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.

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.  

Getting my funny on

Last night I leapt into the unknown. In the form of a stand-up comedy routine, 8 other brave women and I took to the stage to test our mettle.  In a nutshell, we rocked it.  The crowd was rooting for us from the beginning.  The majority of the packed house (about 100 strong) were friends and supporters with a few complete strangers sprinkled in.  It was a night to remember – and already I want to do it again.  For us brave souls who leapt, the last two weeks have had their ups and downs to say the least.  We came together for the first time on May 20th for a 4-hour workshop lead by the brilliant Kristina Hall.  A veteran comic with over 25 years experience both live and on TV, Kristina created a flagship program to help women step through fears, find our own unique expression and get our funny on.  The level of power and accomplishment in the room did not lesson our shared anxiety.  Would we be funny, would we remember, what if we froze, what if no one laughed and you could hear crickets???

I said “yes” to this opportunity after interviewing Kristina on my radio show in early March  All during the interview, I was feeling the pull to jump yet I resisted committing.  Aware of the contradiction between this and the premise of my show, I knew that to do anything but leap would be contraindicated.  The opener clanged loudly as I considered my options,

Through interviews with luminaries and leaders in the field of leaping, the “What Are YOU Waiting For?” show will coax you out of your comfort zone as you stand teetering on the edge of transformation. Whether you are at the edge and ecstatic…flying mid-air and freaked out… or waxing poetic as you plummet, tune in to the show that has you jump!

I know I know I know, I told my inner-leaper.  But, really, now???  Do I need to put my fragile psyche through this?  Is this the right time?  Will I be perceived as insensitive for making jokes about my experience with the fire?  Will this affect our legal stance?  Regardless of my screaming concerns, I recognized a personal edge.  Seeing Kristina perform a multitude of times and admiring her genius, I knew I could learn a lot.  Never called to be a comedian, my desire came from the challenge and the extreme level of comfort Kristina consistently displays on stage.  I haven’t seen too many people as “at home” in front of a crowd as she.  Given that 1/4^th of my career involves public speaking, I craved the ease she wears so effortlessly.  So I jumped – and immediately wondered what I had done. 

During the course, I vacillated between seeing the beauty in my material and wanting to run for the hills.  Kristina stressed memorization which has never been a strong suit.  When I speak, I have an outline.  Typically, I know how I will begin and end but fill in most of the contents from what occurs in the moment.  I have a concern that (1) I can’t memorize it and (2) that to memorize will separate me from my authentic expression.  Add attempting to be funny on top of this and it seemed a recipe for disaster – or at least me as stiff as a board and oh-so far from funny.  So, I didn’t try to memorize, then time sped up and the big event approached, and I began to develop a mighty concern.  I always sweat before speaking.  My first “real” gig in front of the general public was in 2009 where I launched into the stratosphere with an opportunity to share the stage with many legends in the field of personal development.  Prior to that, I had spoken in recovery rooms for many moons, but this was different.  I had to create a speech that spoke to a broader audience.  After many sleepless nights, I had a coaching session with speaker superstar Mark Sanborn who gave me a basic formula and helped me craft a beginning, 5 points and an ending.  Now with a framework from which to hang my material, I had some peace.  Though, I still spent many sleepless nights in the month that lead up to the event. 

I thought that the more I spoke, the less I would fear but it seemed that any speech that was the “next” level brought waves of anxiety with it.  Last September, I was invited to speak at a local TedX event.  The month leading up was one of the biggest roller coaster rides of my life.  The angst extreme, I threw myself into my spiritual work.  Some moments during that month, I will never forget.  There was a richness, a beauty and I was a little difficult to be around – to say the least.  On the day before the speech, I threw out my opening.  My topic: “Being a Fierce Disruption of the Ordinary” had begun to feel ordinary.  In a moment of bizarre inspiration as I hung laundry on the line, I made a promise to not decide how I would begin until I began.  Seeming like a great idea at the time, as the day went on, I questioned my sanity.  What the heck was I thinking?  Yet, I knew this was my next level of growth.  I did just that and felt freer on stage than ever before. 

A couple months later, I had another invitation to speak on a TedX stage coupled with much less nervousness than before.  Yet, I still sweat each time.  For my comic debut, I slept better than my typical M.O.  Last Friday as I planned to spend the day preparing, and yes, attempting the dreaded “memorization”, I suddenly developed a severe case of vertigo which lasted all day and into the next.  A few days before that, I thought I had an ‘out’ in that I hadn’t cleared my appearance with our attorney.  I was sure he would not approve, yet after telling him about the course and the opportunity, he gave me the green light.  Damn it!  No way out, unless I quit.  After two days of vertigo, I began to feel the heat of the approaching evening.  Certain that memorization was out of the question; I didn’t spend much time with my material until Monday.  Then a good case of self-preservation kicked in and I rallied, re-typing my material a couple times, reading it a few more, and yesterday going over it as much as possible before the event.  I had the gist – and it was all real-life tales. 

Discovering I was to take the stage first brought another level of angst – and also some relief.  I wouldn’t have to sit in the audience anticipating my time.  I could get it over with, then re-join the crowd and actually be present.  My assigned handler, Jessica, spent time in the corner with me going over my bullet points to attempt to remember the flow.  She intercepted as well-meaning people stopped by to wish me luck and offer their condolences.  I couldn’t converse with anyone prior and continued to beg their forgiveness, as I needed my Zen space.  Finally, the show began.  Kristina warmed the crowd with her brilliance and beautifully set them up to receive us with even more love in their hearts than they had already. 

My moment came… I fumbled with the microphone and was blinded by the lights which truly prevented making out any faces in the crowd.  And, I began.  Laughs came quickly and easily, surprising me utterly.  My system was in rev mode until a few lines in and then all of a sudden, I was there, present – and alive.  A particularly loud gremlin kept telling me to worry that they might not continue laughing as boisterously.  I kept going anyway, slowing it down, remembering to wait as people laughed, recalling that pauses are actually funny in themselves and can create a new level of laughter as the joke settles in.  As Kristina coached us, it’s not so much what we are saying, it’s how we are being.  And, slowing it down and bringing expression makes the words shine.  She also insisted we remain vulnerable – and shared how on the comic stage you can do anything, be anything. 

In my “normal” gigs, I don’t tend to bring edginess but last night there were no holds barred.  Edgy was present, anger was expressed and the crowd ate it up.  At one point, they cheered so loudly that I thought I should just end right there on the spot.  Not wanting to leave the stage, and still having a few more tales, I continued on.  It was over in a flash and I wanted to ride the ride again!  One by one, the rest of the group took the stage.  Everyone was brilliant, gorgeous and hilarious.  For real.  Absolutely none of us had ever done that before – and at least one had never been on stage before, ever.  Each woman shared real life stories with perspective and glorious wit, admitting challenges and vulnerabilities with ease and grace.  We were all unique yet connected by our spirit of leaping into the unknown.  The crowd loved it and cheered us on for the entire show.  We all returned to the stage for a final bow and to pat each other on the back.  We each knew what it took, what we had to deal with and overcome to be there that night. 

Kristina’s talent was unmistakable in the fact that 9 novice comics were actually quite funny.  Even the slight mishaps that some of us had flowed naturally.  Under her masterful tutelage, we all shined so brightly.  Extraordinary to witness and to be a part of, we triumphed as a group.  Early on, when I first got wind of the course, I was drawn but thought I would “help out” vs. actually participate.  There, I could watch from the wings, live vicariously and definitely not stretch myself in that way.  I am so grateful I was willing to leap, fragile psyche and all. 

Big gratitude and admiration to Kristina Hall!  Huge acknowledgment and lots of love to my cohorts (in order of appearance): Charis Charistopoulos, Sabrina Fritts, Jane Wood, Juliana Gregory, Robin Colucci, Elaina McMillan, Laura Lee and Patti Sommer.

And to those of you who supported us along the way and attended last nights show.  We couldn’t have done it without you.  Muchas gracias from the bottom of our hearts and the  funny in our souls.  

This being human is a guest house... and totally freaked out.

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all

Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture

Still treat each guest honorable,

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

- Rumi

Maybe no morning should begin without Rumi.  If we could live by these words, we certainly would be a bit more peaceful.  I know I would.  “Every morning a new arrival…” ah Rumi, you speak to my heart and soul.  Today is the day I take to the stage with 8 other women to get my funny on.  I have felt so far from funny recently.  Insane, yes.  Funny, not so much.  I question why I am doing it, yet I question most things that stretch and challenge me. 

Yesterday, I had an ‘unexpected visitor’ in the form of someone’s complete and utter judgment of me.  This came from the blue and caught me off guard.  A professional relationship that never quite got off the ground, this person decided all sorts of things about me.  Shocked to hear this, and very thin-skinned at the moment, I bit hook, line and sinker.  After we both hung up the phone in anger, I thought better of that.  Even though I was still baffled by her reaction, I decided to call back and apologize.  It’s an amazing experience to hear another’s view of us that is so far down a road we don’t even recognize it as us.  It’s disorienting to say the least.  Fortunately it doesn’t happen often but when it does, for this human, it is quite troubling.  My impulse was to rack my brain for glimpses of the evidence she gathered.  I have to admit, I did search our email correspondence for something to comprehend her claims, but to no avail.  Her dedication to her view of me was absolute.  In a moment of clarity, I realized all I could do was apologize.  Even if I don’t like someone (which was not the case with this person at all), I am not inclined to leave them feeling disregarded.  Even this new raw gritty version of me doesn’t want to do that.  And, I don’t want to keep my people-pleasing persona either.  Hmmmm.  Therein lies the rub. 

This experience threw me into an inquiry of how we decide who and how someone is, label them, and thusly squelch anything else being there.  Being on the receiving end of someone’s concrete decisions of who I am and how I am is blicky to say the least.  And, in my rumination of this interaction yesterday, I acknowledged (again) how I do this too.  We all do this.  We put stuff in boxes to understand life, yet then we miss so much.  I could be grateful to this person for showing me how I have killed off a few people recently by deciding, “they are just like this or that.”  Thanks to her, I removed some of my judgmental boxes and freed their prisoners.

It’s called righteousness.  We are so sure that our version of the truth is the truth that we then block out all other possibilities and kill off any affinity we might have had for that person.  The real truth is, I have my truth and you have yours and rarely the twain shall meet.  Just ask any married couple or survey any juror box.  We see things differently and it’s actually miraculous when we have any alignment on what we see at all.  Yet, we rarely live from this understanding.  Instead, we assume that others see things the way we do and if they aren’t agreeing with us we label them as wrong.  Add in anger and judgment and the whole system bogs down.  We know that it feels horrible to be at the other end of someone’s judgment especially when we can’t understand its source or reconcile their version of reality.  Yet, we will continue to do this to others.  Factor this out a few levels and we can comprehend how war starts and continues.  Absolute commitment to a point of view coupled with a refusal to see that just maybe possibly perchance perhaps we are only seeing from our eyes – and it isn’t the entire “truth” – is the downfall of humanity. 

Scanning my life, I see so many places I do this.  Some I am completely willing to give up, right now, on the spot.  Others… well.  Not quite yet.  Can we at least be conscious and aware that we do this and proclaim, “No, not this one.  Not ready to give up this position, yet…” vs. being fully and completely right?  Probably not.  

So what did I do after this interaction?  Did my insight propel me into a new realm of spiritual connection and love for all humanity?  Not quite.  Instead, I fell into a pit of extreme self-doubt.  Always a companion waiting for the right moment, the gremlins wailed loudly:

The world is not safe, you will be misunderstood, there are people who don’t like you or get you (gasp!), all these people will gather together and bring their evidence.  It’s happening right now.  People are talking about you.  They think you are self-centered or unfair or a snob.  (Oh my god, not me…)  They will think blah blah blah and more blah. 

And what did I do with all these lovely visitors?  I took them to the mall.  Typing this, I realize some ancient irony.  Many moons ago during the years of my addiction and disorders, I would binge shop while I binge ate, wandering malls aimlessly, feeling the dark pit of despair closing in and numbing myself with food and spending.  Shopping has been my friend and my enemy ever since.  I am certainly a shopper (as anyone who knows me would concur) yet most of the time, I have old murky layers of ick around it.  It never feels completely clean.  Even if I have money to spend, I feel like I am cheating somehow.  I have a low level of franticness, of needing to hurry through.  Even now, when I am “allowed” to buy replacement items, it has this tinge. 

So last night, my demons were with me as I made a few stops at the mall.  As I walked into Steve Madden where the salesgirls were half my age, I made the split second decision that my shoes were tacky and absolutely did not go with the dress I was wearing.  Until this moment, I thought my outfit was a-ok.  Suddenly, viewing the shelves covered with boots and recalling a cute girl I saw earlier who wore her short skirt with low-slung cowgirl boots, I decided I was all wrong.  Amazing!  I was convinced that the hip sales girls were sizing me up and labeling me as out of style.  Flashbacks loomed of high school and the cheerleaders decreeing my shoes tacky…  And, guess what.  I couldn’t let it go.  Could not.  Would not.  Instead of rallying my tender psyche, I folded and bought some sandals, wearing them out of the store and burying the shoes I had been wearing in a bag.  Jeeeeeez.  The whole time, I was observing myself do this, falling into this age-old trap. 

What happened: someone I know said I was disrespectful and inconsiderate and she didn’t want to do business with me.  What I made it mean: the world is not safe, I am not safe, and worst of all, my shoes are not right.  Again.   

Funny girl, I am.  Funny funny funny.  Funny????????????  Good God, what have I said yes to?  Can I be gentle and patient with all who enter my guest house – the colleague, my angsty nature, the shop girls, my extreme anxiety as I take the stage tonight - and the observer of all of this?  This morning, I can say yes.  Can I be welcoming?  The jury is still out…

Will I ever again wear those shoes with that dress?  Probably not.  

Everything will be all right in the end...

Everything will be all right in the end... if it's not all right then it's not the end. 

- Sonny from the movie “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel”

“Delightful” is what one of the film reviews said, and I concur.  Many moons ago, when I first saw the preview with the above line, I added it to my very short “must see” list.  A lovely romp through India with a stellar cast of veteran actors, it didn’t disappoint.  Illuminating the “Golden Years” and the potential for a last great hurrah (or series of hurrah’s) is another reminder that it aint over til the fat lady sings.  These fine people thwarted their predictable path into frailty and leapt into the absolute unknown of a life in India.  Unlike so many movies these days, the dialogue languorously explored themes we all deal with which aren’t often reflected in the media.  The real deal.  Obviously, I am a fan of the real deal.

This film reminds me that this current iteration won’t be the last adventure of our lives.  There will be many many more.  Some chosen, others not so much.  It’s packed with life lessons and reminders of what really matters.  Stuff such as love, trust, hope, faith – and yes – that it can all end in a nano-second.  In a society where we have marginalized the elderly, it’s nice to be taught.  Yet, as my mom has always says, you feel like the same person inside, it’s the image in the mirror that keeps changing. 

As summer is signaling its arrival, I am attempting to slow down time.  Summer is quick and precious in Colorado and I don’t want to hurry through any of it.  As I age, I become less and less a fan of long cold winters.  And a long cold winter in Flame might be enough incentive to head south of the border.   Lying in bed thinking about the movie and the passage of time, I aspired to explore “big themes” in my writing this morning.  Instead of inspiration as I crack open my Mac, I feel congested.   My cohort this morning is melancholy and a screaming neck which after 2 months without my tempurpedic pillow is crying foul. (And yes, I finally ordered a replacement!).   With a notion of what I should write this morning, I fizzle instead of sizzle.  I know it’s good practice to move through all sorts of awkward spaces as a writer, so I keep my fingers moving as an exercise in dedication – and know that many edits will follow... 

As I click away, the notion of some internal clock signaling it’s “time to be in the lesson stage” of this process or some such B.S. starts to emerge.  I didn’t get the handout with the proper timeline to move from one stage to another so I am not sure if this is true or not.  From whence do I feel the pressure? My friends’ patience seems to continue but the reoccurring concern of wearing people out with our “process” rears its mean-spirited head.  I did have one person give me an “at least you _______” statement this week.  Mostly, I ignore these well-meaning sermons.  “At least you got out alive”, was this one.  Like we don’t already know that...  I really do know I am lucky, we are lucky.  And, I really do know that the most recent offerer of this platitude was well intentioned.  Do I sound angry?  Maybe…  A little irritated?  Well yes…

Where we are now compared to 2 months ago is night and day.  The shock has mostly gone, the reality has set in, we are making fledgling plans and we have put down roots (and now a flagstone patio) at our land.  And, it aint over.  We are 2 months in.  Right now, I am telling you this but mostly, I am telling me this.  I need to hear it.  My mantra for others has frequently been a reminder to be where they are.  I am so aware of the ins and outs and ups and downs of a healing process and I implore my people to ride the ride and not attempt to be anywhere other than where they are at the time.  Now, I need the reminder.  And, I need to know you really believe that.  That’s it’s not just some thing we humans say to each other but we actually mean it. 

Herein lies the rub.  A fear: if I seem like I am doing “well”, then people will think I am “through” and then expect me to be on the “transformed” side of this journey and then there won’t be space for my angst or moods or upset.  (I need a run-on sentence with excessive use of quotation marks to illustrate this concern).  In response, I plead: can I please have a year?  Can I have a year to be unwound, to be returning to form, to be in the unmanifested?  May I have the space to be inspired or inspiring in one moment and the space to be a lunatic the next?  Can society bear that?  Can my acquaintances tolerate that?  And most importantly, can my inner circle really be with that?  I surely hope so.

I am not ready to be on the other side of this.  I don’t want to have to know.  I don’t want to have this all figured out.  I want to be a wanderer for a while longer before I know who and what I will be. 

I glance out the window at my still forming Flagstone patio and the two lovely souls who are bringing it to life.  My dogs have chosen to rough house in the sand pile that is supposed to be the base layer of the patio.  They have spread the once neat pile around leaving doggy footprints and a bit of a mess.  Should I stop them?  Should I seek to neaten, tidy and control what’s happening?  The men don’t seem to be missing a beat even as 200 pounds of dog tumble into their space. 

Not every character in “Marigold Hotel” was wrapped up and resolved in the end.  If the movies can leave some strings untied, I suppose I can too. 

Evelyn: Nothing here has worked out quite as I expected.
Muriel: Most things don't. But sometimes what happens instead is the good stuff.
 - The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Standing inside the fire sometimes gets hot...

Is that a dead mouse?  Is it the septic?  Is it a dog fart?  Is it a gas leak?  Whhhhhaaaaatttt is it?  These thought occupy my early waking mind.  Not a pleasant way to return to consciousness.  Life in a trailer – even as sweet a trailer as Flame is not without its challenges.  Upon early morning investigation, we still don’t know.  We have eliminated dog fart and gas leak.  The dogs did fart but now they are outside and the smell remains.  The holding tank shouldn’t be full – yet seems to be burping.  A dead mouse, well that’s instant karma in our war against rodents.  Did we wound one with our modern trap that took revenge by limping away and dying in some crevice?  We don’t know.

A little chilly still to sit outside and write, so I breathe through my mouth as I type and hope my essential oil diffuser will pour enough lavender into the air supply to save my soul.  You know how odor sneaks in anyway?  It’s doing that now.  It occurs as a small threat to our peace of mind.  David has removed himself by taking the garbage and recycling to the “curb” and I attempt to hold my breath.  Could be a rough day in Flame.  Have I mentioned that life is not dull?  It’s not.  Really, it never has been, but it certainly isn’t lately.  Regardless of the stank, mornings are still my best time.  Later in the day, my fatigue sets in and my mood is often erratic.  Yesterday I likened it to a chronic and very bad case of PMS.  David now says he understands what PMS feels like, and ladies, I believe he does.  Thin-skinned, thrown by the slightest curve ball, excessively sensitive, unpredictably dark – and very very tired, these are my constant companions.  After our systems being on high-rev for so long, it’s no wonder we are feeling the stress hangover.  I pray for physical resilience and for that which makes us stronger not to kill us later. 

We cycle through our PMS symptoms separately then sometimes clash against each other.  Sometimes we are lucky and one is in an up swing when the other is down.  In these times we are able to provide momentary doses of love and patience.  Enough, it seems, to not kill each other in this small space and to continue walking down this path hand and hand.  Last night, we went to Edie’s.  A former and beloved neighbor, a year ago she said sad goodbyes to her dream house which is now in a pile of rubble.  A brilliant architect and a dear friend of the family from whom we bought our house, there couldn’t be a better choice of partner in designing our next rendition of “home”.  On the way over to her place, running late of course, we attempted to talk details of things that might normally be “fun”.  Our plans for our August trip to the Bahamas, the finishing of David’s man-cave.  All roads lead to upset and we pulled in the driveway attempting not to hate each other.  You married or long-time coupled people know the type of hate I am talking about.  In one moment, love is present and the next a vile level of despising that overtakes all senses and makes you want a divorce on the spot.  Fortunately, we know this comes and goes and is heightened under stress so we sat through it, didn’t say anything we couldn’t take back and returned to neutral.  Edie greeted us with love in her eyes and bear hugs and sat us down at her dining room table to a spread of delectable snacks.  The best guacamole ever with large chunks of cilantro, which we ate the healthy way on sliced veggies.  Prosciutto, goat cheese and spicy jam, which we piled on whole grain bread slices.  You would have thought we hadn’t eaten since the fire.  We gulped it down enjoying every morsel while pulling out our computers and beginning the show and tell process of our budding ‘dream home part duex’.  “We want something like this, but smaller.  We want a wall of windows, but in our budget.  We want a gourmet kitchen, but trailer size.  We want…” Encouragingly infused, Edie contributed her well-oiled wisdom.  Pretty soon our frowns turned to grins as we imagined a future.  After 3 hours in her patient presence, we bid adieu and headed back to Flame.  There are many hurdles between these initial notions and a finished product.  There will be compromises to make along the way, potential downsizing from small to smaller, letting go of some finishes in favor of our modest budget – and a team is taking shape. 

David just pulled back in the driveway and it’s time to investigate the stank further especially before our moods darken to match the growing odor.  I harken to the olden days and all the stank they had to live with.  Bodies covered in perfumes to hide the rank, what must have floated through the air on a regular basis from human waste and decay to who knows what.  To them it was normal, to us spoiled modern peeps, it is barbaric.  We will start with the obvious and clear out the storage tank.  Fortunately our fruitful trip to Camping World also fetched some septic deodorizers along with our extra holding tank.  I have my humor at the moment so will bring my husband more coffee, pat his head, feed the dogs and attempt to lighten what could feel dark.  Later, when my mood shifts, I may call you screaming.  I may demand a refund from this wild merry go-round called life.  I certainly may file a complaint.  I may want to sink into the muck and plead Uncle.  I may want to check in to a 5-star hotel and never return.  Or I may take a birdbath, put on my party clothes and head to Boulder, Colorado to see my favorite band sing my favorite songs and bask in the summer air with a thousand other Face fans.  While there, I may pretend for a moment that my life is “normal” as I sit in the crowd with a group of many others who are pretending the same thing.  We will sing together at the top of our lungs and thank God that these 6 men found each other and choose to continue preforming through rain, snow, sleet and hail so while in their presence we can remember what is good about the world. 

I have registered my requests for my favorite songs.  It is almost guaranteed that they will play most of them in the 3-hour concert.  So, to further launch this morning in the right direction, let’s channel the fabulous Forest Kelly as he croons Garth Brook’s ‘Standing Outside the Fire’ an oh-so appropriate ode to the life I am living. 

Sing with me?

We call them cool

Those hearts that have no scars to show

The ones that never do let go

And risk it the tables being turned

We call them fools

Who have to dance within the flame

Who chance the sorrow and the shame

That always come with getting burned

But you got to be tough when consumed by desire

'Cause it's not enough just to stand outside the fire

We call them strong

Those who can face this world alone

Who seem to get by on their own

Those who will never take the fall

We call them weak

Who are unable to resist

The slightest chance love might exist

And for that forsake it all

They're so hell bent on giving, walking a wire

Convinced it's not living if you stand outside the fire

Standing outside the fire

Standing outside the fire

Life is not tried it is merely survived

If you're standing outside the fire

There's this love that is burning

Deep in my soul

Constantly yearning to get out of control

Wanting to fly higher and higher

I can't abide standing outside the fire