Treasure Map: My Journey Home

I had a good chat with my friend MJ last night - too short as always, but still very revealing. I listened to myself speak and felt wave after wave roll though me as I confided my uncertainty and sense of longing when it comes to writing. I continue to have this need for a destination, a need for something more. My life is wonderful and yet I still crave something - and the missing ingredient far too often is me.

I can fill lots of roles, meet any kind of external expectation but when it comes to me, I feel a bit lost. Furthermore, I find that "lostness" hard to confide but there is no point to denying it because it is always threading its way through my writing and my conversations.

When I first sold my business and a few months before becoming pregnant with Baby S, my husband asked me, "So what's the plan?" I know I could have made up a bunch of possible plans in a heartbeat, but none of them would have meant anything. My answer; "There is no plan." Why, because I have lived with a plan for so long, usually reflecting someone else's expectations, that I felt I needed to discover what it is to live without a goal, at least for awhile.

Well, I'm not liking it much, I can tell you that! And yet, I can't betray myself once again by entertaining the thought of committing to a plan that doesn't fully reflect me. And so I continue to wait for clarity to arrive while I test various directions, trying them out to see how they feel.

I keep coming back to writing. Writing is where my true self lives. It is where I can find myself in the mist of a day full of the cries of a teething baby, the needs of my older son and the myriad of things I have willingly taken on to support my family. Writing is the place where I emerge, where I begin to remember the wholeness of me. I'm not mommy or wife or friend or organizer here. I'm just me. I might be a mixed up, bone tired me - but I'm still 100% me.

My conversation with MJ last night highlighted my sense of disconnection and underscored why I continue to write. This blog is my breadcrumb trail back to me. Its the evidence that I continue to exist and its fulfills my desire to be seen in the world. When asked about why writing a book is important to me I discovered its because I want to be heard somewhere other than in my own head. I also want a conversation that isn't distilled to just a few lines but that can grow and evolve over a longer stretch, even if it is conceived in little snippets.

Before any of that can happen, I have to show up more completely in my own life. I hadn't realized how I had begun to shrink. Back to the body image stuff - it would seem that my increasing girth is inversely proportional to my shrinking presence these days. I'm falling into old habits as I make new friends. I'm pulling myself back and diluting my intensity in both fun and serious matters.

And where does that leave me at this moment? I'll keep you posted because this is what I believe my book is about - uncertainty. Between uncertainty and a precise goal there is a whole range of experiences, possibilities and discoveries to be made. Since I am journeying through this territory, I have decided to begin creating a map as I pass though self doubt to self trust, from static old identity to one that is in constant flux and the many other destinations that have yet to be uncovered. This map will be a record of my journey and perhaps offer a few sign posts to other explorers. I need to write it because its my treasure map back to me.

Phfttttttt.......

Phfttttttt.......The exhalation begins. And with it, much of the tension in my body begins to dissolve. I've been holding this breath for so long that it is only as I begin to let it go that I can notice how stretched and strained I have been. Try it - puff out your cheeks and notice the prickly burn that sneaks in within seconds. No wonder I have felt like there are ants under my skin!

While I have been merrily spinning around in my life, something else has been stirring. An urge to express what I can't seem to find words for. It is as though all my creative bursts over the past month have just been the tremors for what is yet to come. My growing inner agitation is more like excitement when I stop and notice how it dances through my body.

I've been holding my breath in a vain attempt to manage something that I have never experienced before. I'm trying to squeeze this urge to express into a nice, orderly structure. Something manageable and tidy. Something that doesn't disrupt any one's schedule - including mine - and that doesn't rock the boat. You know the old drill - don't step on any one's toes. This feels like trying to wedge a Hippo into a broom closet all the while pretending not to notice that its bulging out all over the place!!

The conversation that dances between the parts of myself sounds something like this:

"Hippo? What Hippo? Oh - you mean that little thing. Well, I was going to tell you about it when there was a good time."

"Yes, I know its a bit large and unwieldy and it will cause a bit of disruption in our routine."

"Oh and I know what it costs to feed Hippos these days - never mind the vet bills! But you see, it followed me home one day and I can't seem to shake it. It was pretty little at the time but since I started to feed it - well, as you can see, it has really grown. And, I must confess, I've gotten pretty attached to it."

" No I don't have a name for it yet. I'm starting to learn how to speak 'Hippo' and I'm sure it will tell me its name in the near future."

"Yes, I've been getting a bit nervous around it too. Its awfully big - but I've seen those cartoons of Hippos in tutus and it gives me comfort to know that such a large beast has a sense of humor and some grace. I think it will be alright if I let it out of the closet."

"Yes - I will take responsibility for care and feeding - and, yes, for cleaning up Hippo crap too!"

And thus, with exhalation (and not one of exasperation, I might add!) project Hippo is revealed. Its up to me to continue care and feeding - and now that I'm not trying to compress this poor beast any longer, I wonder what fun and havoc it will wreak in my tidy, orderly little world.

By the way, does anyone know how long it takes to learn to speak Hippo?

Waiting to Exhale

I've been having a hard time getting back into the swing of writing these days. I suppose, like so many things in life, there is an ebb and flow when it comes to writing. Its as natural as breathing in and breathing out - usually.

Seems like I've been a bit stuck on the inhale of late ... ahh ....inspiration. I wrote a few days back about how some conversations just seem to stick around until we choose to either move on or make our peace with them. In both instances there is room for something new to blossom in their place. At the moment I feel a bit like I have fully exhaled and with that here has been a rush of creativity evidenced throughout last month in blogging, baking, decorating, entertaining.

These past few days feel more like the pause before the inhalation begins. There is a still point in between breaths - an anticipatory moment. A beat in time that is in limbo between the two states. I feel like I am wandering there.

In this still point I notice that I can choose what it is that will fuel my next breath. What will my inspiration bring to me? Will I continue to indulge in mindless TV or will I seek out something more stimulating? Will I jump into the many different social events that seem to jostle each other trying to elbow their way into an already busy schedule once November comes along ? Or will I be more selective, choosing quality over quantity, exhilaration over the exhaustion of over-extension?

For the past few days my temperament is best described as all itchy and sharp edged. There is something floating just below the surface that feels gritty and prickly. I'm restless and indolent all at the same time.

Its like that feeling when you have when you bet a friend that you can hold your breath under water longer than they can - just because. And there you are under the surface with the golden light swirling just above, feeling like time has stopped even while your heartbeat ticks off the seconds as it begins pounding in your ears, the squeeze of pressure growing in your chest, clawing its way up your throat to your mouth, your nose and finally the pulse behind your eyes and ears becomes deafening and you burst through the surface gasping and laughing all at the same time!

If we could remember being born - I wonder if it would feel that way? Is that why its so fun to play that game? Maybe its because we are always certain of our next breath. And so we stretch ourselves, we dare ourselves all in the quest for the moment when we break the surface and suck in that sweet air .... and know that we are alive. We are alive and feeling the sun warming the top of our head and breathing deeply and laughing hard.

Inhale ... exhale. .. inhale .... exhale - the ebb and flow that is our life continues. The ebb and flow that is MY life continues, even if I have yet to break the surface. I'm mesmerized by the light dancing on ripples, lulled by the slowing of time under here. I can feel my heartbeat growing more insistent, pulsing, urging me forward toward the surface. Reminding me that I need to let out the breath that I have been holding in order to suck in that fresh, sweet air.

My problem hasn't been inspiration .... it is that I've been holding my breath for so long that I've forgotten to exhale. I'm attempting to stack breath upon breath. And in the space where inspiration could happen, there is a stale balloon of something completed and waiting to be released.

Exhale... inhale...exhale ...THAT is the rhythm of my life and I'm shooting to the surface.....

Ousting the Tyrant

I've been away from my computer for the past few days and I noticed how challenged I felt to return today. Its not that I don't enjoy writing my blog, its more like a feeling of stiffness and disuse.It takes a few keystrokes to loosen up. The clue for me today was noticing how tempted I was to ramble on as I wrote an email to a friend. Once my fingers started moving, a whole conversation started pouring out. It was then I recognized that I've been in conversation with myself for the past little while and I didn't like where it was taking me.


It seems that when I'm not writing, the conversation in my head starts moving faster and faster, swirling like dust in the wake of a speeding car. I think I am both the speeding car and the dust! Part of me keeps moving ahead and the other bits, things like habitual thoughts, keep swirling and spinning until they settle down again, resigned to be obsolete. Sometimes that road looks mighty dusty! And sometimes there is more dust on my car than I care to admit!

Writing seems to help those repeated thoughts find their home. I can only stand to write the same thing a few times over (alright - some times its closer to 20 -30 times over!) before I get the message and do something about it. Its really difficult to face yourself on the page or the screen only to discover that you are still whining, rambling, wishing , hoping... you get the picture. It gives me great insight into the murmuring that goes on under the surface. Murmurs that I have long since grown bored of and now try to tune out. Murmurs that become insistent over time and begin to wear down familiar paths simply by virtue of their repetition.

Giving those murmurs voice is a the start of a making a choice. I can stick with the very familiar refrain and in doing so admit to myself that I am making a conscious choice to whine, ramble and generally marinate in this state. Alternatively, I can begin to choose something different.

Lately I've been marinating in thoughts of body image. I tell myself over and over again how fat I am ... all the while eating mini-chocolate bars! I remind myself that I really should get moving ... and by this I mean more than simply chew, chew, swallow!

I am even catching myself in the midst of the most unlikely moments taking pot shots at myself. Yesterday while enjoying the musical Dirty Dancing, I was taking in the incredibly toned and flexible physiques of the dancers (not just the guys, I swear!) and I could hear myself whispering, "you'll never look that fit". Well of course not! Unless I plan to join a professional dance troupe, rehearse for hours every day for the next 10 years and in the process, turn back my biological clock by about the same number of years. Acckkk! What a crazy-making Tyrant I have living in my head!

And I continue to feed that nasty Tyrant ... both food and energy. I listen to it. I let it walk all over me. I take on its messages about how I can never be enough and I have to ask myself WHY??!!

I'm not really sure I have the answer. I suspect that it is partially because, as nasty as this critter is, it is familiar. It has occupied such a large position in my psyche that there would be a tremendous void if I were to exorcise it. I suppose it might be a bit like an abusive relationship in that it soothes me by telling me its looking out for my best interests. Its making sure that I keep on top of things. It is there to motivate me to prove myself and to perform, perform, perform. Its keeping me from becoming too noticeable. It keeps me "humble". It saves me from failing by encouraging me never to try and it reminds me of all the past losses and gains. And it heaps shame on my head for ever thinking I could be successful at shaping my outside to fit my inside.

Well, here is the thing - I'm tired to listening to the Tyrant. I'm tired of it's use and abuse. I'm tired of giving up precious mental, emotional and spiritual real estate for it to squat on like the worst tenant a landlord could imagine. I'm tired of allowing it to shape me - inside and out, because I DO look like it tells me I should. Its brand of protection is more like extortion. I am not willing to continue to pay the price any more.

I have no idea where this leads but I do know the Tyrant has its little fingers in just about every aspect of my thinking. Heck! If it even shows up at the theatre while I'm having a good time, then its gotten even further out of check than I had noticed. As for the void this nasty saboteur will leave behind, - BRING IT ON! I can't wait to see what will sprout in its place one this weed is removed.

Now I know that somewhere along the line, my Tyrant was a useful creation but oh my, has it outworn its usefulness. I dare say it has now moved from nuisance to menace. I simply cannot allow it to continue to flourish because its choking the life out of other things - including me. Its stealing enjoyment and self-confidence. Its eating up energy and sending me seeking ways to refuel myself ... ways that include chocolate binges.

So for the next few days I will give the Tyrant its opportunity to share its whining, wheedling voice on my journal pages so that it can blow itself out. Like so many bullies, I'm pretty sure that once it is revealed for the weak-kneed, controlling and shallow creature that it is, it will beat a hasty retreat. Most often its messages are more than ridiculous, they are not even founded on reality! So instead of meekly accepting them with head bowed, I'm going to stare it in the eye and give it a reality check, question, get curious about and quite possibly talk back to it. And in the end, I will simply choose to stop empowering this part of myself because it is no longer required.

And what about the part of me that is speeding ahead? Well, it is a creative fire that is growing hotter by the day. I am simply bursting with ideas, possibilities and pure joy. I found myself giggling over the Spider cupcakes I made for my son's class and the gnarly Witch's Finger cookies I baked that looked so realistic. I'm knitting. I'm writing. I'm planning the decor of our new home. I'm cooking. I'm playing. And somewhere in the midst of it all, I noticed the thought "I'm not willing to give up all this joy ever again."

I know that in the past I have squeezed out those things to make room for work and obligation. Even now, I fight the urge to be in constant motion -cleaning, organizing, packing. Doing things joylessly simply because I call them work. This week I finally allowed myself to notice that I can do them all joyfully. That my creativity is in how I choose to do them. Those tasks aren't penance in order to get back to what I enjoy - they are part of the whole dance. One feeds the other and I get to decide how much pleasure I take in living my life. Score one for me, none for the Tyrant on this front. No wonder it is pressing its cause these days. It must sense impending annihilation!