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.