.  People are attempting to look for the silver lining.  Kindly ask them not to do that right now, for you.  You will find your own silver lining in your own damn time.  You do not need to be told.  And, no, it isn’t really that freeing.

d.     The question, “How are you?”  This is a tough one.  It’s what we humans ask each other all the time and most of the time, we don’t really mean it and certainly don’t want to know.  I have asked my people to skip this question entirely and get right to the point. 

The truth is people don’t know what to say, what to do, or how to help – and most people genuinely want to contribute something.  Mostly they mean all the above with kindness in their heart, it’s just that they can be clueless at times.  Have people with whom you can really unwind and let go.  Bitch about what you need to bitch about.  Vent when you need to.  Scream, yell and cry at whim. 

9.     Say YES to support. And, keep saying yes, over and over and over again.  You will need help.  You will want help, even if you don’t want it now.  Mostly, let people love you.  Let them contribute to you.  They really really want to. 

Just as those who walked through previous fires have been (and still are) there for us, we are here for you.  Reach out if you want, we will answer.  We want you to know that one day, you will smile again.  Just not right now. 

With love in my heart, tears in my eyes and sadness in my soul,

Kristen Moeller

waitingforjack@gmail.com

North Fork Fire, March 26^th 2012

The Wisdom of Dr. Suess

And when you're in a Slump,

you're not in for much fun.

Un-slumping yourself

is not easily done.

And will you succeed?

Yes! You will, indeed!

(98% and 1/4 guaranteed.)

From Oh, the Places You'll Go

Ahhhhhh.  The timeless wisdom of Dr. Suess.  He continually reminds us – in the most friendly of ways – of the ups and downs of life.  We silly humans promptly forget and wonder why it isn’t roses all of the time.  What happened to the roses?  Weren’t we guaranteed roses?  Where are those stinkin’ roses!  We want our money back!!! 

Life is what it is, and for sure, it ain’t always roses. 

Early on in this newest adventure in my already adventure-filled life, I was warned by a veteran fire-survivor of all the silly things that people would say in response to our tragedy.  At the top of her list was any sentence beginning with the words, “At least you… (fill in the blank)”.  I could comprehend then – and now I understand completely how this is absolutely not a good way to begin a sentence with anyone who has gone through a recent trauma.  It lands as an insistence that we “should” be grateful at a time where either a) we know that already, or b) we definitely are not ready to hear that, or c) we want you shut your pie hole (and you know I mean that in the most loving of ways…).

I quickly learned to brace for the relatively frequent barrage of “at least you _____” statements.  I smile and nod, or I say nothing, or I change the subject… quickly.  My closest and dearest have transformed this overused retort into something funny.  "Well, at least you are hot.  Or at least you don’t have to worry about anybody reading any of your childhood journals.  At least you don’t have to worry about who will clean out your stuff when you die…”   

In my debut as a stand-up comic last week (yes, you may laugh now at the mere thought), I riffed on the ripe material that emanates from the well-meaning yet clueless folks who utter these words.  Then to my surprise, yesterday I received an “at least” statement with an open heart as it came form the lovely man who, with his crew of two, spent 3 backbreaking days constructing a beautiful flagstone patio for us.  Javier is the epitome of hardworking.  Over the time we had together, we learned a little about his life.  Moving from Mexico to Colorado as a small child, his family owned a large ranch in the Southern part of the state for many years.  Married twice and supporting a family, Javier works by day at a landscaping supply yard and by night (and all weekend too), at his own business of installing patios as well as remodeling and finish work on houses.  Busy doesn’t begin to describe it.  Early mornings, late evenings, non-stop work, who knows when this man sleeps.  Vacation is probably not in his vocabulary.

On Saturday, after finishing most of the patio, Javier and his crew posed for pictures in our driveway capturing the vast vista behind them.  He returned for a brief stop yesterday morning as he had run out of “Breeze” which fills in the crevices between the stones and our patio seemed to grow larger than originally planned.  Driving all the way up here for a 15-minute job, he didn’t miss a beat and generously brought a chainsaw, as he knew that David wanted to take down a small tree that was shading our solar panels.  At one point, I asked his age and he said, “44”.  A bit surprised due to his gray hair and weathered face, I said, “Oh, we are older than you are.”  He, without spite, responded, “yes, but you don’t do the kind of work I do.”  I heartily agreed. 

As he was preparing to depart, he took one last gaze at our panoramic view, the burn not registering as a detraction in any way, and these words came out of his mouth, “At least you…”  I, in turn, watched my heart open to this man as he finished, “… have this land and this view.”  I, again, heartily agreed with Javier. 

Yes, at least we do have this land and this view.  We are quite fortunate.  We have freedoms that many don’t.  We live in a beautiful and serene place even with its most recent scars and destruction.  Herein lies the rich fabric of life that Dr. Suess points to.  I can realize my blessings and still have my slumps.  I can be grateful for how relatively “easy” we have it compared to so many others and I can let go of needing to experience that gratitude at every moment.  

Yesterday at my 12-step meeting the topic was “letting go”, a common theme of conversation around the rooms.  It’s always interesting to hear the many different perspectives on this topic.  Some are short and sweet, others are a tall order.  Many parables were shared to illustrate the simplicity of letting go coupled with our innate ability to complicate and resist anything simple.  Letting go really does sound easy.  And most of us know that it’s not.  It is simple; it is not easy.  We can let go – and then a few minutes (or seconds) later, pick it right back up again.  For many of us, like a ravenous dog with a bone, we gnaw away until our teeth chip and our gums bleed. 

After one particularly moving share, I reconfirmed my knowledge that I will ultimately let go.  I will do it, it will happen, this too shall pass and yadda yadda.  This is the big picture view.  In the small picture view, where most of us live, I need to be where I am.  It goes like this:

Let go, pick it back up, let go again…. Ahhhh space and freedom.  Trigger trigger trigger.  Shit!!!!!!!!!  Breathe.  Let go.  Ok, got it.  I am letting go.  Peace.  Wait a minute – what did you say?  Spiral spiral spiral.  Oh, you didn’t mean “that”?   You really love me?  Ok, I understand.  I feel happy!  We really are ok.  What, the septic is leaking?  Again?  Fuck it all.  God does hate me.  What’s wrong with world?  Why is there so much suffering???  Wow, that’s a beautiful flower.  Ooooh, did you see that baby deer.  Boy, I love my dogs.  Oh no, I have a sore throat, maybe I am getting sick.  Shit.  God does hate me.   There isn’t even a God anyway.  Nothing makes sense.  I am sleepy.  I love my cozy bed in Flame.  So glad to have my feather pillow.  Ahhhh.  Life is good.   Right now.  In this moment.  I hope nothing happens today…

The monkey mind is our constant companion.  Some have an easier time keeping it in its cage and remembering that it tells us a pack of lies.  Others have what we call in 12-step rooms, a “built in forgetter”.  In 1989, I learned this simplest of explanations for the insanity.  I simply forget.  I forget over and over and over and over again.  And, then I remember, when I remember.  Sometimes, I remember more quickly, sometimes it takes me a while.  With a long-term dedication to a path of personal growth comes the experience of having walked through many fires in our lives.  Once we walk through enough fires, we begin to know on some higher level that one day, we will be ok again.  And one day, we will see the gifts.  And one day, the event will recede into the distance becoming part of our history but not informing everything we think, say or do. 

One of the most important things I am letting go of today is how letting go should look.  For this human, letting go is a process not a one-time event.  I am like the weather – sometimes sunny, sometimes cloudy.  Sometimes blowing stink, sometimes pitter-pattering cool drops of rain.  I will open my heart to those like Javier and allow myself to view my world through his kind eyes.  And, sometimes I will wake up grumpy and argue with my husband for no apparent reason.  I will then back up and remember that he is my favorite person in the whole wide world and all I really want is for him to be happy.  And, I will pat his head, offer more coffee and make my amends.  Later, I may moan and groan on hold at customer service.  I will pat my dogs and be elatedly grateful for their presence.  I will celebrate the small amount of “old” things I carried out of my house like my wool turtle neck sweater and hand woven blanket. 

I will forget, then I will remember, then I will forget again.  And, one day, I will remember longer. 

Just don’t push your luck by beginning any sentence with “at least”.  At least for the time being, unless your name happens to be Javier, k?  

Just who is this God dude?

Well… If I had written yesterday, I would have begun by crying out, “God hates me!”  Now I know that isn’t completely true.  And, I know everything could be a helluva lot worse.  And, I don’t even know for sure there is a God to hate me afterall.  Is anyone really up there watching over us?  Does he or she reside within us?  Does anything make any sense?  Are my prayers heard?  Are my curses ignored?  Will I burn in hell – or are we all living in hell right now?  All these questions and more would have tumbled from my fingers onto the keyboard…

After my debut performance as a stand-up comic on Tuesday night and the resulting freedom and exaltation that came from that, Wednesday was wonderful.  I felt different as I drove to my weekly appointment with my therapist.  The colors seemed brighter along the road – and don’t just tell me it’s cause they were brighter… My soul felt lighter and I thought I might have turned a corner.  Proud of my progress through this trauma, my therapist acknowledged my inner resources and ability to rely on my many years of personal growth tools.  I felt it too.  Ahhhh.  Life was shifting. 

After being gone much of the day, I returned home to Flame a tad on the tired side and discovered an odor.  A somewhat familiar odor, I might add.  Looking in the place I now know to look, I observed the drip drip drip of raw sewage falling to the ground in the same pattern as before.  Again?  Really???  Dollar signs began racking up in my head from the conversation with the repair person who felt so happy to be saving us the “big” repair by attributing the leak to merely a seal on the tank.  And, then the rain started to fall.  I quickly did my business in the glory of nature and returned to the warmth of Flame to retire.  All through the night, the rain grew more intense, the thunder boomed and lightning flashed.  Besides not being able to sleep well, I didn’t think much about it.  Until morning that is.  On my trip out to do my morning constitution, I discovered what all of us “homelosers” had been afraid of.  A bad case of erosion was there to greet me.  And, yes, many people dealt with storm related chaos and damage from this deluge – and ours was due to the lack of vegetation on the ground – and you already know what that was due to…

I felt the psychic clouds roll in even as the sky was clearing.  Too tired, smelling the stink of the dripping “blackwater”, and seeing the devastation of the land once again, I began to fold.  My morning was consumed with rallying the troops, finding out who else was dealing with erosion, emailing Channel 7, taking pictures, reaching out to our community resource team all while waiting for the RV repair guy to call me back.  Shirley Septic (my heroes) arrived mid-morning, delivering a porta-potty and pumping the holding tank to slow the leakage and make the repair guys job a little bit easier and lot less messy. 

The light I had sensed the day prior evaporated in the stink, running down the newly formed gulley’s that covered our property where once there was earth.  I watched it run down hill and wondered if I would ever have any consistent feeling ever again.  Did I have the energy to deal with this?  To reschedule my clients (again), to change my plans for the day (again), to make calls to strangers (again) and beg for their assistance?  I wasn’t sure.  In between making things happen, I talked to one client and suddenly a small bird flew into the trailer, got trapped and began to panic.  I felt my panic rise as well as I watched it’s wings batting against the walls as it tried to escape.  Finally, I managed to open a stiff plexiglass window wide enough for the bird to slip out.  As it flew away to safety, the panic stayed with me.  Sinking.  Should I sound the alarm, call my therapist and ask to be diagnosed or maybe committed?  Was this a “normal” response, would I ever see my sun again?  What did I think was funny about the fire anyway?  I wanted to take it all back.  I give.  Uncle.  Help. 

If there is a God, I am certainly happy he (or she) can tolerate my anger with him (or her).  There is some satisfaction in taking the lords name in an excessive level of vain.  I don’t know if threats work, but I feel better in the moment.  As the day progressed, my actions began to pay off.  The repair guy came – and will come again with more parts on Sunday to hopefully really fix the problem.  Channel 7 came and did a headline story that aired twice last night.  And, we retreated to Jessica’s for the night. 

As I use her facilities, I am amazed at what a real toilet sounds like when it flushes.  I marvel that I don’t have to press a pedal on the floor to evacuate it.  My dogs actually have a floor to stretch out on and can run through the house as they love to do.  I will actually take a shower standing up today!  Amazing.  We won’t run out of water, electricity or propane.  I am doing 5 loads of laundry as I make some phone calls from a landline.  This living in a real house thing is kinda nice.  Tonight, we will join friends at the glorious Red Rocks stadium under the Colorado sky to see Michael Franti sing his magic.  Shortly, we will take these now sleeping dogs to expend some more energy at the dogpark in Evergreen.  We will stop at Home Depot and check out kitchen counters and cabinets.  I will show David some recycled glass counter tops that we might fit into the bathroom budget.

The sun is shining, the aspens are shimmering and we are breathing.  Maybe there actually is a God, and maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t really hate me afterall.