Forlorn once was I
No hope was in sight
I’d fought hard to live
But felt I’d lost the fight
Were it not for my cats
Wouldn’t’ve made it through
How sad that’ve been
For I’d never’ve met you
Feline Lifeline
living life out loud
Viable
Mightn’t I just lay down now
I’m so tired
Passed bone-weary last year
Let me just go to sleep
And never waken
Wish my beloveds a sweet farewell
There’s never been a moment of peace
I think I’ve earned some at this point
Maybe this has all been a random experiment
And my cell, never one that was expected to live
Maybe I beat the odds having come this far anyway
Maybe the Universe will sigh a sigh of relief when I let go
Maybe
Welcome 2018!
I may need to change the name of my blog.
You see, I am in the midst of doing some exercises that I do each year to help me let go of the passing year and welcome the new one with a clean slate, set intentions and get clear about how I want to feel in the coming year.
Two of my favorite exercises come from the work of Susannah Conway. She generously offers a free Find Your Word program each year, and this year I am deep in the midst of it. Some people do it before the year ends, but I do mine the first week of the new year, in tandem with another process I have learned from her: Unravel Your Year.
With her Unravel Your Year workbook, I go over the year and look at what happened. I celebrate the wins and I embrace the lessons. I identify the things I want to keep doing and the things I would like to change. I ask myself what I want more of in the year ahead, and what I want less of. I envision what I would like to be doing and how I want to feel in the year ahead.
There is so much in both of these free programs — I am barely touching on the content here. I get so excited about them that I just had to share them with you. I highly, highly recommend them! (Thank you Susannah Conway!)
But back to my blog and the name of my blog.
I am in the midst of these year end/year ahead processes and am choosing my word or phrase for 2018. So far words like SOAR, BELIEF, SHINE, GOLDEN, REAL, YES and RISE are coming up repeatedly for me.
I began this blog as an attempt to start moving myself out of my self-contained shell of introversion, secrecy and shame and into the world where I could be seen, known and heard as I really am instead of the presentations I had so artfully created and utilized throughout my survival years on this planet. Hence the “skinny branches,” as I was moving out onto the skinny branches.
But now, I am finding that I want to fly. I want to leap off of the skinny branches and soar to new places, new dimensions. I want to test my wings in the sky.
So I have a dilemma. I love the name of my blog and it has meant so much to me. But I am ready for more than just life on the skinny branches. Do I change the name of my blog, or do I just keep growing and writing about it and let the name stand?
That will be a question I live for the new year, amongst many others.
Maybe that will be my word for 2018: Question.
I am not afraid of living in these questions today, of being “in process.”
2017 taught me how to really allow for that. Unexpected events of the year got me questioning everything in my life. And I mean everything. It was scary at first, and I am still in the midst of it so cannot tell you where it has brought me exactly, but I can tell you tat I know in my gut that it is very important and that where I am going through it is very good.
So we will see what lies ahead.
More to come.
However you choose to usher in the new year, I send my very best wishes to the world and to you for much peace and love in 2018.
A gift I also want to share with you today on this first day of the year is a wonderful 2018 welcoming resource by one of my favorite people (and bloggers) on the planet, Lisa Adams.
Her post today was just too beautiful, inspiring and nourishing not to share. She is a chef amongst her many talents and gifts, so it makes sense that her blog posts are always nourishing.
Enjoy! And Happy 2018!
Over the Rainbow is Here
Today I bid thee farewell, my special unhappiness
You have been a steady companion lo these many years
You have held my hand and held me back
Kept me safe, yes, but also kept me on the outside
Looking in at my own life
I thought you were a force beyond my grasp
I thought you were put inside me
That I was a host and you had taken root
Turns out that like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz
I have had the key all along
All it takes is this: my decision to let you go
I am sovereign over my own self
And I no longer want you here, in the driver’s seat
So farewell, my old friend
I am sure you will raise your voice now and then
But I choose to no longer recognize your power
So you may wish to find a new dwelling
My heart is full of other things now
There is no space for you here
Well-Nigh
When almost is not good enough
When your best falls short if you are not the one who wins
I wonder
Who began the system of there being only one winner
That if you were not that one, you were out
A loser
Who started that way of approaching life
That there is only one who rises, only one who accomplishes
Why not
A system that allows for almost, for second place, for near enough
Wouldn’t there be more to celebrate, more movement for all
I wonder
Would we really all stop trying if there were no top prize valued above all
I wonder
From Rags to Riches
Sometimes it can be difficult to spend money.
I am not talking about the difficulty of budgeting one’s funds.
Or flat out being broke or stretched way thin financially.
I am talking about these little pockets of things that I find it difficult to spend money on.
They often, if not usually, have to do with ordinary and necessary things.
Underwear. Bras. Curtains or window treatments. Towels. An air conditioner, a new mattress.
There were these things that I felt so guilty doing, such as buying new bras.
I often literally feel nauseous after doing so.
It is as if I am more comfortable neglecting myself than giving myself the “luxury” of having them.
There is a mentality that I absorbed somewhere along the way that to not be wanting is to be “bad” in some way. As in morally.
Those who do not struggle are extravagant. (This is a negative.) There’s a judgement towards them.
Those who earn and struggle, who often “do without,” are just better people than those who “have,” who didn’t work for it, who’ve had life handed to them on “a silver platter.”
There was a real disdain for people “born with a silver spoon in their mouth.”
And so living well, with all the creature comforts is something to be grateful for and be generous around (which I am.) But it is also something of an embarrassment, something I am ashamed of.
I am talking unconscious here. This is something I have been unraveling for some time.
It feels scary to have “enough.”
Now, putting fear fo scarcity thinking aside, for I do have that as well at times despite having worked on that for some time, I mean that it feels dangerous to be a person who is not wanting. Who has enough. Why is this?
I know I am the child of parents who grew up post World Way II and that certainly shaped their attitudes, which informed mine.
My father knew poverty, but he could also have been the poster child for The Great American Dream: a self-made man who took advantage of ROTC and Navy scholarships to get an education, he was by all accounts a hugely successful man.
Maybe he felt conflicted about his own success. I know I do.
I wish to embrace the abundances in my life, and I do: on a daily basis I practice gratitude for all that I have, in every way: love, health, family, friends, freedom, opportunity. Material comforts and luxuries.
I believe in being of service. In giving back to the Universe. I believe in circulating abundance.
And I feel guilty. And ashamed. And aware of the privilege of being a white, American woman who grew up middle class.
This is not at all where I meant to go in this blog. I meant to examine why it is hard to buy new socks to replace old, worn ones. To examine the little ways I find that I still neglect and limit myself.
But here I am writing about all of this. And just now in this moment, I am attempting to suppress a desire to apologize for being so privileged that I can write a blog about my guilt around being white and privileged. I feel guilty around my own guilt, for that, too is privileged.
Is this just a reflection of the climate I am living in?
Are we given messages that it is wrong to have a “rich” life? (Rich in love as well rich in abundance.)
Is the only “valid” life one of being down-trodden, of struggling?
How do successful and abundant people handle their abundance?
How do successful and abundant people of color handle their abundance? Do they feel as if they are betraying something or someone?
What is extravagance? Is it a concept invented by moralistic religious groups to encourage tithing?
What is monetary currency really anyway? Is having it or not any indicator of anything?
I am confused. And I don’t think I got here on my own. (Meaning, I think perhaps we as a society are confused. There are certainly mixed messages in our media and pop culture.)
I clearly have a lot more unraveling to do! I would love your thoughts around any of these thoughts.
Cherished Objects
Happy holidays to all!
I am with my family in Texas, enjoying us all being together, laughing, talking, playing games.
My sister-in-love inherited all of my Mom’s many cherished collected holiday things.
My two favorites: my Mom’s manzanite tree that she decorated for every holiday, and a Santa that always sat under our tree at Christmas.
To you and yours, wishing you a wonderful day.
Wild at Heart
I was raised to be mild
All the wild in me tamed
Strong desires in me shamed
Made an adult while still a child
Now at mid-life, the end in sight
I’m awakening my wild
Reviving my inner child
Letting loose my appetite
Heads or Tails
I am often torn.
Making decisions is usually difficult for me. (See Cutting the Cord.)
I don’t know if it is because I am a Libra or what, but I can always see the benefits of all sides to a decision, and it makes it very hard to choose.
I do not particularly enjoy this part of my personality, though I do appreciate my ability to see more than just one side.
I also think a large contributing factor is my fear of making a mistake. What if I screw up my whole life because I choose wrong?
Yikes. Pressure much?
The past few years, I have been realizing that even in the past when I have made decisions that I felt were “wrong,” later on, they turned out to be “right” in some way. Even through what seemed like a real mistake, something necessary came from the experience.
The black and white thinking that a choice could have that much power over my existence…not sure where that comes from. But I know that I cannot – no, I will not – live like that anymore.
In the last year, I have made it a goal to stress less around decision-making. To just make the best decision I can with the info I have at the time that I am making it and to then “let the chips fall where they may.”
Easier said than done, but I have made some headway.
When I find myself feeling “torn” over the different options I am deciding between, I just stop myself and gently but firmly make myself take the leap in one direction.
Sometimes it has been anxiety-producing. And sometimes, very liberating.
It is always better than staying stuck (and torn) between options.
What are some ways that you make decisions that you feel work well?
Carpe Diem, My Friend
Hello?! This is your life calling!
Stop acting like you’ve got all the time in the world
That those that you love will be there forever for you to tell
That those people you think about reconnecting with will always be around to do so
Start doing those things you think about doing, dream of doing, now
Every passing moment is one less opportunity
Like that old Nike ad says, “Just do it!”
Just do.
– Me to myself
Today I went to the funeral of a very special person.
And as I sat in the church looking up at the stained glass, I was reminded of the many, many funerals of special people I have been to in the last twelve years.
Wakes and viewings in homes, memorials in gorgeous holy spaces and modest church rectories, wonderful music and laughter, beautiful heartfelt stories of love and life, stoic, structured religious services. Quite a spectrum of final acknowledgements or celebrations of the lives of special people.
The one thing they all had in common was that I was struck each time by how quickly such services end.
Something in me gets so angry: how can a person’s life end this way? It always feels so…inadequate. So lacking.
I want to sit and reflect. Linger. Always, I am shooed out before I am ready to leave.
Even the greatest memorials – which in my book are filled with laughter, love and grief with voices raised and tears shed in full view and community – are over much too soon for my heart.
I leave baffled and bereft, with the sense that something is missing.
Then it hits me: oh yes, something is missing. The special person is missing.
Having buried two parents, a brother, a grandfather, three dear mentor father-figures, and two beloved cats over these past 12 years, I have learned and bourn witness to the truth that literally all that remains after a special person dies, in the end, is how they made people feel.
Yes, it is true, they may leave behind other kinds of legacies too.
But really, all that literally remains is how that person loved the people they came into contact with, isn’t it?
My special person whose funeral was today was not a lifelong friend.
I’d drifted away from our friendship the past ten years or so, for reasons that made sense at the time but don’t now. He did nothing wrong to instigate this drifting – he was an innocent in a part of my life that became lost in a kind of wreckage that was indirectly a result from past events. Our friendship was felled by friendly fire in a war I was waging with ghosts. Yet another tally mark on the side of things I grieve, having lost them.
Because of this, I almost did not go to the funeral. I didn’t feel entitled to.
Then I remembered the old adage about people coming into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime, and I realized that showing up for him as someone who had loved and been loved by him for any length of time is all any of us can do. That his current special people would surely only benefit from being surrounded by any and all of those who knew how special their special person was. That I could go for him, for me, for them, and be one of many who loved this special person for a reason, a season or a lifetime.
And there were many of us there. I have no doubt when I pass I will be lucky to have a handful of people. I have lived far too self-contained a life so far. I am still influenced by a deep-seated fear of people that shapes my connections no matter what I do, it seems. (Although I have been and am working to shift this, to be able to have deeper intimacies with people that I care for and who care for me.)
But my special friend was one of those people whose funerals reveal just how many people their life has touched. All kinds of people from all walks of life were there. And all had lost someone very special to them.
My special friend was my special friend for a season of ten or so very special years. He loved me dearly at a time I did not know how to love myself. He gave me unconditional love and support, and he championed my talents and dreams, and mirrored to me someone who had the courage to truly make their dreams come true.
I have so many happy memories of those years, and he figures prominently in all of them.
These years later, I can appreciate him even more with the wisdom of age. I thought of him many times through these years. Thought of reaching out. I foolishly kept putting it off, thinking I had the luxury of time. Hah.
In many ways, the way he lived puts me to shame. He found the courage to really put his talents out there for the world to see, over and over, no matter what anyone thought. I am still struggling to find that kind of belief in what I have to offer, that kind of courage.
He loved to sing so he sang. He loved rock and roll, so he performed in his own rock and roll cabaret shows. He loved what singing was to him, so he did all in his power to help others to be able to sing as well. He was a champion for many, and a power of example to all artists.
He died a senseless, awful death, one that seems ridiculously unfair and absurd for a man such as he was: one of the kindest, most generous souls I have known.
And so today, I leave yet another funeral, baffled and bereft.
But I carry the gifts of his life forever within me: how loved he made me feel, the memories of the music we made together, the inspiration he will always be to me as someone who just put it all out there for the world to see no matter the reception.
And the kick in the pants to “do it” already, no matter what.
There’s no time to waste.
I hear you, John. I get it. Thank you, my friend. I love you.
And I am so grateful we had our season.
Beyond the Skinny Branches 