The Calm Sea is Full of Shoes

 

The day is crisp, a gentle breeze blows from the north, or south. The
house is quiet, for once my animal friends are snoozing. I am serene, my life is running smoothly, things are falling into place. Why do I want so bad to splash? Not just a little, oops sorry I got you splash. I want to create waves, I want to start a fight, to mix things up a bit. It is hard to sit in peace with oneself. I find that I am closest to my God when I can calm the chatter in my head and just sit in peace, in prayer and meditation. There is something scary about sitting in peace and quiet, alone with myself. What dragon will sneak up behind me and yell "boo" in my ear? I think that it is more than just waiting for the other shoe to drop (yes size 9-1/2, pumps please). Part of having an addictive personality is that I just love chaos. I love the drama, the adrenaline that shoots through my veins when I have 18 million projects to do and not enough time to do them. I love feeling excited when I have new projects, new shoes, and new adventures planned. My enemy is silence, is stillness, is treading water. Give me bigger, better, more, more, more until I collapse in a heap and what? Sit in silence maybe? For today I will write a paper, I will allow myself a few minutes of quiet with myself. I will refrain from entering a shoe store. I will keep my mouth shut and not start a fight. I will be a grown up. Now there, that wasn't so bad was it. Row, row, row the boat...

Ode to a Great Blue Heron

It is foliage season in New England, the leaves are turning their brilliant or not so brilliant colors before dropping to the ground to be come recycled material. It always sneaks up on me, one day I will be standing in the woods and they are awash in color, the next day, or so it seems all that's left are branches. The variances in between are imperceptible. We become accustomed to our surroundings so don't notice the beauty until it is too late. I said good bye to the Great Blue Heron that lives nearby, a bird that somehow, in some way I see almost every day, either flying overhead at dusk, or sitting on the edge of the pond, waiting for his dinner to pop up. Soon he will be leaving for warmer climates, along with the Canadian geese and hummingbirds. But it is this smokey gray bird that I will miss the most as snow starts to blanket my backyard. I live in an area with four seasons, each having its draw points. Autumn with the brilliant colors, fresh apples, pumpkins and breezy bright clear days. Winter has soft white snow, fires in the hearth, hot chocolate and...and what? Shorter days that allow for cozy naps, and (insert your own winter wonder here.) So yes, I may be a little bitter about the end to warmer temperatures and my favorite bird, but I have become accustomed to my surroundings so much that I have failed to accept every season, including the one that is hard on the wallet and snow shovel. Winter is also the season to bundle up, become quiet and go within. The blanket of snow muffles most of the outside activity. Spring's dramatic burst, and autumn's color spectacular make way for a time of solitude and silence. I don't work well with peace and quiet. As November approaches I want to be cognoscente of my internal dramatic self that longs for a little chaos and excitement, a roller coaster ride or two. I can feel her yawn and stretch, to start daydreaming about possible ways to create trouble, to pick a fight or bring a little color to the silence. This winter I want to sit in the silence and learn how to enjoy it, beyond acceptance. The silence is where I find my God, my connection with the vastness that is there.

Juggling in a Sea of...

I will now embark on a journey of mixed metaphors and sharp right hand turns. Some writers keep journals, I happen to keep little slips of paper. Not the most organized way to keep all of one's thoughts in proper order, but they sit in a neat pile on my desk, waiting to be looked at, and ultimately brought to fruition. One such slip of paper fell out of my pocket today. A friend of mine said a few weeks ago (possibly more, possibly less), "If I put twelve balls into the air and four fall, then I am responsible for putting them up there to begin with." Ugh. I seem to have a little, minor, petite, tiny, minuscule problem with workaholism / doaholism/ whatever other ism derives from the fact that I just love to be busy, to be juggling, to have that adrenaline (or other bodily chemicals) shooting through my veins when I am in the groove, going going going... But, as my wise friend so aptly put, when I put all of those balls up there, and some fall, then I need to take responsibility, which is really a dirty word when you think about it. I am a full time commuting student, taking one more class than recommended with a teenager embarking on his own college path (read - we are visiting schools, filling out applications etc). I also realized that I should be taking the GREs and applying for grad school. So when the car payment comes due, the water in the well is contaminated and the thermostat doesn't work, (and yes I decided to become a single mom) balls ultimately fall. And they fall with a resounding crash, along with my positive attitude and energy level. I turn into a heap, a mess that needs to be scraped up off the floor. Not a pretty picture, and, forgetting the wise words of my wise friend, my default setting upon this floor is to lash out, to pick a fight or to create some other chaotic episode. This is where I was last week, and stayed until I remembered to ask the Universe for a little bit of help. Help came. Small miracles. I was sitting in the library when a stranger came up and congratulated me on my book. The gentleman who works at the turnpike informed me that I am well liked at that exit because I always have kind words and smiles for all. Small miracles, but grand enough to relieve me of the bondage of my funk. Today I have the opposite problem, the sea is completely calm...but that metaphor can wait for the next post.

Connection

Today a replica of my car drove by on the turnpike, same color, same make and model. I ended up by chance following the car on my journey home after a grueling day of classes and rushing and errands galore. We were 2 very blue cars driving in the rush hour traffic, but when he finally turned to follow his own route he waved out the window right as I was waving to him. A seemingly insignificant moment tucked into a day jam packed with many insignificant moments, but the connection I had with an unknown driver (we both after all have great taste and are environmentally and economically conscious) made my day. It was the smallest of connections, something my primate brain needs throughout the day. If I choose to look for them I can find a connection with almost everyone I meet as I go through my day. The mail carrier could have a love for large dogs, maybe even be a husky owner. The receptionist at the dentist's office could be a vegetarian. The cashier at Price Chopper could be training for a marathon. We are connected with our human family whether we like it or not. Even a mass murderer has a mother who gave birth to him or her. Even the Republican down the road just wants to support their family. We all just want to connect in some shape or form. Today I choose to remember the moment between me and mystery Yaris man, because for that brief second I wasn't driving alone in my car at the end of a long grueling day. I was connecting with another human being on his respective journey.

Running

I posted a one liner on Facebook a few months ago, "May you always run downhill." This revelation had come after I had completed a five mile run with a few difficult hills followed by the blessing of a downhill sprint. I love running downhill, the wind in my hair, the quickened pace, the joy. But if I am always running down, I never receive the benefits of the climb, number one being stronger legs and being able to squeeze into my jeans post washing. I also don't get the exhilaration when I finally make it to the top, the challenge having been met. Yesterday I ran Blue Hill Road, a one mile incline, an endless incline where at every corner the hill gets steeper. I ran, I didn't stop, and at the top I felt elation, I had done it, I had spanked that hill. If I can do Blue Hill, what else can I do in life? Maybe ask for help when it is scary, or publish a book and actually hand it to someone and say, "here, read this, these are my words that I received while in meditation or prayer. These are my intimate moments with God, put down on paper." Maybe I could just do that. Maybe I could do anything that scares me, because I was able to make it up that hill, me - ex smoker, ex gym class reject. So today my perspective has changed. "May you run downhill after you have had the opportunity to run up."

Spring's Third Day

has arrived.

The Carnival is Coming, or The Carnival is Here

Recently I have been likening my head to a carnival, not my haircut, although it has been humid today and the poodle act needs to be filled, but the thoughts that incessantly race all day long.
The Hall of Mirrors: Ok, I really am not as fat as I think I am, or stupid, lazy, slow, etc. I view myself in a distorted way, so it is important to rely on a trusted group of friends to tell me the truth. Yes Laura, the 18 gallons of ice cream you ate last week did add to your heft, or no Laura, you actually did a good job there.
Games: I or rather, my head, loves to play games, not board or sport, but what-if games, and games of strategy. If I say this to that person will this this person do that? And, the famous, he loves me, he loves me not game that we learn as teens.
Concession stands: Food, fill er up with high calorie, high fat foot that will deplete all the energy from your body. Eat some fried dough, bloomin' onion, french fries, ribs and follow it up with a little ice cream. Then puke, and feel like crap the next day. Sometimes my head likes to run off into these heavy, calorie-laden negative thoughts, and when I go there, when I sit on that pity pot and stew, I feel lethargic, tired and nauseous. Fill my head with gratitude however and I am light as a bird, my entire body chemistry changes.
Rides: Up and down, around and around, this is just what my head is like everyday. How many times can I hold an argument with the cashier from Stop and Shop, the same thing, the same lines, over and over? Get over it, it is done, move on, get off the #$%^ ride and do some yoga already.
Petting Zoo: If it were possible to tape record the thoughts that run through my head on a given day, I would hear a lot of this: baaaabaaa, mooo, cluck cluck cluck. Ok, give a nice pat, say hi and walk away. How many thoughts does a human have in a day? Thousands? And how many thoughts are forced upon us through advertising? Countless. Time to leave the carnival and attempt to spend a few minutes with prayer and meditation. The carnival is great a few times a year, but overindulgence leads to sickness. Although I am having a hunkering for a little cotton candy. Hmmm