Rough Road Ahead

I stumbled upon this sign on my run the other morning, and I started thinking about how nice it would be if life came with warning signs. "Warning: Bitter Divorce Ahead," "Death of Beloved Pet Soon," "Job Loss Around Corner." Would I live my life any differently if I knew when the rough patches were coming? In 2008 when I quit my job to go back to school and work toward my Bachelor's degree, I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I could never have foreseen the years of looking for a job after college, or the second degree I needed to obtain to be gainfully employed in my chosen field. The journey was harder than I thought: four years of financial hardship and juggling school, commuting and raising my son, followed by four years of looking for a full-time permanent position in my chosen field. Maybe if I knew just how difficult before embarking, I would have never taken the leap into the unknown. That leap positively changed my life, however. I now have a career, a brand new job working with supportive people and two degrees. My college experience provided me with a challenge that my intellect craved, introduced me to areas of study I would have never known existed, and forced me to grow up. The job search forced me to completely turn  my life over to God, and the results were beyond my wildest dreams. I went from cleaning up after people and animals to teaching The Canterbury Tales. Would I have braved the rough roads if I knew that they weren't merely bumpy, but filled with tire-bursting craters? Probably not, fear of the unknown, and the comfort of the status quo would have kept me in place.  When do I let go of my brilliant plans and allow life to be a surprise? 

I passed the sign, continued down the road; the road that was freshly paved. It was not, like the sign had warned, rough. The mist lifted as I rounded the bend, revealing freshly baled hale and red-winged blackbirds. The scent of pine, grass and summer wildflowers hung in the air. And I was running. And it was good.

On Loss and Living

Elisabeth Kubler - Ross, in her 1969 book On Death and Dying, identified five universal stages of the grieving process: denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. To experience and then move through grief, not all stages need to be experienced, nor in a particular order.  We all experience life in our own unique ways.

I have experienced all of these stages when dealing with death, the initial shock, the why not someone else, the tears, and finally the gentle letting go. I remember being shocked at how angry I became after a dear friend committed suicide and the subsequent guilt for that same anger. How dare he do this to his family and friends? How dare I feel that way? Why didn't I notice he was in pain? These extreme tragedies take a toll on the body, emotionally and physically. It is understandable to go through extreme emotion when death occurs. It is the smaller losses that I have a harder time navigating and do not always allow myself the time and space to grieve and mend.

Let me take one small step back. I have been looking for full time, meaningful work for the past four years. Within that span of years, I have pieced together small jobs, usually just enough money to eek through, pay some bills and keep myself stuffed with tofu and kale. On a few occasions, I have actually obtained longer stints of temporary work, work that entailed months of steady work and income. It has been the loss of those longer stints, one just recently, that have proven intensely painful.

Now I am not comparing the loss of a loved one to the loss of a job, there is no comparison, however I am exploring whether the stages of grief can explain the complicated, convoluted feelings that I experience after my employment losses. First the denial and isolation, the initial, "I am so ok," accompanied by a huge smile and race to a far off location to cry by myself. Second, the "fuck you and your mother and all of her distant relatives." Third, the dreaded if onlies..."If only these people were different, or I was a transvestite from Jupiter..." Fourth, the utter ridiculous sadness, that realization that the health insurance is gone, I will have no money to eat and I will be living in a cardboard box (albeit a recycled one) for the rest of my life. Finally the acceptance, the knowledge that God does for me what I cannot do for myself. I cannot leave a place. I cannot even call in sick. I will stay in a situation until the bitter end, the marriage until all cards have been played (and it was a double deck) and only leave when I am broken. I believe that the Universe has my number. I need to be booted. And I need to find that ray of elusive hope fluttering in the breeze. In order to find that hope however, I have to stay with the feelings, to be here, in the present moment, in the uncomfortable, messiness of it all. Throughout the whole process though, I need to ignore the voice of the "You Suck Monster" and listen to the voice of the Divine, that voice that has always guided me, that has always gently kept me from situations that do not serve my Higher Purpose. I need to trust in the process, that gentle unfolding of life.

It is a beautiful day, and as I gaze out the windows I know that I still have a few more months of a paycheck, that maybe I will take that Yoga Teacher Training course this summer, or maybe something else. Fifteen years ago, I would never have thought I would be right where I am today. Fifteen years ago I was struggling to raise my son, battling with addiction and stuck in an unhealthy marriage. The Universe took care of me then, and it will surely take care of me now. I just have to open my hands, ask for help, and be ready to receive the answer.

Decorating the Hallway

When one door closes, another door opens, so they say. That in between time, the transition period is often alluded to as the hallway. I have been in the hallway for a few years now, picking up temporary jobs here and there and obtaining my Bachelor's and Master's degrees, I have come to think of the hallway as a permanent space, a long narrow room that is in desperate need of some decoration. Maybe what I keep calling a transition (it does seem as if I have been saying I am in transition for a long time now) is not really a transition at all, it is the resting place for the moment. I keep waiting for the full time job, the marriage, the (insert huge life event here) and completely ignore the fact that there is merit in a so-called transition. There is movement, I don't seem to stand still, I am actively searching, seeking, changing. When I am in the hallway, I am moving from once place to another, I do not get complacent, I don't take a seat on the couch, kick my feet up and fall asleep. In the hallway I am searching for that small beam of light signifying an open door. What is behind that door a mystery and  when I am in the hallway I am in the mystery. Why not make that mystery a bit more comfortable, maybe some pictures on the wall, a vase filled with Spring flowers, my favorites, daisies and sunflowers, maybe with a few sprigs of baby's breath and eucalyptus? I could paint the walls a sunny yellow, and enjoy my time here. Today is a beautiful day: the sun is shining; I am working a few hours; I have enough food in the refrigerator; I have a man who loves me and will take me to dinner later today; and I have a beautiful space in which to live. I need to steep myself in the mystery. Will I be teaching full time some day, or does God have something different in store for me? Just for today, this moment, I will enjoy the mystery of it. 

Creating a Spiritual Practice

Creating a spiritual practice is much like painting a masterpiece. You sit down at the canvas and just pick up

the brush. Where do you begin? First some colors must be gathered, mixed, prepared...then maybe just maybe you feel as if you should start painting with cerulean blue. Just take a dab of paint at first, try not to go too heavy handed in the beginning. Now remember, this will not be done overnight. I have been creating a spiritual practice for years now. Layers of paint have added, colors mixed, a little turpentine comes in handy when something didn't work.

I am writing this as I am reentering society, "reality" as some might call it, after a week on Cape Cod. I spent this week running, attending spiritual group meetings, walking my dogs, daily yoga classes, eating healthy vegan food, and relaxing on the beach. Most of the week was spent in silence, on my own. It was a beautiful week, and by the end, I began to feel like a person again. It was a week I would have never been able to take had I been hired at my "dream job." It felt as if my spiritual practice was supercharged. I already have a daily practice: prayer in the morning, running meditation, and spiritual meetings with others. I also write a daily gratitude list and eat vegan food (a practice of non violence.) But the week on my own, near the ocean and an abundance of yoga classes and running trails, allowed me to, as Emeril would say, kick it up a notch. And today, as I have no full time employment as of yet, I can continue this daily practice. But what happens when I find employment? The hour of yoga and two hours of running, followed by prayer and meditation and an evening walk with the dogs, might not fit so well when working 8 hours and commuting. Plus, I am adding too much to my daily practice at one time. I have noticed, that a habit sticks when I add one at a time, and a doable goal. If I were to say, plan on adding a full yoga practice while increasing mileage and meditation time while simultaneously juggling a life, a relationship, a grown child, animals, a household and family and friends, I might internally combust. Or the new routine would just not stick.

What color can I add to my canvas today? Might it be a gentle stretch in the morning while I am brushing my teeth, and maybe a few minutes of alternate nostril breathing to calm my mind with the goal of continuing to take at least one yoga class per week?  I would love to end each day, feeling just like I did while on my retreat. But life is what happens when we are making plans. And a full immersion in a complicated spiritual practice might not pay the bills or make my partner happy. Just for today I will add a few small pieces from my retreat into my daily practice, see how the color looks on my already paint splattered canvas. I can always add more paint later. And it only takes a small shift to make a change.

Skinny?

I was called skinny the other day. As someone who has always struggled with weight I wasn't sure whether to be happy or frustrated by a so-called compliment. I finally settled on frustrated. I have lost 20 pounds, but have worked my butt off by running and weight lifting. I have gained muscle mass. I would have rather been called fit, or strong. Weight has always been an issue for me, and I have been sensitive about my lack of, or abundance, for as long as I can remember.

When I was younger I participated in a gymnastics program. I worked on cartwheels, rolls, back bends and front walkovers. I wasn't built like a gymnast, but I had fun. Today in yoga class I remembered how flexible I was and how things have changed. Why did I ever stop, I muse. I know the reason, and today it seems pathetic, but it wasn't to my twelve-year-old self. Someone wondered how I could do gymnastics with my larger thighs. That was all it

took, I quit the next season and I spent the next years battling with body image, overeating and lack of exercise. Today I am 41; I run at least 5 miles a day, and with the recent addition of yoga, have begun to get my former flexibility back. It was just a few words, how could they be so powerful?

Words hurt and affect us in unimaginative ways. But in order for the words to hurt, we must allow them to. And if I am upset or elated by another's comment about my weight, it means that I am allowing another's opinion to become part of me; I become fat or skinny or scrawny or buxom. These are merely labels. When did our culture become so obsessed with the way a body appears? And why is it ok to comment about someone's body? When did the body become a commodity for consumption, the property of the public? Young women are forced to cover up in school, because it "distracts" the boys; mothers who breastfeed in public are shunned or shamed; advertisements with scantily clad women are plastered on park benches. We act as if, as a culture, we have a right to judge the bodies of others, whether the supermodel or the pregnant woman in the check out lane.

Did that person have a right to tell my 6th grade self that her thighs were too large to participate in gymnastics? Is it ok for people to comment on the weight I have lost or gained (I have had it both ways.) After all, both extremes take a lot of hard work. I don't know the answer, just for today I choose to wake up early and run, not because it will make me "skinny," but because I feel alive when I run, I am closer to God, and yes, it affords me the right to eat extra popcorn.  

The Straw That Broke The Camel's Back

The phrase derives from an Arab proverb, a cataclysmic event cause by something inconsequential. This saying has also lead to the phrase, "the last straw." Aside from the animal cruelty aspect, which is slightly disturbing, it is great wisdom. So many times we traverse difficult roads, I know I have, deaths, divorce, fire, debt, unemployment, sickness and struggle. While we struggle our friends surround us with love, support and we seem to make it through. There are times however, when something so small, so insignificant that it shouldn't really affect us, happens, that we take a nosedive into oblivion. The straw, that one final straw. I know it holds true for me, I will sail through hard times, with my family at my side, and then the dry cleaners are closed when I really need that shirt for a job interview...or that last check I wrote toppled my checking account into oblivion...that I fall. 

Why can't the camel just say, "back off?" Because we are not in control, and that is the hard part. I adore control, I love it when things go my way, when I am right, when I get the job I want, the man I want, and the jeans I want fit. I love it when my life, a theatrical event, goes off smoothly, when it calls for a standing ovation. But this is not the way of life, it is messy, complicated and doesn't always go our way. We muddle through the best that we can and hope that when the final straw falls, we have family and friends there to pick us up, give us a box of Puffs Plus, and send us on our way. 

My dog is at the vet right now, under anesthesia. She was clawed by another dog at the dog park. I do not have the money for it, and the other dog's owner can only contribute a portion. Last night I felt that helplessness as I laid awake at 1 am (I never have sleep issues) worried about buying groceries and paying bills, while looking for a job and keep my house in order. The vet bill was the straw, that moment when I lost control over my tightly budgeted life. I couldn't write it off, and it wasn't going away. The only thing left was prayer, and I prayed and fell asleep. It seems so simple this morning, prayer. Please help me juggle life, please help me with this personal straw. I know that I won't be underemployed forever. I know that my degree and all of the hard work I spent attaining that degree will be useful some day. It is just not today, not according to my time frame. Today I need to focus on the simplicity of prayer, not the please help me get what I want prayer, but the help me to go through this with dignity and grace.

God

Help me to travel this path with grace and dignity

Help me to allow you to guide me while I walk.

Help me to slow down and witness the beauty of the moment.

Help me to work with you and not against you.

Help me to love and to allow and to relax into this day.

Robbed

Not much was taken, a few laptops, some medallions...but I now lock my door. I do not trust my home to passersby. I do not leave my door unlocked when I shower. I do not trust today.
Yesterday I came home to a disturbance: doors and cabinets all wide open, drawers rifled through, my God box violated. He had taken my laptops, one from the edge of my bed, another smaller one that had been tucked away in a bookcase awaiting the next time I traveled. My cats were hiding and my underwear was strewn across the floor. I don't miss the laptops, I miss the sense of security I had felt in my personal space. Now when I walk my dogs at night I wonder if someone is watching me, totally irrational thoughts, but they are there. 

Today, it has been a month, the laptops are still gone. They are forgotten. I have smudged my home and day by day my sense of security has begun to return. I still lock all the doors when I am at home and I am getting used to remembering my keys when I leave the house. Stuff happens, so the saying goes. It is true, what I had thought a crisis is now a memory. What I have learned from this incident, as well as a house fire a few years ago, is that material possessions really do not matter in the long run. What was impacted that truly mattered was my sense of security and peace. And really, when it comes down to it, they are not really lost, just waiting to be accessed again when I tap into them, with the help of whatever deity with whom I choose to connect. I forget that I can pray for peace, I can pray for the feelings of fear and insecurity to dissipate. In the end, what did he take? Absolutely nothing.

Oh no, I'm a control freak

but I am horrible at it, in much the same way as a dog does not make a good cat, sorbet just doesn't cut it as ice cream or mosquitoes do not make loving house pets. I love order from chaos, but I tend to control that which is not in my power to control. Much like standing in front of a dam after hurricane Irene, there are those things that I am not meant to manage, like nearly everything. But I try to do so anyways. And it never works out, go figure. Wouldn't life be amazing if I could just sit back with a remote control, put in my orders and watch as things miraculously fell into place? Probably not. It seems when I give up the battle to constantly try and force a round peg into a triangular hole, I always find the round hole, or turn into a triangular peg. It just works when I give up the battle. So I have quiet time, time to sit and be with myself, not a fun filled activity, but it has been enlightening. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could just create the story line that my life was to follow? Probably not, because I am not aware of all the possibilities out there that are available to me. My human sized brain cannot comprehend the immensity that is God. I am told just to turn it over, but how exactly does one do that? Today I made a list of the things I could do, and I did them. I also asked that my will be aligned with God's Will. That for me is the act of turning it over, actually asking for help and when that help arrives, accepting it. This life stuff gets tricky sometimes. 

Fly...no wait, come back

I delivered my son safely to college this past Thursday and immediately plunged into an uncomfortable emotional experience. There is a phenomenon out there known by psychologists as empty nest syndrome. It is not actually an illness, but rather a certain set of feelings that accompany this transition period. Where once one's life is consumed by raising a child, now the parent must discover what it is like to be an unencumbered adult. After getting my fledgling settled into a room half the size of my bathroom (which he will share with two other teenage boys) I drove home, with a stop at the grocery store for the ever-consoling pint of Ben and Jerry's. I ran into another empty nester in the store and realized that I no longer had to buy three bags of chips so that I could guarantee that I would be able to eat six. I could put the chocolate milk back in the cooler, and one brick of cheese would suffice. My attitude was less than chipper and I spent hours lamenting the fact that I was a single mom, no longer a mom, just a single lady alone in the world. I had an empty nest. Thank God someone told me it was time to spread my wings and fly. And thank Goddess that I had friends that surrounded me, reminding me that although I do now have this empty nest, I have a full life. I will always be a parent, but I need to learn how to let my child learn to be an adult. And in order to do that I need to spread my wings, and show him how to leap. The Ben and Jerry's helped as did the nachos and Haagen Daaz (I am an equal opportunity ice cream eater, although read more on gelato in my other blog.) A healthy dose of gratitude was what lessened the symptoms of ENS, I have an amazing life and an amazing child that I will miss dearly. I will get to see him soon, and when I do he will be soaring without me. Isn't that, after all, the point?