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The universe puts us together in such interesting ways.
Yesterday, Michael and I spent an afternoon at the lake, then ran into Joseph downtown on his way to call me from a payphone. I invited him to come to the house with us and then to the potluck at Carl and Kathy’s. He agreed and on we went.
At first, all went basically beyond well. Joseph was inquisitive and kind towards Michael, despite experiencing a smidge of discomfort; and the Celtic music concert set a sweetly peaceful stage where Joseph and I could enjoy each other. No, no not like that. We laid together on a blanket and snuck peaks at one another and held hands. Joseph was hesitant to fully engage with me and at the time I attributed it to shyness. Now I know better, or more . . .
We left the event at intermission, saying warm goodbyes to my adopted Godparents. Joseph gave Kathy a kiss on the cheek and I thought, he must love me because I love her and he is showing her love. And again we’re back to yes he does love me but not in the be-with-me kind of way, or at least not in the be-with-only-me kind of way and certainly not in the be-with-me-long-term way at all. . .
Anyway, that night Joe told me I looked so fine in my blue dress he’d have to carry a cane anytime I wore it to ward off other men. Truly, I felt pretty and wanted to enjoy this lovely man in my elevated state, so I suggested we go to the city park for a minute before heading home. There, we delved deep into conversation about “us” and love and commitment.
It’s hard to synthesize and summarize what Joseph suggests to me on said topics. I guess it’s something like this:
He loves me.
He’s loved other women before me just about as much as he believes he could love anybody.
–Apparently, he loves everybody like this.
He’s afraid that I’m falling in love with him.
He’s afraid that I’ll consume his life.
He’s afraid that he’ll hurt me because
He has never wanted to settle down.
He learns most through direct, intimate relating like we’re doing “right now.”
He is 99% sure that he will want to move on from me eventually.
Clearly, in response to this, questions arise:
Can I be with him anyway?
Joe doesn’t really ask; I do, because I realize that I love and enjoy him presently.
Can I stay in the present? Is it worth it? Can I be content within the bounds of romantic love that lacks commitment? He thinks not and thus pushes me away out of fear and guilt. But for me. . .
The answers today are yes and yes and yes. As I went off to work early this morning, I said hello and goodbye to Savannah Belle Bones in the laundry room. I hadn’t seen her in days and it was a genuine joy to rub her loose furry skin between my fingers and listen for the gutteral groan that emerges when she’s really satisfied. “I love you, Bonsey” I murmured into her soft, floppy ears.
Then, as it does nearly every day, the thought of her inevitable death crept into my mind. As humans with lifespans sometimes 100 years long, the short lifetime of a pet can feel needlessly cruel. Yet I realize on some conscious level far removed from my emotions that we are able to learn so very much about love and loss through our relationships with our pets. And there is absolutely no question of whether I would ever take away one day of loving Savannah while she’s with us, even knowing that one day all too soon she won’t be.
It didn’t take much for this thought pattern to shift over to Joseph and considering that our time together might be equally fated for seemingly premature severance. With that connection, it became obvious that if Joseph asked me again, Could I be with him knowing one day soon he will leave? that my answer would again be yes.
Despite that, my ego still says, “No way, uh uh. That’s a shitty arrangement,” because it feels like he’s waiting for something better. Meanwhile, my heart sings, “Yes, go with it! He loves you and he’ll realize it more fully with time,” although my brain knows better–or is it the other way around? And when I listen to my body, I hear something sink deep in my belly and leap high in my heart. . . and I realize I cannot really go back. I’ve already spent months attempting to leave this man for various reasons and all to absolutely no avail.
So, it appears I’m headed onward into the wide open spaces where I can and probably will be hurt more than once at any moment. But I’m choosing this path, right? Or anyway, it’s choosing me. Either way, Joseph certainly wouldn’t be to blame.
I now release all attachment to feeling victimized and abused.
I now affirm that I can let go of loved ones.
I now affirm that I cooperate with grace.
I now affirm that I cooperate with grace.
Carl called me up a few weeks ago and asked if I might be interested in meeting a young waiter in Ashland he and Kathy thought I might like. “He’s really cute with big, puppy-dog, brown eyes, very mature and interesting and he’s heard of Naropa!”
“Sure,” I said, “why not.”
Today, rejected and two days beyond the long awaited meeting, my answer stands firm. “Why not?”
I drove to Ashland last Sunday evening after nudging Greg Ross to finally set the date. Tired of a game of cat and mouse we’d been playing via text message, I thought that setting the ball into more rapid motion seemed like a good idea. Unfortunately, despite that we had enough in common and had an enticingly good time, it appears that Greg Ross and I will not be moving forward.
I’ve not surprisingly spent time enough mulling over the evening and Greg’s conviction that we probably wouldn’t be more than friends; and as a result, I have in my bag at least 11 good reasons “why not” (I came on too strong, I didn’t listen enough, didn’t ask enough questions, and the less evolved: I looked fat in my outfit . . .).
I recently met another man through Carl and Kathy, in this case introduced without any intention for possible romance. He just happened upon Carl and I talking in the backyard one evening and we got to chatting. “V,” as he calls himself, lived and taught in Mt. Shasta for some years and is currently immersed in a system called “Human Design,” downloaded by the teacher called Ra.
As I vaguely understand it, Human Design uses a combination of astrology, the I Ching and other systems to illustrate the individual design for each person. This design is said to be the blueprint for our personalities in this lifetime, and when we choose to live from them, our experiences are then said to become extraordinarily “delicious.”
I can’t say that my minimal exposure to Human Design has convinced me to delve into its depths as I am doing with the Enneagram. For now, I am choosing to take from it only that which speaks to my soul as Kathy wisely advised. What I’m taking this time around is the wisdom offered to those in my position as “generators.”
A component of the design describes whether an individual is a Manifester, a Projector or a Generator. (There may be another category, but it’s escaping my mind at the moment). Over a lovely outdoor lunch at Lily’s, Kathy and I discussed her being a manifestor and how knowing so has helped her. “My rule as a manifestor is ‘inform before you act.’ Do I like to inform before I act? No! Am I happier when I do? Yes.”
The rule for generators like myself and Carl is, “Wait to respond.” In other words, don’t initiate.
When I actually (and unconsciously) followed this rule with Greg Ross, I was rewarded with cute–however sporadic–conversations via text message. Yet when I decided that wasn’t enough for me, I pushed for more as I almost always do. And . . . ? I was given the answer to another, “Why not?”. It’s not surprising that Human Design suggests “Patience” as my biggest lesson.
And so I wait patiently now, for another opportunity to practice patience. Alone and lonely and yearning for growth beyond this particular point of stagnancy, I wait.
The last time I met with Carl he invited me to consider what creates my psychological identity. He suggested I consider it in terms of percentages or a pie chart and ask myself, “What percentage of my identity comes from relationships? From career?”
I was intending this post to be an active exploration of that, but as I come closer to actually doing so I’m encountering some resistence. Suddenly I am more aware of a slight headache, of my waning interest in blogging in general, of the books tempting me from my nighstand . . . Could it be that I am experiencing avoidance?
Ok, ok, I’m pushing through it. Identity, identity. . . where do I derive my psychological identity . . . ?
The first thing that comes to mind is, “From being nice.”
Now, that’s a little ironic because, honestly, I’m not all that nice all that much of the time. But I know how to be when I want to be and I actually am fairly often, so we’ll go with that. I’m nice.
I’m going to put “nice” in the Relationship and Image wedges of my pie, overlapping. Relationship, because being nice usually involves another person; and Image because . . . well, I suppose I like to be perceived as nice (I am getting entirely sick of this word). Kind of scary, huh? I’m letting it out that my niceness may not always be 100% selfless, which I find frankly frightening to consider and scare. Moving on to the next identity statement to surface:
I am a Naropa graduate.
This goes under Achievements and . . . what, Status? I’m aware that I egoically believe that by attending and graduating from Naropa I moved into a different bracket than someone who didn’t necessarily choose a contemplative education.
Maybe I’m exposing a little more than necessary to the world here (watch, I’m about to do a great job of changing the subject and avoiding further identity exploration).
It’s the holiday season and people keep telling me I’m easy to buy presents for. I think that’s “nice” and all, but I’m also beginning to wonder about my transparency and how I feel about it.
I think in the past I’ve prided myself on being completely open and available for all to see and share in. But it appears that may be changing, which excites me–and has made blogging more difficult. How can I write about personal observation, growth and insight without giving away the whole cow (horse? Gold? What the frig is that you give away . . . ? The show! No . . .)?
I’ll keep mulling that over and in the meantime, we’ll have to be satisfied with an identity pie consisting of two pieces, Nice and Naropa, Relationships and Achievements. May I truly get to the rest of it another day.
Apparently, I have a weakness for being codependent.
I’ve been told as much before in the context of no context; then in Ennagra-speak: Twos are the type most inclined towards codependency; and tonight my friend Kristina shared that a Priest told her that priest-ing (note: and priestessing) is the perfect codependent career. Hm. Some food for thought (although perhaps not so interesting as the question, “What context on God’s green earth led to a priest sharing his thoughts on codependency with Kristina!?”).
From what I understand off the top of my head, codependency is what occurs when the needs of two people become so intertwined that one cannot be fulfilled without the other, which is not nearly as romantic as it sounds (or did that only sound romantic to me . . . ?). Codepency can be a vicious cycle of enabling, ripe with furtile grounds for frustration and resentment. Becoming codependent is the exact opposite of actually being helpful to someone.
Yikes.
Kristina (a psychology major and wise woman to boot) also suggested that codependency is essentially self-forgetting. But if that is the case, how does codependent self-forgetting differ from spiritual self-forgetting–the kind advocated in nearly every spirtual tradition I’ve studied thus far?
All along I’ve been hearing the messages: think of others before yourself, give more than you feel you can and it shall be returned to you, as you give, so shall you receive. Could it be that giving to myself might actually be a way for others to receive, too?
My Enneathought today alterted me to to possibility that “One of [my] sure-fire ‘hot buttons’ is to resent other people’s boundaries;” then asked me to consider, “how can you accept the reasonable limits set by others?”
Although this doesn’t pertain exactly to our topic of codependency, it does give me a tactic to use that is at least in the general vicinity. So, if i feel like I can’t figure out this whole codependency schtick and thus I continue to be codendent with people without any boundaries. . . at least I might begin reconsidering my behavior with those with “reasonable limits.”
There’s hope for us all.
One of the biggest benefits I reaped from the REAL program was the acknowledgement of “small successes.” The idea is relatively simple and probably nothing you’ve not heard before, but the phrasing was such that this time it sank in. Or, I suppose I was ready to hear it.
Small successes were not explicitly defined during the workshop, but what I gathered from the stories and conversations about them, a small success is any moment or event in your life during which you feel wholly whole (or centered, calm, joyful, in the flow; you get the idea. . .). The purpose of identifying small successes was primarily so we could incorporate them into our individual compasses (a concept I hope to revisit with ya’ll at some point). It was also (this is likely the part that may sound familiar) to shift one’s focus from problems or conditions to what is right with life.
See, not so unique of a concept, huh? Yet I have embraced it and each day find myself saying outloud, “A small success!” This has a whole slew of positive effects on my life. Recognizing small successes removes pressure to always do and become more, more, more. It eases doubt and worry. It can be reassuring in the sense that I am usually able to note some progress and growth, no matter how minute. It can also make big scary deals seem littler.
For example, today I met with my therapist, Joan, for the first time in over a year. We have begun working on some of the deeper, thornier issues in my life—things that for the most part I have gotten very good at compartmentalizing and ignoring.
Although our meeting went well and I have been taking good care of myself since, it can be overwhelming to think back to the topics we covered, to consider where I am and where I’ll end up. But you see, rather than struggle with overwhelm, I can choose to consider the small successes.
I took myself to see Joan in the first place. Small success! I took a walk and sat cross legged in a field facing Mount Shasta for an hour after our session, therefore taking another step towards my own healing. Another small success. For a trickier situation to assess: I bought myself a big mug of hot cocoa and a hunk of pumpkin pecan streusel bread. Although this may appear to be an unhealthy choice, I still vote “small success” because I gave myself a little gift of comfort food (yes, and sugar).
In the Enneagram book most recently gifted to me from Carl and Kathy, there is a description of Twos at a healthy level that says, “Healthy Twos let go of the belief that they are not allowed to care for themselves. Thus they can own their feelings and needs and are free to love others without expectations.”
I would say the three examples of today’s small successes that I gave you would put me (for a moment, however brief) into the category of Healthy Twos. And you know what that means. . . another small success. May the trend continue.
Joe and I had a fabulous time dancing in Ashland again last night! Things went much more smoothly than before, as we worked it on the floor both together and separately.
If I am still going to parallel such experiences with movies about dancing, last night’s events would have comprised the lovely montage midway through where the female lead finally begins to show signs of significant improvement! Joe commented that I was “at least twice as good as last time,” (adding that I seemed to have gotten over my nagging neuroses about the beat) and a stranger walked up and complimented my moves! No matter that at first I thought he was asking me to dance and so responded, “Sure! I’d love . . .” and then, “. . . er, thank you!” So much for suave.
Anyway, what I actually intended to write about was seeing This is It with my pops this evening. After the most glorious of Sundays–packed full of lounging around in front of the fire first with a cup o’ joe (no pun), next a guitar and eventually a blanket as I cat-napped, followed by the most peaceful venture to Shastice park with Savannah–Dad offered to take me out for a brewski and dinner at the Goat and then to see the recent tribute to Michael Jackson.
I’m a little intimidated at the prospect of trying to write sensitively and eloquently about the film. So, I’ll try to settle back to my heart point at Four, where our tragic and remarkable musical hero M.J. almost certainly lived, and just let it flow. . .
Although I was running on very few hours of sleep, I was mesmerized by the movie as Dad (watching for his second time) said I would be. With my current passion for dance, what I found catching my eye consistently were technicalities like Michael’s impeccable turns. The way that man could spin on a dime and come back to the exact same millimeter of space in a second is astounding. I aspire to do the same!
I might say that the breadth of his talent–in addition to its excellence–is what I find most profound about the King of Pop. Watching the movie we get a chance to observe all the other incredibly gifted people who worked alongside him, but their expertise appears limited while Michael’s spreads as wide as the stage he shines on.
Of course, so does the air of tragedy that surrounds him; and an instability I sensed in his character that had nothing to do with the gory details gnashed on by the media. I just felt nervous that Michael might crack each time a request was made of him, despite that he never responded anyway but respectfully.
It all makes me want to hold him, cradle him like the little Earth Girl tenderly does the last flower. I wonder who the last person to do so, to really touch Michael Jackson, could have been? Did the composer of Human Nature ever receive any real human nurture?
My heart also breaks for everyone involved in the production of what would have been a pinnacle tour, for all the performers who opened the film weeping tears of joy for the opportunity to dance with the living legend.
I suppose that is the mess of life that any good Four will tell you is necessary in order to appreciate the beauty.
I appreciate the beauty of all that Michael Jackson created during his time on this earth–even if he did name one of his children Prince Michael II, a.k.a “Blanket!”
In honor of Michael Jackson, God bless you all.
I’ve been a little preoccupied with my future again as of late. I think it might have something to do with being so energetic and happy most of the time these days and wanting to hold onto that.
Beware attachment! My Buddhist training warns. I heed it. . .
I also hear the resounding bells of discovering several of my passions over the last few months. Along with them is an urge I’m not used to, to go deeper into some things rather than skimming lightly across their surfaces.
The clock reads 5:55 as I type. For the past few weeks I’ve noticed repeating 5′s on a daily basis. Call me cuckoo, but I take the clock as a sign that there is truth in what I’m writing.
Until recently, I pretty fully embodied the tendency of Twos and Sevens to jump from one topic, experience, or area of focus to another, without really delving into any of them. Both enneatypes like the freshness of newness and fairly dislike the tedium and strain of sticking with what’s familiar.
The tendency, like any, has both positive and negative sides. For me, the positive side of skipping rocks has been that I have been exposed to a variety of people, places and things; I have a plethora of experiences under my belt to make myself and my life more interesting. Further, all my skimming has helped me decide which oceans I don’t need to cross . . . as well as, I suppose, which ones I do.
This is the hard part. Although I say I’m feeling the urge to go deeper, as I contemplate what step to take next into my future, I am made to recognize the way I’ve been fly fishing all over this great big world and that it might not be easy to stop. It feels like each time I verge on making a decision and beginning to let that lure sink, I change my mind.
I’m lucky to believe it’s all part of the [perfect] process. Even though over the course of the last two years I have had enough extravagant ideas to write a million blogs, I really have been narrowing the scope and becoming less interested in trying to see and study it all.
Now, I’m paying attention to the places in my life where the passion flows upward. I’m beginning to recognize my personal Old Faithfuls–spirituality, dance, guitar, singing, writing, language, laughing, friends and family–as well as the fact that they can only shower me with their joyous flows as long as I’m standing beneath them and not running amuck somewhere else.
Although I could probably dance beneath them too, because there’s always a little wiggle room!
Halloween turned out to be great fun, of course–although I did end up sneaking away to the privacy of my parents’ home to avoid the trick or treaters I wasn’t prepared for.
At around 8 o’clock my friend Natalie came over to curl my hair and help me take the final step into becoming Curly Top (no one recognized me in anyway and one person’s response to my ‘costume’ was, “You just look like a cuter version of Tessa.” Way to go, me!). Two hours, many ringlets and a cardboard lollypop later, Space Cat and Curly Top exited the premises. Destination: the Wayside Bar and Grill.
At the Wayside I enjoyed one Maker’s Mark whiskey on the rocks (Natalie’s choice) and a good six shimmying songs on the dance floor. I’ve noticed that salsa seems to flavor all my steps these days. I’d probably sway my hips all over the place even to electronica. But despite my ability to tune out leering goblins and other less creatively dressed men and to season hip hop with salsa, the party was not the fun filled environment I had been hoping for.
So, I ventured on to a party at the Coopers. The Coopers are a family of about eight children. Sophie, Chloe, CeeCee, Will, younger boy whose name I can’t remember–that’s five and I know I’m forgetting a few . . . Anyway, they’re a very eclectic and conscious crowd with an amazing old house right downtown (and directly across the street from Berryvale, as a matter of fact); and their party was the talk of the town.
And with good reason. The Coopers had held a decorating party on Thursday evening during which what was most likely a den area had been transformed into a strobe-lit, cobwebed cocktail lounge. When I arrived, a group of people stood chatting out in the cool autumn air and absorbing the glow of the fire from the pit nearby. Inside, a bar, snack tables and couches framed a dance floor pulsating with the beats of one of two hired DJs. I was first greeted with the festive scene, then by the shocked faces of three old friends.
I don’t fully understand the charade, but whenever a certain group of friends from high school and I reunite, there is a whole lot of show and surprise. Then, of course, the hugging. Oh. And for the record, these are male friends.
After allowing an appropriate period of time for reconciliation, I worked my way onto the dance floor and slid right into the groove. The boys danced along with and without me. Everyone seemed to be having a smashing good time.
I stayed until just before 3 a.m., when one friend, Clifford asked for a ride home. Seeing his tired eyes and watching him wilt before me, I gave Cliff the ride gladly, grateful for a chance to put my most recent EnneaThought for the Day into action: Today, try this recommendation: If you develop your great capacity to care about others, you will never go far wrong—in fact, you will do a great deal of good in life.
On our way to his house, the topic of music came up. “Do you play the guitar?” Cliff asked me.
“Yeah! I can actually say now that, yes, I do.” I smiled.
“Me too!” said Cliff with enthusiasm. He proceeded to tell me about a song he had written for his mom for Mother’s Day, then asked if I wanted to come inside and hear it.
For any of you who are thinking, “There she is again in the middle of the night with a strange man who is about to get her all alone inside his empty house!” (or bus, as the case may be), it wasn’t like that. I promise.
We went inside and he shared his song and I shared my songs and he shared another one and I shared my blog. And it was there that I got the idea for this post, which it has taken all this time to really get to . . . :
I’ve been noticing that the more I open up my gifts to the world–music, writing, laughter, love–the more other people respond by opening theirs. In the past year I have been privileged enough to hear numerous original songs–some debuts to the audience of one, see countless works of original art, be danced all across smooth floors and be graced by conversation after conversation steeped in original thought.
People are so cool when you open up and get to know them. And I think it’s in doing both–the opening and the getting . . . –that the true riches spill forth.
Blessings and Thank You’s all around. Peace, ya’ll.
Deep breath.
I think everything good starts and ends and exists within a breath.
“As long as you’re breathing, there is more right with you than wrong.”
That’s a quote from the guided meditation c.d. that accompanies The Mindful Way Through Depression: Freeing Yourself from Chronic Unhappiness, a book co-authored by John Kabat Zinn and others.
I found both the book and c.d. hugely helpful last June when I was fresh off of antidepressants and struggling a bit with franticness and fear. Listening to the c.d. is good when all you want to do is lie in the fetal position. You can still breath there, and that’s all we ever absolutely need to do.
Of the two of us, my brother bears the bigger burden of depression. I can pinpoint a few years of my life when I experienced prolonged phases of despair, but it hasn’t been my norm. Ty has had to work a lot harder for happy.
I didn’t expect to write about this today . . . you never know what might come up while you’re breathing . . .
We spoke today and he told me this weekend was one of the hardest he has ever experienced. He’s doing better though, taking good care of himself in every way he knows how.
As for the rest of us, the many, many people who love and have been touched by Tyler. . . I think the best we can do is send an outpouring of love his way and stay attentive to timing. It’s a big temptation to jump right in and try to be Ms. Fixit right away. Especially as an ET2, I often feel like I have the perfect suggestion for anyone hurting. Sometimes I’m on the right track and what I have to say might be of great benefit; but unless the moment is right, I promise you that perfect suggestion will fall on deaf ears.
As Ty told me about all the steps he’s been taking to stay strong–no caffeine, no alcohol, exercise consistently, meditate daily, and others–I did feel compelled to remind him go easy on himself when he skips a morning meditation or misses a dose of fish oil. I wrote a little bit about my experience of overdoing in an early post, Human Doings, inspired by talking with my brother the same day.
The post begins with a poem; the first line of which is, “You don’t have to be good.”
I don’t want you to be good, Ty. I just want you to be.
* * *
One of my favorite feel-better-even-while-you-cry songs came on as I typed this post, right after Billy Joel’s “Sadness and Euphoria” and in time with me typing the words, “you never know what might come up while you’re breathing.” It’s “Heart of Life” by John Mayer and it goes like this (<—–click there to listen, Mom!):
I hate to see you cry,
lying there in that position.
There are things you need to hear,
so turn off your tears and listen:
Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around.
No, it won’t all go away, it should.
But I know the heart of life is good.
I dedicate this post to you, brother. And even though John Mayer says, “turn off your tears,” I say, just keep being you, however you may be. We’ll love you no matter what that looks like. Love and hugs, your Seester.
It has come to my attention that having a focused intention for my blog would behoove us all greatly. Today I’d like to write about just that.
I’ll start at the beginning (even if to say so is redundant). My initial inspiration for starting a blog was both special and rather unoriginal. I decided to treat myself to the luxury of a matinée one late summer afternoon. So I took a quiet walk down to Mt Shasta Cinemas and bought myself a ticket for Julie and Julia.
For the most part, I enjoyed the movie; but there was also this whiney little voice inside of me (probably my ET4 heart point, otherwise known as a “soul child”) that was actually quite jealous of Julie and Julia alike. “Why should Julie get to do what she loves and then have a book published and a bit fat feature film made starring Meryl Streep?” it demanded. “When will I be loved?”
Lurking there, just behind the jealousy and whinging, was also sadness and a feeling of disconnect from my own path. It had been more than a year since graduating from Naropa, yet still I was “transitioning and integrating” (my words, spoken so many times) and not feeling like I had made any real progress. Somehow, watching Julie and Julia up on that screen touched this tender area of my being and as the credits rolled at the end of the film, I stayed in my seat and wept. (I’m laughing now. I knew there was a reason I named this blog Carry Kleenex, Carry On).
As I walked home, the urge to create a blog of my own crept up inside of me and gradually grew. What’s amazing is that it didn’t dwindle. I wrote my first blog within a week of seeing the movie and the love affair hasn’t fizzled yet. Yes, it’s only been a month, but a month is a long time to do something consistently, first of all, and secondly, I’ve heard that it takes 30 days to establish any habit, good or bad. Given that, consider Cocoa (:acronym CKCO shortened and cute-end) established!
When I actually sat down to write my first post, it all seemed to flow naturally. I came up with the topic and title relatively easily, thanks to a little help from my mom. I even think my initial intention was fairly clear from the start, with the original subtitle: An attempt to redirect my musings to an audience that’s interested. (I’ve since altered that heading slightly, changing “attempt” to “intent” because of the importance I believe the concept of intention to bear; I’ll elaborate on both in a minute).
I am a person who analyzes life and my own behavior on a regular basis. While I find such a quality endearing, it’s easy for me to make the leap and realize that such is not likely the case for every person I encounter. But, I thought, there must be somebody out there who would enjoy and perhaps even benefit from hearing my thoughts on life. So I decided to share them, realizing I might also get some of that particular energy out of my system and into an environment where it would at least have the potential to thrive.
My hope was not so much to entertain or enlighten as to simply offer my thoughts and myself and allow them the chance to be received. I also realized, on some level, that by writing things down I would have an opportunity to get to know Tessa better. I don’t know if it sounds weird that I needed to get to know me, but I honestly did and I do . . .
The point is that, yes, I am writing this blog for people to read it; but my primary intention remains to stay focused on Spirit, both mine and the great one and to see what pours forth. This becomes increasingly challenging as hits to the site and comments on it increase–and not just comments, but comments, filled with integrity and heart. Seeing such things makes it really tempting to try and lure more loveliness into the light, but I realize that the reason this whole process is actually working at all is because I’m not doing it for anyone else. I think that’s an important thing to remember for anyone following a passion, that if you’re not doing it to fulfill you, you probably won’t be fulfilled.
In any case, the reason I changed the word “attempt” to “intent” was to further focus the direction of this offering of mine. I believe in the power of the spoken (or in this case, written) word and I felt that by using the word “attempt,” I was weakening my . . . I hesitate to say “resolve” because to me that feels rigid and closed. So, I was weakening the strength of my . . . well, intention to make a genuine and positive change in my life and to pursue a passion.
Writing daily and opening myself wider than I have been to a even broader range of observation has truly enhanced my life and increased my happiness. The birth of this blog was a genuinely “beautiful dawn.”
I encourage you to listen to the sweet and profound song entitled as such and to pay attention to the lyrics as you do so. I’ve been playing it on my guitar and singing along, and it brings me joy that I want to share. I hope you’ll be inspired.
Learning how to cry is the hardest part
There’s only one way to mend a broken heart.
~Beautiful Dawn, The Wailin Jenny’s
