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A letter to myself

May 9, 2014 | Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom, Writing

Dear Me:

Exhaustion. I see it. It’s down deep, far beneath the surface. A weariness that comes from holding on to your passions, your principles, your desires, though not without cost. Clinging to what often feels like mist and shadow – evading you at every turn; dust in the wind.

The wind. I hear it. A sometimes hollow, aching wail that echoes through your soul. It catches on the jagged edges of grief and one-too many unmet expectations. The longing for a gentle breeze instead of gale-forces. Respite wanted: a spring, a well, a stream, an ocean. 

The ocean. It carries you. A mysterious and fluid world that’s compelled by the darkest moon. Waves that shuttle you to shore and leave you adrift – at least for a time; raw, exposed. Rushing back, they shock you with their salty cold. Every sandcastle washed away. Carried far, far from anything you’ve ever known. But still you float, still you journey, still you survive. Because you can see the horizon ahead – blazing like fire. 

Fire. It’s what you know best. A burning that will not cease, on-the-edge of painful, ever-present. Flames licking at the internal editors who tell you to be quieter, tamer, more predictable, less. Scorching through every hindrance, every tie that binds, every page or precept or Book that has told you what you must and must not do, must and must not say, must and must not believe. It’s a bonfire. One that has singed and suffered your kin for their inherent magic, their inherent wisdom, their inherent power. It’s no wonder you are fevered, disoriented, and uncertain whether you are hot or cold, sick or well, crazy or sane. 

Sanity. It’s what you possess. The madness you feel is the strongest evidence that you have never before been more balanced, more cogent, more aligned. Hang on. Hold tight. Don’t give in. Let the wind blow. Ride the waves. Fuel the fire. And go ahead: let everyone think you’re crazy. You can handle all of this and then some. I promise. 

Love, 

Me 

Cruising – literally…

Nov 28, 2007 | Hope & Encouragement, Mothers and Daughters

Is there a place that one can go to get away from all thought of stolen cars or even the graciousness of given ones?

I found it.

Emma, Abby, and I just returned from 7 days on a cruise ship to the Mexican Riviera (along with my parents, my
sister, her husband and two boys, and my brother and his girlfriend). None of us thought about cars. In fact, we didn’t think about much at all. We did, however, thoroughly enjoy every second of our trip.

I’ve now been officially bitten by the cruise-bug. I loved it! No thought of schedules. No thought of work. No thought of cooking or cleaning. No thought of dieting. No thought of too much sun. No thought of rain. I told you: we didn’t think much at all!

I’m torn as I think back on our ventures: I loved getting off the ship and seeing Cabo, Mazatlan, and Puerto Vallarta – sitting on the beaches, buying cheap silver jewelry from the vendors, watching the girls play in the surf and the sand; but I also loved the days at sea – watching the water stretch to the horizon, feeling the rocking of the ship, knowing that every detail and necessity would be taken care of on my behalf. How can you go wrong when faced with these options?

More than anything (yes, even more than not needing to think) I enjoyed the time away – together – with my daughters. It was lovely to see them relaxed, spontaneous, uncensored, full of laughter and life. It was lovely to be the same in their presence.

And it was hard to return – to realities that don’t always imbue relaxation, spontaneity, or easy truth-telling. We’ve been back for 5 days and our land-legs are returning – as are our guard, our tension, our roles.

I think for me, more than the desire to cruise again, I have the desire to live in a way that enables the kind of freedom and joy we knew while gone. I know it’s not completely possible in the contexts and realities of everyday responsibilities and stresses; but I also know it can happen.

That’s the memory to which I’ll return – again and again – and seek to recreate, both in imagination and in reality.

In the midst of stolen cars, given cars, and even returned cars (yes…mine was found, finally, quite a bit worse for wear, but now in front of my house again), I’m grateful I can go to a place that is warm – yes, in the memory of the beaches and 90+-degree temps; but even more, in my heart as I picture the three of us together laughing, living, loving.

About Worrying

Aug 14, 2007 | Hope & Encouragement

I made myself get up, showered, dressed, and ready before accessing email (as opposed to my normal pattern of checking it first). It felt like a small, but healthy step toward patterns that are less inclined toward stress and more toward life.

Now, email open, what do I find but the daily posting from The Writer’s Almanac and this poem:

The Worrier’s Guild
Today there is a meeting of the
Worriers’ Guild,
and I’ll be there.
The problems of Earth are
to be discussed
at length
end to end
for
five days
end to end
with 1100 countries represented
all with an equal voice
some wearing turbans and smocks
and all the men will speak
and the women
with or without notes
in 38 languages
and nine different species of logic.
Outside in the autumn
the squirrels will be
chattering and scampering
directionless throughout the town
because
they aren’t organized yet.
(Philip F. Deaver, from How Men Pray)

There are other emails in my inbox, but they are more in the “worrier’s guild” category: things I need to take care of, issues that need to be resolved, responses that need to be generated, work that needs to be done. I will get to all of this. I will complete the projects that the day holds and demands. And maybe, just maybe, I will keep a sense of squirrel-likeness about me: not demanding quite so much of myself, holding the problems of the world but not obsessing over them, leaning heavily away from stress and toward life.

May it be so.