How to grow and not shrink from looking at what we hide.

I have been examining a lot of backends lately. No, not that kind (although I did walk behind a man in a suit recently who made me believe wholeheartedly in the effectiveness of tailoring). I mean the behind-the-scenes of my finances, my daily systems, my online presence and my thoughts. Believe me when I say that sometimes these areas are ones that I happily shove under the proverbial rug and do a lot of the mental equivalent of blocking my ears and saying lalalalala loudly, hoping all will simply sort itself out. When I do that, it's because I'm afraid of what I will find there. Usually, I'm afraid I will find Shame. Yes, that old friend; frequent guest of my credit card bill, unswept kitchen corners, and deeply grooved beliefs it holds onto like a binky. 

You Care Too Much

I have thrown myself at my fair share of metabolic fires lately, especially in this past half year. After years of staleness and stagnation and stubborness, something in me finally clicked and I was like: no more.

I figured it was high time I met myself and learned to love what I found there and not settle for anything less than love in return. 

I'm writing you this post, very late at night, past my bedtime actually, mere moments after slaying a personal dragon. I'm finding it a bit difficult to put words on the page, because I'm still basking in the afterglow – that very particular lightness of being that occurs when you act in discord with your past and in perfect harmony with your soul and the future it desires. I told my soul it could go frolic in my mind field all it wants as long as it doesn't bother me while I write. When I'm happy, I don't tend to express it very largely, but I do have a field in my mind where my soul does things I would never do in real life, like somersaults, backflips and Maria von Trapp “The Hills are Alive” twirls. That's what it's doing right now as I type.

What to do when you've exhausted all the options? Pick a card.

I used to be afraid to ring the streetcar bell. There were countless times when I would stay on until someone else rang the bell – often a few stops further than I needed. A small thing that speaks volumes about how I felt about and within myself at the time. Ringing the bell was akin to asking outright for something – acknowledging a need: Please stop. I need to get off here. It embarrassed me, as it announced my presence in a way that made me feel uncomfortable, self-conscious and exposed. At the time, I didn't have the staying power to be with that discomfort of being seen or expressing a need, so I stayed hidden and ashamed and, well, entirely self-absorbed.

How to find the window after the door slam.

This past week I pretty much took up residence within Maria von Trapp's quote: When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window. It's not the comfiest of quotes. There's that itchy emptiness that accompanies the waiting you have to do between the door slam and ensuing window appearing 'somewhere.' If you know me at all by now, you'll know I appreciate coziness and nurturing aesthetic in my furnishings. Like the abbey Maria left, this quote is furnished with faith and not a whole lot else.

When what you need is a miracle, tell the Truth.

While searching for a creative way to frame this week's blog story, I found myself not really resonating with any of them. I normally LOVE this part of writing to you – sitting in front of a blank page (or screen) and 'listening' for what is being asked to be written. It's a creative partnership between me and the Truth. This week, every idea I put out there got thrown back at me, like old fruit at a bad joke. Too lame; too needy; trying to be too clever; too vague; too obscure; too much. At first, I fell back into old ways of thinking where I beat myself up at 'not being able to get it right' and then realized I wasn't actually listening. Suddenly, it clicked: this week, what's 'right' is to tell you the facts and nothing more. The facts ARE the story.