This morning I woke up at 4 wide awake, heart pounding. I wanted to blame the tabby or the acorns falling on the roof in the heavy rain. But I know its something else. Today the contractors come to knock out my shower and begin a demo of my grungy, 25 year old bathroom. I haven't picked out tile, I don't know how to turn off the water, and when I think about the day ahead (cats and I huddled in my spare room, me trying to work while the walls come down around me), let's just say the anxiety is off the charts.


Then, I read my sister's post and some of it dissapates. We are worriers, it's what we do. Some of it is completely out of our control, which means that we can let it go and just focus on breathing through it all. I'm not going to say it doesn't suck ass, or that I don't lie awake some nights wishing I had this inner peace of someone born to a family that told them everything would be OK until they actually believed it. Instead, we have this. Why do we never feel good enough or brave enough?
I wish I were in a place to give advice to both of us. Feel the fear and do it anyway. When you are going through hell (or even just a little darkness because a contractor knocked out your lights, which is not really hell at all), keep going. Fear is a prison.
Knowing this, cool: applying it....whoa. Life is like a carnival ride but motion sickness comes to us as we grip too tight to the cold metal bars when the car starts making it's way down the track. We can't see the safety knobs.
Instead, we write. We take photos and make plans to go back to nature. It is the church given to us by our dad. We tell ourselves that everything is going to be OK, even if we might not really believe it.
And I can say that there is some success to this. A year ago my life was different.I had friends who didn't feed my soul, and I could tell you the names of the TV shows for each night of the week. I didn't keep my promise to the Universe, made on a running trail the prior year, until suddenly I had no choice.
This year I am calmer, surrounded my better friends and less cable channels. I notice things.
Right now I am sipping coffee and listening to a moth hit the sides of my paper lamp as a soft cat sleeps next to my laptop. The tabby jumps each time another acorn hits the side of the building. The paper man (remember when boys on bikes delivered papers?) drives up with his rap music blaring. The anxiety slows if I try to live in the moment, so I practice doing so.
Everything is going to be OK. Even when we don't believe this to be true.

The Ugly and the Crooked

Sometimes things happen all at once.

Sometimes things get messy and the Universe calls for you to lose some of the things you were holding so you may better see what could be in your hands. This week the following happened: 

I lost my wallet. 

Something off-putting happened with some medication of mine. 

I went to my father's birthday empty handed after some missed communications.

I was reminded of others' creativity and that I am squandering what little I have.

The bike I've had for over ten years was stolen. 

I got sick.

After a day of feeling sad about all of these things, I experienced a moment of bravery. I sent a letter to a photographer who photographed a friend's wedding and whose website I've been following since. I am drawn to the way she uses light and color and the way she captures moments. I feel like there is a lot I could possibly learn from this person and I finally worked up the courage to contact her and ask if we could meet and discuss a possible apprenticeship. It felt like a long shot at the time, but I wanted to feel as though I was at least trying to make an effort to meet the Universe halfway. Shockingly, she replied within 24 hours saying she'd be happy to meet with me and discuss an arrangement. The logical part of my brain, with its cogs always turning and its propellers whirring, tells me that there's a very good chance that, like any apprenticeship, this one will cost money that I don't have and cannot get. I know this is the likely ending to this story, but I am choosing to fight The Dread and hold off worrying until I need to. Perhaps I won't need to. Stranger things have happened, after all.

I am trying to become more brave these days. It is not easy, as I so often get lost on the Land of No Words. That place I wall up in after some sensory part of my anatomy sends signals that it is no longer safe to stretch out in a meadow where the other animals graze and then run. There is a certain feeling of invincibility that comes with bearing all honestly and without hesitance. I would like to get the point in my life where I can look into my own chest and point at the bones that are broken and the lung that is collapsed and repair them with air from whispered secrets and the mud dug up from the Kinnickinnic, the river I jump into during the winter to remember the feel of my own skin. I want to look my faults in the face and smile at them. I want the self confidence to enter the Land of No Words when it is time to observe and not to judge, to reflect and not to hold back, to absorb and not to lament the Words That Are Gone. I want my silence to be something I choose instead of something I am forced into. 

This morning I faltered in that bravery. I spent the night dreaming of snakes I could not speak to or keep from striking at my ankles. At 6am I got up and forced myself to eat some breakfast that squirmed around in my stomach with the words I didn't say and the memory of snakes. I kept those words behind my teeth for the sole reason of wishing to conceal my loneliness and not to call out the animal that ran. I will not always be as brave under fire as I'd like to be, but I shall see that Fear for what it is and show it that I know its name. I await a letter from a friend in the mountains who knows what it is to speak truths through the ice that lurks under the tongue. I will visit her on the mountain next year and we will talk of time and of change and how far from linear they seem. We will draw lines and shapes on maps and drink wine on either side of an oil lamp and take the dogs up the mountain and take a piece back down. I look forward to this. I look forward to growth that shows the ugly and the crooked. I look forward to exploring the beauty of that process. 

Tuesday, October 4rth, 2011
It's 4:30 am on the dawn of my 51rst birthday and I've already received two gifts. The first, (and without hurting another person's feelings, the best!) is this blog. We've talked about doing this for awhile now. In Heimer language, "awhile" means we come up with an idea, then go back to our corners of the world and make ourselves busy with daily things, letting the idea fade away until the next time we see each other or talk. And sometimes "next time" means a really, really long time. So thank you Katie. Not just for your kind words but for actually making an idea into a project. I can't tell you how stoked I am to do this with you.


A large coyote sauntered through my parking lot this morning. The cat and I both got a pretty good look from the window as I set my coffee down on the desk to write. He is the biggest one I've seen since they moved into the woods next to me. I opened my front door to get a better look and there was a gift from my friend/neighbor on the stoop. She wrote a really nice card about my journey the past year (she's got this earthy vibe I covet) and included a candle in the shape of an owl. A few years ago I decided the owl must be my 'animal'. Now I am not so sure, maybe it's supposed to be a coyote. Marcie would know. (Hers is the turtle.) She can remember events in her life where things happened right after she saw a turtle. Maybe I just like the story so much that I WANT an animal, I am not really sure. Either way, I'd like to expect a shift in life today and will remember the image of the large coyote or the candle owl. (Ok, do things made out of wax and shaped like animals really count? I really don't know.) Birthdays are fresh starts, good days to think about the changes that can be made while I am busy gripping the handlebars (now a little rusty because I've been gripping tightly for many, many years). There is peace, though, as well. Today I am simply going to focus on getting ready for another 365 day ride around the sun.


I wonder if I can have two animals. Is that selfish?


.

To my sister, in celebration of her existence in the Universe.

My sister.

The happiest of birthdays to the woman who inspires me like no other. To the woman who says yes to the world regardless of how many times it has said no to her. To the woman who turned me on to pears and blue cheese. To the woman who never stops craving adventures. To the woman who embraces tears, but laughter even more. To the woman who knows what it is to sweat and to move stiff muscles. To the woman who has never passed up an opportunity for a wet-nosed kiss or a furry headbutt from any animal. To the woman who has seen Utah sunrises and will see New Mexico ones as well. To the woman who, like me, has felt The Dread, and fought it. To the woman with whom I've climbed over mountains and through gorges, and will continue to. To the woman who loves her father and shows him in words and in languages that will never know speech. To the woman with whom I've shared fish tacos and margaritas as the sun sets. To the woman who has not forgotten the magic of handwritten letters. To the woman who makes me feel special by spelling my name differently. To the woman who loves skeletons, and a sharp wit. To the woman who deserves more than the world could hold in its oceans, plains, or deserts. To the woman whose loyalty is more fierce than any I know. To the woman whose heart breaks for those in pain and sorrow. To the woman who gives with both hands and embraces with wide arms. To the woman who I would gladly go to the end of the Universe for, and who is my partner in putting myself out into it, open and ready.

I love you dearly. Lets start reminding each other every week. 

"Nothing is worth more than this day."

-Goethe