Inspiration or Obligation...

Isn't it interesting how we take on other people's anxiety as our own? I had an experience recently where a friend planned on moving in with her boyfriend. She showed me a building where her cats were going to stay, separate from her boyfriend's house. I instantly felt negative about her move, as her cats were a big part of her life and their living outside was not something I thought she wanted. When I shared my concern with her she smiled and explained that I must have been picking up on her anxiety about the move. She explained it wasn't her boyfriend that was against the cats being in the house (he actually looked forward to their addition), it was that she was anxious about inhabiting his space.

We behave in ways that we believe will make other people feel better, but in doing so we jeopardize our own well-being. Taking action from a state of inspiration rather than from a place of obligation is makes all the difference between living an authentic versus insincere life.

Give only when it feels good to do so. 

If taking action feels good - do it - and if it doesn't, wait. The inspiration to act will come at just the time, at just the right moment. When you give when it feels inspiring to do so, you will flow seamlessly with the stream of life, or closer to do so anyway. It seems inspiration hasn't quite hit me yet, so I guess I'll take my own advice and wait...    

A Walk in the Woods

A Song Speaks...

Soon-to-be tomato

I've been waking up way too early lately and I like it. It's a time and space for me only. I don't have to answer to anyone, or be anything I don't want to be. I just get to be. It's a long, deep inhale and exhale where I oxygenate my soul.

My favorite and latest emergence.

Also, I've noticed songs playing in my head. Sometimes they are quiet and barely audible, and sometimes, like yesterday morning, a song will overtake me, make me to stop what I'm doing, and ask me to find the meaning it holds, which at that time was "Hold On" by Wilson Phillips. After I wrote the lyrics on a white board, I took a step back and read them aloud. It was surprising how spot on they were with what I needed in that moment; reassurance.  

This morning's song was Salt-N-Pepa's "Let's Talk About Sex." Its rhythmic cadence transported me back in time to the backseat of my friend's mom's convertible. With the top down and wind blowing through my hair, I sang the risque lyrics at the top of my lungs, something I would have never been allowed to do in my parent's presence. This moment, unknown to me at the time, was a a pivotal one. I now see it as a step towards breaking protective cocoon of childhood and replacing it with the uncertainty of adolescence. And all that from a song.   

 

If Only For a Moment..

The greatest thing we can do at any given moment is to let go. To let go and allow the things before us to be just as they are. To allow spilled milk to merely be a liquid on a surface, nothing more. If only for a moment, rip up your mental to-do list because this moment is not for learning or for doing or for planning, it is solely for you.  Sit back and breathe a deep breath in, and observe what's in front of you. Connect to who you are, and give yourself a break, if only for a moment, from the details of your life.

There is a deep satisfaction when you say to yourself: enough is enough, I choose to flow with the stream of life, and want to feel, if only for a moment, the exhilaration and freedom of allowing that stream to take me where it will. This moment isn't about what's right or wrong; it's about my knowing I'm doing the best that I can, and if only for this moment, may I accept it for what it is so that I may truly embody peace.   

Trust is Difficult but Necessary...

Trust means relying on a person's integrity, strength, and ability. As for me, my trust is shaken due to a recent purchase via the internet. The details are as follows: The Ebay seller said she would ship the item as soon as my funds cleared. I was hoping to receive said item prior to leaving for California, but learned my method of payment would take a week or longer, not in time, so I used a credit card to expedite the process. I then called to stop the initial check, but when I learned it would cost $35 to do so, I decided to email the seller to notify her of the double payment and ask that she send the check back to me.

I have yet to hear from the seller, despite my subsequent emails, and find myself caught up in what if and maybe scenarios. Maybe I should have paid the $35? What if the seller spent the money on a cruise? Maybe I'm too trusting? Or, just maybe I should take my own advice from my "Feeling Goal Time" post and let go of the details, accept the situation, and allow it to unfold how it will. Yeah, that's what I'll do...  

A Spoon and a Boat...

Today's relationship lesson comes from a  spoon, a sugar jar, and a boat. Let's get to it...

In the mornings Chris and I enjoy drinking coffee with sugar. There were a couple days in a row when the usually present spoon magically disappeared from the sugar jar. I know myself and know that in my hurried morning routine I most likely forgot to put the spoon back in the jar. Chris commented a couple of times about the spoon's absence (which seemed ridiculous to me) and on the morning of the last day I will ever forget to put the spoon back, I understood our disagreement had little to do with a spoon.

I'll get back to the spoon in a moment, but first, I need to get explain the boat. Relationships are a lot like boats; if there's a hole in it, working together is the quickest, most efficient way to fixing it. More often than not, when a hole presents itself, our trigger response is to panic, blame, and avoid; each of which leads to the boat's inevitable demise. In order to remain afloat, it's important to remain calm, genuinely listen to each other's ideas, present solutions, apply a fix, and keep each other accountable.

Back to the ending of the spoon story. The morning after we blamed each other over the importance of the spoon, I found a note in the sugar jar. It said "I don't care about the spoon. All that matters is that I love you." My response, which he found shortly after was, "I love you too, and for that reason, this sugar jar will always have a spoon in it." 

Let Go and Live!

By now most of you know of my 11 month road trip where I basically lived out of my car the entire time. Every morning I'd wake in a different parking lot, back alley, rest area, hay field, college campus, or wherever a cop wouldn't come knocking on my window (more often than not they did). A different city every hour and new states every couple of days left me anonymous to the people I met; without a past, a story, or even an identity. If a low point ensued, a bad experience occurred, or even a lack of anything at all happening, I simply got in my car and drove away. Every mile I drove placed greater distance between the negative experience and the moment I currently resided in. After some time basking in the present moment, getting back to centered and happy became all that mattered to me.

For the past few months I've had a routine - going to a job four days a week with the same employees and same customers. I see how moments spill into hours, hours into days, creating an expectation that today will be no different from yesterday and no different from the day before that. This type of thinking is toxic and kills the rich life moments that could otherwise be ahead. Yesterday is gone and although its effects may still linger, there must be a clear vision of hope in what lie along the road ahead. Put your pedal to the metal, let the wind blow through your hair, and know this is the way it should be!

Balancing rocks

At an overlook outside of Monterey, California, we stopped to take some photos. A conversation with Steve and Judy (sorry if I got your name wrong) ensued about the beauty of the area around us. We discussed Steve's correctional facility job, he recently retired from, where he worked with paranoid schizophrenics. He told about his compassion for the mentally ill, due to growing up with a father who was schizophrenic. I asked him what it was like having a father who could hear the walls speak and believed everyone was out to get him, “oh, I knew he was out there, but I always had a sense of reality. I even found out some of the things, I thought were false, he had actually done."

When Steve was in middle school his father moved the family out to the Mojave desert on 150 acres of land. He told police officers that he was 100% Native American and that it was his land. For 30 years he lived on that land, using an outhouse he made, along with other structures to survive. Authorities eventually found out that he was not, in fact, of native descent and was forced to leave.

On a footnote the reason I met Steve and Judy was because they were checking on a balanced rock structure a man had built the night before at the seashore. The day before had also been their 40^th wedding anniversary. They came back to check and see if the structure had remained through the rough winds during the night. It had.

Tell me 'bout the good ol' days

After a recent visit home, the song “Grandpa, tell me 'bout the good ol days” keeps creeping into my consciousness. “Sometimes it feels like, this world's gone crazy”. It truly does. Life was simpler. I've found the most honest, forthright, and best advice given by people, statistically speaking, closest to death. I said to my grandma last week, “you're closer to the end of your life than you've ever been, but the most alive,” She is in her 80's, and her list of things to do is going to keep her alive another 10 years, at least. She believes in her strength, in her health and vitality. Her fervor and zest for life is one that is unmatched by even her grandchildren. Honestly.

I have yet to see my grandma siting around idly, waiting for life to happen. She is too busy for that. Too busy moving her body, writing a letter, or making a heartwarming mean for a friend or family member. She attends Bellevue High School reunions every three months for multiple graduating classes from the 1940's. She drives three hours, over a, at times, slippery mountain pass to visit her “older” male companion. He is 88 and is insisting she move in with him. Even though she has told him she doesn't want to move, he isn't getting the point. So last week, in front of his kids, she spoke up for all to hear “My life is here in Western Washington close to my family, if he wants to, we can get a place together here. I will not be a caregiver for him. I have my own life and family that are important to me. I know I may end up resenting him and that is not what I want.” That's why I love my grandma. She tells it like it is. There is no sugar coating it, or beating around the bush.

She would road trip, not for fun like me, but for necessity when moving across the country. In an old Chevrolet station wagon she piled four daughters in a car, with the summer heat offering no relief, and would head from California to Alabama to visit family. In jest my grandma said “I mean who's going to invite a woman with four children over for dinner. Not many, I can tell you that much.” On one such trip my grandma admitted to being quite excited. “I had piled all of us girls in the car and on this day they were particularly bad”. Threatening them she said “if you kids don't behave I'm going to turn this car around and we're going to head home,” to which they replied “good, we didn't want to go anyway”. Her plan backfired until it dawned on her what the punishment was “ok, then we're going”, pleased with the outcome.

My grandma told me about how she loved being surprised from my Papa. My great grandma would make my Papa stay home from school to help her do laundry and chores around the home. The work around the house got in the way of him attaining this high school degree, which bothered my grandpa. After he got married to my grandma in his early 20's, she encouraged him to get his GED because she knew how important completing his education was to him. On Thursday nights he had duty at a military base and on those nights he secretly studied and worked toward getting his GED.  After cooking dinner one night, my grandma lifted up a plate to serve dinner and found the certificate for his GED. Upon seeing the degree, she giggled and squealed with delight in her proud admiration of her husband. She told me how she loved being surprised and the importance of reacting excitedly to keep the guy coming back with surprises.