Tough Choices Make the Person

No one said life was going to be easy, and neither are the choices that we have to make, but I tell you with absolute certainty that it's the tough choices that makes us who we are.

I love that peace that over takes me once the choice is fully resolved. I have been vacillating back and forth (should I stay or should I go), and this morning the options were fully laid out before me: I can stay here (with single status), but not with my cat, and that simply isn't an option for me.

For some people their pets are just that. . . .their pets. But for me, they are my furry family, a part of my life that comes with me or I don't go. I have reordered my life many times so that my furry family can remain a part of my life, and trust me when I say that it is NEVER the lesser expensive of options. But since Sarra will not be able to continue living with me here with my new housing option, then I will not be able to remain myself. So the packing and purging continues :)

Well, it's finally off to Nova Scotia for the summer. . . .and who knows what will happen while I'm there!

Dichotomies are so Passe

So which is it? Half empty? Or half full? If you say "half empty" you're a pessimist. If you say "half full" you're an optimist. But there is a third option to this dichotomy, and that is called the realist. . . .the person who can look at this glass and say, "Well, it's half empty and  half full, both at the same time."

That's me. I tend to see situations in terms of contingencies based on all possibilities, or at least as many possibilities that I can identify. I don't like surprises (so no surprise birthday parties, please...lol).

My friend Gayle thinks I'm thinking negatively if I consider the possibility that my request may be denied. She tells me to bend my entire thought on the outcome that I want, and if I do that, then it will manifest the way I want it to be. The universe responds to what you focus on, she will tell me. While I appreciate this kind of optimism, to me it's magical thinking and not realistic, because I know that it is actually possible that even though there is no legal basis for denying my request, they may still do so. That doesn't make me a pessimist. . . .it makes me a realist.

I can hope for the best, but I'm still going to prepare for the worst.

As a realist, I anticipate all possible outcomes (as many that can be anticipated, both positive and negative, both wanted and unwanted), because I need to know that I have a plan in place for whatever decision is made, regardless of which path is laid before me. I really don't like surprises. . . .I tend to be much more reactive to surprises than what I have planned for and anticipated. Also, if I can anticipate the possible contingencies, then I don't feel so anxious about a given situation, so it's all about anxiety management. . . .lol.

However, I also recognize that I create a LOT of extra work for myself. By anticipating multiple outcomes, and having contingency plans in place for each possibility, I hold all of these ideas as potential outcomes, too. I think this is why I slide between life plans so easily. . . .lol. In a moment of reactivity I already have several potential plans worked up, so I can change gears quickly. . . .very often too quickly, I'm afraid. Another reason why I enjoy living a solo life. . . .lol. Changing gears like this doesn't usually settle well with another person who's involved in the plans. . . .lol.

So this week I am anticipating several life altering outcomes of this meeting on Friday. But I most definitely have contingency plans for each one, of course, because I'm a realist. . . .so I may be hoping for the best, but I have definitely prepared for the worst :)

Home

All I can think about these days is my home. My home that's on the verge of being invaded by someone I do not want to live with. But these are the rules here. . . .and that is precisely what the sacrifice is if I choose to remain here. So yeah, all I can think about lately is my home.

But if I pull away from the angst of this current dilemma, I feel the truth that I have actually felt homeless ever since my mother passed on some twenty five years ago now. She created my home for me. I was living on the other side of the world stationed in (what was then) West Germany in government barracks when she died, but my home had always been that place where my mom anxiously awaited my return. It wouldn't have mattered to me where she lived. . . .that still is where my home would have been.

So, yes. . . .I've been homeless for a long time.

I have tried to create home here at the canyon, but it's been one long fight, so home feels more like a battle ground than a safe haven right now. Is it worth the fight? And what does that mean for me if it's not worth the fight? Do I leave the canyon? Do I find alternate housing more locally? These are no simple or easy questions to answer because there are both practical and emotional components to what a home means. Home is where we store our personal belongings and pieces of history. Home is where we eat and sleep and cleanse our bodies. Home is where we socialize and connect with the outside world via TV, phones, and computers. Home is that safe place we come home to at the end of a long day, that place where the hearth fires burn for us until we return.

I've started reading Waldon  by Henry David Thoreau, and it's resonating deeply with where I am in my life. He believed that the masses lived lives of quiet desperation, which he did not want to do. So he conducted a personal experiment where he built a log cabin out in the middle of some New England wildnerness and examined his life and its relationship to the outside world of creature comforts for more than two years. People of the day thought him to be crazy, but he wanted to understand his place in the world in a self-examined way. Very few people ever do that.

I have also conducted such experiments. I once shaved my head to understand the role that my hair had in my personal power as a female. After that I wanted to understand why I kept toting around all of these "things" from place to place, so when I moved into my home in Riverside I kept everything in boxes just sitting in the middle of my living room for what turned into many, many months. Nothing could be touched, not even the dust balls that were collecting in the corners. I wanted to sit with and study everything within my personal space until I understood why I paid to store what I felt compelled to own and possess. Neighbors probably thought I was crazy, too. . . .lol. Others asked when the house was going to be vacant, believing that I was packing to move. . . .lol. But I am beginning to think that it just may be time again for another critical self-examination of my life, specifically what "home" means to me.

I woke up this morning and sat here looking around at everything I have in this space, wondering why I am fighting so hard to maintain the space to house it. I haven't touched an art supply in probably nine years, yet I still have them, and pay to house them. The same with my books and trinkets. When do I actually look at them or utilize them in some meaningful way? I walk past them a hundred times in a day, but I don't ever really see them. They fill the negative space, the empty space of my home, but once they are placed, when do I really interact with them again?

There is an entire genre of paintings from antiquity where the wealthy aristocrats would commission an artist to paint them with all of their belongings. This wasn't done to document belongings for insurance claims, but rather to document their wealth and status. What would it say about me. . . .to view this kind of painting of me and all of the "stuff" I have? That's how I feel today looking at all of the "things" I have. . . .not as an aristocrat, but just wondering why I feel the need to provide space to maintain it all? Why do I have so much stuff? The more stuff I have, the more space I need to house it.

My friend (and sister by Edmondson adoption) Stacey posted something recently about how God's plan isn't so much for us to be happy as much as it is to be holy, and more like Jesus. I have been thinking about this a lot, because Jesus lived the most simplest of lives. Jesus didnt have a bunch of "stuff" to tote around from place to place. No. . . .God wants us to be holy, to be spiritual.

Things are things. . . .and I feel so burdened by all of these things I have right now. I also don't like that my home has become a fancy prison of sorts, because it is all of this stuff that forces me to have a home in the first place.

Healing

The human body is amazing. I once read about benefits of deep cleansing, and how if we don't have everything we need at the time of an injury to heal a wound, the body will do the best it can with what it has. But later, no matter how many years later it takes, when the body has the time and resources to do so, it will go back and break down old tissue (even scars and adhesions) and rebuild new tissue in a way that creates a healthier and stronger body. It is painful. But in the end the body is stronger. . . .and healthier.

I beleive that the human psyche does exactly the same thing. When we are too young to know how to heal psychological wounds, the mind will heal itself as best it can with what it's got at the time. That doesn't mean that makes us "functional" lol...but it does make it possible to continue on in the journey. . . .until we find or create the healing that we need.

We do the best with what we've got. . . . and we heal in layers, as we are willing and able to do so.

Over the course of the past eighteen years I have done a lot of "healing" work, one layer at a time. Personal therapy, art therapy, recovery, acupuncture, reiki, massage, bio-feedback, grad school, self-help ad infinitum. But parts of me (unfortunately) still feel broken and beyond repair, and I don't want to live in this psychologically "crippled" place any longer. I'm not "broken" per se, but the way my mind has healed from the life-trauma wounds leaves me with a high maintenance life of having to manage the never ending anxiety and panic and inability to get a good night's sleep. I don't want such a high maintenance life, and I also don't want to simply medicate these symptoms away. I want to be rid of these limitations. . . .once and for all.

It is possible. . . .I have seen PET scans and SPECT scans of brains that have healed. Dr. Amen's ground breaking book, "Change Your Brain, Change Your Life" is an amazing road map into neuro-psychology, and cutting edge therapeutic modalities are now able to document the concrete evidence of how the mind can heal, even after living many years with disordered and chaotic hardwiring caused by abuse and trauma. It takes a lot of time, but it is possible.

As for me, I love the person my life has forged me to be, but I do want a better way of responding to life's challenges. And sometimes when a bone (whether physical or psychological) does not get set right the first time, you have to go back and rebreak that bone so that it can heal correctly and make the body/mind functional and strong again.

So I have some more layers of healing work ahead of me. It will be painful, of course. . . .but  the pain will be worth it. . . .the pain is always worth it when you gain a stronger, healthier life on the other side. . . .

It Is What It Is

One of the things I love about life is how unpredictable it can be. When I came to the canyon more than a year and a half ago, I thought I was coming here for a "working vacation." Turns out there was very little vacation about it. . . .and the "work" part turned out to be more emotional than occupational.

There was something I needed to learn. . . .and I believe that's why the canyon called me here. When I sat on the edge in 2005 and felt my spirit stand up and walk through the canyon like Paul Bunyon, it refused to squeeze back into the box my psyche had created to protect it. But it has taken all of these six long years to understand what that really means.

Evil Kneivil broke 433 bones during the course of his life. . . .they healed, left scars, imposed limitations, and probably hurt a LOT....but they never stopped him from doing what he loved. Evil Kneival is the epitome of the Phoenix in human form (or is it the epitome of human stupidity? lol). Regardless of which he best embodies, I think the more broken and beat up we are by the journey, the more courage and strength it takes to rise up again and again out of the ashes of personal tragedy and lost love. But I also believe that the struggle and pain help to make us appreciate the journey from a deeper place of gratitude because of  the never ending obstacles needing to be overcome in order to simply continue on. But we do. . . .because the Phoenix spirit in all of us rises up to live and love again.

My life has left me deeply scarred. . . .with parts still feeling like they are broken beyond repair. But my journey here at this amazing canyon has helped me to accept this truth about my self without apology for these scars that bind and blind me.

It is what it is. . . .I am what I am. . . .and I still deserve to live, love and laugh my way through the journey. . . .

Mother's Day from the Edge

Today is Mother's Day. It's been 25 years since my mom passed on, and I have many mixed feelings on this day. For more than a week I've been reading all of these happy posts about everyone's wonderful mothers and their gratitudes and appreciations. Trouble is that for some of us, our relationship with our mother was/is complex and difficult. . . .and it feels like there is no place for this truth on what is supposed to be a "happy" day. So this is my mother's day post to my mom, written from a personal truth that's real for us. . . .

Mom, I love you. . . .even with your flaws and imperfections. But when you died, there was still so much conflict going on between us, and after 25 years there is still this great big hole in my heart and in my life from your absence. I don't know what to do with this gaping black hole. What do I do with all of the guilt for feeling so angry with you? Not anger for leaving, but anger for being so sick and perpetually absent in my life.

I have needed you every day since you left. My bearings are still off, like my compass can't find its true north, can't find its home. . . .because you were my home. . . .you were the hub that grounded me no matter where I was in the world. . . .even when I was angry and indifferent. . . .and now I just feel bereft with no place to find safe haven any more. I'm still lost, even after 25 years, lost without your unconditional love for me.

I don't even remember. . . .mother's day 25 years ago. . . .did I even send a card home? I was half way around the world trying to deal with my own craxy mixed up life. . . .did I tell you that I love you? I can't recall. . . .I can't remember. . . .would it have made a difference had I told you? I had only a few short weeks left with you, but I was half way around the world with no clue about what was about to happen. . . .would I have made different choices had I known? I was so indulgent then. . . .indulgent because I thought I had a lifetime of happy mother's days ahead of me. . . .my selfish ignorance made me indulgent and carefree. And now I must live with how utterly alone that indulgence has left me.

I'm sorry that our relationship growing up was so complex and difficult. I'm sorry that I couldn't be more supportive when you were sick and I was so angry with how sick you were. But mostly I'm sorry that we didn't have enough time to work through the long distance still between us when you passed on from this world. I feel "stuck" in that moment, like a part of me remains blacked out in the shock of the finality of your loss. And so I don't know what to do with this black hole that remains. . . .

. . . .except to tell you that I love you. . . .I'm glad that you were my mother, even with your flaws and imperfections. . . .I appreciate how you loved and believed in me so completely unconditionally. . . .how you gave me the strength of confidence to believe in myself no matter what anyone else thought, especially when it was "you and me against the world". . . .and I miss you more than you could possibly imagine.

So, Happy Mother's Day to the woman who chose me to be her first born and only daughter. My life is possible only because of you. . . .may our relationship one day find the peace we both need and deserve.

Change and Permanence

The problem is perspective. I came to the canyon with the hopes of being able to make a life, to settle down and enjoy a wonderful working vacation. But that's the problem. . . .I have been working hard to create a permanent life in a temporary reality. It's not set up for long-term permanent here. . . .that's why they force us to have a roommate, even in our own tiny apartments. I would have to be here for 10 years before I would be allowed to live here on my own. . . . TEN years! That feels unbearable. . . .especially given other personal limitations. . . .

But the problem as I see it now is perspective. . . .my perspective. I want what I can't have here. And the bigger problem is that I don't think I'll find what I want anywhere else, either. Then the even bigger problem from there is that I think about this stuff way too much. . . lol. But it's who I am. . . .I am a creative observer to life. . . .and I think deeply upon what I see. . . .especially when what I see changes with perspective much like how the canyon changes depending on the light. Perspective changes everything.

I once read this amazing book about the mind of an artist, I think it was called Creating Minds. Yes, that's what it was called. The author looked at a small collection of iconic creative minds that revolutionized a part of the world. . . .Albert Einstein. . . .Picasso. . . . Martha Graham. . . .Freud. . . . .Gandhi.. . .and I can't recall the others. But the basic premise of the book is that the artistic mind is essentially not a "normal" mind, but rather is fueled by some form of mental/emotional angst or imbalance of sorts. A mind in balance doesn't seek to make sense of the disorder. It's an interesting premise. . . .one that I am holding near and dear right now. . . .lol.

My journey is constantly changing as I seek to make sense of the disordered fragments within my life, yet I long for permanence and stability, which makes no sense. I am a walking paradox. It's a good thing my friends love me for who I am, because I honestly don't know from day to day what I will do or where I will end up. Every day is a potential opportunity for me to turn my life upside down and head off into the middle of a grand adventure. Every day is also an opportunity to leave myself only to return finding that everything has changed.

I feel a bit like Siddharta right now. . . .ever searching for truth only to find that truth changes depending on one's perspective on life in a given moment. Nothing is permanent, not even personal truth. So for now, I am here. . . .and that is all I know for certain. . . .