Still the Funniest

Posted on August 1, 2015 by kyra333

My sister Amy is the funniest of my sisters. I say is instead of was because her voice continues in my head from time to time. Softer, yes, since her death but still her and still here. Her birthday is in July and her exit day is in August. Anyone who knows me, or has read me, knows I do things to honor Amy on one or both of those anniversaries, and honestly almost every day of my life. The people we love, all the people alive, dead or just MIA are always part of us and how we move through the world. Over the years on one or both of those days I try to do something as a tipping of the hat to Amy. I have done things like scattered her ashes or smoked cigars, not at the same time mind you, though there were two giant martinis’ attached to smoking that cigar so there were some ashes scattered that night too…. Overall I try to do something different, and this year was no different.

In trying to figure out what to do on Amy’s birthday this year I remembered when she lost her hair and had chemo head. She was devastated. She had the best hair of all of the Freeburg girls; the rest of us have this downy, floating stuff that is so thin and fine you need David Copperfield or Chris Angel to style it. Amy’s hair was a blonde riot, sometimes waves, other times just crazy jutting shapes all diving around her face like some kind of geometry experiment. It was beautiful, and so was she. As her hair fell out, Amy tried her best to come to grips with it, to find her beauty, her femininity. Being 6’1” like me that can be a struggle, add being bald to that and you can well imagine a loss of footing, but not of humor.

This year for her birthday I thought about those girly things she wanted to do while in the bin, which is what Amy called the hospital. I thought a pedicure might be a token of the girly rituals she missed and eating some purple ice cream as well, which she loved. I also knew I would watch one of her favorite movies so The Big Lebowski was up for the evening’s festivities along with a White Russian or a Caucasian as the “The Dude” calls it. I made my appointment for the pedi a few days prior to her birthday trying to remember Amy’s favorite color.

The morning of her birthday I sat with my coffee after mediation and toasted Amy for a well lived albeit short life. I miss her humor and the punch of her wit; it was visceral and alive. Yes, I hear her voice in my head here and there but over time it is lighter, she is lighter. The missing of her acerbic tone, the voice of reason bundled in the absurd, all that was odd, quirky and brilliant spilling out every time she opened her mouth, put pen to paper or fingers to keys. I bemoaned all of those things, complaining to her sitting there with my coffee. I know she is with me and always will be, but there are differences. Time has softened the edges and everything changes. As I thought this all I could hear a faint smirk from the ether from my sister.

Prior to my appointment I was on Flickr looking at old pictures Amy took at Comic-Con and EverQuest conferences with incredibly funny burbs she’d written. The girl was a major geek in the best possible way. I looked up from my monitor to check the clock and saw it was time to trundle off to my pedicure. On the way I asked what color she wanted, of course in my head as to not startle those on the street. I thought I heard a faint answer of “purple” in my tiny head. Really I thought, not her favorite color and certainly not mine at least when it comes to pedicures. My toes are purple on a regular basis but it has to do with running around in bare feet and being clumsy. I usually favor the pinks and reds in polish but I asked again and got “purple” as I walked in the door of the salon.

After I checked in I was instructed by the young woman behind the desk to pick a color. I picked up almost all the purples and got “No’s, until I hit a particularly ugly one. “Yes,” I heard, but I kept going, I tried other colors and other shades of purple and continued to get “No’s.” And yes, I was thinking “I am crazy in doing this,” but I knew that I needed to do it so I continued. I kept going back to this horrible shade of purple, which was like a cross between a superhero costume color and a two-day-old bruise before it goes green. I could hear her in my head saying “Yes” to that color every time I offered it up. But there was not a lot of side talk if I asked why that shade: was there a superhero angle? Was it a favorite color? I got nada, crickets from her. I again doubted my tenuous grasp on reality and took the bilious shade of purple up to the lovely young woman who was tasked with filing down my hooves and polishing them.

The rest of the afternoon was lovely; a nice lunch, some journaling, and a couple of scoops of purple ice cream to match my toes with Amy’s voice periodically in my head like a peanut gallery. Later that evening after dinner I settled in to watch The Big Lebowski. I love it. It is a very funny movie but I don’t watch it every year. In fact, it had been a few years since I had seen it. I started the movie and reflected about the proper beverage to accompany it. Naw, I thought, I don’t really want a White Russian. By the second scene making a White Russian became a compulsion, not only did it look like a great dessert, but it is thematically just too good to pass up. I put the movie on pause and created the same concoction Jeff Bridges had moments before on film, complete with half-and-half. Really, this was monkey see, monkey do; I am just that malleable when it comes to the pleasure principle.

As the evening wore on I occasionally caught a glimpse of my toes and winced at the color but I knew I’d taken one for the team. I knew Amy was pleased somewhere sitting on a cloud with a Mountain Dew and some Cheetos as she watched this all play out just for her. Again, I thought I heard that smirk. I sipped my cocktail and was enjoying the movie immensely. I congratulated myself on putting just enough time between viewing’s to fully appreciate it. I caught even more details than I have in past viewings. I was really quite pleased with myself, but it seems I was not the only one.

I was hunkered down and laughing along when John Turturro’s character Jesus, who is a top rival on the opposing bowling team, appeared on screen. I froze mid-sip and just took it all in. In the film Jesus is dressed in a skin-tight jumpsuit that is the same exact bilious shade of purple that Amy chose for my pedicure that day. Then the camera zooms in as he licks the bowling ball pre-roll, showing his long pinky nail is painted the exact same color purple as my toes were. I almost spit my cocktail all over the sofa; there was a wild cackling laugh in my head. And then passed being stunned, I was laughing so hard I missed the next few minutes of the movie. The idea of a practical joke being perpetrated from the great beyond is both humbling and awe inspiring. Me being the dimwitted sad sack of “I miss the punch of your wit” hours before made me the perfect patsy. I caught my breath, Amy’s voice all too clear in my head and heart, “I’m still the funniest sister.” Touché, Amy Charlotte, touché.

Posted in Faith, Health and Wellness, humor, life and death, truth | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

1,582 Miles

Posted on July 1, 2015 by kyra333

Both Confucius and Buckaroo Banazi said, “ No matter where you go, there you are.” I logged 1,582 miles in two weeks on the road in California: from San Diego, to San Jose, Yountville in Napa, Philo in Anderson Valley, Elk, Mendocino, back to San Jose and then on to Santa Barbara. By my pictures it looks like I was having an amazing vacation. It was amazing, but vacation is not the word that I would use here. Journey yes, absolutely it was a journey, a walkabout even, but no vacation. We know pictures tell you how things look, not how they are. Being there, being in it, whatever it was was the landscape of transition, grief, adventure and beauty… crazy, wild, chaotic, painful beauty.

The trip was planned over hours and hours of poring over websites for Northern California in mid-to-late April. I culled some fabulous information from a woman who writes travel websites and went to her bargain recommendations for fancy bed and breakfasts and hotels on the cheap. I booked 3 or 4 of them in a lazy string in places I had never been. This was my longest and most adventurous trip in terms of discovery in about 5 years, since I went to Berlin. I was excited come end of April to finish the semester and hit the road for a proper vacation. Then May came and though it was a good end to the semester regarding grading etc. everything else hit the skids and went pear-shaped. My past came biking up and bit me in the ass or more accurately eviscerated me. If disembowelment does not scream “who’s ready for a fun filled vacation!” I don’t know what does.

I processed the world, my role in it and those who came and went in the weeks leading up to my trip. I packed everything but a planter with germaniums and hit the road. The beauty of driving is you ask yourself why would you bother paring down what to bring? Hell, I have a Subaru, and just one of my suitcases is large enough to hold a good-sized body. Not that dumping a body was at the top of my “To Do” list but it did snake though my thoughts early in May. The first leg of my trip landed me at Hallmark Lane in San Jose: A home filled with exotic birds, cats, orchids and two men whom I love more than not only my luggage but my luggage wrapped in bacon. One of these men I still consider to be my first husband and my best choice yet. I am sure his current husband thinks the same thing and he would be correct.

There is nothing as perfect in the world as someone who knows you and gets you. You don’t have to edit, look good or even be clean; you just have to be. When I look back at the two weeks on the road, with some chagrin the first and best moment of the trip that popped in my head was wandering around town shopping with Tony and especially our tour of Ikea. There was an ongoing editorializing of everything we saw, liked, did not like, and could not understand why it was on the planet as well as how it related to science, literature, pop culture and us. Our patter was so unconscious, hilarious, thoughtful, bizarre and I believe incredibly insightful as the lore, the lure and love of all things Swedish. There are very few people on the planet I can really riff with when it comes to this type of thing where we float on a similar frequency and there is a twin-speak, if you will. People we love and who love the entirety of us, despite our quirks, our bad habits and arrogance, are few and far between. The three of us played, ate in great restaurant after great restaurant like Naschmarkt, discovered “The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” together, and just putzed around. These two men were just the first gift of my trip and by far one of the best.

I went solo for the next week and then returned to them on my leg home. I started in Yountville in a beautiful French château bed and breakfast right in town. Yountville is in Napa County and there were tasting rooms not only close to my digs but also within walking distance, were Chef Thomas Keller’s restaurants the French Laundry and Bouchon and Chef Michael Chiarello’s Bottega, just to name a few. I actually ate at the latter two. The B&B and the restaurants were amazing as was my first tasting of the next day at Domaine Carneros, a fabulous bubble house not too far away. This is when and where my trip starts to get like a bad fun house mirror. Lucky for me no clowns; I hate clowns, the soul-sucking face painted plenipotentiaries’ of doom — but crazy is as crazy does, so in came the circus.

My trip was primarily places I had never been, yet I found as my day unfolded all the places around me were tied to the past, not mine but an alternate version. This past I saw was not only the road not traveled but not even offered. I didn’t understand my discomfort at first until winery landmarks and memories started to pop as these were wines I had drank and knew well through my past relationship. As Andrew McMahon says in his song Swim, “Memories like bullets, they fired at me from a gun.” Those memories colored all that I did in a slick gritty film as did my sweat as the temperature jumped to over 100 degrees. I would rather endure cold weather than hot: it is due to my pasty pale lineage in places where they ate potatoes, cabbage, reindeer meat and smoked smelts. Besides when it’s cold you can put lots of clothes on, but when it’s hot you can only take so many off before the cops show up. I am just saying…

Though I am long of leg and ample of well… ok, everything else, I am also a delicate flower who has cleaned up what I eat and drink. So this type of debauchery in food and adult beverage combined with the heat was starting to not wear well. Now add to that unhealthy potpourri of bad juju my emotional whiplash and my winding up situated in a place that was pretty as a Peachville USA: The view was stunning but my insides were kind of rotty, snotty and raw. How is that for a travel log? Come for the extraordinary wine and fine dining all while enjoying stunning views and a Tum- fueled Sybil remake. I was flipping around in my head, heart and gut and there were more than my regular cast of characters appearing with internal dialogues. It now seemed I had the traveling company of the Real Housewives of Anywhere too.

Despite my turmoil, I did meet many lovely people who were all very kind, sweet and helpful: from Jenny at Bouchon, who was a beacon of light to a nice couple in the B&B who were full of great information. This generosity of spirit tipped the scales over and over again to enjoyment, gratitude, and happiness. It helped balance the swings back to angry, sad and bewildered, which I know to be normal cycles of grief and grieving. Anyone who has walked through them knows it feels more crazy-making than normal.

After Napa came the town of Elk on the coast, back to Anderson Valley and lastly Mendocino tripping around, drinking wine, walking cliffs and beaches. The wild turbulent coast was, as one would expect, a perfect mirror for what I was walking through: It was beautiful, treacherous, violent and breathtaking: all things life hands us in transitions, in fear and in love. My back tweaked so hard during this part of the trip that I looked like a question mark and spent about 12 hours one night in bed because movement was excruciating.

I cleaned up my food, drink, and thoughts. I got a massage at the hotel and detoxed as best I could on the move. I also had a run-in with an incredible woman who owned a shop in Fort Bragg who studied the Mayan traditions of Shamanic Healing and energy work, who all but had to wrestle me on her massage table at the back of the shop to work on me. She worked on me for maybe 6-8 minutes tops and left me to percolate. I have to say I felt a world better getting back up. It was an unexpected, intense and amazing gift. When I would pull my head out and let them help me, people over and over were there to mitigate my pain and discomfort at every turn. It was wonderful. I didn’t always register these opportunities; my lesson was to recognize the gift the first time it was offered. Many had to offer multiple times in order for me, the kid on the short bus who licks the windows, to catch on. Friends on the road, from home, and the ether gave love and support via social media, grounded me while I stumbled about with a camera just being in it.

“Being in it” meant wonderful interludes with charming people who made me think, laugh and step back. One night while eating dinner at the bar in the Mendocino Hotel—yes Virginia you can eat at the bar and drink club soda— I was drawn into an engaging conversation. It was Happy Hour and those around me, as you would expect, were imbibing, and a few men I noticed had gotten Manhattans sans cherries, a lovely cocktail right up there with a proper martini, no saccharin- laced foo-foo stuff, just classics. I am all for foo-foo drinks in their place, but who does not like a classic monkey gland along with warm bar nuts? But I digress. The last fellow who ordered a Manhattan was happily sipping when the gentleman of an elderly couple situated between him and me asked, “why no cherry?” The fellow said he did not really like cherries and quoted a New York Times editor who stated that, “people who take cherries in their Manhattans are of questionable character.” I burst out laughing at this statement and was given entre to the conversation, where we debated about accessories verses integral ingredients of a fine cocktail. He followed the cherry logic with martinis and olives. I had to disagree vigorously saying an olive was pivotal in a martini. He made a point saying he did not enjoy the fishing trip to retrieve the olives. I countered with the trinity. One cannot disregard the holiness of a trinity: three olives on a plastic sword are divine. He acquiesced seeing the logic in the sword, the importance of any trinity from my examples of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit and frankly the latter trinity of Moe, Larry and Curley had him regretting his original stance. I believe my logic was flawless.

In 1,582 miles, everywhere I went, there I was. I was in it, a part of it. I thought traveling would give me a different perspective to life. It did, but not too different. What was internal, what I was crunching through, feeling and thinking was always mirrored in my environment. I had no illusions from the start that this was a getaway trip as I know that we are the road, the vehicle, and the fuel as we travel. To consider myself separate and apart by location was absurd. What I didn’t understand at the start of this journey was that our relationship to ourselves is so literally mirrored to our relationship to others and our environment. I knew that, but I had not felt or experienced this on such a deep level before.

The opportunities in the freedom of the road pushed me out of safe places, made me much more vulnerable, and set me up to have to trust myself, friends, strangers and the Universe in far more substantial ways. In Santa Barbara I got food-poisoning symptoms on waking one morning with an empty stomach that left me lying on the bathroom floor with cold sweats and waiting for the strength to crawl back to bed, where I slept for the next 24 hours. It brought me back to a memory of a Valentine’s Day incident mirroring this current event where I was equally sick; the memory was chilling.

During this trip, over and over I was forced to a place of vulnerability and pain. The recent event in being deeply hurt and heartbroken were pushing up against these travel episodes of vulnerability and started loosening those muscles around my heart hardened and stiff with the mission of protecting the recent wound. What I believe is that sometimes, as we stretch and open up wider to beauty and love, the initial pain of pushing past fear and knocking down those walls is like a Tsunami. It feels like we will drown in it. By pushing to stay open and vulnerable, to feel the pain and be in the crazy and to try to trust, turned out to allow me to kind of ride that wild, crazy, beautiful wave. I don’t think surfing is in my future per se, but at least now I know I can swim.

Posted in Being Open, Change, Faith, Fear, forgiveness, Health and Wellness, Vulnerability | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

What good can come of bad?

Posted on June 1, 2015 by kyra333

It may be too soon to write this but sometimes I come to the page to process, to take something so huge and so messed up, I cannot wrap my brain around it. So here I am at the page, a place where he and I met, I fell in love, and all good and bad things happened. Multiple beginnings and endings, courtship and extended silences, cries for help, laughter, inside jokes and secrets; the last part were unbeknownst to me. I am reeling with the news that someone I once loved deeply and for a long time was not only not who he portrayed himself to be, but did so for the entire length of our relationship. Yes, the entirety of our relationship, for years and years was a lie. I have spent a good amount of my days after getting the email with this news going through the cycles of grief and trying to process white is now black, good is now bad. What do I do, how do I feel, what is the result of knowing such things? Blah!

What I do know for sure is how I felt, the memories of the relationship I thought I was in, the passion, the laughter, and the adventure of that for me was true and real. I will keep all that because that is my only truth here. Because his every single word, gesture and memory of what he put out there is called into question, as they were built on lies and sustained by lies. I will never know what he showed to me was true. I suspect someone who could do such things might not be capable of love or truth, but I do not know and honestly it doesn’t matter at this point. My choice is what to do with what I now know and how to proceed in being open, trusting and vulnerable as I walk through the world.

I understand when people lie it has more to do with them than with us, not that it does not wreak havoc and inflict pain on others, but never-the-less we are not the reason or the cause. Sometimes they lie out of fear, sometimes they want to manipulate you. There is a host of reasons but the black seed starts with them. Here I sit and think about him and what good can come of bad, pain, betrayal and cruelty. I can understand a need to bike up Mt. Ego, but what I don’t understand is running over and dragging innocents under the wheels on the journey. I guess that the practice of protracted cruelty for ego is nothing new but up close it is leveling. It makes you question everything in a way that leaves you with a millions paper cuts to your heart.

So I am left wondering about what good will come of bad, specifically, this bad. I only have my history to examine what have been my takeaways after other bad things that have happened. Years ago I had back surgery; the scalpel at the hand of a not so steady doctor slipped and nicked my spinal column which holds that good-ass go-go juice. Spinal fluid is best kept in the spinal column, go figure. So instead of a 48-hour stay in the hospital I woke to the news of what had gone wrong. Needless to say, I was devastated that I now had to spend 9-10 days in the hospital flat on my back no getting up, no sitting up, nothing more than a 10% grade of my upper body. At the time I was working full-time as a Special Investigator for a government contractor doing background and security clearances for a host of government agencies. Let me just say the job was fun and interesting, but the badge was the real perk it was a kick-ass TV-FBI-esque shield in a bad-boy billfold, or as best as I can tell from my years of too much TV. So there I was with my full-time job and I was on my last semester of my master’s in counseling with an internship weeks away. With that internship I would be working full-time plus doing early mornings at a school site before logging my 8 hours doing investigations once sprung from the surgery. It would be a killer spring but I had a plan. Oh does the Universe laugh at our plans… Oy vey.

I was stunned from the botched surgery news. How would I make this all work? What kind of permanent damage, if any, would there be? I was flattened (no pun intended), scared and lost. I remember at one point a few hours after the news thinking about what were my options: I could be feeling like I was for the next week and a half, or try to shift my perspective. I chose the second option and decided I would soak in all the attention and love coming at me. I would revel in the experience of being waited on hand and foot. I would see my extended hospital stay as a paid vacation. I had been working full-time and going for my master’s full-time for 2 years; I was exhausted. So I took it as a holiday. I let my expectations and plans go and said WTF let’s see what happens next.

The short version of what happened next was I got out, I got a serious infection, and I almost went back in the bin but didn’t. This made recovery longer; I could not stand or walk more than 2-3 hours a day. So as a Special Investigator that is a no-no and I could not be cleared to go back to work. I was cleared to go to my school site for a few hours a day and do my internship slowly. The botched surgery and the infection were terrorizing. They threw my plans in a tail spin and pushed me to places that were fraught with fear of that bad “what if” game we play when we spin out. It was bad in the moment but hindsight made me see the gifts in this. So over the years as things happen they feel “bad” or they even feel “good,” I hold my judgment. I think, “Well isn’t this interesting,” and I try to see them just as they are. They are developments and pit stops on a journey.

I know from my past that good can come from bad. Whether it has been my sister Amy’s death, the debacle in the hospital, or a stint at unemployment with dwindling funds, all of these things were traumatizing but what I chose to do with those events were the gift. The events weren’t the gifts: those were props for opportunities to evolve, devolve or revolve. Those specific examples I list here whether by grace, naiveté or dumb luck I took the evolve route. I do not always, and I don’t think anyone does but we can try and damn I do try. So is this guy a gift for what he brought me to? Fuck no! He is a tool and I mean that in every sense of the word. What I do next is always up to me: react or respond, choose forgivingness, grace and compassion for all of us hit with this shite storm or bury my bitter diminutive skull in something that distracts me from my emotions, my pain or my truths.

I believe in Karma. What we put out into the world comes back to us in 3’s. It’s like there is an exponential factor to our choices and our actions. I also believe in forgiveness, goodness and grace, so I think for now I will stick with those, maybe have some very good wine and take a long road trip to wine country to blow off some steam. I am going to take time to let things settle, to just be, write, play and walk away from an old crash. Cheers!

Posted in Being Open, Change, choices, Faith, Fear, forgiveness, Health and Wellness, lies, truth | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Road Trip: A Way to Find Your Way Home

Posted on May 2, 2015 by kyra333

I love road trips. In fact, just filling my tank up with gas makes me feel like anything is possible, even if the only thing that is possible at that moment is getting to work on time. I can choose to keep driving at any moment and explore what is down the road. I almost always go to work, but the idea is that I don’t have to choose work—I can choose anything. There is an old saying that is the epitome of trite: “life is a journey,” or for me, a road trip. The older I get the more I understand that all of those hallmark sayings I thought were trite were actually quite profound and can be cornerstones in living a good life. I know that sounds cheesy but allow this to unfold and let’s see if I can get us there.

Let’s start with an exercise so that I am not the only one working here. Pull out something to write with. I want you to think of a great road trip or lots of road trips, whether you went on them either as a kid or as an adult. Think about where you went, who was with you and what you did. Think about the journey, discovery, the mess-ups etc. … Let’s start to list and document what specifically made them good.

1. Make a list of 5-10 events that made a trip fun or engaging.

An example for me might be: “a beau and I get a flat tire in Scotland and pull off into a driveway of a tiny farmhouse complete with puzzled farmer and we laugh our asses off.”

Another example from a different trip: “on the trip cross-country from NY to CA with my best friend on a bio-break, we choose a cheese stand we had seen a million bad billboards for that had 45 types of spreadable cheese and much, much more.”

2. Now take that list of events, pull one of them out, and break down the characteristics of those events. Break those moments into simpler, smaller pieces. Distill what made them good or fun.

 
For me, components of that flat tire event in Scotland were: adventure, a partner in crime, lots of laughter, building inside jokes from stressful situations, intimacy, overcoming an obstacle with someone.

For the cheese stand example, the components were: getting to stop to pee when I wanted to, food, the bizarre, someone who shares the joy of the bizarre and can dive into the moment, discovery, laughter, more food, kitsch (which could be listed on bizarre but there was so much it gets its own spot), spontaneity.

Now look at those distilled moments you have on your list and their characteristics. Aren’t those very components of a good road trip the very things that make for a great life? They do for me. So approaching life like I would a vacation, an adventure instead of something I have to drag myself through, an ordeal, puts me in a completely different mindset. I am open, looking for fun, curious about what might happen, bringing in people I enjoy to share times with, taking care of myself with a true devotion to wellness and worthiness.

If I see my days stretch out like the road ahead, it can be overwhelming because I just want to get to my destination. When I start to pay attention to the quality of those days instead of only the vacation days or weekend days, I build something good. What makes a journey good for me is stopping to pee when I need to and not to do the pee-pee dance for an hour thinking I should have stopped when my bladder told me to instead of pushing on, stopping to eat when I am hungry, stopping when I am tired to sleep or stretch. How many times during your day do you put off these things because you are busy? We delay things that are foundations of basic human need: eating, sleeping, moving, and finding a moment to go to the bathroom when you need to instead of between projects, meetings or chores. Really, no wonder we sometimes find our days overwhelming and stressful and we get burned out. If you don’t want to be burned out, stop living like your hair is on fire.

Go back to those road trips you listed, those moments of savoring an adventure. Even when the scenery was ugly, you still had a good time. You remembered then to step back, breathe, laugh, play with a friend, eat some cheese, maybe even add some wine, and love exactly where you were in the moment, because this too shall pass like a bad billboard on the side of the road. Tally ho!

Posted in Being Open, curiosity, foundation of change, Health and Wellness, mind shifts, Play | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?”

Posted on April 4, 2015 by kyra333

I had not thought of Contrary Mary and her nursery rhyme in years when it popped into my head. The thoughts preceding this archaic nursery rhyme were of spring and new beginnings, which made me think of what seeds I am planting in my garden. Yes, seeds as in soil, Home Depot, pots or gardens, but what other seeds am I planting too, like seeds of curiosity, tolerance, and compassion? Am I growing something positive or something negative in my life and in my relationships? I can grow and nurture anything I put my mind to, even things like gossip, self-righteousness, or seeds of discontent. What I choose to focus on is what I grow. What do I perpetuate in my habitual unexamined behavior? If Mary, Mary, is quite contrary, I am betting there is some nasty, angry, thorny, mulish, and pious shite thriving in her back forty.

One of winter’s gifts is it is a time of dormancy, during which we rest and are contemplative. It is the part of the cycle that restores in order for birth to follow. Spring brings in opportunities for the new and different. Spring cleaning can be cathartic, going through closets, pulling out things that no longer fit, are worn out or never really worked at all and giving them away. That same spring cleaning can be done in our psyche too, in our emotional and spiritual lives as well as our physical. What toxic relationships are we engaging in? What unhealthy lifestyle habits are slowing us down and making us sick? What ennui or fear is surrounding our power, passion or clarity so we are stuck? What part of our lives no longer fits, has worn out its welcome, or never really worked but we choose to ignore it?

Spring is a perfect time to discard what does not serve us in all areas of our lives and to plant something good, something powerful, and to grow more of what we want to reap. The quality of our lives, our happiness, health and contentment, is a direct result of everything we say, do and think. We are the fertile ground.

I know folks might ask, “What I think? Really, how can I control what I think?!” What I say about that is I have an impulse, a thought, which is a reaction to what is happening around me. That is instant and uncontrollable. It is a pure reaction. However, when I choose to revisit, mull over, obsesses, play back over and over an event and get madder, or sadder or more self-righteous, that is on me. When I choose to rerun and repeat those bad stories or negative self-talk loops, I am making a poor choice. I am not processing what has happened in order to move on, instead I am self-inflicting the trauma over and over to validate my pain and deepen a negative story I have attached to an event.

When the little fat mean man in my head goes to those negative stories and dredges them up, I can choose to say, “Naw, sit down buddy-boy it’s not your call to make,” and consciously move my thoughts to something good, to something that feels better. I might have to do that over and over with myself, especially if it is a recent event and there is a lot of emotion or charge attached to it. The more space I can put in there between me and playing those negative stories, the better chance I have of letting go, processing and moving on. This by no means is easy or quick: change takes time, practice and a desire to do so. Look, it took time to get here, and it takes time to move away from here, no matter where here is.

So here is your invitation to spring: I invite you to look at your garden, your back forty, your life and see what you are growing. Find one thing, a small thing you would like to uproot and discard. Take a look at that thing, that behavior, that choice and think about what you want to cultivate instead. What healthier or more powerful, passionate thing can you plant instead? What I know about goals and change is they have to be specific, measureable, time sensitive and small bites in order to build on success. Keep that criteria in mind with this process, and using a journal too will help chart progress.

So to give you an example, this is how I am inviting in spring and replanting my garden: I committed to writing a blog a month this past January even though I am tussling with writing a book. I am happy to say so far I have been successful at keeping that promise. In terms of my garden, what is growing that I am not happy with is that I am just tussling, not writing that book, only notes here and there. I am feeling like I don’t know enough and I am a little lost on how to start this giant endeavor, so I just keep thinking on it and not doing it. I am procrastinating. I want more clarity before starting, but I am realizing that clarity might come with the doing and not the thinking. Drat, I so hate that! So what I am choosing to plant in place of procrastination with the book is I am committing to writing for one hour a week just for the book. It does not have to be good writing; in fact, I am giving myself permission to write drivel if need be, just to write and find my way to what works by first creating an awful mess.

Did you see what I did just there? I gave myself permission to suck at something before I got better through practice and learning. Doing this allows me to play, to feel my way there, to get to mastery through slow, steady progress. I set my expectations low because it is the start of doing this that is the key, not the quality. The quality of what I write will come with clarity and time. Not starting is my sticking point, and letting all expectations about perfection, goodness or anything not connected to the starting is what I let go of. Distilling what I need to do, which piece is the important first piece to tackle—in my example it is the starting to write the book—distilling it down helps me choose what I do first. Then keeping it a simple and singular act helps me focus on just what the first step is to move forward, to make my change.

That was my example but yours could be around growing better eating habits because the only fruit you consume is the cranberry juice in your Cosmo and the only vegetables are french fries. How you might approach that scenario is by committing to eating three servings of fruits or vegetables a day or if that is too much, three servings for five days a week. Whatever feels doable, not too easy, definitely not too hard, and just a touch “oh hell what did I just commit to.” What you might want to rip out of your garden connecting to this is maybe cutting your trips through the drive thru in half or by a third. Make it specific, measurable and time-specific, and also make it public. Telling someone gives it power and, Lord, it helps us be far more accountable in doing it too. If I tell my friend Josh I will meet him at the gym at 6:30am, you bet your ass that when the alarm goes off in the dark I will get out of bed because he is waiting. If I don’t have that agreement with him and I am doing it on my own and that alarm goes off in the dark, you can bet I am turning it off, rolling over, and kicking myself when I wake up.

So for spring, I am asking you to look at your lives, your gardens and consider trying this exercise: consider removing something that is negatively impacting you and growing something that feeds you, makes you happier and healthier, and empowers you. I am asking you to just notice what seeds you are planting in your daily lives. What are you nurturing within yourself and within others? How does that feel? Is it what you want and need? Be conscious of what you do, say and think. Are those things in alignment with your values and beliefs? Spring is about new beginnings, like a do-over, so take it and run with it. As to spring being the only do-over or new beginning, I have news for you: so is each dawn. After spring comes and goes, we can do this same practice every morning we crawl, roll, hop or dance out of bed and into our beautifully planted back forties.

Posted in Being Open, choices, Health and Wellness, intent, Learning, love, Play, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Wit’s End

Posted on March 14, 2015 by kyra333

I have been mulling over what to write about for weeks, to no avail. This week in particular I was moved over and over to try to wordsmith what was in my head, which was all jammed up. My head wasn’t jammed up in a bad way: in a bad way it looks like a hoarder’s house with 27 cats, 16 parakeets (all swearing) and piles of magazines, to-do lists, dishes, laundry, dust bunnies and tall, tippy, unstable stacks of worry. My head this week was jammed up with scenarios that have been unfolding in front of me for the past few months and more so this past week. People don’t come to me in a happy place, or even a neutral, confused place. They are generally in pain and in a world of confusion, frustration and hurt. I live you might say at Wit’s End because that is where people reach out and find me, at their wit’s end.

This week in particular I was humbled and awed by the human capacity for pain. Whether it was how folks chose to inflict it on others, or more often and on a much deeper level inflict it on themselves. At the other end of the spectrum, what really stood out was their ability to endure and rise above pain that was so incomprehensible in soul-crushing circumstances. Being a witness to their choice to open their hearts to change in the face of great fear and become new people was stunning. In reality, we know that they would not be new people but return to their beautiful whole healthy shiny sparkly goodness of all of who they are, which is nothing short of spectacular. Most folks don’t know how gifted or beautiful or creative they are. That is where I come in to remind them. Pain and feelings can derail their ability to see that.

When our body has a wound, whether by taking a spill in Little Italy on a trip down the sidewalk (literally) or surgery, our body compensates by protecting that wound by stiffening muscles around the wound so nothing can invade or reinjure it while it is vulnerable. The same thing happens emotionally when we have wounds. We get hurt and in protection we put up emotional walls to protect that area, so no one can hurt us like that again. We also might construct an elaborate network of rules and regulations of required conduct for those in our lives and ourselves to ensure safety in not getting hurt again. I know this drill all too well: it was my rule book for the first 35-40 years of my life. What I didn’t understand was if I was on the sidelines, keeping a distance as not to get hurt, I couldn’t in return be loved. I couldn’t have that part of the human existence that makes being alive, alive.

We learn by connection and in relationship with each other and our world. Deep learning and understanding comes not by Googling or reading a book that gives us knowledge but rather taking that static knowledge and putting it in context by using it: apply it to a real-life situation, reflect on the situation after the fact, analyze it, synthesize the salient points, apply the salient points again in another situation, and then evaluate that situation, over and over. By living it and making mistakes, getting hurt, and messing up. Being here, being present, and reaching is where we achieve mastery. Connection with others is where we find grace and our best selves, not in a vacuum and not certainly behind those walls we so carefully constructed. I have been the poster child for these poor choices of walls, rules, disengagement and distance: it netted me in the end a sweet little nervous breakdown at the end of a very long bumpy slide. If you think I am mistaken, take a look at where love appears in Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.

By choosing to move, strengthen or heal the area where that injury happened, we are met with a great amount of pain at first. So many people stop. The habit of protection is strong, but the habit of healing needs the same opportunity to grow strong. Engaging our resilience, our call to something more or better, puts us in wellness and builds self-confidence in our abilities. Doing this despite that initial pain, lots of discomfort and often prolonged discomfort sometimes, what we find on the other side of that choice is freedom from that which caused us the pain and the fear. Taking these steps invites in self-confidence, a centered knowing of who we are and how strong we are, our ability to right ourselves in adversity and bounce back with new knowledge and skills. It makes us stronger, smarter, kinder and more compassionate of ourselves and others. Not a bad ball of wax at all….

One of the outstanding moments of my week was courtesy of Edin, a first grader in a class where I was observing one of my students tutor in his class at a local elementary school. I came in and gave a nod to the teacher who knows me and our program. My student, the tutor, spotted me and a small moment of anxiety passed over her face as her teacher and supervisor, me, had appeared. She settled in and continued her work with kids and I found a tiny chair to sit and watch. When I say tiny chair, I mean little elementary school kiddo chair. At 6’1” with a 36-inch inseam, my knees are at my chin in one of these bad boys—it is pure physical comedy at its best. Settling in, a small boy sidles up to me and says something in Spanish. I speak very little Spanish much to my chagrin so I asked him if I was in his chair, pointing to my seat. He said something more in Spanish and I shrugged, saying I didn’t speak Spanish and that I was sorry. We just looked at each other: he was tiny and from my seat almost on the floor we were eye level, just looking at each other not quite smiling but thinking.

Each of us were trying to figure out how to get our point across when I remembered I knew how to say in Spanish that I speak very little Spanish and used my figures to demonstrate how little “little” was. He smiled broadly and repeated the sentence and finger gestures back to me, saying he spoke very little English in the same dramatic way I did. We both laughed and I asked his name. He said it two times but with his low voice, my bad hearing and myriad of other things, I couldn’t repeat it correctly back to him. He used his finger to draw the letters for me instead and I handed him my pen and moved the clipboard over so he could write on it. He wrote his name, Edin, and gave me the pen back as I pronounced it correctly then wrote my own name for him. We both smiled broadly again. His teacher then directed him back to his desk and there was a small wave and smile between us.

The pure naked need to be seen, to connect to be understood, was so sweet and earnest it is hard to put in words. The look on his face when I spoke my little bit of Spanish, and I am sure when he parroted it back to me saying the same thing about his lack of English, was a delight for us both. It was so simple, small and could have been brushed by in my day doing observations of my students. Yet it stood out and has stayed with me for days now, that and the clear maps of pain that others diagramed for me this week. I don’t know what to tell you all other than all of our connections count. They all yield power to transform, to find love, warmth, humor and yes even pain. True, I may live at Wit’s End, but after meeting people like Edin and those strong souls who allow me to witness their journey of the heart, I can tell you it’s the best address there is. It makes all things possible.

Posted in Being Open, Change, Fear, foundation of change, Health and Wellness, Learning, love, Vulnerability | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Not just by the magic of caffeine or wine

Posted on February 1, 2015 by kyra333

I can be easily overwhelmed at times. It might be by a half dozen dishes in the sink, an important email I need to write or starting a new exercise routine. It feels like I have to, I should. I promised at the New Year to write a new blog at least once a month and did the important step of telling a few people. That insures accountability. For me it also can insure dread. I am a big baby who is ruled by two things, pleasure and freedom. In fact, these two things, pleasure and freedom are 2 of my 5 core values. That being said in recent years I have done a good job of engineering my life to find pleasure in doing things I was overwhelmed by. Not just by the magic of caffeine or wine, but by shifting my point of view and bringing in the want to’s, love to’s in my life.

I am a shiftless person and lackadaisical in nature which is driven by a neurosis to get it all done so I can play. Making a list and checking things off is efficient and can bring a sense of peace for me and a false sense of control. I can see all my fellow control freaks sticking their collective fingers in their ears and lalalalalala-ing loudly. I get it; it feels good to get stuff done but in the long run if the only things on my list are chores it makes for a sucky life. It makes me resentful and cranky, a pious prat who thinks everyone is not working as hard as I am because they are laughing, taking lunch outside the office or taking a sick day, the nerve. Any To Do list grows you see. There are always chores to do, notes to be sent, project or program issues to tackle at work, laundry, etc…being really efficient made me a drudge.

In my search to have a great life I needed a better system, I knew a twelve step program for my To Do list was one way, call it denial, call it chaos, I could not go there. I needed to create a better To Do list so I could have a better life. I could try to invite in balance and my old friends freedom and pleasure to everyday life. Whoohoo was my first thought. I needed them back as I am working three jobs and I missed my old friends, P&F, who only came out on the weekends. But then immediately after that thought came another which was a very bad word, in fact, the queen mother of bad words. Yea that one. Look I know I can’t not do all my stuff, I can’t not do dishes or laundry, not go to work and not do work stuff which garners me a paycheck to live. Stuffing fun and play into a weekend was exhausting and I was spending my work week wishing and dreaming it was the weekend. That is not living, that is existing.

I fumbled with this and tried lots of things but ultimately it was lots of little things that made the big differences. The first was when I add a “have to” to my To Do list I also add a “want”. I write things like dinner with friends sure but also alone time, time to paint, walk, and time to do absolutely nothing. Even if the slot was just for 15 minutes, let me tell you it was and is worth it. I live a very structured existence with meetings, classes and even structured play time. I needed to build in some space for pleasure, for creativity for nothing in order to just be. Not have to do, just be, just putter. I carved out Sundays where I don’t make plans and generally don’t even leave the house. I let friends and family know this was a sacred day and I was out of pocket, gone. Sometimes I write, do laundry but only if I feel like it, only if I want to.

I started taking back small pieces of my work day as well. I wanted to do some yoga in the mornings or at least stretch and get in a good meditation. I was getting up at 6am to be in the office around 7:20ish. I started by setting my clock 13 minutes earlier. Why 13 minutes? Because it was more than 10 and less than 15; one felt not enough and the other felt like too much. Yea, I am that crazy. Other times in the past I tried this exercise I set the clock a lot earlier, even 30 minutes, I didn’t stick with it. This I found I could do. We ask “Oh what can 13 minutes give us?” You would be surprised, hell I was. The days I got up earlier and did just a little of those things I wanted and moved through my morning slower with more freedom to stop and look at something, to listen to the sounds of the early morning and best of all I was not running through my routine. I know you think,” How can 10-15 minutes make a difference?” It did. It was a small step and small steps have always been my best weapon for things that overwhelm me. This is something I have written about before those small steps and will again soon. Two months after setting my alarm earlier by 13 minutes I did it again and got it close to almost 30 minutes, total brave girl that I was! Doing this in little stages made it easier and gave me more time to linger, to savor, and even hit the snooze button more if that is what I wanted.

I was a girl who started the day and ended it with thinking about what I needed to get done. If you hear alarm bells going off that would be because you are not only clever, but have a good sense of balance. I did not. Long term it made me sick. It is fine to start your day with a review of what you have to do, it was but bringing in the “what will be fun to do today?” that made a difference. In going over the mental check list of chores and work, I started to add and seek out pockets of fun, pleasure, time. I would think “Who was I meeting with I enjoyed talking to?” Of course, the standard for me is what delicious things I could eat that day. I would plan a 10-minute walk to get lunch on campus and feel the sun on my skin. I would think about all the good things I wanted to do that day and I started to imbed good things in the events that were chores, work, not interesting or not fun. That could mean bringing chocolate covered espresso beans to a meeting and watching people buzz on the sugar and caffeine and feel good about the treat. I changed and morphed my route to work to make it nicer, less stressful. It might take all of 5 minutes more but it is a nice 5 minutes in blissful silence or great music. I started looking at my days as opportunities for pleasure, for connection, for peace. It became my daily challenge: to see how much joy I could experience in a day.

At the end of my day I no longer think about what I didn’t do before I go to bed, I make that list right before I leave the office and leave those have to thoughts there. My focusing on my To Do list before bed was crazy no wonder I couldn’t fall asleep. I thought instead about what were the good things I did that day, things that made me feel happy, feel like I was a help, a support to someone, things that I accomplished, that I was grateful for. I sit with each moment and feel the pleasure it brought me again. I have a To Do list that tells me what I haven’t done, and I see it all the time. Why did I feel the need to play it over and over in my head like a bad record?! It would invade everything, spin me up and make me more anxious, none of which made me better at anything only crazier.

I also created a weird little list on my refrigerator where I record all my firsts, new things and accomplishments that were new, difficult, or fun. It keeps me mindful of trying new things and challenging myself. It can be as small and odd as trying chocolate covered bacon to mastering a new yoga pose. I try to put at least one item a month that relates to mind, body or spirit and try to keep it mixed so not to get stuck in one arena, because let’s face it, I would just eat my way through that list if I could. This list is on the refrigerator to remind me to play, to learn and to bust out here and there. I generally have anywhere between 2 to 6 things a month on the list. It is rare that I can’t think of something or don’t notice a milestone that would have flown by unnoticed before the Fridge List. It gave me a focus and the ability to better notice the things I was doing with my time. And of course there is a sparkly star, or dragonfly or something at the top of the page to celebrate growth and catch my eye.

So some of the components I talked about here to this freedom and pleasure principal are building in time, space, play and fun into to every day. I do that in my Google Calendar, in my day planner, in my head and in my routine. I also stop to notice all the good, the pleasure, the connections, great tastes and sensations and linger in them, soaking them in the moment. We find what we are looking for. If we are looking at all that is wrong in the world, we can easily find it, same with our partner, our day, our job. If we instead look for the good, the pleasure, the peaceful moments, we will find that too. Shifting my perspective and practice of bringing in a balance of have to’s and want to’s brought a profound change in my life. I got a sense of control in terms of the quality of my days, not always in the events. I knew the events were external and capricious at times. Seeing and feeling them from a different place was empowering and brought a sense of being solid and centered. Well that and adding Twizzler Thursdays to the mix did the trick!

Posted in Change, Health and Wellness, intent, love, Play, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Who Knows?

Posted on January 11, 2015 by kyra333

There is a belief that when you are a lecturer, teacher, scholar, sage, or counselor and you are in front of a class or working one-on-one with someone that you know something, that you might be imparting knowledge. Baaaaaaaaahahahaha…. Yea I know, I know, cray-cray right? In reality, I think perhaps if you are good at what you do as a teacher maybe there is a little of that going on, but I know that if you are great at teaching you are doing something else entirely. You are creating a space, a safe space to pose questions and invite discussion, ideas, movement, laughter and listening. You are also creating a space where people can practice skills, like critical thinking, being self-reflective, and playing with thoughts and ideas. You are teaching a man to fish if you are teaching anything.

I am not great at this scholarly gig yet. I work very hard to get to “okay and good with a glimpse of great.” When I teach it is a combination of show and tell and stand-up comedy if I am on point, all of which can be very good or very bad depending on my listening skills in any given moment. Those listening skills are hampered by my expectations of how I want the class to go, caffeine intake, bloating, the looping lyrics of the last track on my iPod jamming up my brain which is currently… Hozier and Lake Street Dive thank you, a bad choice in underwear, a weird smell …is that me or the room? Etcetera, you get the idea. I have to be there to be there.

This is a dance if done well: there is rhythm, trust, movement and passion. Make no mistake, it is artful. I have an outline and curriculum to cover but how that rolls out depends on the class as well as me. The exercises we do, stories I tell and how fast and far we go are parts of that partnership. I am the Sherpa, true, but in order to do a good job I need to be deft and responsive, to motivate, to provoke, to guide, and most importantly to stop talking. That one is a killer. I get to yammering and it is like nana at the Hometown Buffet cake bar after one too many snickerdoodles. Someone needs to shut me up, and typically that someone is in my head yelling, “Take a breath you cotton-headed ninny muggin and zip it!” Then I do and I remember to listen and something wonderful happens: I learn. Yea, crazy huh? I learn about the people across from me, patience and kindness, vulnerability and shame. I learn about strength, I hear a potpourri of points of view, inventive ideas, thought processes. I learn about desserts called dirt, prejudices and peccadillos. I learn how much I don’t know.

When I listen, I learn; I get to a type of knowing. Then I ask pointed questions to deepen my understanding or seek clarity and it helps those talking understand what they know on a deeper level. When we stop, pause and lean in to listen with our whole selves to what is being said, or not said, it is magical. Observing body language, hearing the tone, pitch, pace of the breath and yes even the words is transforming for both parties. I am a talker, I am good at oration, and I babble, debate, yammer, and pontificate, but I need to work on listening deeper, more often and always to those in need, which as I write that, it dawns on my tiny doll-sized brain that that is all of us isn’t it? We are all in need of being listened to, understood and heard. So for all of you out there I am letting you know that I don’t know and I don’t know who knows, but I am listening.

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Change your Stars

Posted on December 31, 2014 by kyra333

It was not my intent to wait until the last minute to write this blog over winter break. It was also not my intent to bang it out fast and furious before the fun started of being on holiday either. I had promised three different classes at the university where I teach that I would post a piece before January 1st at 11:59pm. Yes, most people would have said New Year’s Eve but as anyone who knows me I am not most people. Some would even reserve judgment on the people part but that is another blog entirely. That being said I made my promise and went on holiday, eating, drinking fine adult beverages, over indulging in nog, gourmet treats, and walking on beaches, in art museums and circles in my mind.

It is my personal deadline to get this written today and off to a small cast of editors who may or may not stumble out of a champagne/chocolate haze to edit this in the shameful little time I have given them so I can post by deadline. My procrastinating of the morning consisted of answering all my emails on all four of my addresses, talking to my boss about work stuff, washing a days’ worth of dishes, filling a water bowl for stray cats, checking the bird feeder in the tree out front then filling the humming bird feeder out the back door, taking out the trash, then there were the last of those pesky spice gumdrops calling to me to be finished in order for me to concentrate. I have a difficult life dealing with talking candy and such but a promise is a promise as Horton says. So here I am again at my desk still thinking there is something I need to do rather than tap into the kaleidoscope that is my head and write.

The last seminar I teach each semester is about choices, about intent and about how much power each and every one of us has to change not only our world but the whole world. Think about it; think about some of the people in just the last 100-200 years who have changed the world for both good and bad. People like Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, Gandhi, Hitler, Steve Jobs, Einstein, Picasso and Kim Kardashian to name a few. We all hold in our hands and heart the ability to choose and there are only ever two choices; one choice is love and the other is fear. Those my friends are the two trunks that branch out of the tree of life and from there all else springs.

We also know we have a very short time to make those choices as we are not here long on this little blue-green marble. There are folks whom we have known and loved that were here and in a blink of an eye are gone. Whether by death, disagreement, ennui or through an eddy in the time/space continuum they are gone. Then we remember what we had forgotten to say to them before they disappeared themselves, maybe that we loved them, we were/are angry, or sorry, or we had lied or we forgive them. So the choices we make today can be that there is little to no things left unsaid or undone and that we have done our best in that movement. We hope that we choose well and from a place of allowing and love rather than being small. We choose that something is bigger and more important than the fear, whatever that might be.

And the beauty of choice is if we choose poorly or have changed our mind we can choose again and again. To be clear here, not choosing is choosing, in fact it is the worst kind of choice. Not choosing is like crawling into the back seat of our moving car and complaining about the driving. Really?! With every choice, every word, every deed we show people who we are because how we do anything is how we do everything. Our word and our intent, is our only currency, the measure of our humanity and our integrity as we move through this world. That is not to say we don’t make mistakes and mess up on a grand scale, good gosh I make a living out of screwing up. Mistakes can be an earmark of trying new things, being brave and that is called learning. That is a good thing. However, doing the same type of mistake, messing up all the time is different. That behavior points to pattern, intent and desire for whatever that outcome is however painful or crazy it might be. This is a flag that can indicate what you believe you deserve or need and therefor create with a new cast of characters or events over and over. That is crazy making stuff.

I spend a lot of time when I am walking, which can be from 5 to 10 miles a day, smelling the flowers, yes, but also being self-reflective. Thinking about my day, week or year and asking what was good? What do I want more of and how do I build that in? This means literally putting it in my day timer like I would any appointment. I want to make fun and goodness as important as getting my teeth cleaned or more so. I also look at what I can do better, what was a waste of time, felt yucky or went horribly awry. How do I learn from what I did so I can improve, mitigate or leave it be for next time? My choices are based on looking at who I am in an honest way and looking at my track record. I can change my stars, my life so to speak, but I have to choose different behavior to do so. I have to take risks, be brave and do what I believe is the right thing even if nobody else agrees or is even watching. I have to be willing to be uncomfortable because change is just that being uncomfortable. Not too many people are comfortable doing anything the first time. Think back to the first time you rode a bike, had to speak in front of a group or class, went on a first date, or cooked dinner for someone; chances are you were really uncomfortable doing those things and my guess is you made some mistakes as well.

Trying to live a life without making mistakes or trying to be perfect is not living at all. In fact, it is the polar opposite of living; it is locking yourself up in a hermetically sealed glass case and trying not to change a thing. That is not even possible and if it were it’s a waste of a life. Life is messy and brilliant, full of color, deep emotions, bad hair days, falling in love and saying stupid things, creating crappy art then better art, eating good food without guilt, laughing so hard milk comes out your nose or you pee a little, touching and being touched, having gratitude for the ride and all its ups and downs even when they make us throw up our corn dogs. Your choices and the intent behind them are the foundation of your life and how it plays out whether that is in love or in fear is up to you. Pay attention here…All you have is now, right now. So in this moment what are you going to do? Because it is your Nows that build the foundation of your life and all those you touch so make it what you want because you get to choose. For me that is strong, generous, authentic, beautiful and full of wonder and of course the four food groups for health… candy, candy corn, candy canes and syrup.
Cheers all!

Posted in choices, Fear, foundation of change, Health and Wellness, intent, love | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Oh That’s Gonna Leave a Mark

Posted on July 7, 2014 by kyra333

Recently I have been trying to master a new skill. Ok, so really I have been trying to get better at something with the least amount of maiming to my body, which if you know me is no easy task. I have a lot of real estate that is maimable and I am a terrible driver. It doesn’t matter if I am driving a car, shopping cart or just hauling my 6’1”, 36-inseam/wingspan, red-headed self across an empty room. All the above is fraught with peril for a girl like me. That being said, I have a lot of scars, inside and out they are my collection of memories, my road map of learning and living.

My new challenge is learning how to pan flip food like the chefs do when they are cooking. They tilt the pan and do a wrist jerk and all the goodies simmering in hot oil do a somersault, flip to the other less cooked side. They even sip wine while doing it, not on TV mind you but in my head they are always holding a glass of wine and chatting with George Clooney. Ok you already know way too much about my very rich inner life, which needless to say means I am never bored in meetings. Anyone who has a small child, is a cautious person or is smarter than a box of rocks can see trouble with this scenario sans George. For the rocks I will spell it out: hot oil, flipping food, wine and me is a Breaking Bad combination, not a ER type of bad but enough to spark trouble.

So there I am one Sunday, I have a pan full of mushrooms, onions and peppers all sizzling along with a nice French rosé in my hand. It is warm so the back kitchen door is open and the ceiling fan is going because I am cooking and there is a fire alarm in my apartment. It is always prudent to pair cooking and ceiling fans in my house. I am listening to some old jazz and decide it’s time to learn to flip food. The pan tilt was the first thing I mastered sliding the veggies to the front of the pan and then proceeded to wrist flip and pull back on the pan. I was thrilled how smoothly and easily all the little vegetables complied with the program. Everyone did as I wished and sizzled way in a new and improved cooking position. Go veg! I started practicing adjusting the height of the vegetables mid-flip and the pan tilt; I got increasingly enthusiastic and a bit cocky looking back. On one particular aggressive flip there were a few veggies that went rogue one of which hit my bare foot. Yeow!

Having problems with hot oil while cooking with bare feet was not something that had occurred to me, perhaps my heavily tinted rosé colored glasses were involved? I dropped the pan down on the burner and bent down flicking the burning bastard of a mushroom off my foot, which hurt like hell. I thought briefly of spitting a medicinal mouthful of wine on the burn but thought better of it and saw the greater healing would happen with it on the inside so I swallowed. Splashing some water on the spot I continued cooking. My foot continued to really hurt for the next minute or two with no let up. I thought jeez I am such a baby I feel like I need to take another sip and walk it off metaphorically. So I pulled my big girl skirt out my back pocket and manned up to the pain. It still hurt a lot a minute or two later and something in my amygdala or lizard brain was yelling. It told this box of rocks to look closer at my foot to really take a minute and scan my now red and soon to bubble burn. There next to the red spot was a translucent piece of onion still sizzling away on my foot. Fuckity Fuck Me. I flicked the offender away with disgust and got out an ice cube and turned the burner down a little with a heavy sigh.

I finished making dinner without further incident, which was delicious by the way thanks for asking. Within the hour the place where the mushroom hit me was pink, the place where the tricky translucent onion lay was a giant blister. It healed over the next 3-4 weeks, giving me time to think about what I learned from this adventure. Yes wine, open flame and hot oil is the obvious cautionary tale but there was much more there. I now had a new scar on the top of my right foot to match a pair I acquired on the top of each foot years ago in another sort of learning adventure. Those make me smile every time I look at them thinking how reckless and fun learning can be. This is no different. Remembering the scar from surgery on my back reminds me how strong I am, and how flexible and loved. Each scar no matter how small, smooth, pale, or even jagged tells a story of living. Of being fearless, silly, strong, willful any number of things that add to the composite of who I am. They don’t define me, as a roadmap does not do a journey justice; it is just high level data. My scars are sign posts, points of interest and reminders of where I have been.

Even the ones on the inside, the ones on my heart and in my head from unkind words or no words at all, though almost invisible to the eye if ignored, like the translucent onion, burn deeper and take longer to heal. But they do and are incredibly valuable to the journey, to my learning and living a full rich life. To build skills to be better at something I have to allow myself to be bad, to make mistakes and create a little bit of chaos. Sometimes a lot of chaos but that is okay I get to do with my life as I choose trying my best not to inflict my crazy in a hurtful way on any innocent bystanders. So I am asking you to maybe think about taking note of your sign posts, your journey, your learning. If when you look you don’t have any scars you might want to either look closer or take off the shrink-wrap. We don’t get points for being perfectly preserved at the end game. Think back to a beloved toy you had as a child or perhaps your own child’s favorite toy. What does it look like? It is usually frayed, bedraggled, stained, scared, been broken, ripped and mended over and over… and oh yea much loved.

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