Day 243

I have been thinking a lot about writing lately. The real question is: Why write?

I have been writing since I started school. I wasn't usually asked to use my imagination or express my opinions. I was expected to regurgitate facts or write stories that observed clearly defined parameters. If I produced an acceptable product I would be rewarded. I loved gold stars. In fact, I came to rely on them for my sense of self-worth.

Now that I am grown-up and done with the formal system of schooling, there are no more gold stars. If I am not writing for the gold stars what I am writing for? I suppose there is a need for self-expression: I have these ideas that bubble-up and need to be set free. I also have a love of words. I always have. I like to roll them around in my brain like jawbreakers, tasting each one before putting it on the page. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I long for the thrill that comes from tapping into and surrendering to the creative impulse.

Is this motivation enough? Perhaps it is the only motivation that can truly sustain a person. Before we can tap into it, however, we must push past the egoic need for security and recognition.

Day 242

It's a few weeks until my son leaves for his new school. His friends are already back in school here and he doesn't have a job or other obligations to keep him busy. He is spending a lot of time reading - hours everyday in fact.

This is starting to drive me crazy. In part because my son has always been inactive and I can clearly see the ways that I contributed to his sedentary lifestyle. When he was a little boy I didn't have much time for him. I was busy going to school, working and trying to maintain a household. His love of books provided much needed respite for me.

I regret not being able to put everything aside to take him to the park more often or even to cook or do chores together. It was easier to do things myself and I couldn't see the costs for him down the road.

I can't change the past but I can acknowledge my grief over having made some bad decisions as a mother. I can also seize the opportunity to do things differently now. I think I will ask Steven to wash the car with me later; then maybe we'll make apple butter together. It's never too late to begin again.

Day 241

I live in a college town. I have often heard people joke that it would be a great place to live if only there were no college students. Every year at this time, a special kind of dread sets in.

The idyllic peacefulness of summer is replaced by a frenetic energy that is fueled by hormones and alcohol and limited brain function. I no longer feel safe as I drive or ride my bike because they are out there and their minds are elsewhere. Sometimes I start to feel a little resentful. Why do they have to be so disruptive? Why do they have to take up so much space?

Usually when I ask these questions my mind goes back to a time, five years ago, when I volunteered to answer the phones for a crisis line. I worked the overnight shift. Most of the calls were from college students. Their pain was palpable; clearly transmitted through the phone line.

They reminded me that young adulthood is a difficult terrain to navigate. I was certain I would never trade places with them; no amount of energy or passion could compensate for the inherent struggles. Clearly many of them felt that they were adrift on a lifeboat, no land in sight.

The memory of those scared kids on the other end of the phone fills my heart with compassion. I still watch out for mindless college students on the road but I do it with more kindness and less anger.

Day 240

I decided to ride my bike to complete a few errands yesterday. My helmet was in a drawer of a cabinet in our carport. As I removed the helmet from the drawer I noticed something inside the cap. I was staring at it, trying to make it out, when it moved. I immediately dropped the helmet and a tiny frog was jarred from inside as it hit the ground. It hopped away, no doubt as startled as I was.

I shared the story with my husband who was baffled. Where did the frog come from? There are no bodies of water near by. How did it get into the cabinet? The drawer was tightly sealed. He was convinced that the frog was an omen.

I looked up the symbolism associated with frogs. It seems that there are many cultural traditions that associate frogs with joy. luck and transformation. Was this frog a messenger from the future? It's not very logical but I like to think so. I agree with Einstein: Imagination is more important than knowledge.

Day 239

I have had a toothache for about a week. Actually it's a reoccurring pain that the dentist can't find a good explanation for. Still, it hurts. In fact, I sometimes feel consumed by the pain.

I decided to try to detach from the pain a little. I stopped resisting it and just observed. It was a very difficult thing to do. The pain kept threatening to take over; to obliterate everything else in my awareness. Yet it was possible to sit with the pain and let it be. When I did, it relinquished its control over me.

This is a useful skill and one that is difficult to cultivate: this ability to detach from pain. It brings an awareness that I am not it and it is not me. I am also aware that it can be a dangerous thing to do. We run the risk when we practice detaching that we will become untethered, like the astronaut in David Bowie's Ground Control to Major Tom who drifts off into space.

I suppose that the trick is to detach without trying to escape; to acknowledge the pain and sit with it patiently, carefully giving it the respect it is due.

Day 238

I need to preface what I am about to say with a statement: Not only do I love my son, I enjoy being with him. However, having him live in my house, another grown, adult person, with his own needs and proclivities, is driving me crazy. I want to reclaim my office, the place where he sleeps on a blow-up bed. I want to return to the routines that bring me comfort and ease. I want my old life back, the life I enjoyed before he moved in.

At the same time I appreciate the little lessons embedded in this experience. My anxiety level is obviously running a bit high. If I watch my anxiety very carefully, it is a great teacher. Today I observed this tendency that I have to get more and more active as my anxiety grows. I was telling my partner about my plan to rearrange the furniture in the whole house and my plan to buy a new computer. He suggested that perhaps this wasn't the best time to make major changes or major purchases. Of course it isn't but I couldn't see that when my anxiety was in the driver's seat.

I really hate it when he's right.

Day 237

I have a lot of "issues." I work very hard to deal with them. I talk and write and go to therapy. Sometimes, after a lot of work on an issue, I start to feel some sense of resolution, maybe even closure. I put the issue away; wrap it up in a tight little box and tie it off with a bow. I breath a sigh of relief, convinced that I am a better person.

The issue stays sealed away in the box for days, weeks, months, maybe even years, lying dormant, until one day it is awakened. It might be a twist of circumstance or decent into sloppy habits that brings it back to life. It breaks out of the box with a vengeance. I find myself grappling with an old demon. "Damn," I think, "I was certain that you were dead. What will it take? A stake through the heart? Unmitigated love?" I feel certain that I am not capable of either.

It's like that movie Groundhog Day only not so funny.

Day 236

I was keeping an eye on a friend's son today while she went to a job interview. I wanted to support my friend but seven year old boys are not always my favorite people. I had spent time with Oscar before and found it difficult to connect. He is obsessed with bodily functions: the conversation is littered with references to farting and pooping.

He started off today by telling me about a story he just read called The Day My Butt Went Psycho. I was doubtful that the book really existed until he produced it and offered to loan it to me. I declined but I was charmed.

When he started showing me his half chewed food as he ate I decided to play along. I said with as much gusto as I could muster, "What are you trying to do, make me puke???" He thought this was hilarious. Sometimes you just have to meet people where they are.

Day 235

Yesterday I looked in the newspaper job listings. There was not a single job for which I was qualified but not overqualified. I'm not looking for a job. Getting a job is more of a back-up plan in case my plans for self-employment don't pan out.

So now what? What if I fail as a writer and mediator and discover that I need a real job? What if I can't get a real job? These are the questions that woke me up at 5:00 a.m. The answer came to me like a premonition. The little voice in my head said: "Do meaningful work."

My mission is clear. Even if no one hires me or buys what I have to sell I must continue to do meaningful work. Meaningful work feeds the soul. Perhaps this is the part of myself I need to be concerned with feeding.

Day 234

I was hooked by the age of two. As the story goes, I developed an intolerance for milk at the age of one. The doctor advised my mother to give me sugar water in my bottle. I latched onto that bottle and refused to let go even after my brother came along 2 years later. My mother was embarrassed by me as a three year old still drinking from a bottle. I think that I figured out at this tender age that life is hard and a little taste of something sweet eases the pain.

I still live by that basic premise and I still long for that bottle of sugar water. Of course social convention dictates that I must find other, more socially acceptable, means of feeding my addiction. Instead of the baby bottle, I carry small pieces of chocolate in my purse.

Recently I came to the conclusion that the sugar is likely the cause of my chronic sinus problems. I didn't want to accept this fact because I knew that it would mean giving up an old, dear friend. I don't know what life will be like without the sugar water. Perhaps I will have to learn to face the pain head on. Damn.

Day 233

I was reading the book, On Writing by Steven King today. He implies that a writer must be courageous. This got me thinking about the difference between courage and fearlessness.

I used to work for a community college. Once as I was leaving a meeting, one of my coworkers said to me, "I really admire your courage, Debbie. You always say things that others are afraid to say." Immediately, I started reflecting on the complaints that I had verbalized during the meeting. Did I say something that would get me in trouble?

It turns out that I probably did. I was eventually forced out of my job for saying the wrong things at the wrong times. It wasn't so much that I was courageous. I just didn't seem to have as much fears as my coworkers.

Fear has many faces. It can be a sage that guides us to safety or a trickster that binds us in quicksand.

Day 232

Exhausted.

Day 231

I have suffered with chronic sinus infections for years. A few weeks ago I read something about autoimmune disorders which cause the body to attack itself. The body, or at least parts of the body are inflamed. Sinus problems like mine are one example.

I have tried to unlock the mystery of this illness for years. What caused it? How can it be cured? Suddenly the key turned, the tumblers clicked into place. My body is inflamed. My body is attacking itself. It is a wake up call. I need to take better care of myself, particularly when it comes to diet. Suddenly I was ready to make the changes necessary to heal.

I wanted to heal before but I wasn't ready to make the needed changes. A desire for healing is almost never enough - I have to be willing to invest in my healing. Perhaps I wasn't willing to do that until I was absolutely convinced that there was no other way. I almost always prefer a quick fix or miracle cure to good old fashioned hard work.

Day 230

I just got home from a two week trip to visit my family. I enjoyed my time with them but I am glad to be home. Bill and I went to the Co-Op this afternoon and talked philosophy while we ate salad and chocolate. On the way home I noticed the sun setting on Moscow Mountain in the distance. Life doesn't get much better...

Day 229

A few days ago, in church, the minister encouraged the congregation to love without limits, the way Jesus did. She told a story about a member of the congregation who worked in a prison. There was a prisoner who was very difficult, a real grouch. She decided to bombard him with kindness. In a very short time she saw an amazing transformation in this man. The minister's point being that we can change the world with kindness and compassion.

I found several aspects of her story unsettling. First, was the implication that love always looks the same. Love isn't always hugs and kisses, rainbows and sunshine. To love someone, in my opinion, means that I give them what they need. If someone is pushing me away by their actions, perhaps I should respect their wish for space and privacy. Second, was the assumption that I can or should change others. It is not my place to change the behavior of other people. To behave in a certain way with the expectation that others will change is not only manipulative, it is also a path to frustration.

As for me, I choose kindness and compassion because of the impact it has on my heart and I know that kindness and compassion sometimes come disguised as indifference or a kick in the pants.

Day 228

Yesterday I went to a church that I used to attend years ago. It is a "new thought" church with a charismatic minister. There was a lot of exuberant singing and swaying and dramatic exaltations with hands raised toward heaven. There were lots of words said in praise.

I used to find this sort of thing uplifting. The words were a comfort to me. Now I find that I appreciate the silence much more than any words. As I was sitting there in this beautiful chapel, I longed to simply breath and experience the moment. I wanted to shush the minister.

It is tempting to think that this is progress. I know that is my ego talking. The change in me merely reflects different circumstances. Perhaps some day I will find myself back in that chapel and I will find that the words suit my needs perfectly. I will be no closer to enlightenment nor any further away.

Day 227

My aunt works as a nanny for a very wealthy family. A few days ago she took us on a tour of their home, including the 11 bedrooms and 11 baths, swimming pool, elevator, sauna, exercise room, theatre, full-time housekeeper, personal chef, maintenance man, gardener and driver for the limousine which was accompanied in the driveway by a Cadillac, a Lexus and a Mercedes. I found myself asking: What did they do to deserve all this?

It is a silly question, of course, implying that we each get what we deserve, that privilege is doled out according to merit. It is an idea that is deeply ingrained in our culture. We want to believe that life is fair. When someone does something we judge to be wrong we think: He'll get what's coming to him. When something good happens to us we think: I deserve this.

Yet we see evidence to the contrary all the time. Bad things happen to good people everyday. We don't get what we deserve. We get what we get. Peace seems to lie in accepting what we get and releasing it when it is time to let go.

Day 226

Every family has its stories. Uncle Bill is crazy. Aunt Sybil is a saint. We each try to figure out where we fit in the story of our family. Am I the responsible one, the smart one, the funny one? Do they appreciate me, love me, fear me, pity me? We define ourselves and our families by the stories we tell.

Sometimes I need to take a step back and see the stories for what they are. Just because I was raised on them, repeated them and lived by them, doesn't mean they are true. They are mythology. They do shape us but they can also be challenged.

I can make a new choice. I do not have to continue to feed my animosity and pain with these stories. I can change our story by seeing it from a new perspective. I can look at my family through a new lens. I can recast myself in the family drama by being present in the here and now.

Day 225

There are some people in my family who are...well, let's just say difficult. I have an uncle who is a fox-news-watching, tea-party-rallying, Sarah-Palin-loving republican (gasp!). He likes to assert his opinions as fact and pick fights with the more liberal members of the family (namely my mother).

I suspect that what he really wants is to connect on some level. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to do that. He reminds me of the schoolyard bully who doesn't know how to make friends. Try putting your arm around the bully and giving him the affection he so desperately needs and you are likely to get punched in the nose.

It is difficult to practice compassion with people who are not prepared to receive our empathy. Sometimes the best we can do is to accept them as they are and take care of ourselves.

Day 224

Occasionally I get an opportunity to see a little progress in my emotional life. Recently someone close to me was expressing a sense of powerlessness. She identified herself as the victim in a particular situation. She felt that she had to do what she had always done and was certain that she would always get what she had always gotten.

I realized as I reflected on this that I seldom identify myself as a victim any longer. I always (ALWAYS!) have a choice. Today when I was feeling frustrated by the actions of those around me I had a choice. I took a time-out and attended to my needs. It is up to me to stop telling myself stories that cast me as the victim and others as the perpetrators.

Day 223

A few days ago, my aunt came to dinner at my mom's. She brought her 6 year old granddaughter with her. When we sat down to dinner, the little girl asked, "Can we say grace?" My aunt said to the little girl, "Well, you need to ask Jim, he's the head of the household."

Hearing this made me cringe. I have always resisted hierarchies, particularly when people are ranked based on race, class or gender. Sometimes I suspect that my resistance is part of the problem. Still I am unsure how to respond.

I long for a world where all life is valued as sacred, where our unity is acknowledged and power is shared. That is not the world we live in. Perhaps peace lies in accepting what is without resistance while simultaneously visioning and experiencing new ways of being.

Day 222

I had a nightmare last night. In it I had a JOB, working for the state. The inane rules and unspoken expectations were driving me crazy. I didn't know how to cope.

When I woke up this morning at my mom's, the television was turned to Good Morning America. The lead story was about a flight attendant who went berserk. As the plane taxied, he cursed the passengers on the intercom, grabbed a couple of beers from the plane's refrigerator, released the emergency chute and escaped, leaving the passengers and his job behind.

Perhaps the universe is speaking to me.

Day 221

I value openness and honesty, some might say to a fault. I openly share my thoughts and feelings with my friends and family, whether or not they want to hear.

Is honesty really the best policy, always? What if my sharing serves no valid purpose? What if what I have to share causes pain for someone else?

Truth has often been described as a sword. Perhaps we need to wield it with care.

Day 220

One of the things that I have learned as a mediator is that everyone has "hot buttons" and usually those closest to us, our friends and family, know what they are and routinely push them.

One of my hot buttons is behavior that I perceive as inequitable, particularly when men are treated with an elevated status by virtue of their sex. I learned early that the needs of the men came before my own. They had to be handled with care because they have fragile egos.

Yesterday I was riding in the backseat of the car with the windows down, the wind whipping my hair in my face. My stepfather was driving and I wanted to ask him to roll up the window but I couldn't.

Where did I learn that I am not allowed to ask for what I need? Where did this fear of "rocking the boat" come from? When did the anger first start to fester into a painful boil? Why does being with certain members of my family continue to tap into this pain?

Day 219

At my parents' house the television is turned on first thing in the morning, the channel most often set to a war movie or hunting show. I find this unsettling. At times I have interpreted it as a personal affront. In reality, everyone here is just trying to get their needs met. Their needs are probably very similar to my own. They simply have different strategies for meeting them.

I can choose to see the television as an opportunity to practice maintaining my tranquility and peace of mind in spite of my surroundings and circumstances. I read something about this once written by the Dalai Lama. He talked about how he maintains his own peace of mind in spite of the way his people have been treated by the Chinese government. He acknowledged that if he had a "regular" life there would likely be other, more mundane aspects of his life that would be unsettling. He said, "If I had a job, I would probably get fired."

So I ask myself, "What would the Dalai Lama do?" No doubt he would breath and allow compassion to settle on the situation. I'm not the Dalai Lama, but I'm trying.

Day 218

I heard someone say recently that we are each essentially that which we inherited from our parents combined with all that we have tried to do to differentiate ourselves from them.

Being with my family is like looking in the mirror. Sometimes the angle and view is flattering; other times, not so much.

Day 217

I woke up this morning to the television, the volume turned up on a set that was switched on in another room. It felt like an assault and I immediately resisted. Considering my options I laid there and listened.

Soon I heard thunder crackling in the distance, a treat I seldom experience at home. There are few things more comforting than laying in bed, safe from an approaching storm. Soon I could hear large drops of rain pelting against the roof. It was like a show being put on for my benefit.

Being away from home makes it much more difficult to control my circumstances. Perhaps control is just an illusion anyway. Maybe the best we can do is to choose how we will respond.

Day 216

One of the things that I enjoy most about my life these days is the pace: pedestrian and peaceful. The quiet in our home is seldom interrupted until I have had ample opportunity to ease into the day. Most anything I need can be retrieved by riding my bicycle to my neighborhood store, no traffic jams or freeways. A night out usually involves dinner, conversation and people watching at the co-op. It is a good life but not very stimulating.

If you want stimulation visit an airport. Yesterday as I was waiting for my connecting flight the myriad sights and sounds strained my senses and seized my brain. I saw a soldier in maternity fatigues waiting for a friend to return from Iraq, a young woman sprinting through the airport on two artificial, mechanical legs and a teacher greeted by a former student thousands of miles from their home and the school where they shared a classroom. I was thrilled by their stories. And I was distracted...

It is difficult to remain aware and present in the midst of such distraction. It is hard to stay mindful when your mind is so full.

Day 215

I watched a movie a few days ago, A Single Man with Colin Firth. It reminded me of a simple truth, that most of our lives are spent navigating the tightrope between fear and faith. Mostly I lean toward fear, but occasionally I am blessed with an understanding that, as the single man said, "everything is exactly the way it is meant to be." This understanding momentarily brings peace.

The question A Single Man left me with was this: Is it our choice? Can we choice faith over fear?

This is the question I ask myself as I leave today for a trip to visit my family. Travel for me is always a little fear provoking. Despite the statistics regarding flight safety, I never truly feel safe at 35,000 feet. Travel also brings with it the potential for unexpected and unfamiliar events and circumstances (what some people call adventure).

Can I choose faith over fear in the face of these events and circumstances? We'll see...

Day 214

Bill and I have always shared a love of food. When we were first together I so enjoyed cooking for him. It was a way to make manifest my feelings for him. I would usually make healthy, tasty salads topped off by beautiful, decadent desserts as a way to say, "I love you." He appreciated being fed and I was fed by his appreciation. Food became a ritual in our relationship.

Then several years into the relationship Bill got sick - it was a digestive disorder that caused him to lose a big part of his intestine. The food we enjoyed together before now caused him discomfort. I didn't know how to feed him without making him sick. He was relegated to a bland, white diet that stole some of the vibrancy from our relationship.

Recently I came to see that his diet was making me sick. I need to eat food that is alive, closer to the earth, the very food that he cannot tolerate. I think that it is time to focus on feeding myself and let Bill do the same. It's hard because it means letting go of a little piece of our history; a little piece of our relationship.

Illness has a way of sneaking in like a robber and taking from us things that we never knew to be precious until they were gone. It also teaches us to let go, to relinquish our hold on that which was never really ours to keep.

Day 213

I was out for a nice Sunday morning bike ride when I characteristically began to contemplate the meaning behind my incessant braking. I have trouble letting go on the downhill slide. Instead I ride the brakes. This is not unlike my approach to life in general.

The problem as I see it is my struggle to gauge my own physical safety. How fast is too fast? What if I am not paying attention and a sudden danger presents itself? There were times, particularly when I was younger, when I was lulled into a sense of security and safety only to be confronted with a sudden danger. I learned to be ever vigilant - to ride the brakes and scan the horizon.

Yesterday I had a completely different kind of experience. My son coaxed me into going down the big water slide at the pool. I was apprehensive as I climbed the stairs unable to look down without invoking my fear of heights. I got to the top and mounted the intertube with much trepidation and little grace. I let go of the edge and was immediately hurled into a dark tunnel. My stomach leaped into my throat and I was certain I had made a very bad decision. How would I survive this tunnel of death? Then I suddenly slowed down. I was cradled by the tube, gently rocking from side to side. I surrendered to the waves and took a deep breath to prepare for a big splashy finish. I'm glad there weren't any brakes. Otherwise, I might still be making my way down that slide.