Day 365

One year ago I made a commitment to keep a blog for one year. I decided to focus on my efforts to live a nonviolent life. Now it is time to say good-bye to this blog. Before I do, I would like to reflect a little on what I have gained from this experience.

This blog was a promise to myself. I am almost never break my promises to other people but I needed to practice doing the same for me. I am proud that I saw this project through to the end. The rewards were plentiful.

I remember that first time I ever flew in an airplane. Looking down at the landscape I saw a patchwork quilt of green and brown, only visible from a great distance. This blog has given me that perspective on my own life. I have come to see the patterns and I have gained appreciation for my hard-won sense of equanimity.

This blog has helped me to embrace myself as a writer. Some entries were insightful, some were boring. The value was in the doing. The end product was in many ways incidental. As Miles Horton once said, "We make the road by walking."

I have decided to continue down this road. One of the things I learned this year about nonviolence was that it is, more than anything else, about honoring that which is most alive for us at any given moment. That is my plan for the immediate future.

Day 364

I heard a news story today about a man who was convicted of stealing a sign that hung at the entrance to Auschwitz. The sign read "Arbeit macht frei" which can be translated as work will make you free.

I couldn't get the phrase out of my head today as I was shoveling the driveway and making bread and doing housework. There is truth in this old German proverb. There is a certain freedom in meaningful work. Of course work is only meaningful when it is imbued with a sense of autonomy and as Malcolm Gladwell points out a relationship between effort and reward.

It is sad to think of the way the Nazi's distorted this noble truth. I suppose it is not really so different from the ways our own instituions distort the truth to shape the will of the people.

Dasy 363

I woke up this morning to a blizzard. I looked through the frosted window in my room. It was like looking out from inside a gingerbread house. The buildings and cars across the street had disappeared, painted over by a wall of blowing snow. I felt shut off from the rest of the world. Yesterday I relished in the notion of isolation. Today it made me feel sad and lonely.

Then again, maybe my mood is more attributable to the calendar. The week between Christmas and New Years Day is like a chasm between the past and present. I create, edit, play and replay the movie highlights of the year that is about to come to a close. At the same time, I dream about what the new year might hold in store. It is a time for quiet reflection. Perhaps it is the perfect time for being snowed in.

Day 362

I put Kat on a bus headed for Olympia at 7:00 a.m. I was a little sad to see her go but also excited to get back home and reclaim my space. I am fortunate to have a room of my own, that I occasionally forfeit for guests.

Virginia Woolf counted a room of one's own as an essential component of the creative life. I'm not sure that I agree about the room. But I do know that I need time to be alone with my thoughts. It is wonderful to be able to close the door and shut out the rest of the world. Being alone, without distractions or obligations, allows me to hear my own thoughts and begin to understand my own mind. This is the essence of awareness.

When I was younger I never wanted to be alone. I would talk on the phone with friends for hours to avoid the silence. I would busy myself with endless projects to elude the stillness. I was afraid of the quiet because I was afraid of my own mind. I stopped running only when I was too exhausted to go on. What a gift that was.

Day 361

Last night Bill and Kat got into an intellectual disagreement. It involved philosophy and science and the philosophy of science - very heady stuff. It was interesting to listen to. I was too emotionally invested, however, to fully enjoy the debate.

At one point their voices became strained; I could read the tension on their faces. They were talking over each other, barely waiting for the other to finish speaking before leaping in to foist another intellectual jab. Their mutual frustration hung in the air; it felt dangerous. I worried that someone might get hurt.

Later, when I was falling off to sleep, I could hear them talking in another room. Bill said something that was muffled by the walls between us. Kat laughed. I huddled into the blankets and felt warmed by their comradery, my love for each of them multiplied by their shared affection.

Day 360

I was reading Natalie Goldberg this morning. She urges memoir writers to start with the scary stuff, the dark places, the hidden knowledge, the secrets. She might as well be saying write down your shame.

I think of myself as an open book. I often share intimate details with those closest to me and sometimes with people in line at the grocery store. I sometimes referred to myself as an emotional voyeur. And yet Natalie's prompt this morning got me thinking...

It is challenging for me to talk or write about my own sexuality. I can talk about sex in a clinical, detached sort of way. In fact, I was once a sexuality educator for a teen pregnancy prevention project. But when I try to write about a sexual experience of my own or even my own thoughts and feelings about sex, I experience a rush of shameful emotions.

Natalie says we have to write about the stuff we should not write about, otherwise, we will always be writing around our secrets. I wonder how much energy I expend avoiding thoughts and feelings about my own sexuality.

Day 359

Kat was checking her Facebook page yesterday and noticed a conversation about "Christmas" started by one of her friends. Her friend was frustrated with people who assumed that she was celebrating the holiday. She insisted that "this is not a Christian country." This set off a whole string of responses, both angry and sympathetic.

Here was that drama again. Kat goes to a liberal arts college that is full of would-be activists. They remind me of myself when I was younger. Always struggling, always fighting. There is an air of drama all around them because they are always casting themselves as the protagonists in their stories and others as the antagonists.

I have been working to recast my own stories: no antagonists, no protagonists, only human beings all struggling to be accepted, to connect, to love and be loved. It doesn't make for good drama but it does make for a more peaceful life.

Oh yeah, and happy nondenominational winter season greetings!

Day 358

Kat was upset with me for something I said or something she inferred from something I said. I didn't respond with as much empathy as I would have liked. Instead, I asked, "Why all the drama?"

I have been thinking about that question since this morning and remembering that I used to have a lot more drama in my own life. Maybe it was circumstance, but I suspect that it was at least partly due to perception. When I was younger I didn't so much create drama in my life; Rather, I looked at life through a dramatic lens.

Over the years I have learned to accept more, resist less and to slow down and breath when I feel myself escalating to the point of crisis. I would like to think that my new "no drama" policy indicates that I am getter wiser. But maybe it just means I don't have the energy I used to.

Day 357

At the risk of making my life sound like a TV movie of the week, let me just say that my daughter used to be a boy. It is probably more accurate to say that I used to think of my daughter as a boy. I haven't written much about that here because it is really more her story than my own.

She is here now and I sometimes slip and call her by her old boy name or use male pronouns to refer to her. This is frustrating to her because she is just beginning a process of transformation that will make her outsides more congruent with her insides and she needs all the support she can get. I want to be supportive but the whole experience is making me realize how tied I am to the past, even when I don't want be.

Day 356

So, what do you do when someone you love is acting like an asshole? That was the question I found myself asking yesterday. I am well trained so I immediately responded, "You love them anyway, of course. They are probably just crying out for empathy.

This was the moment when that little devil in me reared his ugly head and said: "Fuck that! What about me? What about what I need? I'm tired of being kind and understanding."

"Oh, so you need empathy too," the little angel was speaking now. "It sounds like your needs are not being met in this relationship right now. Maybe you need to take a minute to experience those feelings of disappointment and figure out how to take care of yourself."

I think I was finally able to find common ground between the angel and the devil in a place where everyone gets their needs met.

Day 355

A friend gave me a gift bag that contained, among other things, a fancy chocolate bar with almonds and toffee. I was exhausted today from all of the Christmas bustle when I decided to take a break.

I broke the candy bar in small pieces and popped them in my mouth one at a time. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the silky sweetness as each piece slowly melted. After eating half of the bar I decided to give the other half away.

I wish that I would handle everything in my life this way: appreciating the generosity, savoring the sweetness and sharing the pleasure.

Day 354

I love having Kat here and yet it is disruptive to my normal routines. She has taken over the space I normally use as an office. It is also my meditation space. I have lost my home base. I feel unsettled and tense.

Through meditation, I have learned that my tension generally resides in a space at the base of my abdomen. I experience it as a knot in the pit of my stomach. I have trained myself, when I am tense, to breath into this space. As I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, the space begins to expand, the tightness is relieved.

This disruption in my routine is good because it reminds me that I can establish a home base wherever I am. By focusing my awareness on my breathing, I am reminded that home is here and now.

Day 353

Soon after I started teaching I gained new insight into my own teachers. It never occurred to me before how much they wanted me to succeed.

As a teacher I am invested in the success of my students. I want all of them to get A's and pass my class and finish their degrees and realize their dreams. My harsh reprimands and strict grading do not always reflect this desire (at least not in the eyes of my students).

It's not unlike being a parent. We want our children to go out into the world and make a place for themselves, knowing full well that when they do they will no longer need us. It is bittersweet.

Day 352

Kat got here at 2:00 a.m. I waited up for her and we sat and talked for a couple of hours before going to bed. We got back up a few hours later and went out to lunch - talked and laughed and enjoyed each other's company. We went shopping and bought materials for a project we are planning. Something to do to keep our hands busy while we visit some more. She will be here for about 10 days. I wonder if I will be ready for the silence when she leaves.

I was sitting in a restaurant with a friend once. She was distracted by a couple who sat a few tables away. She kept looking their way. I remember thinking: she is not really here with me. She was absent in the way my mother was often absent when I was a little girl; in the way that I was absent when Kat was a child.

I am so grateful that I finally learned to be more present, to attend to my own need for authentic connection. It is amazing to show up in a relationship and find that I am not alone.

Day 351

Years ago I taught this class for high school students on critical thinking. One kid, kind of a slacker who I sometimes suspected of being stoned, came in during the third week of class, slouched in his seat, groaned and said, "This class is driving me crazy. You've got me thinking about my thinking."

Lately I have been thinking about my own thinking. More specifically, I have been thinking about anxiety and excitement. Closely related, it is sometimes it is hard to distinguish between the two. Both arise from anticipation. I feel anxious when I anticipate that something terrible is going to happen; I feel excited when I anticipate that something wonderful will happen. It's all crazy, since I have no way of knowing what the future holds.

Feelings of excitement or anxiety serve as reminders to return to the present moment. I hope that kid learned as much from the critical thinking class as I did. I'm still learning...

Day 350

I spent 11 years in college: 4 years undergrad, 2 years working on my master's and 5 years working on my Ph.D. The emphasis was on developing my rational mind. I acquired knowledge and studied big ideas. I learned to reason and analyze, and synthesize and aggregate concepts (I also learned some pretty big words).

During the my last few years of graduate school, I starting reading Michel Foucault. A brilliant thinker, his theories about the role of discourse in human interaction are a testament to the power of the human mind. Toward the very end of my studies I read this passage from an interview that was conducted with Foucault during his final year of life: "...we have to create ourselves as a work of art." Suddenly, everything else I had learned paled in comparison.

I felt a very strong desire to uncover and unleash my creative energy. I felt like a person who, suddenly learns she can walk after years of being confined to a wheelchair. The muscles are atrophied and must be strengthened. Walking is awkward and ungraceful, sometimes even painful. It is a long and grueling process. I am beginning that process now. I try to work my creative muscles. It is hard to be patient because I dream of running marathons.

Day 349

Some days I struggle to identify one topic worthy of writing about. Other days I have 2 or 3 to choose from. Today I don't want to chose.

Subject #1

I woke up this morning with a familiar dread hanging over me. I had already designated this as a writing day. I heard a familiar whine in my skull. Oh, no. I don't want to write. It is too hard. It's Christmas time and I want to bake cookies and drink hot chocolate and sit by a fire (so what if I don't have a fireplace).

Then I received an email from a friend who was at work. She said that she would like to be in a coffee shop writing today. Suddenly I realized that writing doesn't have to be an obligation, it can be an opportunity. I am blessed right now to have the time to write. What a gift. Even better than cookies and hot chocolate by a fire.

Subject #2

Lately I have been fantasizing about skydiving. Now I do not really want to jump out of a plane. I am terrified of high places and even more afraid of falling. What I want is to move fast and feel the metaphorical wind in my face. I want my heart to pound out of my chest with excitement. I want to get goosebumps of exhilaration. I want to laugh at danger and cheat death. I want to step off the edge, feel myself fall and then be thrust up at the last minute by a parachute of my own making. I am tired of playing it safe.

Bring it all together...

Maybe it's all about the writing. Maybe skydivers get up in the morning before a jump and feel the same kind of dread as I do. Maybe they do it anyway. Maybe it reminds them that they are alive. Maybe I need to learn to think of writing as an aerial act.

Day 348

I watched this video yesterday based on a book called the Empathetic Civilization by Jeremy Rifkin (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7AWnfFRc7g). You know how you sometimes here a message over and over again and then one day you hear it again, only this time it sounds totally different, you connect with it in a new way, the idea comes to life.

That's what this video did for me around the idea of empathy. It was like a missing puzzle piece that clicked into place. Bottom line: if we want to end conflict and war and all the forms of oppression that we inflict on each other, we must learn to give and receive empathy.

There was a line in the film that really resonated with me: "empathy is the invisible hand." Perhaps the only way to really experience the divine is through empathetic understanding, it is the key to unlocking the secret of our interconnectedness.

I feel like a new convert to the church of empathetic understanding.

Day 347

I am feeling a little sad today, disappointed that my plans for Christmas are unraveling. I was looking forward to spending time with Kat: cooking together, shopping together, just being together. Now, I'm not sure how I will spend the holiday.

In the midst of my sadness, I keep thinking about fudge. I imagine pressing it against the roof of my mouth with my tongue, the sugary goodness spreading from my palate to my brain, to the parts of my soul that are aching right now, the pleasure serving as a distraction from my sadness.

Oh, I know that the relief would only be momentary, but sometimes that seems like enough.

Day 346

Kat called me yesterday. I said, "How are you doing?"

She said, "I've been a little nervous about this phone call."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to be there for Christmas like we planned," she replied.
"Oh." I was carefully weighing my response. I was disappointed but also curious about why she was nervous to tell me this.

We talked about the obstacles that might prevent her from getting here for the holiday. Finally, we came back around to the other question. "Why were you afraid to tell me that you might not be coming?" I asked.

"I was afraid that you would pressure me to come," she said.

I know where this fear comes from. Whenever I wanted someone to do something, I used to whine and cajole and argue (logic was my favorite weapon of manipulation) until they gave in. Kat's comment made me realize how difficult that must have been for those around me. I thought that when I got someone to do what I wanted, I won. Now I see that I lost far more than I gained.

Today, I do not want anyone to do anything for me unless it meets their needs. When people give to us out of guilt, or fear or just plain exhaustion, everyone loses. Manipulation drives a wedge through the relationship that prevents real connection.

Day 345

I got together with some friends yesterday. On my way home I started evaluating my performance. Did I behave properly? Did I make a good impression?

I came to the conclusion that I was too insecure, too emotional, too flighty, too vulnerable. In other words, I did not play the role of my middle aged self very effectively.

Just last night I heard someone say that adulthood in our society is characterized by a lack of emotion, a flattening of affect. It's funny, I didn't learn to fully experience my emotions until I was over 40.

Perhaps that means I am doomed to a life of immaturity. On the other hand, it may be a blessing.

Day 344

A friend called me yesterday and told me about a writing project she is working on. I immediately started searching for books and articles that might be helpful to her.

I enjoy helping people. I think that we all want to contribute to the lives of others and to the world in meaningful ways.

It is sometimes difficult for me to reach out and ask for help when I need it. I have to remind myself that by graciously receiving I am giving others a precious gift.

Day 343

Yesterday I posted my blog and went for a walk. While I was walking I realized that I hadn't been completely honest. I wrote about the apprehension and fear I have as a writer each time I have to face an empty page. I speculated that my fear was a fear of failure.

Actually, I think that my fear has more to do with facing myself. It is not unlike the fear that comes up for me around meditating. I am so invested in the egoic facade that I have created, this sense of self that I have built brick by brick in my mind. I am afraid to look in the mirror. What if there is nothing there, only emptiness staring back at me?

There are times when I am writing (or sitting) when the self starts to fade away. The past and the future are each revealed as figments of my imagination. There is only this moment. It is clear that there is no enduring self. The ego dies. I am afraid.

Day 342

Yesterday I made a commitment to write today. I woke up this morning too scared to get out of bed. I pulled the blankets up around my chin and clamped my eyes shut, refusing to face the day, or more accurately refusing to face the page.

Ask anyone who has ever claimed the title of writer and they will tell you about the terror. Remember watching Psycho; that moment when the Norman appeared in shadow, his knife looming over Janet Leigh as she showered. The anticipatory dread associated with writing is something like that. That's the dread I felt this morning.

Ultimately, the dread is associated with a fear of failure, I suppose. What if I attempt to fly but never even manage to take off? What if I have nothing to say? What if I bare my heart and soul and they scoff at it? Worse yet, what if no one even takes notice?

Yeah, writing is scary business. I am trying to take the advice of people who have been at this a little longer than me. It's simple they say: just show up and write. Don't worry about being good or getting published. Just put the pencil to the paper (or the fingers to the keyboard, as the case may be).

I suppose I wouldn't do it if I had any other choice. More and more I am thinking that I don't. Writing (or, at the very least, creating) is like breathing. Sometimes the terror steals my breath away and I have to remind myself how to breath again.

Day 341

Sometimes my sense of equanimity just seems to evaporate, like puffs of steam rising from a tea kettle. Other times, I imagine it jumping off the bed and slipping out the window when I wake at 3:00 a.m., like the gingerbread man who escaped from the old woman who made him.

Bottom line: it is gone. I am thrown off balance, cast about by frustration and anger and fear. I know how to reclaim it. There are certain activities that bring me inner peace: writing, meditating, moving, being outside.

Without a sense of equanimity it is hard to find the energy to do these things. That is where I am today: my sense of equanimity gone, needing to reclaim myself by doing those things that bring me joy and peace, struggling to find the energy.

Day 340

I have been a little tired and achy for the last couple of days. This morning I got up, checked my email, had a cup of tea and a bowl of oatmeal and went back to bed. As I laid there I started to realize how much I was literally fighting the aches and pains and chills.

I opened my eyes and caught sight of a little flag my friend made me. It is bright green with an abstract pattern that resembles leaves in spring. It says SURRENDER. She ran out of room as she was applying the appliqued letters so the E and the R sort of drop of the edge of the word. I smile every time I look at it.

I have never been good at surrender. I pride myself on being a fighter. I remember taking swimming lessons when I was about 8. I don't think I ever graduated from the Guppies, in part because I couldn't surrender. I laid on my back and tightened all of my muscles, refusing to be buoyed by the water. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind was the fear of being dragged under and carried away by the undertow. Ironically it was my refusal to let go that inevitably caused me to sink like a stone.

Day 339

I have been trying for several hours now to think of something clever and smart to write about. Eventually I gave up and decided to just settle for a good enough blog entry. Still nothing.

The truth is: I have nothing to say today.

The end.

Day 338

I got together with a friend yesterday who told me about being summoned to her son's school because he hit someone. Instead of punishing him she tried to empathize and understand the reasons why he might have hit the other boy.

I have to admit, this is one aspect of nonviolent communication (NVC) that I am somewhat uneasy with. NVC places an emphasis on empathy and away from blame. I am sometimes concerned that in the process we fail to hold people accountable for their actions. Ultimately, there is no impact on behavior.

I can imagine a world where children are not punished. Where they receive empathy when they make a decision that negatively impacts other people. Where they learn to empathize with the people they harm. Where they learn to slow down and pay attention to what was happening when they made the decision that harmed others. Where they have the opportunity to commit to different behavior for the future.

What can I do to start creating that world right now?

Day 337

Every once in a while I run across a passage that is so moving and inspiring, so resonates with me and speaks to my thoughts and feelings, I must share it with other people. Here is the latest:

...you are saved not in order to live
you have little time you must give testimony

be courageous when the mind deceives you be courageous
in the final account only this is important

and let your helpless Anger be like the sea
whenever you hear the voice of the insulted and beaten

let your sister Scorn not leave you
for the informers executioners cowards - they will win
they will go to your funeral and with relief throw a lump of earth
the woodborer will write your smoothed-over biography

and do not forgive truly it is not in your power
to forgive in the name of those betrayed at dawn

beware however of unnecessary pride
keep looking at your clown's face in the mirror
repeat: I was called - weren't there better ones than I...

(from The Envoy of Mr. Cogito by Zbigniew Herbert as quoted in The Liar's Club by Mary Karr)

I read this and had the feeling I had used to have in church as if the minister could read my mind and was speaking directly to me. I thought: yes, this is why I must write.

Day 336

When I was a little girl I used to love to ride the bus to the Baptist church on Sunday morning. The preacher would pace in front of the congregation, his face flush with emotion as he pleaded with us to turn our lives over to God. We were like sunflowers, planted in the pews, all leaning toward the sun.

My heart would nearly burst when we would sing This Little Light of Mine or I've Got Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy Down in My Heart. Sometimes my little body felt like too small a container for all the passion and joy I felt. I was connected to the life force and creative energy flowed like lava through my veins.

As I reached puberty I started to be self-conscious. I could hear their angry wonder: "Who does she think she is?" I didn't want to be accused of being "too big for my britches." I consciously tried to make myself small.

I have spent much of my life trying to make myself small. It's sad really.

More than ever the world needs us to contribute as much as we are capable of giving. We can no longer afford to make ourselves small.

Day 335

I think that I'm so drawn to writing lately because I am fed up with the "real" world. Sometimes I feel so bombarded with propaganda and hate and just plain stupidity. I just want to check out.

There are really only a few options for checking out. The first, suicide, is out the question for me. In spite of my frustration with humanity, I have a ferocious love for life (and a tremendous aversion to pain). In moments of despair I have considered the second option, insanity. To escape into madness does have a certain appeal. However, the straight jacket is so confining (and doesn't make much of a fashion statement).

So I am left with only one option: to write. As a writer, I can create my own world. I can create multiple worlds into which I can escape. For as long as I can remember I have dreamed of a world where people live in peace and recognize that we all exist as part of the same divine source. That world does exist; writing may be my only opportunity to share it.

In his book Zen in the Art of Writing Ray Bradbury says, "...gently lie and prove the lie true...everything is finally a promise...what seems a lie is a ramshackle need, wishing to be born."

Day 334

Sometimes when I am sitting I will repeat this statement: Right now I am aware that ______. I fill in the blank with whatever awareness comes to mind.

Today I was most aware of various discomforts. Right now I am aware that I am cold. Right now I am aware of a pain in my head. Right now I am aware that my stomach is growling.

I am trying to learn to accept the discomforts that I am inflicted with every minute of every day. Otherwise, I spend so much of my life energy attending to them or avoiding them.

Day 333

I just started teaching a new online class. I have a "mentor" who provides me with feedback on my interactions in the classroom. This morning she sent me an email with a strongly worded recommendation.

Frankly, it pissed me off. Fortunately, I didn't respond out of that energy. I thanked her for her feedback and then spent a little time trying to determine the source of my anger.

I find that I am generally angry when confronted with my own mistakes. I try very hard to be perfect: to follow the rules and do what is expected of me. I have a need for connection which I try to meet by gaining the approval of those in authority. When I fail my need for connection goes unmet and I get angry.

I am trying to learn that there are other ways to connect. I can get acceptance and approval without being perfect.

Day 332

I have a little sign in my office that says: Choose to Feel. It is there to remind that even (especially) my most painful feelings need to be acknowledged and honored. Sometimes it is hard to find the balance between honoring my feelings and building a shrine to them that I feel compelled to return to day after day. There is a fine line between self care and self indulgence.

For the last couple of days I have been feeling a little sad. It is easy to get caught up in tracing the etiology of the sadness. Where did it come from? What is the source? In the end, it really doesn't matter. Life is full of pain and loss; sadness is a natural consequence of living. More important than tracing the origin of my pain is giving it time and space, just letting it be.

Just like the snow outside my window it will soon melt away and I will once again be warmed by the sun.

Day 331

Bill and I rented DVDs this week of a television program called In Treatment. It's about a therapist and his patients. One after another they come in and explore the issues that brought them to therapy. It's very intimate, almost voyeuristic.

After watching several episodes yesterday I started to realize that every patient was dealing in some way with the same issue. They were each struggling with issues of separation and individuation between themselves and their parents and/or themselves and their children.

Suddenly I found myself sobbing as I realized how painful it has been for me to separate from my own child. She is in her 20's now. My job as a parent is largely over. There are no more do-overs. What it was is what it is. It's time to let go.

I remember being on the other side of this process when I was in my 20's. I moved across the country, in part to establish my own life, separate from my mother. I never thought about how painful that must have been for her. Life has a funny way of coming full circle.

Day 330

There are times in my life when the universe has spoken to me in a clear, forceful voice. There were a few times when I listened and did exactly what my intuition guided me to do. In each case, I was rewarded in ways I could not have imagined. There were other times when I ignored my inner voice because I was afraid or insecure. Each time there was a price to pay for refusing to honor my truth.

Lately that voice that I have come to recognize as Divine Inspiration has been instructing me very clearly. It speaks one word, over and over again. It says: "WRITE!"

Writing is difficult. It requires discipline and focus. It is lonely. At times, even painful. I'm not even sure I'm very good at it or that anyone outside of my small circle of friends and family will ever find value in what I write. Some days (most days) I think that I would prefer baking cookies or watching Oprah. But still that voice speaks to me and I know that right now I am supposed to write.

I have to trust that voice. Writing for me, at this point in my life, is an act of faith.

Day 329

I read this poem a few days ago. A perfect sentiment for Thanksgiving.

Thanks
By W.S. Merwin

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow for railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water looking out
in different directions.

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you
looking up from tables we are saying thank you
in a culture up to its chin in shame
living in the stench it has chosen we are saying thank you
over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the back door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks that use us we are saying thank you
with the crooks in the office with the rich and fashionable
unchanged we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us like the earth
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

For me, it is a reminder that gratitude is a practice that can be cultivated regardless of circumstance. Perhaps it is a natural state that we strive to return to.

Day 328

It is November 24th and all I want to do is cook turkey and bake pies until the house smells like the holidays. Where did I get this idea that the holidays have a smell?

I want to artistically arrange plates and silver and stemware to create an "inviting" tablescape. This from a person who does not own a tablecloth.

I want to stand in line for sales that are "too good to pass up" and buy new electronics that I do not need.

I want to gather with family and smile just like the people in the commercials.

The mind is weak.

Day 327

Yesterday I wrote a little about my relationship with food. When I read it back, I was a little embarrassed. I thought about erasing it and starting over. My relationship with food and my weight are one area of my life where I have a lot of shame.

Through writing, and especially through blogging, I am learning to reveal myself. There is the temptation to only reveal those parts of myself that are wise and kind and beautiful, to leave the ugly parts buried where no one can see them.

The ugly parts are the ones that most need to be revealed. Shame is binding. Like a mutant plant with tendrils that wrap around us and limit our movement it thrives in darkness. The only way to kill it is to shine a light on it.

The shame is not a indication that we should hide but a call to speak out.

Day 326

A few years ago I saw a nutritionist. We talked about my eating habits and she was amazed at the number and complexity of rules that I have about food. Here are a few examples:

Eat three vegetables and three fruits everyday (not some days, not most days, every day!).
Eat protein with every meal.
Plan meals and snacks at the beginning of the day.
Write down meals and snacks at the end of the day.
Never eat sugar without protein.
Never ingest drinks with calories.
And my personal favorite: limit complex carbohydrates to makes room for simple sugar.

I know, it sounds a little crazy, but it is one of the side effects of compulsive dieting (even if you call it a "lifestyle change").

Today I ate exactly what I wanted when I wanted it. It was liberating, until I decided to count all up all the calories I consumed. That is one of my most stubborn rules: ye must keep a running tally of all calories consumed in a given day. Oh well, baby steps.

Day 325

Bill and I were house sitting for a friend this weekend. She has a beautiful home just outside of the small town of Troy. We enjoyed eating lunch in Troy yesterday, then going back to the house and sitting in front of the fireplace. The windows in her living room provide a panoramic view of the distant mountains and a more close-up view of local wildlife.

We got up this morning, built a fire and sat in front of the windows sipping tea. I was too limp to even pick up a book. I was thinking about this state of tranquility and about how I need to get away more often. Suddenly the heard a crash in the other room. I thought it was the dog, no big deal, until sharp talons grabbed at my toes.

I jerked my foot away and looked down at the parrot that had apparently escaped his cage. He had launched a new attack on Bill's feet. Bill reached down to grab the bird and was attacked again. Blood was dripping from his hands onto the beige carpet. I suggested that Bill go to the kitchen sink to tend to his hands.

In the mean time, I coaxed the bird onto a stick and tried to carry him back to the cage. He quickly scurried up the stick and up my arm to my shoulder. He began to pull at my hair. Bill came running in response to my cries. He grabbed the bird and quickly stuffed it into the cage.

This was only round one. The bird escaped again and had to be wrestled back to the cage. The cage had to be mended, the blood had to be cleaned from the carpet and Bill's wounds had to be tended to. At the end of the ordeal we were bruised, bloody, panting and shaking. Our little retreat had turned into a house of horrors. We couldn't get out of there quick enough.

The moral of the story is this: You never know what life has in store for you. Enjoy the tranquility while you can. Tomorrow, or the next minute, may offer you chaos.

Day 324

This morning I was sitting in the living room, thinking about existentialist philosophy, daydreaming really while I rubbed lotion into my dry feet. I was thinking that I would like to do some reading on the subject.

Suddenly a book on the bottom of the bookshelf caught my eye. I could barely make out the title. Was it Introduction to Existentialism? I edged closer to the bookshelf and saw that in fact that was the title. It was an ancient paperback with yellowed pages. I had never seen this book among the hundreds we have on our shelves and yet when I wanted it, there it was.

Life is a mystery...

Day 323

I know it sounds strange but I just love sick days. When I was a kid I used to lay on the couch and watch Let's Make a Deal while my mom served me Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup and 7-Up. To this day, I am convinced that this is the cure for the common cold.

When I worked a regular 9 to 5 job in an office I would sometimes take a sick day just because I was tired of work and wanted to pamper myself. I would stay in my pajamas until noon and convince someone else to go to the store for my soup and soda.

Working at home makes it harder to enjoy a sick day. After all I can stay in my pajamas all day everyday if I want to. I can usually slip in breaks to lay on the couch and watch TV. I can eat soup and sip soda anytime I want.

I still find that it is important to set aside a whole day every so often just to pamper myself, a day when I do nothing but take care of me, otherwise I might really get sick.

Day 322

Last night I had a dream. I hesitate to call it a dream because it was so vivid. It was a conversation. I never saw a person or being. Somewhere in that space between awake and asleep, I heard a soft, lyrical voice.

She said, "There are no limitations, Debbie. You can do anything you really want."

I snickered. "Well I can't be a ballerina."

"Sure you can," she said, "Just try it."

Suddenly I saw myself dancing and it was clear that I could be a ballerina. But I was not going to be convinced so easily.

"Well, sure I can dance, but that doesn't mean I'm any good. It's not like I'm going to perform in the New York City Ballet," I said

I was impressed by the sincerity of her reply: "Oh, I thought you wanted to dance. Why would you want to dance in the New York City Ballet? For the approval, the applause, the accolades? You can have those things too, if that's what you want."

This girl was good but I thought I finally had her, "Well, I can't jump off a bridge."

"Just because you are free doesn't mean there aren't consequences for your actions. Being free means that you choose the action and the consequence." With that she was gone.

I woke up thinking, "Who was that?"

I rolled out of bed, walked into the living room and opened the blinds. The ground was covered in a blanket of snow, the first of the year. For a moment I was wrapped in magic.

Day 321

Bill and I have been together for about 15 years. I think more than anything we wanted to avoid a static relationship, one where we act in prescribed ways. We were intent on our growth as a couple.

Although we haven't acquired a lot of material possessions or status symbols, I am proud of what we have accomplished together. I saw one of our accomplishments today. We got in an argument. It was nothing like the knock-down, drag-outs we used to have when we were first together.

We have learned to fight more effectively. Bill learned not to yell because that frightened me. I learned not to cry because that made Bill feel helpless. We both learned to ask for what we need and to try to attend to the needs of the other. Sometimes we even manage to turn disagreements into opportunities to connect. In my book that is success.

Day 320

I read a story once about Henri Poinare, a mathematician and physicist who developed many of the concepts of special relativity that Einstein would build on. As the story goes, Poinare was trying to solve a particularly perplexing math problem. Finally, he gave up and went on vacation. As he was boarding the bus the solution came to him.

I have felt perplexed by a dilemma in my own life for a few years now. I notice that I no longer elicit much praise from people around me. When I was younger, I was often praised by teachers and supervisors, not to mention my mother who served up heaping daily doses. I found myself wondering why the praise had all but disappeared. Were my actions no longer worthy of praise?

Yesterday I went for a walk. The answer came to me when I wasn't even conscious of the question. We generally praise those we perceive to be beneath us in terms of either experience, skill or knowledge. We seldom assess, evaluate or issue judgements, positive or negative, about those we perceive to be our equals.

Maybe the lack of praise is a reflection of my own growth. Perhaps other people are more inclined to see me now as their equal. Perhaps if I saw myself as equal to those around me I could let go of my need to please. I'm no Einstein, but that's what I think.

Day 319

On Saturday I met a friend at a coffee shop. Our intention was to write. We mostly talked but we did eventually pull out the notebooks and start to write.

She suggested a simple prompt. Something like, "I am..." The immediately started writing about my own sense of isolation, a recognition that, "I am alone." The more I wrote about being alone, the more I came to accept it. It started to feel like a gift rather than a burden, something to embrace, rather than run from.

Isn't it what the existentialists were trying to teach us? For me, writing is a better teacher.

Day 318

I have been working all day on materials for a new class that I start teaching on Tuesday. I feel completely overwhelmed and unsure of myself - just like every other time I have ever started a new class.

Earlier in the week, I had new students in another class who were bombarding me with "stupid" questions. Suddenly I feel a little more empathetic and a whole lot more humble.

Day 317

Yesterday I went to a meeting and presented a report that I invested a lot of time in. As I was working on the report, I imagined the appreciation with which it would be accepted by the group. I imagined their faces glowing and their words of praise falling on me like drops of holy water.

It didn't turn out quite like that. There was almost no reaction at all. I think I would have preferred condemnation, disagreement with my findings, a battle of intellect. At least then I would have known that they read it. At least I would know that they see me.

My need for praise it seems is really a need to be seen and heard and appreciated. Why do I continue to look to other people, in some cases near strangers, to give this to me? When will I stop looking outside for validation? When I will I finally accept that I am good enough regardless of what the world says?

Day 316

I went to the co-op yesterday and bought a popcorn ball. I abandoned all sense of decorum as I sat in the cafeteria eating it. There is, after all, no graceful way to eat a popcorn ball.

Sitting there with popcorn between my teeth and sticky lips and fingers, I was suddenly 8 years old again. I was transported to the front porch of the little white clapboard house I shared with my mom and brother. I could taste the sweetness of childhood.

A trip back in time for the price of a popcorn ball, now that's a bargain.

Day 315

I had this crazy, surreal customer service adventure this morning. It was like an epic video game; I had to master each level by slaying the dragon before I could move on.

First I had to find the customer service number. It was cleverly hidden at the end of an online maze. Then I had to get past the gatekeeper, an automated voice that offered a set of ambiguous options, none of which matched my need. I had to resort to deception before I was granted an audience with an actually, breathing customer service representative. Of course, she was not the representative who was assigned to deal with my particular problem. I was forced to listen to a fusion of static and jazz while on hold for 10 minutes. Finally my knight in shining armor came on the line. I told him what I needed and he quickly offered a solution. He assured me that he would grant my customer service wish. I love happy endings.

This story has a prologue, however. I opened my email a few minutes later and found a confirmation from the corporate overlords. It seems that my account was incorrectly modified. My knight was a troll. Was this an invitation to get back in the game? Not for me. I'm tired of slaying dragons. It feels more like tilting at windmills.

Day 314

I committed to a research project for an organization that is devoted to conflict resolution. I just finished the report this morning. There was about 30 seconds of relief and then a question. What now?

That's my nature, to always look ahead to the next thing. What should I do now? What's on the agenda? Lately, I have been trying to get rid of the agenda. Instead, I try to sit and wait. I ask the question: What is alive for me now?

This morning while I was meditating an idea popped into my head. I want to lead an effort to host a forum on bullying in my community. Right now it's just a baby bird of an idea, but it is teeming with life. I wonder if it will survive out in the world.

Day 313

As I count down the months since completing my degree I find that I am increasingly grateful for what I gained through the experience.

I focused on a single problem, namely my dissertation, for several years. This kind of focus is rare in today's world. It encourages discipline and has a grounding effect. Devoting so much time and energy to a single issue is humbling. It made me realize how little I know. I learned that knowledge is embedded in stories. As a result, I became a storyteller.

I thought that I was going to school to become an academic. Instead I became a writer. It was like finding myself where I least expected.

Day 312

A few years ago I was having a conversation with my mother in law. She was in her eighties at the time. I said, "We all make mistakes as parents." She said, "I didn't make any mistakes." She was sincere. She could not face this simple truth.

Lately I have been struggling with redefining my role as a parent. I started out so intent on protecting my child. He was this beautiful little spirit, my heart on a string. I wanted to shelter him from the ugliness of the world. I couldn't. I still can't.

Even worse, I did make mistakes, big mistakes. I have regrets. I am trying to learn to forgive myself. Perhaps forgiveness is nothing more than learning to sit with the sadness of regret. Bearing witness to the pain, maybe that's the whole point.

Day 311

I had lunch with some friends yesterday. We talked about a group that we had all participated in. I stated that there was one person in the group who dominated. My friends were quick to defend this person: Oh, no, I don't think he dominated. What I intended as a statement of observation they heard as a judgement.

I came home and looked up the word dominate in the thesaurus. It can mean monopolize, which is the way I used it. It can also mean subjugate and tyrannize, which is the way my friends heard it.

Bottom line, it's not what we say but what they hear that matters. Perceived judgements have a way of shutting down communication.

Day 310

Today in a conversation with a friend she said that she had to do certain household chores. I immediately responded "No, you don't." I was responding to the assumption that she had no choice in the matter. I believe we always have a choice.

Later Bill and I went to the Co-op and then stopped for a few items at Walgreens. I was in a hurry to get home. "I still have to blog and make dinner," I said. Oops, my mistake. I don't have to do anything. I could skip my blog and order a pizza.

In spite of being tired and hurried I decided to blog because it meets my need for integrity. I made a commitment to blog everyday and I want to keep that promise to myself. I don't know what I will choose to do tomorrow, but I like knowing that I have choices.

Day 309

I used the word "opportunity" in my post yesterday and it got me thinking. What would my life be like if I saw every circumstance as an opportunity? I can look back at past experiences and see what this might be like.

When Bill got sick a few months after we got married it felt overwhelming and tragic. It shook us to our core. I can remember standing in the waiting room while he had surgery. I was imagining his death. I imagined the stark, searing pain that would accompany such an event. I imagined myself moving through the pain to the other side. Through those sad daydreams, I caught a glimpse of my own resiliency. Bill's illness provided me with an opportunity.

Lately I have been worried about my adult child and her prospects for employment when she graduates from college in a few months. Perhaps she won't find a job. Perhaps that will be her opportunity for growth. Life is good when we remember that every problem comes bearing gifts.

Day 308

I was writing this morning. Dredging up painful memories. Trying to rise above the pain to describe the events. Striving to find the right words. In the midst of this struggle I heard a voice in my head: This is too hard. You should just quit for today.

It seems to me that this moment is an opportunity. When the gremlins try to lure me away from my writing by convincing me that I am no match for the challenge, I recognize that I am at a crossroads. I can either give up or recommit. Each time I recommit I honor a promise to myself and demonstrate my self-worth.

Day 307

For many years I did not have the tools I need to fully digest my experiences. I was adept at avoiding pain. I employed a variety of strategies to distance myself from my own feelings.

If I was hurt, I would blame others. If I was frustrated, I would stay busy. If I was angry, I would develop a battle plan. These strategies worked but they cut me off from life. They kept me from being fully alive.

Recently I have been writing about past experiences. Remembering the sights and smells and tastes and sounds and conjuring the feelings I tried so hard to avoid. One doesn't have to be gifted to write; the practice of writing is the gift. It allows us to go back and relive the past, feel the feelings and come out whole.

Day 306

I got up late this morning and made my to-do list. I immediately felt overwhelmed and began considering which things I might eliminate from the list. I made a little star next to those things I needed to accomplish by the end of the day. The remaining items were: write, exercise and meditate.

When I get busy these are the first things to go. Ironically, they are the activities that most help me manage stress and anxiety.

Tomorrow I plan to get up early and do these things first.

Day 305

I posted a brief message yesterday about being dumb and the connection between dumbness and writing. Later a prime example of my stupidity presented itself.

I got what amounted to a chain email. It promised that if I forwarded it on to my friends and family I would be rewarded with thousands, maybe even tens of thousands, of dollars. Now I knew it was a long shot but I hit forward anyway and stuck some email addresses in the box marked "To." I didn't put the addresses of everyone on my contact list. After all, I didn't want to be greedy.

Right away I got a response from a friend who declared the original email a "hoax." Later I got an email from another friend who reminded me of the mathematical improbability of the whole scheme.

I felt like an idiot. I tried to be compassionate toward myself. However, I am generally honest and I knew that my belief in the email, however weak and fleeting, was at best naive. So I said to myself, "You are silly and naive, just like everyone else."

Later it occurred to me that an occasional act of stupidity can be a useful thing. As a human being it reminds me to be compassionate toward others when they are stupid. As a writer it gives me a broader range of experience to draw from. I can write with sincerity about what it feels like to act stupidly. And so many of the best stories begin with acts of stupidity.

Day 304

Natalie Goldberg says that you have to be dumb to be a good writer. I think she means that you have to be slow and simple, observing and noting the details that others ignore.

I was quite encouraged by her statement because I am getting dumber all the time.

Day 303

I pulled out an Aimee Mann CD today that I haven't listened to in years. It's full of angry songs about getting fucked over.

There was a time in my life when I listened to that CD over and over again. It helped me get in touch with my own anger.

Today as I listened I was grateful to have moved on, thanks in part to Aimee Mann. I have such appreciation for her courage. She chose to feel and to put her feelings to music in a way that resonated with me and helped me to feel my own feelings and eventually heal.

It's amazing really, the ways that we are all connected...

Day 302

I was visiting my mom a few months ago. We were in the grocery store when I mentioned that I had recently discovered avocados. Oh, I know I didn't actually discover avocados, I just discovered how much I enjoy avocados, a food that I was not exposed to in the mid-west where I grew up.

My mom quickly grabbed an avocado and put it in the cart. Later, while she was making hamburgers for a family dinner, she had my cousin peel and slice the avocado. At least that was the intention. Unfortunately, the avocado wasn't ripe and my cousin ended up violently hacking it into small pieces. When I tried the avocado on my burger, it had the taste and texture of cork board.

Sometimes my ideas are like that avocado. They need to sit on the shelf for a while to ripen.

Day 301

I woke up this morning in a funk. It started last night. I had an allergy attack (I say attack because I literally felt under siege) that kept me up most of the night. I woke feeling tired and frustrated, my feelings amplified by a hormonal surge.

I was weeping tears of self-pity when my phone rang. It was my friend Anne. She was on a break from a training she was attending at the university. Could I meet her for lunch? I was a mess: puffy eyes, grungy sweats and an oversized t-shirt, a rat's nest perched on my head. How could I possibly pull myself together in time to meet her during her break?

Then it occurred to me: when someone offers you a lifeline you grab it, even if you are a mess, especially if you are a mess. It turns out that lunch with Anne was exactly what I needed. She even told me that I looked cute in the hat I wore to hide my hair.

I sometimes think that the wisest words I ever heard were in a rock and roll song: You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.

Day 300

When I was in my 20s, my childhood vision of God as an old man with a long white beard sitting on his throne with a staff and a scowl was replaced by God as an ethereal, transcendent and boundless white light of distilled love.

I would imagine myself in a dark room with the door cracked open just enough for a stream of brilliant light to enter. I would mostly sit huddled in the corner, staring at the light, longing for the comfort it offered. Occasionally, I would venture closer and sit in the tiny sliver of illumination.

When I was very brave I might reach out and open the door wider, allowing a large pool of light to spill into the room. It was brilliant and invigorating; it was life-giving. I would start to imagine that I might go to the door and step out into the light. I would imagine myself falling into the phosphorescent glow. Just imagining the glory of that fall would take my breath away.

Lately I've been thinking that perhaps I wouldn't fall at all; perhaps I would fly.

Day 299

So here I am at 46, underemployed with an esoteric (possibly worthless) degree, in a small town in rural Idaho without a lot of professional prospects. I know it sounds crazy but I am starting to realize what a great opportunity I have to create an authentic life.

What is alive for me right now is the desire to write. I was looking for direction in my life when this desire became overwhelming. I always dreamed of writing but the conditions were never quite right before.

Now it's as if the universe has provided me with the ideal circumstances. No more excuses. So I write. Some days are easier and more productive than others but I am always left with a sense of satisfaction that is matched by few other things in my life.

I feel blessed.

Day 298

I made a commitment a couple of years ago to sit for at least 20 minutes a day, at least 5 days a week. I have been amazed at how difficult it has been to maintain that commitment.

Most days as I prepare to sit I find myself distracted. When I go to the computer to set the online meditation timer I use, I sometimes begin to surf the internet instead and read articles on everything from asthma to celebrity couples. I am avoiding. I sometimes wonder: What am I afraid of?

I suppose that I am afraid that I will be visited by demons while I sit (not unlike the Buddha who was visited by Mara, the evil one). I try so hard to avoid my demons during most of my waking hours. When I sit, my defenses are down. Perhaps I will be overtaken.

I suppose that is the point...

Day 297

Years ago when Bill and I were first together we got in an argument. In the heat of anger he told me that he didn't always trust me. He said that I always tried so hard to be nice, he wasn't sure that I was being honest. His point: it is hard to trust someone who doesn't cast a shadow.

Recently, with menopause and other changes in my life my shadow is making more appearances. Remembering Bill's comments, I have to laugh. He should be careful what he wishes for.

Day 296

Whenever I have trouble sleeping, Bill likes to quote Fritz Perls who said, "Losing sleep is nothing to lose sleep over." It's really easy to piss off a sleep-deprived person by saying things like this. At least it used to piss me off when Bill would say it.

More recently, I started to understand what old Fritz might mean. I have had more sleepless nights as of late (another gift sponsored by MENOPAUSE). I am learning to accept my insomnia.

Last night I woke up at 12:45 a.m. I gave up on going back to sleep at about 1:00. Between 1:00 and 5:00 I graded 22 assignments, baked a coffee cake, did dishes, read a little and watched an old episode of Frazier. Not a bad nights work and play for an insomniac.

Day 295

I woke up today with a sore throat and a cough. I find it difficult to answer the simple question: Are you sick? I always look for some external validation of illness. I usually take my temperature. If I am running a fever I can officially declare myself sick and more importantly give myself permission to do nothing more than read and drink tea.

I can't rely simply on symptoms. After all I have symptoms all day long. My head hurts. I sneeze. I have an upset stomach. If I responded to every symptom with a diagnosis I would drive myself crazy. It's not the symptoms I can't trust, it's my thoughts about the symptoms. Thoughts are fickle, transient and unreliable.

Perhaps the diagnosis is irrelevant anyway. The real question I need to answer is: What do I need? And right now I need to get back to my book and my tea.

Day 294

Cooking is one of the best ways I know to plug into the creative process. A couple of days ago I had a cup of soup at the co-op: lentil and sausage. It was very good but inspired me to do even better.

I went to the store yesterday and bought the ingredients, it was difficult to find just the right sausage. I wanted something lean and spicy. I finally settled on a spicy Italian turkey sausage. I went home and chopped the vegetables: carrots, onions, celery. I sauteed the vegetables in olive oil with garlic while I browned the sausage. I threw it all in the pot together with my lentils and water and waited for the lentils to cook.

While I was waiting I decided to add chopped spinach, Italian herb seasoning and tomato sauce. The results were fragrant and colorful. It was such a pleasure to set down at the table with Bill and share my creation. It was nourishing in so many ways.

Day 293

Yesterday I was struggling once again with my feelings about my weight and my desire to be something different than what I am right now. I was thinking about what I can do to change the situation when I reached a point of complete exasperation, "I give up." I thought, "I don't know what to do."

Just then I remembered something I read once (probably on a refrigerator magnet): Regardless of the question, the answer is love. Hmmm. I can certainly see where I have not approached this situation with love. I wonder what love would look like in this situation.

Later in the day I received a gluten-free, sugar-free cookbook (Keough, 2009) I ordered from Amazon. I opened the book to a mid-point and read this passage:

"...cooking for people is a grounded and sensual show of love, and being loved in return, especially if a dish is amazing and satisfying. And isn't this reminiscent of Mother? Mother is the one who fed us, or didn't feed us...Mother knows we need sweets. Sweet is a metaphor for love and love is what we all want and crave."

OK, OK, I'm listening!

Day 292

Yesterday I graded about 124,343 papers. OK, it was really more like 18. At the end of the day I was in no mood to correct another misspelled word or sentence fragment. I did feel a sense of accomplishment, however.

That is until I got up this morning and found 10 more papers, turned in late. I was surprised by the growl that emanated from my throat. The growl and the frustration that accompanied it were clues. I need a break from grading.

I used to push ahead refusing to listen to my frustration. Eventually I would blow - God help those in my way. It's so much easier to pay attention and give myself what I need. This afternoon I plan to walk to the co-op, have a snack, visit with Bill and walk home.

Tomorrow there will probably be more papers to grade. I will be a different person by then.

Day 291

Bill and I celebrated our wedding anniversary last week. I use the word celebrated loosely here. We went to a Mexican restaurant down the street from our house. Later we made ice cream sundaes that we ate while we watched silly sitcoms on television. Some people like champagne and dancing, we like sundaes and sitcoms.

Traditionally, a wedding anniversary is an opportunity for a couple to reaffirm their love for each other and once again proclaim it to the world. Unfortunately it can also become an obligation and an excuse to point blame when expectations are not met. A failed anniversary can come to symbolize everything that is wrong in the marriage.

We work hard to avoid expectations in our marriage. We're not married because I wanted a husband or he wanted a wife. These roles are laden with so many expectations These expectations get in the way of friendship and true intimacy.

Day 290

My friend Barb says that sometimes fiction is more real than nonfiction. I found a perfect example of this in a novel I am reading; I am actually rereading this novel by Wally Lamb because it is one of my favorites. It is titled I Know This Much is True.

One of the main characters is schizophrenic. He says to his twin brother, "That's the trouble with survival of the fittest, isn't it Dominick? The corpse at your feet. That little inconvenience."

And he is the crazy one...

Day 289

A few days ago a young person in my family bought a new car. I heard about it on Facebook. When I saw the post I immediately began making judgments. It is ridiculous for a 19 year old to be tied to car payments for 5 or 6 years. She lacks the maturity to make such a commitment. How could her parents support such a decision?

I didn't like the way these judgments reflected on me. I had to really go inside these thoughts and see if they represented unmet needs in me. Guess what? They did.

I have struggled in my relationship with money for...oh...ever. I grew up with the attitude that money was intended to make us feel better. If you have money, spend it, you'll feel better.

Recently I have come to see that money represents energy and time. We have to give our time and energy to get money. In essence, when we spend money we are trading our time and energy for something else. When we purchase things on credit we are committing our future time and energy.

I want to be more conscious of how I spend my time and energy so I have to be more conscious of how I spend my money. In doing so, I am resisting not only my upbringing but so many messages that our capitalistic society dictates.

So when I see someone spending money in a way that may appear reckless to me, it is an opportunity to reaffirm my commitment to my new found relationship with money. Why don't I have a new car in the driveway? Because I choose not to.

Day 288

I had the most enjoyable day yesterday. I met with a young man from a community organization that hopes to organize a youth group for gay / transsexual / questioning youth. We had a nice conversation and agreed that I should get involved.

I walked from the restaurant where we had lunch to a bead shop downtown. As I was finishing my shopping a friend came in. We visited as she worked on a beading project. The owner of the shop joined in the conversation. I not only caught up with an old friend, I made a new one.

I walked from there to a coffee shop where my friend Anne was waiting for me. I enjoyed chocolate, tea and great conversation. Anne is one of those dear souls who is smart and kind and funny. I always feel enlivened by our time together.

Sometimes I think that this is the way we are intended to move through life: without a plan, flitting from one thing to the next, doing what makes us feel most alive.

There is a Yiddish proverb: Man plans, God laughs. Sometimes I have the sense that the universe delights in me when I live without goals or expectations, choosing instead to just be present.

Day 287

Even as a little girl I was drawn to stories about the American civil rights movement. Born in 1964, I always had the sense that I missed the action. I would find myself wondering what I would have done had I been there. Would I have marched alongside Dr. King or would I have sympathized in silence?

It's easy to imagine that all that is behind us now. Yet there are people in the world today who are treated as second class citizens because of their ethnic identity, religion, sexual orientation, social class or gender identity. The question is the same: Will I march alongside them or will I sympathize in silence?

There is a Ray Charles song that says, "None of us is free, if one of us is chained." I can sit and meditate and seek equanimity but if, as I believe, we are all connected, I cannot be free unless all my brothers and sisters are free. I cannot do everything, but I can do something to make the world more just.

Day 286

I walked downtown yesterday from my house. It's a short walk, maybe a mile and a half. The view is very different at ground level. I noticed things I had never paid attention to before; even the familiar things were transformed in subtle ways.

Observing the world as I walk reminds me of my childhood. It gives me a child's eye view of the world. When I was a kid I walked everywhere. The world moved by at a slower pace. I could observe grasshoppers and feel the rough exterior walls of buildings I passed by. Today I mostly travel by car; the world whizzing by the windows that keep me sealed away.

A few years ago I went back to the neighborhood I grew up in. I parked my car, got out and walked down the street. The memories came flooding back. I highly recommend this to people who want to get in touch with the past. At some point you will get back in your car and drive away, reminding you that you are no longer a child, no longer exposed to the elements.

Day 285

I started a writing project last week; I have been up before dawn to work on it most days since then. I notice how energized I feel by the "work." My mind goes back to it throughout the day, considering narrative turns and toying with metaphors and similes. At these times I think: I am a writer.

I heard a story on the radio today about another writer: Zora Neale Hurston. Her novel Their Eyes Were On God is considered a masterpiece by some. Yet Zora died alone and penniless. Some say she was ahead of her time. I wonder what she thought.

I have been conditioned to work for external rewards, like one of Skinner's rats; it is difficult to create with no consideration to what others might think or fantasies of wealth and fame as a published author. Yet I suspect that true art only happens in that context.

I am trying to learn to surrender to the creative process, without the distractions of the rat race. I suspect that's what Zora did.

Day 284

I got up this morning at about 6:00, did a few chores on the computer, then ate breakfast. At 8:00 a.m. I laid down for a nap. I got up about 9:30 when the phone rang. After I completed my conversation, I slogged through my to-do list. At 1:00 p.m. I realized that I was still wearing my pajamas.


Growing up, we usually assumed that people who acted this way were drugged, mentally ill or just plain lazy. Since I am sober and passed my last mental status exam I'm afraid I might just be lazy.

That is unless I reinvent myself as an Artist. John Steinbeck said: "Only in laziness can one achieve a state of contemplation which is a balancing of values, a weighing of oneself against the world, and the world against itself." Yeah, that's the ticket.

And another thing, it was really hard to motivate myself to write this blog today. You're welcome!

Day 283

Yesterday I had some friends over. In the course of conversation I mentioned that over the last year I have become increasingly aware of just how many truly talented people there are in the world. The internet, in particular, provides a showcase for the myriad of amazing individuals out there. Frankly, I often compare myself to others and am disappointed with the results.

My friend said (half-heartedly mocking the nonviolent communication process): "So, what do you need?" My initial thought was, I need to be a winner in the game of life: better than everybody else, numero uno and all that. I didn't want to say that so I quickly tried to change the subject.

In hindsight it is clear that my need for validation, recognition, attention, accolades is an egoic need. It is hard to accept that I am a person who operates from ego much of the time and that many of my perceived needs are not generated by my true self.

And sometimes I need to be reminded that I am special, just like everybody else.

Day 282

I did a favor for my friend Leeanne yesterday and sat with her 7 year old son Oscar until she got home from a meeting.

While I was at her house a friend of hers and acquaintance of mine stopped by. She had plans to go out that evening with Leeanne's husband. We visited about our lives until he arrived home a few minutes later. He was showing us the chanterelle mushrooms he collected and soaked in vodka when another friend arrived. She was dropping off her son to spend the night with Oscar. He kissed his mom through the creature mask he was wearing and went down the stairs to the basement to play with Oscar. His mom hurried out the door explaining that she had a date. A few minutes later Leeanne got home and said, "Wow, it's a party!"

I remember thinking, "Is this what community looks like?" I had a moment of regret that I had not done more to immerse myself and my son in community when he was younger. I know that these feelings point to a need that I still have.

Day 281

It has been cold and rainy here for a few days. Time to pull out the sweaters, crank up the heaters and put on a pot of soup. I always feel tired this time of year. I notice that other people do too. We all seem to want to curl up in front of a fire with a good book and a cup of tea.

I wonder what we happen if we all just gave into this impulse: called in sick to work, took the phone off the hook, unplugged the internet. Maybe the economy would come to a screeching halt and we wouldn't be able to dig ourselves out until spring. Then again, maybe not.

Day 280

I was considering a bike ride this morning and stuck my head out the door to see what the weather was like. It was raining. I immediately thought, "Oh, I guess I can't go for a bike ride."

A few minutes later I was sitting. I could hear the raindrops hitting the carport, "ping, ping, ping." They sounded less like a warning than an invitation. I imagined the scent of rain rising off of the asphalt and the haze on the horizon and I wanted to be outside.

On my walk I noticed everything looked a little different than before, as if the shower provided a kind of renewal.

Day 279

The first time I heard someone talk about the "still small voice" I was in a Baptist church in the heart of the Bible Belt. I wasn't sure how any of us were supposed to hear the still small voice beneath the booming speech of the evangelical minister. It took a long time to learn to block out the noise and hear the truth.

A few weeks ago I heard the voice urging me to write, more specifically, to write about a particular circumstance in my life. I dragged my feet and made excuses; I stayed conveniently busy. The voice persisted.

Yesterday I went to the coffee shop where I usually write, got a cup of tea, found a comfortable spot and got out my computer. When it refused to work properly I almost decided to go back home, forget the writing. But the voice persisted.

I took out a piece of paper and started writing long hand. Soon I was completely absorbed in my writing. I was writing and crying, completely unaware of the other shop patrons. As I wrote I could feel the healing effects of the process. I was glad I listened to that still small voice.

Sometimes I like to imagine that the still small voice is the voice of a great universal consciousness, a Divine Love. I like to imagine that it is guiding me toward my highest good, toward a place of healing and wholeness. Perhaps I am not imagining. Perhaps I am remembering.

Day 278

Some days I struggle with motivation and energy. I get up and make a to-do list and immediately feel overwhelmed. I am certain that I cannot possibly accomplish everything on the list.

I have developed this habit of saying to myself, "Just do the next thing." It's amazing how those five little words keep me going as I repeat them to myself over and over again throughout the day.

At the end of the day I often find that I completed everything on my list, one item at a time.

Day 277

I have had this problem with intrusive thoughts since I was a little girl. Like obstinate party-crashers they push their way in and refuse to leave. Sometimes they take root and become full-blown obsessions. I wrestle and plead with them to no avail. In frustration I sometimes give in and let them take ownership of my mind and rule my actions.

At one point I decided to take anti-anxiolytic medication to control these intrusive thoughts. When I started taking the pills I was not confident that they would be any match for my unwanted guests. Then one day I realized that they were gone. They had simply moved on. I was free. After a few years I gave up the pills and to my amazement my mind remained relatively clear and unbound.

I was free from the obsessive thoughts for a number of years until recently. I now find myself being taken hostage again. I have decided on a new strategy. First, when I find myself entertaining intrusive thoughts I will stop and take 10 deep breaths counting and focusing on each one. Second, I will not act on these thoughts for at least 1 week; at which point I will rationally reconsideration whether or not to act.

This plan has a few advantages over pills: it is free, all natural and has almost no side effects.

Day 276

I have been more relaxed today than I can remember being in a very long time. Bill and I spent a lot of time and exerted a lot of effort this week on reorganizing and redecorating. I suppose there are a couple of reasons that I took such pleasure in the results.

First, I appreciate the sense of accomplishment that comes from making do with what we have. We didn't go out a buy new furniture or artwork, not even so much as a new wastepaper basket. We refashioned the old stuff, cleaned it up and shuffled it around. Like birds we weaved our nest from the objects available to us. It reminds me of when as a kid I used to make a clubhouse with my friends, furnishing it with discarded objects from our various homes. There was magic in the way we were able to create a sense of place from shabby rejects. It is a gift to suddenly see old things in new ways.

Not only did we transform our old belongings we also found a place for everything and put everything in its place. This had a tranquilizing effect on me (as it would for any good obsessive-compulsive). I suppose that as someone who does not always feel certain that I will find my place in the world or even that I have a place in the world, there is comfort in knowing that at least the CDs and books are tucked safely away.

Day 275

Bill and I spent the day moving furniture and cleaning and organizing. At the end of the day it felt like a whole new house. Housework is so therapeutic. I can hardly wait to tackle the closets.

Day 274

Lately I've had something on my mind that I haven't wanted to share with anyone. It's not a secret as much as a personal heartache that feels too fragile to expose. It is as solid as a stone in my chest but I don't know how to begin to describe it.

My normal course of action is to put it out there for everyone to see and comment on. This time I feel the need for privacy. I want to take that stone out in private and turn it over and feel its weight and touch its smooth sides and ragged edges.

I don't want to know what anyone else thinks. I want to distill my own thoughts down to a sweet syrup of pure truth. I want to channel the story of how this pain came to be and write it down just for me.

Day 273

Remember Flip Wilson? In the 1970's he had a TV show; he did a skit where he had an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. His catch-phrase was "The devil made me do it."

I feel a little like that right now, only I seem to have a Buddhist monk on one shoulder and a drill Sergeant on the other. The monk says, "Slow down, take it easy. You are in a time of transition, take the time to experience both the grief and joy associated with the changes in your life."

The drill Sergeant is unsympathetic to my situation, a real type-A asshole. He blasts insults and orders: "Get off your ass you lazy slob. You graduated 4 months ago. What are you waiting for? Get to work! Life is passing you by while you sit here gazing out the window. You disgust me!"

I am trying to slow down, take care of myself and pay attention. I suspect that opportunity will come knocking. When it does I would rather greet it with the demeanor of the monk.

Day 272

I few weeks ago someone told me that I am a little self-absorbed. Ouch! In reality it wasn't that painful, in part because it wasn't hurled in anger as an accusation. It was, instead, a statement based on observation of behavior. Also, I recognized the truth in it.

I think that we are all self-absorbed. Maybe we're just built that way. Some of is, especially women, work hard to hide this character trait, pretending to always be altruistic and to harbor nothing but concern for others. This is, at best, dishonest. It can, at times, be dangerous and destructive.

No, I do not aim to be unselfish. I aim to be self-aware. Unfortunately, I have developed a habit of being self-conscious instead. The distinction is subtle yet significant. Being self-conscious is about maintaining the facade, convincing others that the mask I wear is real. It is all about ego. Being self-aware means that I am focused on my experiences in the here and now, without attaching myself to them. I am aware of my thoughts and feelings without clinging.

It is a practice that begins and ends with the statement: Right now I am aware that...

Day 271

We have a new neighbor. We've never actually seen him but we often hear what I imagine to be his mating call. Like a snoring giant, he calls out with a tediously protracted, descending groan. Bill thinks it is a frog. I imagine something bigger.

This morning as I was sitting my mind was flitting from one thing to the next like an errant squirrel. I thought about my plans for the day, the week, the rest of my life...I thought back on a conversation I had with someone I love...I thought about science and philosophy and the symbology of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland...

Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted. "Yeeeeeooooooow. Yeeeeeooooooow!" My neighbor was calling me back to the here and now. I took a deep breath and took pleasure in the moment.

Day 270

It seems that I have been rushing from one task to another for a few months. Now that I have returned from my visits with relatives and settled Kat in at Evergreen, it is time to embark on the plans that I started making when I graduated in the spring.

I thought that I was ready to launch my dreams but now it seems that there is something standing in the way: my weight. I hate to admit it really, not because I am in denial about being fat. My rotundness does not escape me. I have, however, always rejected the notion that I must be thin to succeed. Society tells me that I must be svelte to be accepted and accomplished and I raise my chubby little middle finger in salute (while eating a chocolate bar with the other hand).

Lately there is a truth more profound than my rebellion rising up in me. It is an awakening to the fact that at my current weight I lack the energy and confidence to accomplish my professional goals. I am pretty sure that losing weight will boast both. Now I have to ask myself: Am I ready to end my temper tantrum and put down the food?

Day 269

Since I brought up the topic of menopause yesterday I feel the need to say a few words in the defense of "the change." It sounds so ominous and certainly most of use have been filled with dread at the prospect of ripening into old crones. Despite all the warnings I rather like the idea.

Above all else menopause is the cessation of fertility. As someone who never particularly prized my fertility, I bid it a fond farewell. I will miss the cyclic nature of the whole process; the sense that my body is connected to the phases of the moon and movement of the tides. I suspect that if I am conscious I will find other ways to identify with the flow of life.

There is the matter of hormones and the havoc they can wreak. Since adolescence I have experienced what is commonly called PMS. I prefer to think of it as my time of power. There are a few days every month when my normally sweet demeanor is transformed. I become a bitch goddess. Menopause carries with it the prospect that I will become a full-time bitch goddess. Imagine all that power! I suspect that I am finally at a stage in life when I am ready to harness it and allow it to fuel my creative visions.

Watch out world, another old crone / bitch goddess is making her debut.

Day 268

I few days ago a friends sent me an email. He said that he had been reading my blog and that it was apparent that I was having a hard time this summer. I wasn't sure what he meant but it bothered me.

I have been a little more moody lately, a combination of sadness and anger that I analysed to no avail. It was hard to pinpoint an external source or even an unmet need that I could tag these feelings onto. Then it occurred to me, these feelings are hormonal, the kind of fluctuations that I usually only experience for one or two days a month. Lately, I seem to be on an emotional roller coaster more often than not.

I started to put the clues together: moodiness, hot flashes...my God, it's menopause! What a funny coincidence: I find myself dealing with menopause during the year that I have committed to the practice of nonviolence. Can you say irony, boys and girls?

Day 267

I have been having trouble getting out of bed in the morning. Sure, it's been colder in the mornings and I may be sleep deprived from my recent trip to Olympia. Somehow I think it is more than that. I seem to lack focus and a direction; I am not engaged in the kind of work that will energize me.

How do I create (and continually recreate) the kind of roadmap that will give me the direction and focus I need. My immediate inclination is to reach outside myself. I will hire a life coach. The problem (or perhaps saving grace) is that I don't have much money right now.

It occurs to me that perhaps I will have to coach myself. Maybe that is the first leg of the journey.