I had the opportunity last fall to spend two weeks in California. It was the first time I'd ever been, and I loved it. The first week two friends and I spent time exploring and enjoying San Diego. The second week these two ladies and I went to a session at the Chopra Centre in Carlsbad called Seduction of Spirit. A week of meditation, yoga, and a vegetarian diet. Meditation boot camp, as the staff referred to it.I haven't written about it, or even talked about it much. It became so much more for me than I had expected. It was a deeply personal time for me and is the most spiritual experience I've had in my life (so far).
One of the areas the week at Chopra and my on-going meditation has opened up for me is staying quiet enough to become aware of why I am here. This has been a challenge for me since my meet-and-greet with cancer. I've been given a chance to have a do-over. I am grateful for that and know I am blessed. That gratitude and knowledge has not made my personal search for being and meaning easier. Perhaps it has made it harder. Before my illness, I just struggled. I grew and changed without awareness and kept beating on doors that would not, could not open. Now my own Self and my connection with others and nature and God (universe, force outside our realm, insert your own word here) is heightened and highlighted for me.
Three things about my struggle for purpose:
- Part of my winter of discontent has been trying to make peace with my Self, my core being.I still don't know why I am here - specifically. I am getting glimpses of what matters, where I make a difference. My belief is we are all here to make a difference, somehow, to someone. How do you do that? How do I do that? These past three months I've crawled into a dark winter hole trying to sort it all out for myself. That sounds selfish, I think, but until I can make peace with myself I can not give to others. This is part of me and why I am here, why my life has been what it has, why cancer woke me up rather than taking my life.
- Part of my winter of discontent has been coming to terms with why I am here may not have anything to do with finances and what I need to do to support myself. This scares me. "Do what you love and the money will follow". This may be true. Does it have to be? Can I not fulfill my purpose, tap into my talents, do what I love, feed my soul, and help others without financial compensation playing into it? Maybe. I get glimpses often now of how this is happening for me. I'm sure the moments and glimpses were always there but I was not awake enough to realize it. This struggle plays into and is part of my on-going lament of "not enough time" to do what I want and to do what I love. Doing what we want and what we love ties closely to purpose, I believe. How do I balance that with financial survival?
- Part of the winter of my discontent has been a decision to be and feel miserable. This is old thinking and old behaviour for me. The choices I've made to deliberately hate this winter and focus on the negative aspects of myself, of the weather, of other people, of my circumstances and others circumstances has brought me back to my self and my connection with others and with God (universe, force outside our realm, insert your own word here). This doesn't make sense to me logically or emotionally.
I continued to meditate and pray and participate in life during my winter of discontent (that participation was grudgingly from the sidelines). My purpose and I are finding each other. Glimmers of gold come to me at times when I'm not expecting it. They are there when I'm not searching, not trying to answer the question, not forcing what I think it should be. That brings me peace and comfort. My spirit will grow and connect. Peace and purpose comes.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Sunday, February 2, 2014
A Moment or Two, Please
Within an hour of waking up on this cold and sunny Sunday, I had that "Sunday feeling". I don't know if this happens to you, but it does to me, and has for many Sundays over many years. It's the feeling of let down that the weekend is over and that my every day routine is soon to overtake me. Part of it comes from being brought up with Sunday being a special day, a family day, a big supper day. Part of it is that I just want to do what I want. It gets tough for me Sundays, to fight this feeling off and make the most of my day. As today went on - with no possibility of me being able to slow down time - I went about my Sunday life. I am still struggling this afternoon with the Sunday feeling but rather than fight it and dread the thought of my work-a-day life that is coming back tomorrow (Tomorrow? SO SOON? Tomorrow is only a few hours away!) I have enjoyed some moments of the day. Well, the moments in between thoughts of being back at work and having a structured have-to-do-this and have-to-do-that week.
Three things I'm enjoying this afternoon:
- It is cold here in my corner of the world. I dislike being cold; maybe that is new information about me for you. But it is sunny; bright almost blinding off the snow sunny. And there is warmth from this sun. Warmth on this Groundhog day. It gives me hope and feeds my soul.
- My chores are done. Groceries are bought, laundry is finished, housework is done. The obligations are out of the way, freeing me to do WHATEVER I WANT. A nap sounds good. Reading sounds good. Creating sounds good. Freedom to choose without external or self-imposed responsibilities feeds my soul.
- In the background, I hear the sounds of The Kid as she does some art work. She sounds like me: little grumbles; pieces of dissatisfaction with a part of her work; a sudden exclamation as something fits exactly right. I love that she has found this outlet for herself and that she can lose herself and feed her soul.
The choice of how to view life and chores and responsibilities and work is there, always. Too often lately I've chosen to focus on the grumpier, darker, woe-is-me side. I see this. I have relished the miserableness of late. It makes no sense but it's been some passive-aggressive game I've been playing with my self, my soul, God or the universe or the power (insert your own word). If I am miserable and crabby and complain long enough, if I'm enough of a victim, someone or something will fix it all up for me, make it go away. I will feel magically better, it will always be warm, the sun will always shine, I will have no obligations. Doesn't work. I have to do it. Today I found three small things to make Sunday better. And tomorrow? I'll find the moments, the natural, the people to make Monday better. I gotta keep feeding my soul.
Three things I'm enjoying this afternoon:
- It is cold here in my corner of the world. I dislike being cold; maybe that is new information about me for you. But it is sunny; bright almost blinding off the snow sunny. And there is warmth from this sun. Warmth on this Groundhog day. It gives me hope and feeds my soul.
- My chores are done. Groceries are bought, laundry is finished, housework is done. The obligations are out of the way, freeing me to do WHATEVER I WANT. A nap sounds good. Reading sounds good. Creating sounds good. Freedom to choose without external or self-imposed responsibilities feeds my soul.
- In the background, I hear the sounds of The Kid as she does some art work. She sounds like me: little grumbles; pieces of dissatisfaction with a part of her work; a sudden exclamation as something fits exactly right. I love that she has found this outlet for herself and that she can lose herself and feed her soul.
The choice of how to view life and chores and responsibilities and work is there, always. Too often lately I've chosen to focus on the grumpier, darker, woe-is-me side. I see this. I have relished the miserableness of late. It makes no sense but it's been some passive-aggressive game I've been playing with my self, my soul, God or the universe or the power (insert your own word). If I am miserable and crabby and complain long enough, if I'm enough of a victim, someone or something will fix it all up for me, make it go away. I will feel magically better, it will always be warm, the sun will always shine, I will have no obligations. Doesn't work. I have to do it. Today I found three small things to make Sunday better. And tomorrow? I'll find the moments, the natural, the people to make Monday better. I gotta keep feeding my soul.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
It has to stop!
I just want it to quit. Stop. Someone needs to fix this for
me. Winter, that is. Those of you who know me, or have been readers for a while,
know that each year I dislike winter more and more. This year we have been hit
hard and were hit early. Our first snow fell the last week of October; we've had major storms that have given us 90% of a yearly snowfall in nine weeks. AND
we have months to go – three at least and likely into four. I find myself
getting more frustrated by the day. I hate it and I hate the part of myself
that hates it. The news is full of horrible weather across the continent, and
no one is fixing it. No one, not for any of us. The news reports always
interview some person who loves winter and the advice to “Embrace it”. I am
being stubborn this year and not embracing winter. I am, instead, embracing my
disgust with winter.
Three things about winter that I am ignoring:
-On the few sunny days we've had (I didn't mention how many
gray days we've endured. Normal hours of sunlight are way down.) I refuse to find
a few moments of rejoicing that this snow glistens like a million little
diamonds, sparkling and adding beauty to the land.
-After some time shovelling snow and getting chilled to the
bone, I refuse to allow the feeling of being invigorated revive my down-trodden
spirits. The smugness that comes with conquering a small piece of winter and
the satisfaction of a chore finished will not make me feel better, even for a
minute. So I say to myself.
-As I watch the wrath of Mother Nature during a full-blown
blizzard with white-out conditions and wind chills in the 35 below zero range, I
refuse to marvel in the power of God, the Spirit, the Universe (insert your
choice of word here). The awe and wonderment will not overtake my misery.
Winter. Freezing cold. Snow piled high. Treacherous highways
and byways. North bone-chilling winds. Hot chocolate warming from the inside
out. Dancing and singing and celebrating a short Chinook. Watching hockey.
Watching curling. Time spent with friends and family playing board games. Winter,
I will not embrace you and yet you still find some trickery to allow me to feed
my soul. You sometimes…kind of…a little
bit… fix it for me.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
The Moving Book
Busy days for me have wound down, to a degree, with the onset of winter and far too much snow in too short a time. My latest improv class has ended and the next won't start for some time. I have no other regularly scheduled weeknight or weekend activities right now. My scramble to get ready for vacation is over; as is the vacation (alas!). The BIG project I was involved in at work is complete. One of the projects I manage has been killed and closed. I'm relishing this quieter time. And of course, I'm still busy. And of course, my brain is popping with ideas of what I want to do - for the moment, for the week, for the year, forever. I'm living comfortably with time; we have reached a compromise, time and I.
I have been reading more the past couple months than I have for ages. I've been buying books and books and books. Novels, inspirational, history, management and leadership, short story compilations, autobiographies, books to read and pass onto others. There is a pile of books stacked precariously on the very end of my book shelf to be put away, given away, donated. There are stacks of books in front of the other already-put-away books. I will need to soon move some books. My bookshelf is quite inaccessible right now, as The Kid and I continue to get our stuff, our home, our lives in order.
Three moving books that are on my mind:
- As The Kid and I recreate our living space, I've thought about how many times I have moved in my life. I have moved twenty-five times in my life - with twenty-one of those times being after I left my Mom's home. I could write a book on How To Move. It would be a manual, really, full of humour, tips, tricks, pitfalls to avoid. It would include reproducible check sheets at the end. I would end up with my own company as The Moving Planner and I wouldn't have to lift a single box or wash a single window!
- I recently read a couple of great family history related books. I learned the fellow that wrote them lived in my same small home town. I dug out the town history book, and read his family story, as written by his sister. Since reading that book, the town history has been physically moving. At first I thought nothing of it and just pushed it back into its spot. One day, it was right out of the bookshelf and on the floor in front of my bed. I asked The Kid if she'd taken it out. No. I've told a few people about the book that moves. Everyone has a slightly different idea about how and why it is moving. No matter what the answer is, I know that the book is my sign, my signal, my message to write. After some time spent writing, the book quit moving. I got busy and didn't write for some weeks. The book moved again. I get the message, finally.
- I have often tossed the idea around about writing a book. Different books at different times in my life. Guess what? I have never taken the time to get further than an initial chapter, most of which ended up being thrown away in times of self-doubt. I have had such a great fear that I would be never able to write something of value that I would not allow myself to go ahead. I've had a kernel of an idea for a book that I've planned and written in my head a dozen times in the past three years. I continued to try to figure out the idea. I wasn't able to decide how the book should be written. The many ideas kept moving around in my head, moving closer to actually putting words on paper, moving to the back burner again. I would move to and away from what I want to do as I struggled with time and energy and acceptance of my writing. It was like a game of hide and seek or peek-a-boo. The Moving Book above has pointed me to what I want to write, what I need to write, how I will write.
The time has come. Winter with shorter hours of daylight and snow that makes travel difficult has opened up a window for me. I will continue to be busy doing this and doing that. Some days and weeks will be so busy that I will be craving down time and time for my self. In those almost-too-busy times, I will write. It's what I'm meant to do at this time in my life.
I have been reading more the past couple months than I have for ages. I've been buying books and books and books. Novels, inspirational, history, management and leadership, short story compilations, autobiographies, books to read and pass onto others. There is a pile of books stacked precariously on the very end of my book shelf to be put away, given away, donated. There are stacks of books in front of the other already-put-away books. I will need to soon move some books. My bookshelf is quite inaccessible right now, as The Kid and I continue to get our stuff, our home, our lives in order.
Three moving books that are on my mind:
- As The Kid and I recreate our living space, I've thought about how many times I have moved in my life. I have moved twenty-five times in my life - with twenty-one of those times being after I left my Mom's home. I could write a book on How To Move. It would be a manual, really, full of humour, tips, tricks, pitfalls to avoid. It would include reproducible check sheets at the end. I would end up with my own company as The Moving Planner and I wouldn't have to lift a single box or wash a single window!
- I recently read a couple of great family history related books. I learned the fellow that wrote them lived in my same small home town. I dug out the town history book, and read his family story, as written by his sister. Since reading that book, the town history has been physically moving. At first I thought nothing of it and just pushed it back into its spot. One day, it was right out of the bookshelf and on the floor in front of my bed. I asked The Kid if she'd taken it out. No. I've told a few people about the book that moves. Everyone has a slightly different idea about how and why it is moving. No matter what the answer is, I know that the book is my sign, my signal, my message to write. After some time spent writing, the book quit moving. I got busy and didn't write for some weeks. The book moved again. I get the message, finally.
- I have often tossed the idea around about writing a book. Different books at different times in my life. Guess what? I have never taken the time to get further than an initial chapter, most of which ended up being thrown away in times of self-doubt. I have had such a great fear that I would be never able to write something of value that I would not allow myself to go ahead. I've had a kernel of an idea for a book that I've planned and written in my head a dozen times in the past three years. I continued to try to figure out the idea. I wasn't able to decide how the book should be written. The many ideas kept moving around in my head, moving closer to actually putting words on paper, moving to the back burner again. I would move to and away from what I want to do as I struggled with time and energy and acceptance of my writing. It was like a game of hide and seek or peek-a-boo. The Moving Book above has pointed me to what I want to write, what I need to write, how I will write.
The time has come. Winter with shorter hours of daylight and snow that makes travel difficult has opened up a window for me. I will continue to be busy doing this and doing that. Some days and weeks will be so busy that I will be craving down time and time for my self. In those almost-too-busy times, I will write. It's what I'm meant to do at this time in my life.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Crashing Ideas
My four day weekend is not turning out as I'd planned. The weekend was going to be spent doing some further organization and sorting out of my house. I really need to do this, and soon, as the chaos around me is causing chaos within. Friday, I spent the day with an old and dear friend, visiting another friend who has been in hospital for weeks with end-stage liver disease. Yesterday, I spent much needed time with The Kid, going to our local Farmers Market, laughing and people-watching. When she left our house to take in social events, I did not pick up a dust cloth or broom. I picked up a book. I read for six hours, with one small break to throw a frozen pizza in the oven (one does have to eat, even when engrossed in a good book). This morning has been a mixture of getting minor obligations out of the way and of writing, thinking, planning. Wasted days? Certainly not. The idea of what the weekend was going to be crashed into what the weekend turned out to be.The time spent was all about sharing: sharing time, sharing ideas, sharing myself. The time spent was all about accepting: accepting time limitations, accepting ideas, accepting others.
What will my remaining day and a half away from my work-a-day world bring? Time with family later today, sharing food and time and laughs and ideas. I don't know about tomorrow yet. Perhaps the house chores will get done. Perhaps a walk in the park. Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps. Right now, not knowing and not following The Four Day Weekend Plan is okay with me. So far, not following The Plan has been far better than following The Plan.
Three things about crashing ideas:
- Being open to what is and what is being thrown my way is quite often difficult for me. My two sides of needing and following a plan, a routine, a structure and of being spontaneous and going with the flow crash into each other always, daily, sometimes each minute. Of all things in my life, this one has caused me the greatest problems. It's been read by others as not following through, not completing what I've started, committing but never quite finishing. It's not that. It's the crashing of ideas. It's the passion I have (sometimes I believe I have too much passion). It my yin and yang. It has led me to dark places of insecurity and uncertainty where I've convinced myself I'm a bad person, with not living up to others expectations and not living up to what I think should be my own expectations of myself. It has taken me back to the thirteen year old listening to the school guidance counsellor say "You have so much potential". This crashing of ideas has also led me to great freedom and great soul-feeding.
-The thoughts and ideas in my head come so quick and unbidden that they crash into each other. It becomes a war zone in there some days. Occasionally they stick. Occasionally they are gone as quick as they arrived. I get frustrated with my crashing thoughts. I want them all to come to fruition. The ones that stick come back again and again. I've found the second or third or hundredth time they come back, they are not crashing into each other so much, but are more like waves crashing on the rocky shore of my conscious and subconscious. "When are you going to get the message?" they say to me. "When are you going to take action?" they cry. I do; I eventually get the message and take action. My life opens up. More ideas come, they crash, and the cycle goes on.
-Writing becomes a way to sort of the crashing ideas. I sort out me. I sort out my life. Ideas about writing even crash - they crash into each other and they crash into the pigeon-holes of my daily "real" life. Having The Kid home and watching her find time to run and to do art inspires me and reminds me that some things I do, some things we all do, we do because we have to. Without doing them, we are less complete. That is me and writing. It's a compulsion. Those times in my life when I haven't written are my most barren spots, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I write for me. I always have. Sometimes I share it with you. Going public by starting and sharing this blog has been a huge leap of faith for me. I've taken a chance and put myself out there; it might hurt. My biggest area of concern is that I temper what I say due to possible reactions from my work-a-day world. The idea of freedom that comes from writing, being and sharing myself, crashes into the idea that I still have a need (after all my years and all my fears) to live in a certain box painted by others expectations, society, values imposed by small people with small minds, whatever and wherever I've gotten this idea of what I'm supposed to be versus who I truly am. That is my own idea of fear and acceptance crashing into my idea of what truly lives within. I've found most often that the public-ness of my blog is good. There have been no negative repercussions yet (oh dear, there's that fear again).
The crashing ideas interfere with my dreams. The crashing ideas ARE my dreams. The crashing ideas mean I haven't organized my house yet but instead have spent time with some of my people, including me. The insanity of the crashing ideas keeps me sane. I keep learning about me and about others and about life. I plot it all out on my journey. I write it. I share it. The ideas keep coming. The ideas keep crashing. Which reminds me, I have this great idea about getting some photographs together for The Brothers this afternoon. See ya, I gotta run now.
What will my remaining day and a half away from my work-a-day world bring? Time with family later today, sharing food and time and laughs and ideas. I don't know about tomorrow yet. Perhaps the house chores will get done. Perhaps a walk in the park. Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps. Right now, not knowing and not following The Four Day Weekend Plan is okay with me. So far, not following The Plan has been far better than following The Plan.
Three things about crashing ideas:
- Being open to what is and what is being thrown my way is quite often difficult for me. My two sides of needing and following a plan, a routine, a structure and of being spontaneous and going with the flow crash into each other always, daily, sometimes each minute. Of all things in my life, this one has caused me the greatest problems. It's been read by others as not following through, not completing what I've started, committing but never quite finishing. It's not that. It's the crashing of ideas. It's the passion I have (sometimes I believe I have too much passion). It my yin and yang. It has led me to dark places of insecurity and uncertainty where I've convinced myself I'm a bad person, with not living up to others expectations and not living up to what I think should be my own expectations of myself. It has taken me back to the thirteen year old listening to the school guidance counsellor say "You have so much potential". This crashing of ideas has also led me to great freedom and great soul-feeding.
-The thoughts and ideas in my head come so quick and unbidden that they crash into each other. It becomes a war zone in there some days. Occasionally they stick. Occasionally they are gone as quick as they arrived. I get frustrated with my crashing thoughts. I want them all to come to fruition. The ones that stick come back again and again. I've found the second or third or hundredth time they come back, they are not crashing into each other so much, but are more like waves crashing on the rocky shore of my conscious and subconscious. "When are you going to get the message?" they say to me. "When are you going to take action?" they cry. I do; I eventually get the message and take action. My life opens up. More ideas come, they crash, and the cycle goes on.
-Writing becomes a way to sort of the crashing ideas. I sort out me. I sort out my life. Ideas about writing even crash - they crash into each other and they crash into the pigeon-holes of my daily "real" life. Having The Kid home and watching her find time to run and to do art inspires me and reminds me that some things I do, some things we all do, we do because we have to. Without doing them, we are less complete. That is me and writing. It's a compulsion. Those times in my life when I haven't written are my most barren spots, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I write for me. I always have. Sometimes I share it with you. Going public by starting and sharing this blog has been a huge leap of faith for me. I've taken a chance and put myself out there; it might hurt. My biggest area of concern is that I temper what I say due to possible reactions from my work-a-day world. The idea of freedom that comes from writing, being and sharing myself, crashes into the idea that I still have a need (after all my years and all my fears) to live in a certain box painted by others expectations, society, values imposed by small people with small minds, whatever and wherever I've gotten this idea of what I'm supposed to be versus who I truly am. That is my own idea of fear and acceptance crashing into my idea of what truly lives within. I've found most often that the public-ness of my blog is good. There have been no negative repercussions yet (oh dear, there's that fear again).
The crashing ideas interfere with my dreams. The crashing ideas ARE my dreams. The crashing ideas mean I haven't organized my house yet but instead have spent time with some of my people, including me. The insanity of the crashing ideas keeps me sane. I keep learning about me and about others and about life. I plot it all out on my journey. I write it. I share it. The ideas keep coming. The ideas keep crashing. Which reminds me, I have this great idea about getting some photographs together for The Brothers this afternoon. See ya, I gotta run now.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Rearranging, Reorganizing and Cleaning Out
The Kid is home after two years in South Korea. She has changed and grown. I have changed and grown. That is what is supposed to happen. It's good. She will be living here with me for awhile; we don't know for how long. We'll know when it is time to end this arrangement. We are at a point where are living together quite comfortably as two adult women. We have spent many weeks rearranging, reorganizing, and cleaning out STUFF. We both have things to store and things to throw out and things to give away. Our home is still somewhat of a disaster zone, enough that neither of us are truly comfortable to have other people see it. We are slowly getting there though, taking time to do it right.
The rearranging, reorganizing, and cleaning out is worming its' way into other parts of my life. I feel a shift within, I see changes at my work and sense they will affect me, I'm again putting more emphasis on feeding my soul, I am standing by some of my people that are suffering and struggling, I'm yearning for something I can't quite name. I'm working with The Kid to rearrange, reorganize, and clean out our physical space. I'm working and reflecting to rearrange, reorganize, and clean out my emotional space. Some other force is working with me to rearrange, reorganize, and clean out my spiritual space. It's very interesting to me that this time of change on so many levels is happening in conjunction.
Three things about cleaning out the stuff:
- It's scary. Items, ideas, beliefs, dreams that I've been hanging onto for so long are being taken out of their closets. I'm turning them over, dusting them off, deciding what is still important, and putting them where they belong. The fear is the underlying worry "What if I keep this and don't need it?" or worse "What is I get rid of this and find out I DO need it?". Each decision requires thought and analysis. Despite the trepidation, I'm taking time to do it right, and put each item, idea, belief in the right pile. For now. I can get rid of more later. I will need to get rid of more later. I've been crabby and disgruntled and those close to me can see the frustration and fear as I slowly move through all parts of this. BUT I can replace what I remove, if I need to.
- It's exciting. I'm finding things, ideas, beliefs, and dreams I forgot I had. Some are easily put into the right pile. Others are taking longer; I'm not quite ready to let go yet. As I sort through the tangibles and intangibles in my life I am eager to see the end result. I enjoy moments of anticipation as I wade through the next closet or open my mind to a new idea or get a jolt that reminds me to feed my soul and be true to my beliefs. Progress is being made, slowly for sure, but I'm sticking with it.
- It's freeing. Moving items, ideas, beliefs, and dreams from one area to another, deciding what stays and what goes, making a little more room here, trying something out in a different spot or different way can be exhausting. After the exhaustion comes exhilaration. The desire to rest for a bit and then keep moving on, knowing I am creating and recreating my life brings me back to my self and to my greater source.
The Kid is home. Life and space are being rearranged, reorganized, and cleaned out. It is a time of adjustment, of patience, of laughter, of sharing, of love. I don't know yet how my house will look when we think we are done. I don't know yet how my work will look when these changes are in place. I don't know yet where my soul-feeding will take me. I don't know yet the results of the suffering I see in my people. I don't know yet what will fill this yearning. I know I'm moving forward and with patience and persistence, I will see it unfold. I am home.
The rearranging, reorganizing, and cleaning out is worming its' way into other parts of my life. I feel a shift within, I see changes at my work and sense they will affect me, I'm again putting more emphasis on feeding my soul, I am standing by some of my people that are suffering and struggling, I'm yearning for something I can't quite name. I'm working with The Kid to rearrange, reorganize, and clean out our physical space. I'm working and reflecting to rearrange, reorganize, and clean out my emotional space. Some other force is working with me to rearrange, reorganize, and clean out my spiritual space. It's very interesting to me that this time of change on so many levels is happening in conjunction.
Three things about cleaning out the stuff:
- It's scary. Items, ideas, beliefs, dreams that I've been hanging onto for so long are being taken out of their closets. I'm turning them over, dusting them off, deciding what is still important, and putting them where they belong. The fear is the underlying worry "What if I keep this and don't need it?" or worse "What is I get rid of this and find out I DO need it?". Each decision requires thought and analysis. Despite the trepidation, I'm taking time to do it right, and put each item, idea, belief in the right pile. For now. I can get rid of more later. I will need to get rid of more later. I've been crabby and disgruntled and those close to me can see the frustration and fear as I slowly move through all parts of this. BUT I can replace what I remove, if I need to.
- It's exciting. I'm finding things, ideas, beliefs, and dreams I forgot I had. Some are easily put into the right pile. Others are taking longer; I'm not quite ready to let go yet. As I sort through the tangibles and intangibles in my life I am eager to see the end result. I enjoy moments of anticipation as I wade through the next closet or open my mind to a new idea or get a jolt that reminds me to feed my soul and be true to my beliefs. Progress is being made, slowly for sure, but I'm sticking with it.
- It's freeing. Moving items, ideas, beliefs, and dreams from one area to another, deciding what stays and what goes, making a little more room here, trying something out in a different spot or different way can be exhausting. After the exhaustion comes exhilaration. The desire to rest for a bit and then keep moving on, knowing I am creating and recreating my life brings me back to my self and to my greater source.
The Kid is home. Life and space are being rearranged, reorganized, and cleaned out. It is a time of adjustment, of patience, of laughter, of sharing, of love. I don't know yet how my house will look when we think we are done. I don't know yet how my work will look when these changes are in place. I don't know yet where my soul-feeding will take me. I don't know yet the results of the suffering I see in my people. I don't know yet what will fill this yearning. I know I'm moving forward and with patience and persistence, I will see it unfold. I am home.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Lessons from Improv
Last week I read that one of the local theatre companies in my city, Against The Wall Theatre, will again be offering improv workshops starting in September. I am excited about this! Quite a number of years ago, I took an improv class through the city recreation department and then never saw it offered again. A couple years ago, I heard about Bullskit offering improv workshops. (Bullskit is the improv and sketch comedy that Against the Wall Theatre specializes in and does so well.) With great trepidation, I signed up - and have now gone back five or six times.
I love it! I have no idea if I'm any good at this, and I don't care if I am or not, because it feeds my soul. I'm not so sure what the instructors think of me attending time and time and time again, but as long as they are willing to take my money, I'll go. It is my best break of the week, gives me life lessons in a gentle and supportive environment, and always, always, always makes me laugh.
Three lessons I've learned from improv:
- I don't have to be "on" all the time. "Being on" ranges from having the attention and spotlight to being perfect. This is true not just for the classroom time, but in my life. I try to believe that it is okay to have a bad day or to make mistakes, but for me and my sometimes unrealistic expectations of myself, that sentiment is often paid lip service. I don't like being the centre of attention in most circumstances but I do want recognition. From improv, I am internalizing the message I don't have to be "on" all the time. I'm living my life with more "I don't have to be on all the time" and less "My stuff is more important" and less "I screwed up so that must make me worthless".
- I can be me and be brave. The acceptance of action, humour, free-flow thinking, creativity, and self in the improv workshops reinforces for me that I am have much to offer. How those offers of my self are perceived is less important than the fact that I am brave enough and comfortable enough to take the risk by putting myself out there. It has made me more confident in work and social settings and I have less fear of being judged. And if that judgement comes, I am more able to think it through, learn from it, and move on. This one continues to challenge me daily.
- Do what you love. The importance of this hit me hard during my meet-and-greet with rectal cancer and I have made choices since that time to spend more time doing what I love. It feeds my soul so completely and brings me close to others and to my own soul and to whatever force guides us. In my work life, this is sometimes difficult. Improv has reminded me that doing what I love and what feeds my soul and what brings me joy will shine through no matter where I'm at, what I'm doing, or who I'm with. Finding time and building moments to do more of the things I love is one of my main life goals.
I will be ready with my cheque book when registration starts. In the meantime, I carry these and other lessons from improv with me. Thank you to Serge and Jenna and to those who were workshop participants. My life and my self are both richer, thanks to you and my 'accidental' stumble into an improv workshop.
I love it! I have no idea if I'm any good at this, and I don't care if I am or not, because it feeds my soul. I'm not so sure what the instructors think of me attending time and time and time again, but as long as they are willing to take my money, I'll go. It is my best break of the week, gives me life lessons in a gentle and supportive environment, and always, always, always makes me laugh.
Three lessons I've learned from improv:
- I don't have to be "on" all the time. "Being on" ranges from having the attention and spotlight to being perfect. This is true not just for the classroom time, but in my life. I try to believe that it is okay to have a bad day or to make mistakes, but for me and my sometimes unrealistic expectations of myself, that sentiment is often paid lip service. I don't like being the centre of attention in most circumstances but I do want recognition. From improv, I am internalizing the message I don't have to be "on" all the time. I'm living my life with more "I don't have to be on all the time" and less "My stuff is more important" and less "I screwed up so that must make me worthless".
- I can be me and be brave. The acceptance of action, humour, free-flow thinking, creativity, and self in the improv workshops reinforces for me that I am have much to offer. How those offers of my self are perceived is less important than the fact that I am brave enough and comfortable enough to take the risk by putting myself out there. It has made me more confident in work and social settings and I have less fear of being judged. And if that judgement comes, I am more able to think it through, learn from it, and move on. This one continues to challenge me daily.
- Do what you love. The importance of this hit me hard during my meet-and-greet with rectal cancer and I have made choices since that time to spend more time doing what I love. It feeds my soul so completely and brings me close to others and to my own soul and to whatever force guides us. In my work life, this is sometimes difficult. Improv has reminded me that doing what I love and what feeds my soul and what brings me joy will shine through no matter where I'm at, what I'm doing, or who I'm with. Finding time and building moments to do more of the things I love is one of my main life goals.
I will be ready with my cheque book when registration starts. In the meantime, I carry these and other lessons from improv with me. Thank you to Serge and Jenna and to those who were workshop participants. My life and my self are both richer, thanks to you and my 'accidental' stumble into an improv workshop.
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